CHAPTER THREE - NYAYA

Nyaya finally made it back to her family's home around the same time that she'd left it the day before. Once a humble workshop with a yard opening onto the street of Tailors, it now extended back three times as far, with two additional workshops and a separate house shoehorned in between the bamboo walls.

She'd barely managed to walk through the gates when one of her cousins, carrying buckets of food from the kitchens forwards to those still at work, spotted her. The younger woman started at the sight of her - possibly as much due to the different clothes she was wearing - and hastened her pace into the workshop.

Well that was as good an indicator of where mother was as anything else.

Against the chance that her mother would be too busy to come out, Nyaya kept walking but the slap of feet on the raised wooden floor of the workshop made it clear that chance had once again not favoured her.

If years of mistakenly thinking dice have to favour me one day eventually, haven't cured me of optimism, what will? she thought to herself, pausing and turning to watch her mother step into view.

Janani looked much like her daughter, broad and with a gut that had swollen as soon as it had the slightest excuse. Her hair was black and coarse, tied back beneath a colourful headscarf. She didn't have the scars that marked Nyaya's body, but the lines on her face had marked her just as deeply.

"And where have you been all day? Not cleaning up the workshop I gather?" she called out.

"Constable Kanuna extended my militia obligation."

"And did he give you those lovely clothes? Not my work, I think. Too good for your family's clothes are you now?"

Nyaya took a deep breath. "No mother. These are borrowed." And not really lovely compared to her mother's work, just of a cut and fabric that she couldn't afford on the stipend she was allowed as an apprentice of the household.

"So you're away all day on militia business, come back in someone else's clothes and I suppose you think you'll be getting fed at the table, you irresponsible girl! I thought you might be growing up. Go do your work - I don't want to hear about you going into the house until that workshop is spic and span."

Her daughter spun the spread-the-water knife in one hand. It had been most of a day since she'd eaten - a skewer of grilled meats yesterday evening - and she'd looked forwards to at least a cup of beer and a bowl of rice. "The extension of my militia obligation isn't over, mother. I'm expected back at the armoury for sunset."

"Why would Kanuna do that?" Janani narrowed her eyes. "You're sleeping with him?"

"No."

"Humph. Well that's something. He'd be a decent catch but why'd he wed you if he can get what he wants without that."

"I doubt very much if the Constable is interested in me." For one thing, he was ambitious enough that he'd want someone of higher status than a tailor's daughter. "And given what an ass he is, I'd not take him anyway."

The older woman snorted. "If you knew what was good for you... well you showed how much you knew about that fifteen years ago. So why does he want you around then?"

"I can't tell you." It would make life a lot easier if she could, but Kanuna had been clear that he didn't want panic on the streets and knowing a demon was walking (had walked, though rumour wouldn't care) them would cause that. Disorder would reflect on the Constable and Hesiesh would make his bed in the north before Kanuna would court that.

"Aha?" Janani sniffed at her daughter. "You know your uncle Hadri was our volunteer for almost twenty years - and our father before him. Never once were they kept on duty after their night of the month. You take it up and within a month you're so invaluable they have to keep you around?"

"At least in this case." Nyaya spread her hands. "It's a little more coin for the family."

"Little enough." She huffed. "Well, if you have to go then wear those clothes. Perhaps without my work on those clothes, no one will recognise you as one of ours."

Nyaya felt her cheeks flush as if they'd been slapped. "As I said," she said with a tongue that felt twice as thick as it should, "They're borrowed. I'll be returning them to Abunai the Younger this evening."

"He's married, girl. With children of his own."

"I'm not warming his bed either." She considered telling Janani what had happened, but breaking the unspoken deal of being discreet about the clerk's misdemeanour would have sat ill with her. "Mine were dirtied last night and I've had no chance to come here until now." She wondered if she should have said 'come home'.

Janani shook her head. "Well do what you must and be off then," she grumbled, turning back to her loom. "What I am to do with a daughter that won't obey and no one will marry, I do not know."

"Curse me out behind my back I suppose," muttered Nyaya.

"What was that?"

"I'm pretty sure you heard me."

E-X-A-L-T-E-D

"You and she-who-must-be-obeyed arguing again?"

When she left An Teng, Nyaya remembered her uncle Hadri as being tall, broad-shouldered and with a smile for everyone. Now he was hunched and his shoulders stooped. The once long hair she'd admired in a top-knot was little more than a fringe of grey around the sides and back of his head.

But the smile was the same.

"You heard then?"

"I think half the street heard you talking at each other." He shook his head and grinned. "I'd say you should try to talk to each other, but I'd be wasting my breath, wouldn't I?"

"Probably. Has she ever listened to anyone?"

Hadri put his arms around her shoulders. "No more than you did when you left us, little Nyaya. We breed stubborn women in this family. It can be very helpful at times, if difficult to live with."

She flinched slightly as he pressed a little too much on one of her bruises.

"What happened to you?" he asked in alarm. "A fight."

"Yes." She hugged him back, cautious of herself. "I bled a little, got a lot of bruises. Dislocated my shoulder."

"The left again?" he hissed. "You have to be careful of that. Have you seen a surgeon? The militia kept one on call in my day."

"If they do now, it's the first I've heard of it. I went to Ghora, down by the docks."

Her uncle frowned. "I don't know him. Whose family is he from?"

"He's a foreigner." Nyaya saw Hadri's eyes sadden and added: "He's cheap."

"We can afford a proper surgeon for you. Does your mother know you're hurt?"

