"Then I suggest you pick up a broom yourself. I'll be back in a few hours. I expect to see progress. I've given you the best workers available." Barundandi went elsewhere to be unpleasant to someone else.
The fat woman took it out on Subredil and Rahini. Subredil did not know who Narita was. The woman had not worked in the royal chambers before. As Subredil steered a mop around, she whispered, "Who is this woman who is so bitter?" She stroked her Ghanghesha.
Rahini glanced right and left but did not raise her eyes. "You must understand her. She is Barundandi's wife."
"You two! You aren't being paid to gossip."
"Pardon, ma'am," Sahra said. "I didn't understand what to do and didn't want to trouble you."
The fat woman scowled for a moment but then turned her displeasure in another direction. Rahini smiled softly, whispered, "She's in a good mood today."
As the hours passed and her knees and hands and muscles began to ache, Sahra realized that she and Rahini had been delivered to Barundandi's wife more for who they were than for the work they could do. They were not bright and they were not among the more attractive workers. Barundandi wanted Narita to believe that these were the kind of women he always employed. Elsewhere, no doubt, he and his chief assistants would take full advantage of their bit of power over the unfortunate and the desperate.
It was not a good day for exploring. There was more work than three women could possibly complete. Sahra got no chance to collect additional pages from the hidden Annals. Then, not many hours after the day started, conditions within the Palace became much less relaxed. The high and the mighty began to show themselves, moving rapidly here and there. Rumor came, apparently passing right through stone walls. Another Bhodi disciple had burned himself to death outside and the Radisha was completely distraught. Narita herself confided, "She's very frightened. Many things are happening over which she has no control. She has gone to the Anger Chamber. She does so almost every day now."
"The Anger Chamber?" Sahra murmured. She had not heard of this before, but till recently she never worked this close to the heart of the Palace. "What is that, ma'am?"
"A room set aside where she can tear her hair and clothing and rage and weep without having her emotions poison surroundings used for other purposes. She won't come out until she can face the world in complete calm."
Subredil understood: It was a Gunni thing. Only Gunni would come up with an idea like that. Gunni religion personified everything. It had a god or goddess or demon, a deva or rakshasa or yaksha or whatever for everything, usually with several aspects and avatars and differing names, none of whom were seen much nowadays but who had been very busy way back when.
Only an extremely wealthy Gunni would come up with a conceit like an Anger Chamber—a Gunni cursed with a thousand rooms she did not know how to use.
Later in the day Subredil contrived to be allowed to service the freshly evacuated Anger Chamber. It was small and contained nothing but a mat on a polished wooden floor and a small shrine to ancestors. The smoke was thick and the smell of incense was overpowering.
24
A good thing I didn't have any pages on me, too," Sahra told me. "The Greys started searching us going out. That woman Vancha tried to steal a little silver oil lamp. She'll spend all morning tomorrow being ‘punished' by Jaul Barundandi."
"Does Barundandi's boss know what he does?"
"I don't think so. Why?"
"We could trick him into betraying himself. Get him tossed out."
"No. Barundandi is the devil we know. An honest man would be harder to manipulate."
"I loathe the man."
"That's because he's loathsome. Not unlike other men in similar positions of petty power. But we're not here to reform Taglios, Sleepy. We're here to find out how to release the Captured. And to torment our enemies when doing that doesn't jeopardize our primary mission. And we did a great job of that today. The Radisha was crushed by our messages."
Sahra told me what she had discovered. Then I told her about my own small triumph. "I got into the restricted stacks today. And I found what I think might be the original of one of the Annals we've got hidden in the Palace. It's in terrible shape but it's all there and it's still readable. And there may be more volumes. I only got through part of the restricted stack before I had to go help Baladitya find his slippers so his grandson could lead him home."
I had the book right there on the table. I patted it proudly. Sahra asked, "Won't it be missed?"
"I hope not. I replaced it with one of the moldy discards I've been saving."
Sahra squeezed my hand. "Good. Good. Things have gone well lately. Tobo, would you find Goblin? I have an idea to run past him."
I said, "I'll see how our guests are doing. Somebody might be ready to whisper confidences in my ear."
But only Swan wanted my ear and he did not have confidences in mind. In his way he was as incorrigible as One-Eye, yet he had a style that did not offend me. I do not think Swan had an evil bone in him. Like so many people, he was a victim of circumstance, struggling to keep his head up in the turbulence of the river of events.
Uncle Doj was displeased with his circumstances even though he was not a prisoner. "We can certainly get along without that book," I told him. "I doubt that I could read it, anyway. Mostly I want to make sure it doesn't get back to the Deceivers. What we really need is your knowledge."
Doj was a stubborn old man. He was not yet ready to make deals or to look for allies.
Before I left I asked, "Will it all die with you? Will you be the last Nyueng Bao to follow the Path? Thai Dei can't if he's buried under the glittering plain." I winked. I understood Doj better than he thought. His problem was not a conflict with his morality, it was a matter of control. He wanted to do everything his way, no strings.
He would come around if I kept reminding him of his mortality and his lack of a son or an apprentice. Nyueng Bao are famous for their stubbornness but even they will not sacrifice all their hopes and dreams rather than adjust.
I visited Narayan just long enough to offer a reminder that our interest did not lie in harming him. But the only reason we had for keeping the Daughter of Night healthy was our hope of his cooperation. "You can be stubborn for a while yet. We have several tasks to wrap up before you become our main interest and we concentrate on murdering your dreams."
That was my whole focus with each of our prisoners. Make them put their hopes and dreams on the line. Maybe I could weasel my way into history, as famous or infamous as Soulcatcher and Widowmaker, as Stormshadow and Longshadow, remembered forever as the Dreamkiller.
I had a vision of myself drifting through the night like Murgen, disembodied but dragging along a bottomless bag of black night into which I stuffed all the dreams I stole from restless sleepers. I was a real old-time rakshasa, there.
The Daughter of Night did not look up when I went to view her. She was in a cage Banh Do Trang used for keeping large animals of the deadliest sort. Sometimes leopards, but mostly tigers. A fully grown male tiger was worth a fortune in the apothecary market. She was shackled as well. The cats never were. In addition, I believe, a little opium and nightshade were used to season her food. Nobody wanted to underestimate her potential. Her family had a dire history. And she had a goddess on her shoulder.
Reason told me to kill her right now, before Kina wakened as much as she could. That would buy me the rest of my lifetime free of the end of the world. It would take the dark goddess generations to create another Daughter of Night.