Harvest of Rubies (7 page)

My father leaned back. “This is a bad business, Sarah. You have landed yourself in a hornet’s nest. Do you know anyone in the queen mother’s household?”

“Her chief scribe.”

“You had best send for him, then.”

Nebo was a Babylonian by birth and a mountain by girth. Next to him, I was a willowy wisp. That he agreed to meet me with such alacrity was a sign of his courage, for if we were implicated by the current circumstances, we would both be severely punished.

I explained to him my suspicions. “Can you tell me what you know?” I asked. “It is to both our ladies’ advantage if we resolve this disastrous misunderstanding.”

He hesitated, thinking through my story no doubt, trying to find trickery behind my words.

“It is as you say,” he conceded finally. “Amestris has been robbed, and she is convinced that this Frada is the culprit. More importantly, she believes he did it by the order of the queen. I have rarely seen her so angry. Your lady should have a care for her health.”

I heard a sudden noise behind me in the oleander bushes and held my breath. Night had fallen and I hoped no one could see us. But sound carried. Had we been overheard? A small rabbit ran out from beneath the thick foliage. Relief made me lightheaded for a moment. How had I managed to go from a sedentary scribe to one who jumped at the sight of rabbits?

I tried to gather my thoughts again. “Why is the queen mother so convinced the culprit is Frada? What proof has she?”

“The thief left behind an expensive robe. It was recognized
by the people of the village as belonging to your lady’s man.”

“One man could not rob half an orchard!”

“No, he had help. But he must have been there himself, and in his hurry left behind this garment.”

“Why is the queen mother convinced that Frada was stealing on behalf of Damaspia?”

Nebo looked about him and dropped his voice even lower so that I had to move my face almost against his mouth to hear. “A few days ago an assistant scribe working for Frada sought an audience with Amestris. He had with him a parchment that clearly proved Frada’s perfidy. What’s more, it had the seal of your lady, indicating that not only did she know about his actions, but she herself instigated them.”

“May I see this parchment?”

“Impossible.”

“The name of the scribe? That at least, you can give me.”

Nebo groaned. “You endanger us both.”

“I swore loyalty to my queen and you to yours. Is that not worth some danger?”

“You are a young fool. And I am an old one. His name is Gaspar.”

I bowed as if to an aristocrat; I wanted him to realize how grateful I felt for his help. “Talking of danger, why did Gaspar take the risk of dismissal by exposing his superior?”

“He said he could not live with his conscience, knowing the queen mother was being cheated.”

“How noble.”

“Indeed.”

“Why did he take so long to come to Amestris? After all, the theft happened months ago.”

Nebo scratched his bald head. “I suppose his noble conscience needed time to be convinced. He must be afraid to go
back to his employer, though, for Gaspar has not returned to his post, but lingers somewhere in the city. Before you ask, I don’t know where.”

“That makes no sense. Frada is not the kind of man one fears. Why give up a well-paying job before anyone has threatened to dismiss him?”

I took my leave of Nebo more troubled than when I had first arrived. This mystery grew increasingly complicated with every step. I knew my lady had put her seal to no such document. I needed to speak to Frada, but it would take more precious hours to summon him than I had. I decided that I would have to content myself by sending a message. In the meantime, there was this conscience-stricken fellow, Gaspar, to find.

The dinner hour had long passed when I found one of the queen’s couriers and entrusted him with a letter for Frada, impressing on him the urgency of the situation. The speed of Persian couriers was legendary. The Achaemenid kings seemed to know of every important occurrence throughout their far-flung kingdom almost the moment it happened. Their secret was in part the dazzling speed of their messengers. But even that legendary swiftness might not be enough to give me my answers in time.

It had been a grueling day, but I was too fretful to think of sleep. My grumbling stomach reminded me that I had not eaten since breakfast. I made my way to the servants’ kitchens in the women’s quarter, knowing there would be little to choose from this time of night. I managed to scavenge a large piece of Lavash bread and a generous slice of sheep cheese. In the herb garden I spied some mint in the dark and rolled it into
my bread with the cheese. I sat near a clump of tarragon and chewed thoughtfully. Water trickled soothingly somewhere near. The scent of mint and tarragon filled the air. All appeared to be well with the world. My mind knew better.

