“That’s where she got that silly name,” said the Sheriff.

  “Yeah,” said the deputy. “Everyone calls her Tabletop Tova now.”

  Rivka sat back as the story poured out, both men competing for the gold medal in the interruption prizefight thanks to their morbid glee.

  Apparently, this Tova had bought a new kitchen table from a respected Lovely Valley carpenter. The next day, she came hauling the table back into the shop, claiming that he’d sold it to her with a scratched top. Now, he knew the table had been pristine when she bought it, and so did a couple of other customers who’d been in the shop at the time. It was obvious to everyone that the scratches had come from her chickens, which she was ill-equipped to control because she was so new to the chicken game.

  However, Tova was the type who could never be persuaded that she was wrong, or that anything could be her fault. She’d started an argument with the carpenter that escalated into a scene witnessed by at least four or five other people—other customers, and farmers in the street who were just passing by—and ultimately ended with her scratching the top again, herself. She grabbed the heavy key to her own house off her belt loop and left violent furrows in the brand-new top, spat on it, then left the furniture shop in a huff.

  “And this is why nobody wants to buy eggs from her,” the deputy concluded.

  “She didn’t used to be like this,” said the Sheriff sadly. “Back in the day, when her husband was alive, she was a lot of fun—even funny!”

  “She always did have a temper though,” the deputy reminded him.

  “It’s a shame she turned into what she turned into.” The Sheriff sighed.

  “To me it sounds like she pushes people away to keep them from leaving first,” Isaac commented laconically, “since it all started when she lost her husband and her son.”

  “She didn’t have to lose her son,” groused the deputy. “He just moved away! She could have even gone to join him when the lime trees failed.”

  “She probably thought she was gonna show him, or something.” Hadar picked at her shoe.

  Rivka clapped her hands down on her knees, then stood up. “If you don’t have other suggestions, then let’s get down to Tova’s farm as soon as we can. I want to know who in Imbrio paid for this insult.”

  ***

  The grove that had once made Tova and her husband rich on limes now lay overgrown and half-neglected around the farmhouse. The stench of chickens was in the air; they ran around everywhere within the fence, leaving a trail of feathers and droppings. The one bit of ground that still looked well-loved was a plot of vegetables. Rivka noticed that the vines sprawling across the ground were covered with a healthy amount of zucchini. If nobody bought her eggs, maybe she was living on her own plantings.

  “Sergeant, you lead,” Rivka ordered. “Don’t want her to know what we know, and if I’m first at the door—”

  The sergeant nodded. With his deputy close at his heels, he rapped his knuckles on Tova’s front door.

  “Just a minute, hang on!” called a voice from inside. Rivka heard footsteps, and then the door swung open to reveal a scrawny older woman with her hair in a knot at the base of her neck. She peered around at all the visitors, clearly surprised to see so many people on her threshold. “Oh, it’s you, Sergeant. Thank you so much for coming. Don’t know what took you so long,” she added sourly. “Guess they’re keeping you busy, huh?”

  “Well, I, er,” the sergeant stammered.

  “Mangy little brat yaps all hours of the day, nips at my heels when I get outside the fence…” Tova leaned on her doorframe. “Makes me feel like a prisoner in my own home, I tell you.”

  “You complained about the… neighbor’s dog,” the deputy suddenly remembered.

  “That’s right, I did.” Tova puffed herself up like one of her chickens. “Wouldn’t be surprised if I wasn’t the only one either. One of these days, it’s gonna leap my fence and steal a chicken. If it hasn’t already.”

  “Why don’t we come inside, and you can tell us all about it,” Isaac piped up in a voice so low and fluid that Rivka was glad her mask hid the grin on her face.

  His charm clearly worked on Tova, and she swung the door wide open. “Come on in. Don’t mind the mess.”

  Rivka blanched at how badly the place smelled. She thought the chicken odor of the farmyard was bad, but inside was something else… some kind of animal urine—cat, perhaps?—and the stuffiness of mold, and things she couldn’t even identify. She sent a pitying look at Isaac, knowing it must be worse for him, because at least she had a mask to shield her partially.

  He lifted his eyelids slightly in response, and surreptitiously snapped his left fingers beneath his nose. Rivka rolled her eyes, realizing that he was now smelling roses or raspberry rugelach or something entirely unrelated to cat piss.

  “Don’t you ever get tired of being you?” she murmured to him in their guttural native language.