"No. And don't tell her. She might pay for a surgeon, but she'd hold it over me just like she does everything else. Anything to remind me of my place."

"You resent it that much?"

"I know I didn't complete my apprenticeship," Nyaya sighed. "I've never asked her for more than that. I swore before the idols of the Golden Lord and the Pale Mistress that I sought no more place than to finish my apprenticeship as part of the family. But she has to keep hammering it in, acting like I'm throwing my weight around. When did I ever demand more than the others? Tell me that?"

"Apprentices are children. You're a great many things, my niece, but you're not a child. And so..." He shrugged. "She expects more."

"Well I can't be what she wants." Nyaya released her grip on him. "I have to get changed and go back out."

"I can go instead," he offered. "I still remember how to use a spread-the-water knife in a pinch and you can get some sleep."

Nyaya's lips curled into a fond smile. "No uncle, you don't need to do that. I'll be fine."

E-X-A-L-T-E-D

The attic room Nyaya shared with the other apprentices was empty but looking at their bedrolls she could see some merit to what Hadri said. The others were smaller and surrounded by the panoply of youth aspiring to adulthood. Her own and the knapsack that all her possessions were crammed into was a contrast.

Rummaging through the sack, she pulled out her spare shirt and kilt. Made in the workshops below they were sturdy, practical and with a traditional pattern woven into it, one that would endure more than the dye prints on the clothes that she was wearing. It wasn't that her mother and the other master tailors couldn't make fine garments - they did. In financial terms it was about half the business that they got - but depending on the market for luxuries was risky so the other half of the business was journeymen and apprentices making the sort of clothes that could be worn working.

There was a lot more demand for that sort of thing.

Stripping down, she pulled a jar from where it had been nestled into her cloak and started rubbing the paste inside across her bruises and the healing abrasions. The jar was about half empty and Nyaya tried to be economical - she'd bought it from an alchemist near Lap and she certainly didn't have the means to have someone bring her more.

Made with a weed that grew only on the sides of the mountainous statue in whose lap the city of Lap lay, the paste was sworn to clean and numb the pain of minor wounds. It worked, in her experience, fairly well. It would also stain her clothes if she clad herself before it had dried, so she sat there and waited.

Waited and thought.

Nyaya didn't know Mnemon Dhana, although now that she thought back, she'd seen him in passing before - walking through the upper districts of the city. He'd been just another rich man wearing white robes - if she'd registered him at all she'd thought he was bragging of an association with House Ragara, the family of An Teng's satrap. Apparently both Ragara and Mnemon incorporated white into their heraldry.

He was just a mortal though. Why set a demon on him? It seemed excessive. Were all the mortal assassins busy? If a sorcerer could be spared to summon a demon for this purpose, it couldn't be lack of resources that was the problem.

Of course, using a third party like a demon was deniable - it wasn't as if a demon could testify and even if it did, who would trust its words?

Dhana said that Lalaca wouldn't send a demon after him, even though they'd fallen out. Of course, he could be wrong about that. The sorcerer wasn't averse to using demons in general, witness how he'd hired one out to Abunai the Elder all those years ago.

Who else might be behind it? Ghora claimed he could summon a demon but not control one. That seemed to let him out, assuming it could be confirmed. He and Dhana didn't seem to know each other so there probably wasn't a personal motive. He might have been hired though.

There were other sorcerers of course. If a Dragonblooded sorcerer was doing this for political reasons it would be almost impossible to prove anything. It might be dangerous even to try. Getting between two warring Great Houses invited getting run down by raging demi-gods who'd barely notice you were even there.

Outside of that? Well there were always rumours that the Lintha pirates - a plague upon shipping in this part of the world - who were rumoured to worship demons. It was just a rumour, of course, because the only people who could confirm it were either the Lintha themselves or people who they'd captured - the latter of whom, it was gravely agreed by every sailing community Nyaya knew of, were never seen again.

That's probably a bit farfetched, she thought to herself. Why would the Lintha, assuming that they can summon a demon, send it after one lone dynast? Why would he come to their attention? If someone - if anyone - wants to strike at a Great House, there are better, more damaging targets and while those would be harder targets to cause harm to, if you're going to send a demon then you're prepared to handle those challenges.

What's different about Dhana?

Then she sat up sharply. And why was even down in the lower districts at night anyway? It was too late at night for any regular business and in his social circles, nothing would have been happening down there.

That left... what? A social encounter outside the upper classes of Salt-Founded Glory? Well it wasn't impossible, but it wasn't that likely either. And if it wasn't a social call he wanted to keep quiet then it had to be business. Not regular business but the sort that's carried out at the dead of night...

And might well have demons cut loose if things went sour.

"Pale Mistress and Maiden of Endings," Nyaya murmured, "Let me be wrong. Please, please let me be wrong."

If it was something Dhana wanted to keep discreet then there was every likelihood he could simply tell Kanuna that it was none of the militia's business and officially that would be that. If Kanuna was for whatever reason mad enough to investigate anyway, a word from Dhana would bring the wrath of Prince Laxhander down upon everyone involved.

Which left every likelihood that figuring out who was behind this might have to be done behind the back of the victim and his powerful family.

Nyaya ran her fingers over the paste and judged it dry enough for her to cover it up. She pulled on her clean clothes and folded those she'd been wearing. If she detoured down to the temple of the Golden Lord then she could make a prayer and then drop off the clothes at Abunai's before reporting in.