That left the problem, however, of Rahma. Waltzing into the village with her was out of the question. He had absolutely no good reason to be traveling with an unattached, unrelated female. Part of being able to maintain the illusion of expertise came from the Sharamilans’ faith in his character. He had spent a great deal of time constructing the reputation of a studious, upright champion of farmers. Introducing anything to refute that claim could endanger his ability to maintain the scam. As close as he was getting to leaving the country, he still had too far to go.
When their path rounded a large, rocky outcropping, the village became visible in the distance. As’ad stopped walking and set down the cart handles. Rahma’s monologue about tunic patterns, which he hadn’t been listening to, paused.
He had been planning what to say to her for the last twenty minutes, but now that it was time, his words felt flat and unbelievable. “I would greatly appreciate it if you did not join me in town. I’m hoping it will be a quick stop to refresh supplies.”
“Oh?” she inquired, with a bland innocence that made his palms sweat.
“It’s that whole . . . reputation thing. You understand.”
She ignored the fumbling in his explanation and nodded with all seriousness. “Oh, yes. We wouldn’t want people to get the wrong idea.”
Her smile did little for As’ad’s nerves, but she didn’t question it when he removed her pack and set it at her feet. He left for town both relieved and vaguely unsettled.
About fifteen minutes after leaving the girl behind, he paused to dig out the pipe and arrange it more visibly in the handcart. He would rather the village inhabitants begin forming their own ideas as soon as possible. The less he had to prompt them, the simpler it would be. When he glanced back, Rahma was nowhere in sight. He rather unconvincingly told himself that she was merely helping his cause by staying hidden.
As’ad rolled into the village shortly after midday. Many families and workers were finishing lunch, and a good number of them looked to be considering naps. A gray-haired woman who may have been in her fifties or early sixties approached him first.
“Hail, traveler. Welcome to Qarya.”
He nodded deeply and thanked her. Her shrewd eyes drank in his appearance and the visible contents of his cart, including the conspicuous pipe.
“This may seem rather forward of me, young man, but are you, perhaps, the one known as the Pied Piper?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The woman gave a cry of delight and clapped her hands. Others began moving closer to him, as well.
“Let me introduce myself. My name is Ruha, and I’m the mayor of this humble village. How can we help you?”
While the leader of their village was smiling, some of the others looked agitated when his identity was revealed. A man, who was maybe a decade younger than the mayor and wore a fierce black beard, stepped forward.
“Is Qarya about to be overrun?”
As’ad shook his head. “Apart from the specimens I keep caged in my handcart, I have not seen any signs of rats in the vicinity. Nor does your village fit the pattern I’ve established so far.”
The large man lowered thick, black eyebrows that balanced out his beard. “Then why are you here?”
“Oh, hush, Rais.” The mayor set a hand on his arm, and As’ad was able to see a family resemblance between the two. “True diligence requires being thorough.” She looked to As’ad again. “I imagine anomalies are always a possibility.”
As’ad silently thanked her for providing a reasonable answer without him needing to say a word. He ducked his head. “Assumptions are dangerous in my line of work.”
The gruff man, who was likely the mayor’s son or nephew, relaxed his stance. “How can we be of service?”
“A survey of why certain areas aren’t being hit with this unnatural plague could be just as valuable as discovering why others are. Do you mind if I ask more questions than you probably want to answer?” As’ad grinned at the crowd.
A few answering chuckles let him know he was hitting the right tone. The mayor promised that he could go anywhere and talk to anyone; all the village residents would be more than happy to assist him in his investigation.
While he still had their full attention, he said something about grabbing his notebook and flipped back the main cover of his handcart. The action “accidentally” revealed how little food he had. He coughed, then quickly pulled the cover back into place. His second attempt to retrieve the writing supplies was less unrestrained. As’ad kept his head down as though embarrassed, but when he risked a peek at the mayor, she was already exchanging knowing glances with some of the folks in the crowd.
After that, it was simply a matter of wandering over every square inch of the place, asking the same standard questions over, and over, and over—and over—again. The sun had nearly set by the time As’ad felt he had sold the act. Several kind villagers had provided water and snacks throughout the afternoon.
Ruha collected him about then and brought him to an open area that had been filled with tables. It seemed he would be well-fed tonight. A twisting sensation in his middle accompanied the memory of Rahma waiting somewhere outside of town. Maybe he could sneak her something after everyone had gone to bed. Rais had already offered him a place to sleep for the night.
“Hello!”
Chapter Seven
Which Features Honesty in a New Light