  He just smirked.

  “Wish I had some honey-sesame bites to offer you all,” said Tova, “but nobody usually comes to visit me, so I don’t have anything like that in the house. You think my son would come back and visit one of these years.”

  “I thought he came back for Passo—” the deputy started to say.

  With a quick, furtive tap to the hip, Isaac shushed him, interrupting with a comment to Tova. “It’s so difficult not to be able to see your loved ones.”

  “I know!” she agreed. “And my nephew lives only a few orchards down, growing papayas and avocados, but well, he called me a piece of shit, so—”

  “My dear woman, that’s terrible.”

  “You bet it is,” said Tova. “Where’d they find you, anyway? You’re not from here, not with that coloring.”

  “I come from the north, but I live in the capital,” said Isaac.

  “Now him I’ve seen before.” Tova pointed to Rivka.

  “The captain and his entourage were down here for a routine visit.” Oh, good, the sergeant knew how to make shit up too. Rivka was beginning to wonder. “So, about this dog…?”

  While Isaac and the other men got Tova talking about her neighbor’s dog, Rivka fell into the back of the group, trying to drop out of sight. Moving only her eyes, she scanned the room for clues. Anything at all might link Tova to the Imbrian conspirators—Imbrian coins, men’s clothing or accessories, perhaps documents with the foreign alphabet—

  Something caught Rivka’s eye on a nearby table covered in papers. A cat rested across the mess, and sticking out from its gray fur she spotted a familiar shape.

  Moving slowly so her migration wouldn’t attract attention, she floated sideways and peered down at the cat.

  It was sleeping on a copy of the map.

  Lifting her mask slightly, Rivka pursed her lips and blew breath at the cat.

  It blinked and winked, then twitched its head. She blew again, and it stood and stretched. As soon as it hopped off the table, Rivka scanned the paper carefully to be sure of herself.

  It was definitely the map, the same map that Shulamit had found in Ezra’s pile of blackmail fodder. Perhaps this was a practice copy.

  Rivka spoke. “Isaac. Sergeant.”

  Both men looked up, and Tova with them.

  “Go retrieve that paper on the top of the pile,” she continued. “No, not that one—the one with the coffee stain on the corner.”

  Tova froze.

  “Is this—” The sergeant began.

  “You’re all my witnesses that this was found here and not planted?” Rivka looked around the room. The deputy and Hadar nodded.

  “Mistress Tova,” Isaac interjected, “you’ve made a valuable discovery that will help the crown with some very troubling matters.”

  “Huh?” Tova blinked at him.

  “This map is part of an international plot,” said Isaac, “and we’ll need your help to get us out of it.”

  “Yes, we need you to make the journey back to Home City with us,” Rivka added. Good work, Isaac! Now she doesn’t know she’s a suspect, and maybe we can actually get her to talk.

  “To Home City?” Tova looked around her at all the officers. “Well, I—”

  “The queen will be pleased to hear of your arrival,” said Isaac. “Maybe you can tell her about the dog too!”

  Tova grinned bitterly. “Ha! Won’t my neighbors like to hear about that! We’ll see who’s who around here.”

  And she tossed her head and glared out an open window at the world.

  13. Little Stories

  Shulamit was nursing Naomi after dinner when the noise of a carriage outside heralded the return of the travelers. Rivka crashed into the kitchen-house, banging the door against the wall and collapsing into a chair with an “Oy gevalt!”

  “No luck?” Shulamit tensed, her eyes wide with concern.

  “Oh, we found her all right.” Rivka smacked the table with both elbows, then rested her head in her hands. “Rode with her all the way back in the sergeant’s carriage. By the way, he’s spending the night here if you want to talk to him.” Now she held up both hands, palms outward to Shulamit. “Kill me. Kill me now, cut my head off. If I ever have to sit through anything like that ever again… this relative, that relative. Her son never appreciated her. Her nephew won’t give her back the oud she loaned him nine years ago. Loaned him or gave him, I don’t know. She’s cut off two of her sisters for reasons that are half-trivial and half-delusion. Meshuggah! I’m sick of it. Put her at the bottom of a well and feed her pickles.”

  Like a fairy godmother, Aviva appeared at her side. “Cabbage soup?” She smiled as she placed the steaming bowl in front of Rivka.

  Muttering something that sounded like “I’ll cabbage her soup,” Rivka grabbed the spoon like a weapon and fed.

