The Temple Dancer (2 page)

"You shouldn't take this poison. If your mother were here! That red
stuff only will make you sick and you are so beautiful without it."

"You only say that because you love me. I need it-I must not be seen
with dark skin."

"What's wrong with dark skin?"

Lucinda lowered her eyes, regretting her words, for of course Helene
was dark as shadow. "I'm sorry, dear one," Lucinda said in Hindi, and
though Lucinda could not see it, Helene smiled. "You know my cousin has
just come from Macao. I haven't seen him in years," she went on in Portuguese. "I must look my best. It's fashionable to be pale. All the Lisbon
ladies use arsenico these days."

Helene snorted. "So they are pale, yes. But they are not pretty, not like
my bebe. Why all this fuss over a cousin? What would your mother say,
our lady rest her soul? You are pledged! If your father were alive ..."

But Lucinda had stopped paying attention. Through the window that
looked to the sea, a salt breeze carried the sounds of Goa: the cries of street
merchants in Hindi and Portuguese, the blare of gongs and drums from a
nearby Shiva temple, and on top of all, the golden cathedral bell of Santa
Catarina, tolling the hour.

The breeze whispered through Lucinda's upswept hair. She swirled a
stiff silk shawl over her shoulders. "How do I look?"

Too young, thought Helene. Too young to wear a corset laced so tight,
or a bodice cut so low. Oh, what will people think? The pupils of Lucinda's
eyes, now huge from belladonna, glistened: dark, inviting, like hidden
pools lit by moonlight. "I suppose you look all right," Helene said at last.

But Lucinda had not waited. Already she had found the door, already reached the stairs to her uncle's office. Until her father's death the year before, the halls had glowed, bathed in lamplight. But the arrival of Uncle
Carlos changed all that. He hated waste; he would stamp through the halls,
snuffing out candles with his fingertips. "Thrift!" he'd shout to anyone in
earshot. "Economy!" But in the dimness, Lucinda's deliciously dilated eyes
could see perfectly. Still, she edged forward with one hand pressed against
the wood-paneled walls, for the arsenico was making her feel light-headed.

Carlos Dasana glared across his table, awash with papers, and wagged a heavy
finger at his young relation. "Don't you realize the trouble you are in?"

Geraldo Silveira shifted in the hard wooden scat-perhaps to adjust his
coat, perhaps to hide the amusement in his eyes. His long fingers played
with the lace cuffs of his shirt. "I apologize, Tio Carlos ..

"Don't insult me with your apologies! You killed a man, Aldo! You can't
apologize for murder! Dueling in the streets! They hang men for this!" Carlos pounded on the heavy wooden table so hard that a pile of papers bounced
into the air. "And the husband you killed was your own cousin!"

"I only found that out after, Tio. I apolog..."

"For the love of God, hold your tongue! If it had not been for me,
Aldo, you'd be locked in the stocks, getting your feet roasted. And then to
Lisbon and the gallows, that's what. You owe me a debt!"

Carlos drummed his fingers on the dark wood table and considered the
young man. "You're too handsome. You've been spoiled. All mothers spoil
their children, but my cousin went too far, rest her soul. And your useless
father ..."

"He was a good man, Tio." Geraldo's eyes flashed, but he kept his
voice calm. "You can't blame him."

"Did I ask your opinion? I'll blame who I wish! Your father was a
rounder and a fool. Like you, too handsome for his own good. Learn from
his mistakes, Aldo." The older man stopped glaring at the youth and
tugged his mustache. "But I blame myself as well. I have indulged you too
much. I should have..."

Carlos Dasana stopped short, rubbed his brow with his heavy fingers,
and sighed. "You can't live like you have no future, Aldo! Keep your fonte in your pants. You can't bed every woman you see just because you get a
tingle. Not if they're married, for the love of the Virgin! Those you keep
your hands off! Otherwise people end up dead!"

"With luck, only the husband, Tio."

Carlos Dasana's eyes bulged, and a vein began to pulse across his forehead. Geraldo leaned forward, worried that he might have a fit, when
Dasana burst out with a roaring laugh. "Only the husband, eh?" He struggled to frown. "Why not take a bayadere, for the love of the Virgin?
They're cheap enough, and better than any wife, eh?"

Geraldo leaned back and looked straight into the older man's eyes.
"Where's the sport, Uncle?" His sharp face slowly opened into a sly grin.

Ah, he's a Dasana, all right, Carlos thought. "Look here, Aldo, I've intervened on your behalf. You've been placed in my custody. Sent to Goa
instead of to the gallows."

Geraldo lowered his head. "Tio Carlos, I wish to thank you ..

Carlos snorted. "Don't. Before you're done, you might wish for the
gallows! To be frank, you couldn't have come to Goa at a worse time." He
leaned back in his chair. "After twenty years of combat, the Pepper Wars
are over, Aldo, and the blasted Dutch have won."

"You can't be serious. Surely the Portuguse fleet ..."

The old man sputtered. "The fleet? Have you looked in the harbor?
Do you see a fleet anywhere? They're gone! Gone to Brazil! We've handed
all Asia to the Dutch, but now, now we must do everything to save precious Brazil! Face facts, Aldo! Lisbon has abandoned us! Goa is lost! The
Dutch have strangled us. Only a few dhows will even try to run that blockade."

Carlos Dasana shook his head. "Our countrymen flee like rats. They
take what they can carry and run, the cowards. Only a few hundred Portuguese remain in Goa. Even the goddammed priests have gone, most of
them."

Dasana hesitated, as if his next thoughts were too painful to voice. Geraldo seemed to sense this. He leaned across the table. "Come, Tio. I am not
a child to be toyed with, nor did you bring me here from kindness. What
do you need of me?"

