Different Senses (49 page)

At least there were no more
attacks, bomb threats, or even nasty letters. The constant police
presence probably had something to do with that, and since Mitul
hadn’t been located, we were no closer to discovering who had fired
the shots at Ursemin’s house or knifed Tushar. The bomb threat had
been made from a street station and could have been a prank, except
for the fact it had come direct to Ursemin’s phone number. A number
which was relatively easy to locate, but the theatre’s was even
easier to find. Lieutenant Mahre was of the opinion any further
attempt to hurt Tushar would come at the festival.

“I’ll be with him there and
back,” I told him, “and I’ll handle the driving. But while he’s on
stage, I can’t cover him.”

“The force will handle that. I
don’t suppose you could persuade him to wear body armour on
stage?”

“Not a chance. I think it’d be
sacrilegious or something.”

Mahre sighed. “Then we’ll have
to rely on observing the crowd. It’s usually good-natured and
peaceful, so anyone acting suspiciously will stick out. But I want
you to get him away from the venue as soon as the performance
finishes.”

“I think he might fight me on
that, but I’ll explain.”

“Good. If he had to pick one of
us as a lover, at least he chose a decent bodyguard. Not sure how
much longer I can justify full-time protection though. If we don’t
catch the perp soon, and there’s no further active threat, I think
the chief will say the cost will have to be borne by Tushar’s
management.”

“Can’t argue with that—though,
on the other hand, what will the chief say if Tushar’s killed on
your watch?”

Mahre winced. “Don’t. I’d
probably leave the country to get away from the angry mobs. Just
don’t let him be killed on
your
watch, sergeant.”

“I have a personal stake in
that not happening, lieutenant.” I grinned to myself when he
flushed.

I drove to Ursemin’s house, and
Tushar threw himself at me the moment I stepped through the door.
“Missed you, Javen! Oh you taste good. Let’s make love!”

“Er, sweetheart, Lalit—”

“Oh never mind him. We’ve got
an hour, he said. Lalit? We’ll be back.”

He dragged me into his
flat to make sure I understood just
how
much I’d been missed. He
threw off his clothes, managing to look desperate
and
elegant at the same time, then grabbed my hands and planted
them firmly on his perfect little butt. “Fuck me, Javen.
Please.”

“Sweetheart, we’ve got a long
trip ahead of us. Wouldn't it be better to wait until we get to the
hotel?”

“
Uh uh. Want to
feel
you
all the way until we get there.”

Well, what could a man say to
that?

After I cleaned up my lover and
smeared some soothing ointment on his bottom—he had a way of making
me get a little carried away—we found Ursemin in the living room,
deeply immersed in his reader, dealing with messages.

“All ready?” he asked
distractedly. “Is it time to go already?”

“More than time. Have you
arranged the supper basket?”

“Kitchen.” He roused himself.
“But you’re driving. When will you eat?”

“I’ll grab something now, have
more when we arrive. Time to get moving, kids.”

The traffic into Arni was the
worst I’d ever seen on roads in the region, even though most of the
indigenous visitors would be coming in by train and shuttle.
Fortunately, we picked up a police escort half an hour outside the
town, which eased us relatively quickly straight to the hotel’s
carpark.

Tushar’s aubade meant we had to
set the alarm for a completely uncivilized three in the morning.
While I stumbled around using the bathroom and trying to wake up,
Tushar sat on the floor completely still, meditating. Some ritual
he needed to do, apparently.

The police drove him and his
manager to the site. I followed a little later on the one of the
buses that had been laid on for worshippers staying in the town. By
the time I arrived, the site was packed, but oddly silent. Most of
the Nihan sat on the ground in the predawn, meditating and praying
by candlelight, the people setting up the stage working quietly,
respecting the ceremony to come. I found a spot at the back, and
hoped it all wouldn’t take too long, though I also looked forward
to seeing what this festival involved. All my indigenous friends
anticipated it as a time of exchanging news and small gifts, and
communing with nature.

A bit of nature tried to crawl
up under the cuff of my salwar, and I swatted it. Now I wished I’d
brought a cushion and a rug. The ground was bloody hard and
cold.

