"You might do better keeping to the verge," Tulsi suggested. "I will walk there as well."
Sanat Ji Mani made a gesture of concession. "You are right; trying to walk on the road would be grueling."
Tulsi made her way to the far side of the road and onto the dusty shoulder. "This is wide enough."
"Yes," he said, and stumbled over the furrows to join her. "Do you want to lead, or shall I?"
"I am faster, but you see better," she said. "You can lead for a while."
Sanat Ji Mani stepped around her. "If I lag, tell me."
"If it bothers me I will," Tusli said, and worked the stopper from the water-skin. "Do you want any?"
"I will drink later," he told her, peering ahead. "The road curves around to the east some distance ahead, at the base of that line of hills."
"Do you think we will reach it by dawn?" She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"It is possible," he said, trying to estimate the distance. "Ask me again at midnight and I will have a better estimate to give you."
"All right; I will," said Tulsi, prepared to wait until they had covered more distance. "We do not want to be caught in the open when the sun rises."
"No, we do not," he agreed, wondering what else she might have noticed about him.
"Would you be willing to hunt before you sleep? I can cook a fowl over a fire as well as anyone; I lack a knife, but I will make do." She kept her full concentration on the narrow shoulder of the road, staying four paces behind him.
"I have medicinal tools in my sack that will serve as knives; I will give you one," he said. "I will hunt before dawn."
"Good." She fell silent again, until they had gone half a league farther along the road; her breath was steady and her pace did not flag. "Timur-i had my parents killed. He made his army watch, and all his jugglers and tumblers as well. He thought my father was training a bear to attack him."
"And was he?" Sanat Ji Mani asked in a neutral voice, aware she was lying.
"No. It is no easy thing to make a bear attack a certain person. Oh, my father could have done it, given enough time and access to Timur-i's clothing, but he had neither. He would not have done such a thing, in any case, for Timur-i gave him a good living. But Timur-i sees enemies everywhere." Tulsi took a deep breath. "He had my mother killed with my father because she was his wife. He had no other reason. They did not die quickly. Timur-i watched it all, smiling. I will never forget how he smiled."
Sanat Ji Mani wanted to offer Tulsi comfort but was aware she wanted none, that she had chosen this time to tell him so that he would not console her. He considered his next remark carefully. "How old were you?"
"Nine or ten," she answered. "I was kept on because I am a good tumbler and acrobat; I had no brothers, and a girl is no threat at all."
Visions of Tishtry and Olivia, of Nicoris, of Csimenae, of Gynethe Mehaut, of Ranegonda, of Heugenet went through Sanat Ji Mani's memories; all of them were capable, accomplished women, brave and determined, yet Timur-i would consider them insignificant because they lacked brothers, if not while living, in his life. He tried to find the right words to encourage her. "Then Timur-i is blind."
Tulsi stopped walking for a moment; then a spurt of laugher erupted from her. "Yes. He is blind." She began moving again, lengthening her stride to catch up with Sanat Ji Mani.
By midnight they had gone farther than Sanat Ji Mani had supposed they could; he knew he was tiring rapidly in spite of the strength the night lent him. He looked toward the hills and estimated they were four leagues away— too far to reach in one night. "We will need to look for shelter before dawn. I will hunt and you can have what I
snare. If there is shelter from the sun, I will do well enough," he said, meaning the discomfort would be tolerable.
"A solid roof would be best, would it not?" Tulsi asked. "You would rest better completely out of the sun?"
"Yes, but that may not be possible," he told her, looking ahead along the road for anything that might provide them protection from the sun.
"You read the stars, I think," she said carefully. "You will know when we must stop walking and prepare for the daylight."
"I know something of the night-sky," he agreed. "I will not let us be caught in the open at sunrise." He heard the distant bray of an ass, and for an instant he missed Caesar, the shaggy donkey who had accompanied him through Plague-stricken France and in his travels for the next twenty years. How useful Caesar would be just now! He chuckled sadly and put the memory from his mind.
Tulsi cocked her head. "You find the coming of dawn amusing?"
"No," he said quietly. "I heard the donkey and wished we had one."
"Do you want to steal one?" Tulsi asked without any hint of condemnation.
"No. I do not want to draw any more attention to us than we must." Sanat Ji Mani peered off to the left. "There is another village that way."
"Shall we go near it?" Tulsi asked.
"No; I want you to step off the road and wait a bit." He was aware of her concern and went on, "I hope I can find a chicken or some other bird you can roast in the morning. Birds should be easier to catch near a village than in the fields."
"Do you think so?" Tulsi was still uncertain.
Sanat Ji Mani took his sack from his shoulder and turned toward her. "Keep this by you; it will hamper my hunting, and the stirrup is trouble enough."
This reassured her. She took the sack and held it tightly. "I will wait for you."
"Listen closely. If you hear anything that tells you I am in trouble, continue down the road, and remain on it. I will find you as soon as I can." He did not want to add to her apprehension, but he did not want to put her in danger on his account. "If the road divides, take
the branch leading south. That way you can travel on, and I will not lose you."
"All right," she said nervously.
Sanat Ji Mani looked down into her face. "I will not leave you to wander these roads alone, Tulsi Kil: believe this."
"I am trying," she responded with an unsteady attempt at a smile.
