which rocked with goods and gleeful children hanging off the sides. “We can ask for directions to Melu’s pool. If they don’t know, they can guide us to a town where someone does. Maybe they’ll even give us a lift.” When I didn’t follow him, he glanced back quizzically.
“I used to watch them,” I said quietly. “From my window. I used to dream about joining them and having a family. About being … normal.”
The corner of Sanjeet’s mouth lifted. “You can be a market girl today, if you like, I won’t tell. Imperial Guard gear might give you away, though.”
When Sanjeet and I approached the caravan, the family’s singing died. They eyed our uniforms, stiffening.
“We don’t have any griot drums,” said a bearded man in hoop earrings. “No scrolls either.”
My eyes widened. “Oh, we aren’t—”
“Check if you must,” said the man, uncovering the cart’s load. “We were already stopped twice in Pikwe Village.”
Wrappers in starry patterns shone from the cart: wax-dyed cloth of blue and maize yellow, beet purple and fuchsia. Rainbow-beaded bangles winked in the sunlight, waiting to be stacked on the arms of Swana lords and ladies. Thankfully, native clothing was not illegal under Thaddace’s edict. But how long until this merchant’s sales dwindled? How long until villagers and townspeople bowed to the pressure of empire cloth?
“We’d like to buy your whole stock,” I blurted.
Everyone, including Sanjeet, gaped at me.
“I’ll need my purse,” I told Sanjeet. “Just for now.” Puzzled, he retrieved my coin purse from the pouch around his neck. I selected three gold coins and offered them to the merchant.
“I am an honest man, lady warrior,” the apparel merchant stammered. “That is twice what I profit in a year. One gold and some coppers would more than suffice.”
“Two golds for the stock. The rest for you to finish your journey, and give the clothes away for free at the market. Color the whole town in your beautiful fabric.”
Sanjeet and I gave false names, and learned the merchant was called Tegoso. We traveled in his mule-drawn cart for eight miles, and he introduced us to his four daughters and one son, the latter of whom had not yet been born. His wife and fellow merchant, Keeya, pressed my hand to her belly.
“I know it is a boy,” she told me. Keeya was a plump, frank-voiced woman with cornrowed braids that fell to her hips. “I always know. I want to name him Bopelo, after his grandfather. But Tegoso thinks Overcomer or Peacemaker would be best. Good Arit names, he says. Meanings that everyone can understand. I tell him Swana people understand Bopelo just fine.” She laughed, then sighed and said, “My husband will have his way, in the end. We need the reward money for our daughters’ schooling.”
I grimaced, remembering the edict’s incentives for giving children empire names. Rashly, I slipped another coin from my purse and pressed it into Keeya’s palm. “For Bopelo,” I said. When she gasped, I winked and added, “I think Tegoso will come around.”
Keeya fussed maternally over my yarn-plaited hair, admiring the gold accents but gasping at the roots. “So tight, ah-ah! This is how fancy ladies are wearing braids in Oluwan? Cutting off the air to their brains?”
I shrugged. “I don’t mind.”
“Doesn’t it hurt?”
“Only when I think about it. It’s better this way,” I explained. “Everything under control.”
I asked about Melu’s pool. Keeya told us that only one kind of creature could help us find an ehru: tutsu sprites. A blind hermit was said to have control over the tutsu, and she lived several miles north of the nearest market town. When we reached a dirt compound with a high, broken gate, Tegoso stopped the cart.
“Old Mongwe lives in there,” he said, helping Sanjeet and me down. We wobbled, still queasy from the lodestone. “She helps travelers. It’s the duty of her holy order, the priests of the Clay. If she cannot find Melu, she can at least settle your stomachs.” He dimpled. “I suspect most imperial warriors do not have such refined accents, nor do they carry purses full of gold coins. But I will not ask your true names. Go well. If ever you pass through Pikwe Village, know you have a friend in Tegoso.”
He gave me three bangles, and a cobalt blue blouse and wrapper dyed with yellow stars. Sanjeet received a flowing tunic in the same fabric. We waved until the melodic chants of Tegoso’s daughters—Black and gold, isn’t he perfect?—faded in the distance. Then we turned