Heir of Iron

Chapter 1: Mandhi

The trader's eyes first went to the rubies on Mandhi's fingers and the jade pentacle at her throat, then to the knot of hair resting against the nape of her neck. The order was important. It meant that he valued money over worship, and would capitulate on those grounds. She raised her right hand to tuck a stray wisp of hair into the bun, flashing him the star-iron ring on her first finger. His eyes, small and quick as a mongoose's, darted to the ring for just a moment, brief enough that she would not have seen if it she weren't watching closely. It was enough.

"I am looking for a slave, Rishakka," she said.

The trader drew his breath in sharply as if her words had wounded him. He pressed his hands together and bowed, his cap nearly touching the tea-tray in front of them. "My lady, I am honored that you chose to meet with me. But I do not know if I can provide you with a slave."

"You cannot? Are you not a slave trader? Is that not a slave pen?" She gestured through the yellow cotton curtains of the window towards the courtyard walled in red mud brick and striped with chains.

"May I pour you some more tea? No, I see that your cup is full. The problem, my lady, is that my trade is solely with the merchants who run the markets, and there are contracts, you understand. Contracts which prohibit me from plying my trade with anyone else. I was pleased to entertain a woman of your station, but I tremble at the thought of the penalties the merchants will inflict on me should I transgress the bounds of our agreements."

"But surely you can make an exception. For a price."

"It would be a very great price. Perhaps you don't understand."

Mandhi took a sip of her tea. Bitter, though she liked it that way. More importantly, she learned he was eager to entertain her, but too greedy to spare his cane syrup. This confirmed what she had inferred from the room's decor: cushions of cotton rather than silk for guests, clay teacups on an unlacquered tray, a statue of Dhashi in a niche behind the table with miserly offerings of rice and flowers before it. Each of these things was enough to satisfy propriety, but not enough to indicate wealth. "I understand," she said. "Now, you do take debt-slaves, don't you? Not just mountain-folk."

"Yes," Rishakka said, after a moment's hesitation.

"I'm looking for a very particular slave. A man you took as a debt slave from Chivakshi. His name is Navran."

The man waved his hand in a tight circle next to his shoulder. "My lady, forgive me. I don't recall the names of the slaves that pass through my pen. I try not to even learn them."

"But you recall this." She slipped the star-iron ring from her finger and set it on the tea-tray. The metal made a deep, low click against the wood of the tray. The trader's breath caught in his throat and his hand clenched briefly at something hidden beneath his kurta. A moment later his face had regained its obsequious smile and he shook his head.

"What would a slave be doing with such a ring? Especially a debt slave. You could pay the debts of ten lifetimes with such a ring. No, no, my lady, if you're looking for the slave who stole a ring from you---"

"So you've never seen a ring like this before?"

"Perhaps you overestimate the wealth which a trader such as myself acquires."

"Or perhaps he lost it before coming to you." She slipped the ring back on to her finger and pursed her lips. "His name was Navran. Are you sure you never heard of him?"

"Never once, my lady."

"Then I'll have to continue my search elsewhere." She rose from her cushion and bowed briefly to the trader, then turned towards the curtained arch through which she had entered. At the doorway she paused. "We have taken the largest chamber at the Uluriya guest-house a short way from here. I'm sure you know of it. Perhaps, if you hear anything about this Navran, you'll send someone to let us know. You will be suitably compensated."