Carlos blinked and bit his lip. "You're right. I need someone I can trust.
Someone of my blood. The Pepper Wars have wiped us out. The Dasanas are
near ruin.

It took a moment before Geraldo could reply. "I don't believe it!"

"My brother, rest his soul, made a mess of things. I don't know if I can
repair them. We're out of cash. We have goods, Lord yes! Factors full of
goods. But the Dutch have us by the balls. We can't trade, Aldo, and without trade we're dying." Dasana leaned close to him, his voice now a harsh
whisper. "How much do you know about the country of Bijapur?"

"Those Muslim devils? Only that they have been our enemies for a hundred years. First those infidels surrendered Goa to us, and then they attacked
us! They massacred our colonists, and they slaughtered our women. . ."

Dasana waved his hand. "That's in the past. Forgive and forget."

"Tio Carlos!"

"Enemies are a luxury for the rich, Aldo. We're broke. We'll take all the
friends we can buy. Now, listen, Aldo, listen well. We have one chance to
change things." Carlos glanced around the room, as though spies might be
anywhere. "The sultan of Bijapur died about a year ago. His heir's only nine
years old. Bijapur's gone mad. The widow queen, the Sultana, has come out
of the harem to try to rule. It's unheard of ... a complete disasater. So now
the Sultana has agreed to appoint a regent, and there lies all our hope." The
older man arranged himself in his chair. "This is why I have brought you
here. I have a job for you, Aldo."

Geraldo sat up straight, eyes hooded and watchful. Carlos noted this,
and continued: "The Dasanas have one final throw. If our man becomes regent, he'll give us a trade monopoly in Bijapur for eight years."

"Our man? Who is our man?"

"Wall Khan, the grand vizier of Bijapur." Carlos bit his lip. "He should
get the regency. He should-but it won't be easy. He's got the Sultana to contend with, and she's a handful. And then there's the army-armies are always
a problem-but this is even worse because the commander's a Hindi, and
Hindis are unpredictable. Worst of all: eunuchs. The Khaswajara is a eunuch.
He'll have all his brothers plotting for him. Even so, despite it all, Wall Khan
will win. He should win. He must."

"What have you done to persuade him, Tio Carlos? How have you
brought him to our side?"

"Do you think it was easy? Baksheesh. Bribing. There is no other
way.... Wall Khan is too powerful to threaten. So it must be a bribe, and a
great one. The man has refined tastes. The bribe must inspire him, not insult
him." Carlos allowed himself a small smile. "We've managed to procure a certain item for him-something unique. Something he covets. Aye, something he covets more than life. A half a lakh of hun we paid-that's equivalent to forty thousand rials." Geraldo's eyes grew wide.

"Our bribe comes all the way from Orissa, Aldo-that's the length
we've gone to get it-and arrives by dhow today if the wind is right. Then
off to Bijapur within the week. I want you to go with the caravan. We've
hired the best settlement man in Hindustan-a fellow named Da Gama.
You may have met him, he's a distant relation." Geraldo shook his head.
"Well, Da Gama's the best: he's honest, he's dull, he has no imagination or
ambition, but he's deadly and ready for violence."

"He sounds a perfect fit, Tio."

"Dammit, Aldo-I'm relying on you! I need you to keep your eyes
open.

Geraldo lowered his head so Carlos could not see his smile. "I shall
study him, Tio."

Carlos gave him a withering look, as if doubting that Geraldo had ever
studied in his life. He sighed. "I'm going to have to shut down this house.
For a while, at least. We'll lose face, of course, but it can't be helped."

"You're returning to Lisbon?"

"Not to Lisbon. To Bijapur. Like it or not, the fates of the Dasanas are
intertwined with our old enemies." Carlos looked into his nephew's eyes
with unexpected frankness. "I don't know how I'm going to tell Lucinda.
She's lost her mother, her father-now to lose her home ..."

"But isn't Lucinda pledged to be married?"

"That's off!" Carlos barked. "The bastard heard about our business
problems and . . ." Carlos's voice broke off suddenly. Geraldo thought he
was choking. "I love that sweet girl," Carlos mumbled. He tugged a dark
kerchief from his sleeve, wiped his eyes, and gave his nose a shaking blow.
"You must not say anything to her, Aldo. Not a word about the bastard
dropping the engagement. I'll tell her when the time is right. And nothing
about moving to Bijapur, either! She'd rather die than leave Goa." Carlos
examined the kerchief and then wiped his eyes. "Keep your mouth shut
around her, do you hear? She's fragile. She's become as a daughter to me."

Again Carlos blew his nose, but this time, to Geraldo's relief, he
stuffed his kerchief away without a glance. "Well, it's business. It can't be
helped. In the meantime, you'll accompany the bribe to Wall Khan. You and the settlement man. That's why I brought you here. Don't fail me.
Earn my trust. Succeed and you'll have my gratitude. Fail, and I'll send you
to Lisbon and the gallows. Do we understand each other?"

Geraldo nodded.

"Very well. I'll say no more. You're my cousin's only son. Who else can I
trust? We need that monopoly ... and the bribe is the key! Our only hope is
getting her to Wall Khan. She's worth a fortune, so keep your eyes open! Tell
Wali Khan that if he becomes regent, then she's all his."

Geraldo's brow furrowed. "She? Do you mean a ship, Uncle?"

"Not a ship-what gave you that idea? I mean the bribe! She's a
bayadere, boy ... a nautch girl, the finest whore that's ever been!"

The door opened, and as a wave crashes on the shore, Lucinda burst in, her
white dress an explosion of brightness in Tio Carlos's dark office. A fragrance of jasmine and roses surrounded her as she floated across the carpet
on silk-slippered feet. At the door, a sheepish-looking secretary lifted his
hands hopelessly and Carlos shook his head and waved the man away. They
had as much hope of stopping a cyclone.