"Very good," he approved, and stepped off the road into the scrub that lined its path; the growth was not too dense and he could make his way through it without much difficulty, although he twice caught his stirrup on a tangle of roots and had to struggle to keep from falling. He reached the edge of the village a short while later and stayed in the cover of the brush as he tried to get the lay of the land around the rough wooden stockade that surrounded the small houses. Such a small and isolated place would probably not have a night-watchman: the villagers would rely on their animals to warn them of approaching danger. He saw a small pond; it smelled of ducks and other waterbirds. These would be his targets if only he could keep from alarming them; they would quack and honk and screech if disturbed. From inside the walls of the village came a sudden barking of three dogs; the birds sleeping around the pond responded with the uneasy sounds of disrupted rest. Goats and sheep bleated, and from the undergrowth beyond the village, rustling branches and a high, guttural cough announced the presence of a leopard cat, or a fishing cat; both these animals were fierce fighters but generally shy of people, and both were smaller than leopards or tigers. Sanat Ji Mani remained where he was, watching to see if a striped feline head would emerge from the brush. The cat coughed again and the dogs renewed their barking.
Taking advantage of this ruckus, Sanat Ji Mani went to the edge of the pond, and was met by a flurry of wings as ducks, egrets, geese, and cranes strove to take flight. He made a determined snatch at the nearest large bird and succeeded in catching a Siberian goose. The bird honked and battered its wings, trying to snake its head around to peck at its captor's eyes; Sanat Ji Mani held on until he could take what he needed from the irate bird. When he was done, he spat feathers out of his mouth and broke the bird's neck; the loss of the goose would be attributed to the hunting cat and would not cause anyone in the village to suspect his theft. At least, he told himself, the
goose would provide Tulsi two good meals: that was a relief.
"I heard noises," she said as he came up to her beside the road and handed her the goose.
"I was not the only cause," he said.
"A goose," she approved. "Good-sized, too."
"I will help you pluck it when we find a place to remain for the day," he said.
"I will flay it; then there is no need to waste time plucking, if you have a knife I might use. I know there is one in your medicinal supplies," said Tulsi, then lowered her eyes, abashed at her temerity. "I will look for herbs to rub on the flesh."
"As will I," said Sanat Ji Mani. He hoped to find shelter soon, for carrying this newly dead bird would attract cats and jackals; he did not want to have to fight off such animals. "You may have one of my knives," he told her as he took his sack from her. "I will give it to you now."
"Do you think we will find shelter before first light?" she asked as she took the little knife he proffered.
"If we are not too particular about it," he answered, watching her begin to cut the skin away from the bird's neck. "A hut, a cave, a place we will be protected."
"Yes," Tulsi agreed. "You see better in the dark than I do. You will know the place before I do. If you will tell me where to look, I can—" She stopped, her whole body attuned to listening. "I thought I heard—"
Sanat Ji Mani's keen hearing picked up a flurry of activity from the pond. "It's not after us. I think it is leopard cat: something about that size was stalking the birds when I caught the goose. It must have found a meal."
"I will drop the skin and the guts as soon as I am done," she said.
"Throw them as far as you can. You do not want the scent leading a hunter to us." His voice was low, as if he did not want to be overheard.
Tulsi relaxed and resumed walking. "Do you know where we are going?"
"Away from Timur-i; eventually I would like to reach Chaul on the west coast and cross the Arabian Sea." The prospect of ending the
discomfort of this journey with many miserable days in the hold of a ship was daunting, but he did not flinch at the anticipated wretchedness; he would be leaving danger behind, and that more than compensated for what he would have to endure.
"Then you are going to leave?" Tulsi asked in a small voice.
"Yes. You may come with me, if you like," said Sanat Ji Mani.
"I may; I will think about it," said Tulsi.
"Pick up kindling as we go. We will have need of it," he added. "I will find fuel for us."
Toward the end of the night as they reached a rolling series of hillocks, Sanat Ji Mani found the ruins of what had once been some manner of fortress or guard-post. Most of its stones were broken and worn, but there was a cellar beneath the scattered flagging of the inner courtyard, and they levered a few of the paving-stones aside so they could go down into it, careful in where they walked, for snakes and spiders often occupied such abandoned places.
"I do not smell anything larger, not even bats," said Sanat Ji Mani as he went unsteadily down the narrow steps.
"Is that good?" Tulsi remained in the opening they had made; she had a fair amount of dry twigs and leaves in the skirt of the short gauze caftan she wore, more than enough to get a fire going once they chose the place. The goose lay beneath the kindling, its skin, feathers, and innards neatly removed while they walked; it was a skill she had learned long ago, traveling with Timur-i's army, for no one stopped the march for so minor a thing as food preparation. Tulsi kept the slender little knife Sanat Ji Mani had provided her for the task.
"It may be. Leave a little hole in the stones when you come down; otherwise you and I will be choked on the smoke from your cooking fire." Sanat Ji Mani looked around the cellar and saw a crude wall-carving of Yama, the Lord of the Dead. Dust had drifted into the cellar and eddied against the walls; there was no sign that the cellar had been used to hold bodies— not so much as a knuckle-bone protruded from the dust, no footprint marred it.
"What is it?" Tulsi hesitated, aware he had seen something.
"A carving, nothing more." He put down the small dry branches he had been carrying. "I think we will be safe here."
"Good," she said. "I am worn out. How did you keep walking?"
"I had no wish to remain in the sun another day." He thought of the road outside of Baghdad, and did his best not to shudder. "This is large enough to be comfortable and small enough to be safe. Bring me your kindling and we'll have a fire soon enough."
"Will the smoke attract attention?" Tulsi asked as she came down into the cellar, her free hand extended in front of her so she could feel her way in the dark; her hand touched him.
"It may, and it may not." Sanat Ji Mani dropped down onto his knees. "Give me the kindling." He took his flint-and-steel from his wallet and prepared to start their fire. "I am going to pile up the dust; it will absorb the grease from cooking."
