Toads and Diamonds by Heather Tomlinson Page B

admitting some air and light, the enclosure concentrated the mingled scents of sandalwood hair oil, the lilies and carnations Diribani had spoken, and a strong odor of garlic from the bread served at the meal just before their departure. It had tasted delicious, hot and puffy from the fort kitchen's brick ovens, then slathered with melted butter and herbs. The garlic, alas, lingered on the breath.
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    Lady Yisha smelled it, too. Her aristocratic nose wrinkled in disgust.
    As Diribani watched, the courtier opened a wooden box on the carpet beside her. It unfolded into a portable desk, complete with paper, pen, inkstand, and flat leather-covered surface for writing. Lady Yisha composed a short note and tucked it into a purse whose long strap ended in a metal clip. One jeweled hand reached outside the howdah and clipped the pouch to the elephant's harness. "Eyo, driver," she called.
    The mahout riding on the elephant's neck, below the platform, reached up for the pouch. He whistled. One of the servant girls riding alongside them guided her horse closer and caught the pouch the driver threw her. At least, Diribani assumed it was a servant; a scarf covered her hair and lower face. The royal party were more particular than Gurath white-coats about women veiling themselves. Even the servants covered their faces in public.
    Not caring if it was low-class to admit her curiosity, Diribani put her face against the gauze fabric to see what was happening. The girl opened the pouch and read the note. She rummaged in her saddlebags, but didn't find what she was looking for. Diribani admired how the servant kept her balance on the moving horse, holding on with her legs and guiding the animal with just one hand on the reins. The white-coats' costume made sense, she had to admit, for riding astride. Perhaps she'd ask the princess whether someone could teach her. If Kalyan had given Tana lessons, Diribani could ride with her the next time they were together.
    The girl approached another servant, with better luck. The pouch was filled, and the first girl rode back to the elephant. Instead
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    of tossing the pouch up to the mahout, as Diribani expected, the servant held the strap out at arm's length and clicked her tongue.
    Without breaking stride, the elephant picked up the purse with her trunk. As delicately as a woman clasping a chain at her neck, the elephant's trunk reached over her shoulder, found an opening between the curtains, and dropped the purse inside the howdah.
    "Oh, well done!" Diribani clapped her hands. Outside, the mahout echoed her praise, calling God to witness his elephant's cleverness. The ladies tittered at Diribani's enthusiasm.
    Except one. "Dried fennel?" Lady Yisha said reprovingly.
    The other faces became prim again.
    "Thank you, my lady." The pouch reached Diribani last. She, too, took a pinch of the aromatic fennel seeds between her fingers and chewed them.
    Soon the garlic smell receded. The women made themselves comfortable on the carpets and cushions. Some dozed, some slept, a few gossiped quietly about people Diribani hadn't met. The southeastern road to Fanjandibad seemed drier than the road from Lotus Gate to Naghali's well. The puddles were farther apart, too. Diribani heard only a faint squelching as the elephant walked along. The howdah's rocking motion and the low hum of conversation combined to make her sleepy. As she relaxed against the bolster, Diribani realized that, for the next little while, nothing was expected of her.
    She thought how pleasant it might be to ride like Ruqayya and the capable servant girl. Especially if the prince accompanied them to point out the landmarks. Zahid seemed like the kind of person who might know the history of each stone they passed along the road. And if he didn't, Ruqayya would twitch her fingers--flick,
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    flick--and summon a clerk to read them all the appropriate chapter in a book carried for the purpose.
    Her last thought, before she drifted into a nap, was