The Amber Trail by M. J. Kelly

with a corrugated roof and white smoke
wafting out of a chimney , and a small
residential shack, nestled amongst the trees.
    Dig took a deep breath and nodded
to himself as the wind whistled in his ears. He had finally found
the Banyan Brewery. How many times had his father ridden down this
same path during his life?
    But, now he was here, he needed
to concentrate on what lay ahead. He’d arrived unannounced into one
of the most remote areas of India, and was about to meet a group
who had demonstrated a troubling level of casual brutality. His
stomach churned as he recalled Jake’s hand, and the ripping tear as
the knife carved through the finger. He remembered Jake screaming.
The fear. The panic. And Shiv’s words:
    I'm looking at two
hopheads who seem incapable of taking care of themselves, let alone
become competent business partners.
    He glanced at his clothes. His
shorts and shirt were covered in mud. His body was sweat soaked and
greasy. His face was covered in insect internals. He didn’t want to
ruin a first impression for the second time.
    Dig bit his lip, then leaned
forward to Raj, shouting over the noise of the engine. “Is there
somewhere I can quickly wash up and change my clothes before I go
into the brewery?”
    Raj’s brow furrowed. “There’s a
shower in the house. Want me to take you there first?”
    “ Yeah, that would be
good.”  
    Raj nodded, and steered the bike
down the ridge. At the bottom, he turned it off the tracks and flanked the edge of the hop fields toward the house. Dig recognised the
familiar orange tinge on the flowers as they passed.
    The house was constructed of pale
yellow brick and brown tile, and surrounded by a wide concrete
veranda before a patch of brown, untended grass. A thicket of squat
brown trees crowded behind the house, and a flock of chirping white
birds flew out from them as they arrived. The front door stood
open.
    Raj rolled the bike to a stop
outside, then switched off the engine. “Come on.” He walked
inside.
    Dig followed, ducking through a
low doorway into an open-plan kitchen and lounge. Stools were set
up by a granite kitchen bench, and a spicy, milky fragrance filled
the air. On the far wall, a sliding glass door opened onto a deck
that flanked the shoulder of the river—a wide brown expanse of slow
moving water.  
    Raj squatted by a cupboard in the
corner of the room, then held a towel out to Dig. “Here,” he said.
“The shower’s through that door.” He pointed to a bi-fold door
beside the deck.
    “ Thanks.” Dig took
the towel through to a small room of rendered cement. He washed
himself down, changed into a new T-shirt and shorts, and surveyed
himself. While he didn’t feel like a high-powered executive, he
certainly felt more equipped to handle a business negotiation that
had the prosperity of his family riding on it.
    He returned to the main room with
the wet towel hanging limply in his hand. Raj sat at a chair by the
kitchen counter, nursing a glass cup. A jug of milky liquid sat on
the counter beside him.
    “ Chai?” Raj
said.
    Dig looked at him
blankly.
    “ Chai,” Raj repeated.
“Tea.”
    “ Oh right,
sure.”
    Raj poured a second helping from
the jug and placed the cup on the table before Dig. He held up his
own glass and beckoned for Dig to do the same. Dig lifted the cup
to his lips and took a sip. It was milky, sweet and tasted of
cinnamon. “Wow.”
    “ You like
it?”
    “ Yeah, it’s great.”
Dig’s attention caught on a framed picture on the wall beside him.
It depicted three people in a family pose: a middle-aged man with a
thick beard and a confused expression; a short, stocky woman with
hair tied back in a bun; and Raj sitting between them, hands folded
on his lap.
    “ Your
parents?”
    Raj nodded.
    On the wall beside it was a
second framed picture, showing two men standing formally on a
stage. Dig recognised Raj’s father. He wore an academic robe, and
stood stiffly with startled eyes and a pasted-on smile