Just when my butt had turned to
stone, and I had started to give serious thought to going back to
the hotel, a deep, pure bell rang three times, the note ringing out
to the hills in the distance where sun rays were just barely
visible over the range.

As the last note died away,
people got to their feet, still in total silence, and I obeyed, if
only to give my arse some relief. A low murmuring followed—some
kind of group prayer, I supposed.

And then Tushar’s voice.
I hadn’t even seen him come onto the stage. He stood there alone.
No dancers, no musicians. Just him and a modest amount of
amplification. A song I hadn’t heard before, alien but beautiful,
in his clear, unearthly voice. A song of praise of the Great
Spirit, he’d said. Could have been about the price of
tus
eggs
for all I knew or cared. Didn’t change the exquisite sounds or the
harmonics that plugged straight into my spine.

People began to join in, but
not along with him—in response. Another prayer, then, with set
phrases and answers, all sung. The faces of the audience in the
slowly brightening light held peace, even ecstasy, and for the
first time, despite the huge crowd around me, my empathy didn’t
make me feel like I’d been bludgeoned with a thousand dead
fish.

The whole thing lasted about
ten minutes, and ended with a startling and slightly weird round of
applause—for Tushar? But he was clapping too. The sun for bothering
to get out of bed? No idea.

That was apparently it for the
serious part of this festival. Now for breakfast, served at dozens
of tables over to the right. In an hour or two, there’d be a short
concert, with Tushar performing again, and after that, I would take
him home.

I queued up and received a
heaped plate of idli and sambhar, along with a mug of spicy chai,
then wedged in behind a cheerful family of six to tuck into the
free food. None of the Nihan were bothered about my scrounging or
my mingling with them, though most Kelon visitors had set up their
own picnics around the edge of the site. Of course, a lot of the
Nihan probably assumed I was mixed race, which I was, in a way. I
smiled at people and was smiled at in return. No suspicion, no
hostility. I felt welcome, and wondered why it couldn’t always be
like this.

The police keeping a close eye
on things were a reminder that it couldn’t, though there were a
dozen benign reasons for their presence, and Mahre had said they
very rarely had any crowd trouble at such events. But today, at
least some of the cops were there to make sure no one took a shot
at Tushar or any other indigenous performer.

I kept an eye for people I
knew. Shardul was here, somewhere, as were Jyoti and Chandana. The
Hegal indigenous population would be holding their own local
celebrations today, and this event here in Arni ran for two days.
Many from the city would come out tomorrow to join in the fun. I
was kind of sorry not to stick around, but there was always next
year, when worrying about someone trying to kill my lover hopefully
wouldn’t be a problem.

Damn, the food was good. Almost
worth being awake at this ridiculous time of the morning, and I had
to admit, the cool air and clear light did make everything look
very pretty. When I was a cop, if I’d been up this early, it either
meant being at the scene of some personal tragedy, at the hospital
waiting to talk to a witness, or being stuck at my desk holding the
fort until shift change. Being here, I almost got the appeal of
camping, but my numb arse told me that was just crazy thinking.

I headed back to return my
plate and mug, but just as I deposited them, my phone went. “Good
morning, Shardul. Enjoying things?”

“Yes, but that’s not why I’m
calling. I just spotted your boyfriend’s ex. Mitul.”

All my senses went into
overdrive as I scanned the peaceful crowd. “Where? And where are
you? I’m by the dish collection.”

“About a hundred metres behind
you and to your left, facing the stage. He’s about ten metres from
me. Turn on tracking. I’ll keep him under surveillance.”

“No, go to one of the
police.”

“Javen, I don’t want the police
involved, not until I’ve spoken to him.”

Damn
him.
He didn’t trust the cops for good
reason, but if Mitul had a weapon and the intention to use it, I
didn’t want Shardul anywhere near him—or Mitul anywhere near the
stage. “Don’t get any closer to him.”

“I won’t. Hurry.”

