Chapter 3 #2
Rahat had honestly been expecting Kamil to lead them to his favorite taverna, because the lurking shadows had faded from his vision and a taverna seemed a place where people were known to pass out.
Not that he had ever set foot in one himself, of course, but the poets did tell tales.
Instead, Kamil led them between the backs of a row of market-tents facing a larger street, then loosened the wall-ties and hurried them into a particularly brightly colored one.
The tent Kamil had chosen was full of bolts of fabric and bins of stitchwork and stacks of woven cat-rugs for clawing or lying upon, and Priye looked around with wide eyes.
But the merchant turned toward them and took a startled breath, and then she dropped to her knees and bowed her head to the ground.
“Oh, please don’t,” Rahat said a bit awkwardly; with Priye in one arm and Sahar’s basket in the other, he was out of hands to lift her from her obeisance. “Your pardon, my lady, but I am in need of a touch of discretion.” To Kamil, he said plaintively, “What gave me away?”
“This one’s my fault,” Kamil admitted, dropping the third undersecretary in the vicinity of a pile of scratch-mats.
“Esha knows who I work for. Esha, this is my friend Rahat-sahib, and little Priye. Oh, and also the third undersecretary of the registry in the Ministry of Finance, but ignore him. We’re here to shop. ”
Despite the trembling fingers she clasped so tightly her knuckles stood stark as stones against her soft brown hands, Esha was as quick on the uptake as any courtier Rahat had ever met. “Welcome, R-rahat-sahib — a t-thousand welcomes. Shopping, you say?”
Priye was giving Rahat a profoundly suspicious look. No one did skeptical glowering like an alley-kitten… except possibly for Kamil, who had, of course, been an alley-kitten himself once upon a time. It ached more than he’d expected, to have upset her with his deception. He took refuge in chatter.
“Sahar is my new cat, you see, and I’ve never had a housecat of my own before, and I’m sure we all agree Kamil is far too fierce to have opinions on cat toys.
And Priye gave me the most lovely piece of yarn for Sahar and her kittens!
And so… um… with such a voice of authority on what kittens might enjoy, and my own inexperience…
I thought… perhaps… if our young expert were to advise… ?”
Priye crossed her arms.
“I’m sorry!” Rahat wailed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to — to upset you, or frighten you, or cause you to question — I’m so sorry.”
But Priye shook her head vigorously, nose crinkled in kitten exasperation. She rubbed her cheek against his, knocking a couple of the flowers loose from his beard, then picked them up from the folds of the bath-towel drape and tucked them back in place with a pat.
She thinks we did this to buy her another yarn ball, Kamil informed him, not that you’re the God-Emperor’s wayward brother. Obviously, we’re going to buy several toys.
“Oh, thank the stars,” Rahat breathed, relieved. (He was coming to the conclusion that he really wasn’t suited to a life of espionage and adventure. It was far too upsetting when he needed to lie to kittens.)
Esha rallied like a professional. “How wise of you to have brought an advisor with such well-formed opinions on, er, kitten toys, R-rahat-sahib. And of course if you’re soon to have several kittens, you’ll need several toys.
The things go everywhere, under the furniture and into the kitchen and to this day I don’t know how one of mine landed a stuffed mouse in the hanging lamp!
Here, let’s take a look through the jinglers and the scratchers… ”
Esha clearly had a well-practiced eye for what cats and catfolk alike would find enticing.
By the time she’d finished laying out the array of one of her boxes of toys for Priye’s inspection, the little one’s eyes were vast black pools of fascination, and even kitten-wearied Sahar’s ears twitched at some of the jingle-toys and scuttle-toys.
Esha seemed to have decided that focusing all her salesmanship on Priye and Kamil was the best way not to panic over the question of what protocol could possibly suit having the God-Emperor’s third brother sitting in her tent with wildflowers and jasmine tucked into his hair and beard, wrapped in a bolt of towel-cloth that matched three more on her shelves.
Honestly, that was a relief to Rahat as well, because then it was easier for him to still be Rahat, who could be someone whom Master Asharan and Priye both adored.
The third undersecretary was, of course, a different matter. He groaned weakly, and then froze at the deep rumble of Kamil’s warning growl.
“How much of an idiot are you?”
“Uh… um…” The third undersecretary swallowed hard. “Sh… sahib. Sahib, I trust you’ll not have me executed for taking familiarities. But you shouldn’t be here.”
Rahat thought of what Master Asharan might say, and found a smile. “Why not? You’re here too, aren’t you?”
