Free Redemption in Indigo by Karen Lord Page B

guest house in Ahani, one where his lack of goods would not be commented on. His first step was to hire a man of discretion. The way that he did this was to conduct the interviews in his usual shadow. Those who flinched at the strange colour of his skin, or whose eyes asked questions, did not pass. Finally, he selected a man by the name of Bini, whose calm eyes and unruffled demeanour spoke of vast pools of patience and a truly inhuman lack of curiosity. His only concerns were his duties and his pay, and once assured that the former were legal and the latter significant, he had nothing more to say.
    Except one other thing.
    'May I ask m'lord's name or title, so that I might know who has hired me and for whom I will be hiring?'
    It was a fair request. The indigo lord had an answer waiting. ‘You may call me Taran.'
    'Taran’ was not a common name. It meant ‘star’ in the local language. Bini merely nodded, taking the strangeness of the name and dropping it into the bottomless pit of his nonchalance.
    Having secured his majordomo, Taran, as we may now call him, assigned to him all the hiring of the lesser servants and the acquisition of goods. Bini proved to be the same as all the rest, but when he returned with his first and only set of doctored receipts, Taran gave him a moment to feel comfortable and then struck him down with the truth, that truly formidable axe against which little can stand. Bini deserved credit; rather than bluster or try to cover up his gaffe, he said quietly that the receipts appeared to be misleading and he would return in a while with the correct figures. After that, there was no more trouble with Bini, though Taran kept a changing guard of insects near him—a beetle one day, an ant the next—just to be sure.
    Taran showed his face once to Bini during the interview; after that he covered himself entirely, robes, gloves, boots, and veiled headdress with only his eyes glinting beyond a rectangle of mesh. He looked like a desert prince travelling incognito. He offered no explanation for his sudden change in garb. As a human, Bini would come up with his own speculations??hen again, as Bini he would probably not care.
    I myself have wondered why Taran did not simply change his shadow to blend into his environment. I suspect—and this is subject to correction—that such large-scale changes to one's own shadow were performed infrequently. It may be that the act of shadowcrafting not only requires great effort, but also creates a ripple that can be sensed by like beings. For all his pride, Taran was not above using stealth in order to gain the advantage. Or maybe it was indeed pride that made him cover himself so that he would not be soiled by human touch, not even by their eyes resting on his features. I do not know.
    The underlings hired by Bini did speculate. He overheard one declaring that he was probably hiding ghastly scars from a severe burning, and another guessing that the mark of pestilence was what caused him to hide his skin. The most inventive hypothesis thus far was that he was terribly sensitive to heat and light due to albinism, which would also explain the strange purplish hue of his eyes that could be detected even through the mesh.
    Taran had not forgotten his plan. He ensured that his clothes were tailored to fit him well so that all could see that his shadow was healthy, excellently proportioned, and lacking in deformation of any kind. He correctly assumed that his wealth would provide sufficient attraction to counter the unseen but imagined flaws. Beautiful women like Neila are not interested in competitors. Without a doubt she would prefer a man with the means to display her beauty to its best advantage over a man whose beauty rivalled hers.
    When all was made ready and his staff and stores fully equipped, Taran made one more request of Bini. Before their departure, he wished to hire a poet. This was in keeping with the strange scruples of his fallen state. Like all his kind, he