Shardul had sent me the code to
allow me to track him by GPS. I followed the directions on my
phone, and in less than thirty seconds, spotted him just as he
spotted me. He signalled discreetly, and nodded to his right. I
looked around, and saw our quarry. I called Shardul. “You really
should tell the police. He might be carrying.”

“He might be, but he won’t use
it here. Trust me.”

“Shardul, he’s violent and
dangerous.”

“Trust me, Javen.”

I hissed in annoyance, but I
couldn’t argue with his request. I made my way to his side as
quickly as I could, and then we moved in. Shardul took Mitul’s arm
as I got in his face. “Mitul? Want a word with you.”

He tried to shake Shardul
loose. “Who are you? Let me go.”

“Talk to us or talk to the
police.”

“The police? What the hell
for?”

He said something in Nihani to
Shardul, who answered before turning to me. “He says he has no idea
what we’re on about.”

“Of course he doesn’t.” But
strangely, my empathy backed up his claim. “Look, Mitul, we just
want to talk to you. It might be a misunderstanding but it needs
clearing up.”

Shardul said something else in
Nihani and the kid nodded. Shardul led him away from the crowd over
past the mobile toilet facilities. “Okay, what’s this about?” Mitul
said, glaring at me, dripping suspicion and fear.

“Tushar. Someone’s been trying
to kill him. Surely you heard,” I said.

“I did but...you think it’s me?
Why?”

“You broke up with him in a bit
of a rage,” Shardul said. “Gives you a motive.”

“That’s stupid! I came to Hegal
to try and talk him into coming back with me, but when I saw how
successful he was, I knew I couldn’t compete with that.”

“So you tried to scare him into
coming home.”

“No! I love him. I’d never hurt
him.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You
gave him a black eye.”

“Because he punched me in the
kidneys. We had a fight, sure, but it wasn’t just me. Is he saying
I did this? I’d never...a knife, a gun? That’s insane.”

Shardul looked at me.
Reluctantly, I had to admit, “He’s telling the truth. But the
police still want to talk to him.”

“I’m going back home tomorrow.
Can’t you just let me go?”

The ex-cop in me said no, the
empath said yes. “Where are you staying in Hegal? Can anyone give
you an alibi for the attacks?”

“I think so. I didn’t even
arrive in Hegal until after he was hurt. That’s the reason I came
to the city.”

“Why didn’t you try and contact
him?”

“He blocked my number and I
didn’t have his address. And...well, I knew it was hopeless.” He
was as downcast as he looked. He wasn’t our man.

“Okay. This is what you do.
Shardul and I will take you over to the police so you can make a
statement. If you’re telling the truth and have an alibi, that’s
the end of it. So long as they know where you are and can contact
you, and you act as innocent as you claim to be, then you won’t
have a problem.”

“
I’m
innocent
,” Mitul said.
“And I’m here with friends.”

“I can act as your legal
representative,” Shardul said, “unless you have someone else.”

“The police can take your
details and arrange for you to come in for an interview later,” I
told him. “Going to them now will show good faith. Okay?”

“Okay.” I didn’t blame him for
being scared, but we couldn't just let him go on his way
either.

The officers on duty dealt with
the matter as I’d predicted, helped by Shardul’s presence and my
reassurances. Mitul would be subject to some unwanted surveillance
until he left the festival, which was unfortunate, but at least he
could enjoy the rest of it unmolested.

As he walked off, I muttered,
“Bugger.”

“Back to mysterious racists as
the most likely suspects.”

“You don’t sound
convinced.”

Shardul frowned. “Walk with me.
Away from—” He jerked his head at the crowd.

The sun was up completely now,
but the air was still cool, though scented with delicious cooking
smells. “I’d come back just for the food,” I joked.

“There are many paths to the
Spirit,” Shardul said deadpan. “Javen, these attacks. Does nothing
about them strike you as odd?”

“Just about everything. The
lack of threats, the lack of obvious suspects, the lack of follow
up—”

“The lack of any serious intent
to harm too. Almost as if someone wanted to make it look like
Tushar was in danger, without putting him in any.”

I stopped and stared at him.
“What are you trying to say?”