“I’m here because your bodyguard half murdered me, sahib!”
“Really, Ahmed, if Kamil had half murdered you, we would not be discussing it so calmly.”
“Calmly? Who is calm here?”
“In any case,” Rahat said, “before all that, you were here fetching your morning cup of chai. I thought I’d like a cup as well.”
“Sh– sahib. Sahib, you have servants for that. You shouldn’t be walking the market unaccompanied, in nothing but a — a bath-towel—”
“Be fair,” Rahat said. (He was actually starting to amuse himself, imagining how Master Asharan would play with Ahmed, or how Hira would.) “I am wonderfully accompanied. Priye is delightful, and Kamil, as you’ve noticed, is very, very protective.”
“But a bath-towel, sahib!”
“It is not yet a bath-towel,” Esha said, with a sparkle in her eyes. “I would need to cut it down and hem it first.”
“Not even a bath-towel, then!” Ahmed moaned, burying his face in both hands. “What on earth has possessed you?”
“Joy,” Rahat said, because it was true. “I’m enjoying myself, Ahmed. I’m enjoying being myself.”
“Then, sahib, can you please enjoy yourself some other way? It’s humiliating!”
Priye hissed at him.
All of them jumped, even Kamil.
Still making noises like a small and angry teakettle, Priye snuggled against Rahat’s side and rubbed her cheek against his chest, marking her territory. In catfolk-terms, Rahat was fairly certain Priye, Kamil, and Sahar had all claimed him now.
“Sahib,” Ahmed said unsteadily, staring at her slitted eyes, “are you sure that cat doesn’t bite?”
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of kittens,” Kamil said, flexing much larger claws.
“And you’re encouraging this madness?”
“Yes,” Kamil said, holding Rahat’s gaze steadily. “May Bastet’s mischief be distracted — yes, I believe I am. Priye, will you teach Esha how we ask Rahat-sahib to share his joys with us?”
Oh, that was a bold step Rahat hadn’t quite been prepared for.
It was far less intimidating to offer such an intimate touch and such a revealing taste to children who didn’t know his other name.
But before he could fret himself into collapsing inside the decorous little box of propriety again, Priye took Esha’s sleeve and tugged her closer.
Esha was only a little frantic around the eyes when an alley-kitten took her hand and patted the belly of the God-Emperor’s third brother. And Rahat’s hands were only shaking a little bit when he fumbled a rose-sweet out of the embroidered pouch and offered it to her.
The third undersecretary groaned, face buried in both hands again.
But Esha, chewing, stared at him in astonishment until she remembered that she shouldn’t.
“Did you make these, sahib? They’re delicious.”
“They’re a gift,” Rahat said, a bit shy, hoping he didn’t sound quite as besotted as he felt. “Given in joy, and shared with pleasure.”
Priye snuggled against his side again, purring, happy to have shared her person’s magic with the toy-maker. But Rahat noted that she didn’t reach for the third undersecretary’s hand, and honestly, he didn’t think his own nerves would have held up if she had.
“I should send for a physician,” the third undersecretary moaned. “To determine whether you’re mad or bewitched or…”
“For a cup of chai in the marketplace?” Rahat asked as mildly as he could, burying his fingers in Priye’s thick fur to try to hide their trembling. “Surely he should examine us both, if it is so dire a thing to wish of a morning. Half the ministry as well. We’ll need to write up a roster.”
“I do not fetch my morning cup of chai dressed in a bath-towel, sahib!”
“Well, perhaps you should have. I note your robes may be difficult to recover from the commingled contents of that questionable alley’s puddles.”
“You know the difference, sh– sahib! It is not done!”
“And yet it very clearly is done,” Rahat pointed out, “since we both have just done it. To think I had been dreading what you would say to me for arriving late with chai spilled on my silks! How comforting to find you understand these circumstances so well yourself, Ahmed.”
“Sahib,” the third undersecretary said heavily, “if you have no respect left for yourself, think of what the — of what your esteemed brother would say.”
“Oh, I most certainly do,” Rahat said pleasantly, and kept to himself what exactly those sayings might be. “In fact, I dare flatter myself to think that of the two of us, I have a more accurate guess. He is, after all, my brother.”
The third undersecretary flinched.
Esha cleared her throat, and offered another bolt of the towel-fabric with a bow that wasn’t quite swift enough to hide the mirth in her eyes.
“With my compliments, Rahat-sahib. If your companion finds his own attire in too great a disarray for the ministry offices, I should be honored to aid you.”
“And to ignite a month’s gossip,” the undersecretary muttered.