Monsoon Mists by Christina Courtenay Page B

as well seek out his contact here. Even if he didn’t actually hand the fake talisman over immediately, perhaps he could find some useful information by following the man around.
    Lord, he was turning into a spy, but he didn’t see how else he could learn what he needed to know. Handling stolen goods went against everything he felt was right and he didn’t like the fact that his friend had been coerced into accepting this task either. For both reasons, he’d like to unmask the real culprits and if possible perhaps even return the talisman to its rightful owner.
    The morning after his encounter with the ‘Ice Widow’, he’d rented the house Andrew recommended.
    ‘It’s not one of the imposing stone mansions along the river, but nonetheless a sizeable property,’ Andrew had explained. ‘It belongs to a bania .’
    Jamie knew wealthy Hindu merchants, called banias , lived near the English Factory, but in a part of Saudagarpura called Nanavat . Their homes were in less ostentatious buildings made of brick, and in the form of terraced houses, sharing their walls with their neighbours. One of these had been available to rent, and came complete with two servants – a butler cum valet called Kamal and his wife, the cook, Soraya.
    ‘This will suit me fine, thank you.’ Jamie had come to an agreement with the owner’s representative after a lengthy haggling session, which ended satisfactorily for both parties. It hadn’t taken him long to settle in and become bored, which was why he decided to begin his search the following evening, when the worst of the day’s heat had subsided.
    ‘I’m going out for a stroll,’ Jamie told his temporary manservant. ‘Please ask your wife to serve the evening meal in a couple of hours.’
    ‘Very good, sahib .’
    Leaving the house was like stepping into something tangible, like a moist cloud, the heat so heavy and thick one could almost touch it. Despite the late hour, it enveloped him, weighing down his shoulders, but he was used to it and ignored the discomfort. He thought he’d walk to the nearby bazaar and try to find the street where the gem merchants had their premises. Andrew had told him roughly where it was located and as the town wasn’t huge, Jamie was in no hurry to reach his destination. He wandered the crooked lanes, sauntering slowly and taking everything in with interest.
    He found it endlessly fascinating to study people going about their daily business and comparing this street scene to those he’d seen in other countries. There were similarities – the merchants trying to attract customers, the housewives or servants buying provisions, the pickpockets and other undesirables sidling around – but the subtle differences in race, clothing and customs made for a unique scene. Here he saw hordes of people dressed mostly in white. The only splashes of colour were provided by the turbans most of the men wore and the sashes tied round their waists.
    None of the streets were laid out in an orderly fashion and there were a great many narrow lanes leading off in all directions. Jamie had found during his first visit that it was very easy to get lost as some of the smaller ones sometimes stopped abruptly with no way through. They weren’t paved either and a continuous nuisance was the amount of dust swirling around, which was likely to choke you or at the very least make you cough. A stream of conveyances of various kinds didn’t help matters.
    Along the way, Jamie passed the street where the sarafs , or money changers, had their shops. He didn’t need their services at present, but he’d made use of them in the past, as everyone did. With the many different types of coin in circulation, it was unavoidable. Beggars held out their hands in pitiful supplication, but Jamie hardened his heart to most of them. He’d be a very poor man now if he had given alms to each and every one. Occasionally he couldn’t resist, however, especially if he saw someone maimed in any