I wondered what would happen if I could not find the answers to this riddle in time. I knew my father feared the worst—feared that by involving myself in a political intrigue I had endangered my life. This, I realized, was not my fear. Damaspia was not a violent woman, nor was she in the habit of killing servants who disappointed. She did demote them with rapid decisiveness, however. Or, like my predecessor, got rid of those who ceased to please her. The idea of such public shame made me break into a cold sweat. The thought of failing to win her approval—failing to accomplish what was required of me—was enough to reduce me to a shaking mass of nerves. I could not bear the weight of failure.

With a sigh, I retired to my narrow, windowless chamber. My three roommates were already asleep when I came in, an unhappy but regular circumstance, as I still needed to unroll my bedding and would probably raise their ire with the noise I was bound to make. To my surprise, I found my bed already made. At the foot slept my temporary servant, Pari. I blessed her under my breath as I crawled under the fresh sheets. From somewhere, she had acquired essence of orange blossoms and had scented my bedding. I decided that I could grow accustomed to having a servant of my own, and before long, fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

I woke up to a headache and Pari’s unsmiling face. “You’re in trouble, mistress,” she said.

She made it sound as though this was a personal reflection on her. Alarmed, I said, “What?”

“The cook says you took food without permission last night.”

I sighed with relief. “Is that all?”

Yawning, I reached for my tunic at the foot of my bed where I left it every night, and found it missing. I looked about me, puzzled.

“You need a fresh one, mistress,” Pari said in her soft voice. “This one needs to be washed.”

“It’s fine.”

From behind her, she pulled out the disputed garment. “I will show you: these are sweat stains, you see? Here is a dried-up crust of food from two days ago; I recognize the sauce from the dinner in the servant’s dining hall. And here, I think, is plain dirt, from sitting on the ground.” She sounded shocked at the idea.

“Oh. I hadn’t noticed.”

Pari was too polite to scold me. “Where do you keep your clean ones?”

I showed her the chest that contained all of my worldly goods. She rummaged for a few moments and handed me a long white cotton tunic. I felt too embarrassed to tell my borrowed servant that the dress was tight and forced myself into it like a stuffed grape leaf. Pari sighed when she saw the results and went off to wash my clothes.

I found a scarf and wrapped it around my shoulders for modesty and retired to my office. Setting the Persian tablet before me, I sat and stared at it again, trying to pry out more clues. If only I could convince Damaspia to give me a little more time. If only I could find this man Gaspar and force him into confessing the truth. If only Frada could unlock the key
to the source of the parchment bearing the queen’s seal. My life hung in the balance of too many
if onlys
.

One of two assistant scribes who reported to me sat studying a parchment on his cramped desk opposite me. Letting the parchment roll, he turned to me. “I cannot work out this payment for the queen’s records.”

The queen’s records! Of course!
Meticulous records were kept of every transaction made to or from members of the royal household throughout the years. In those records, one could sometimes find precious details about the servant who was being recompensed.

“You are a genius,” I cried as I flew to find my way to the hall of records, leaving my assistant shaking his astounded jowls in my wake.

It took me three hours to locate the documents pertaining to Gaspar. Most of them referred to him as a resident of the village where he worked. My persistence finally paid off, however, when one of the earlier records gave me enough details to locate his parents.

Conveniently, they lived not far from the palace walls. Although technically Persepolis was a sprawling collection of palaces, gardens, and pavilions as well as the administrative nerve center of the Persian Empire, it was also surrounded by a city and several villages, which had sprung up to accommodate the thousands who worked in conjunction with the palace. The name of
Persepolis
invoked all these things: capital; palace; hunting grounds; city; the most magnificent structure the world had ever known.

I decided to take Pari with me, hoping that the presence of a servant would give me a more official appearance. Excited at the prospect of visiting the town, Pari forgot that I was a cook-displeasing, filth-encrusted, lowly scribe, and looked at me
with adoring eyes. Only her threat of giving me a bath and treating my hair with perfumed olive oil and the angels knew what else when we returned home darkened our pleasant stroll. That and the prospect of the upcoming interview.

Gaspar’s parents lived in a rundown dwelling located on a narrow lane. Flies gathered around a dirty puddle next to the front entrance; we disturbed their feasting as we took our places near the mud wall and they began to try to land on us with dogged persistence.

I was waving my arms about in an attempt to discourage them when the curtain was swished open by an old woman with leathery skin. Her eyes widened as she saw Pari and me. I lowered my arms with haste and tried to look dignified.

“I am Sarah, Senior Scribe to Queen Damaspia. I am here on official business.”