  “Poor Riv. You are so appreciated.” Shulamit absorbed Rivka’s outburst. “But you found her? She’s here?”

  Rivka nodded between slurps.

  “Good work! Great!” Shulamit ran her fingers through Naomi’s soft hair.

  “Thanks.” Rivka rubbed her temple. “Oh, and thanks to Isaac, she doesn’t know she’s a prisoner.”

  Shulamit smirked. “That’s our Isaac.”

  “He could have a fish frying in a pan convinced he was giving it a bath,” Aviva piped up helpfully.

  “And then feed the fish to Riv,” added Shulamit.

  “This fish stinks. Soup’s good though!” Rivka nodded in approval to Aviva, who grinned and curtseyed. “Oh, and get this. She brought a kitten.”

  “The traitor… has a… kitten?”

  “She has several cats,” Rivka explained. “Apparently, this one can’t be left alone because it still has to be fed goat’s milk. Who knows what happened to the mother. The way she kept that house, a cat could get sick and die without her knowing.”

  Aviva cleared garlic husks off the countertop. “I feel bad for her family.”

  “What?” said Rivka. “Oh. I guess you’re right.”

  “Where is she now?” Shulamit bundled her breast back into her tunic and gently rocked her sleeping daughter.

  “Isaac’s getting her settled into a room somewhere.” Rivka accepted a plate of stuffed grape leaves from Aviva and continued between bites. “He’ll have it out of her.”

  “You can tell him he can pick that up in the morning,” Shulamit replied. “She’s under guard and can’t leave, right?”

  Rivka nodded. “You sure?”

  Shulamit nodded back. “I want to be there listening on the other side of the door if she says anything—me and other witnesses. It’s just good sense, legally. I mean, you love Isaac and I love Isaac, but… you know. Let’s play it safe.”

  Rivka smirked. “What, you’re not up for a night of eavesdropping?”

  Shulamit sighed wearily. “I seem to have picked up the sniffles while we were out running around the countryside these past few days. I need an early night in. Plus,” she added shyly, “Aviva promised she’d tell me silly gossip from the marketplace while I soak in the bath.”

  “I’m glad you’re looking after your health, at least.” Rivka ate the last leaf roll in one bite, then stood up to go find Isaac.

  “Thanks,” Shulamit called after her. “Tell him we’ll pick it up in the morning. Tova won’t wake up any nicer than she went to sleep, right?”

  ***

  A thrash and a whimper roused Hadar from deep sleep. “What’s the matter?”

  “Wha’? Wha’?” Halleli woke up gasping.

  It was still the middle of the night, and the only light was a faintness from outside, slipping in through the window high in the wall. Probably lanterns or torches for the nighttime guards; the moon was still only a scrape. Hadar saw Halleli in her mind more than with her eyes, and reached out for her. “Were you having a nightmare?”

  There was a pause, and then a plaintive “Yes…”

  “You’re awake now, love. It’s all gone.” Hadar pulled Halleli’s warmth against her, making sure each curve felt cared for.

  “You burned up in the fire.” Halleli’s mouth moved against Hadar’s collarbone as she talked, leaving heated moisture from her breath. “Burned up with everything else.”

  “Shh… of course I didn’t.” Hadar felt tiny and enormous at the same time, too small to take away the pain and big that she was enough anyway. She thought about how Halleli was older, by three years, and how she still trusted her enough to cry in her arms.

  “I know, but I saw it. I knew it.”

  “Maybe I’m just hot,” Hadar quipped, stroking her hair.

  “Heh.”

  “You’re shaking.”

  “I’m scared to go back to sleep,” Halleli murmured. “Those images are waiting for me.”

  “Gotta put some new ones in your head, then,” said Hadar. “Happy images.” She traced her fingers down Halleli’s back gently. “We’ve got plenty of happy memories to think about.”

  “I know… we’re very lucky. Even after all this.” Halleli squirmed, unpinning her arms so she could return the embrace. “Sometimes I almost can’t believe we’re the same people we were when we were kids… that the cute girl at the Lovely Valley general store who I used to flirt with is you.”

  “Every season you’d show up, for a few days, with your parents,” said Hadar, massaging whichever tense muscles were beneath her fingertips. “They’d bargain with my dad, and you’d come find me.”

  The year Hadar realized what Halleli’s attentions were, she told her big sister, the one who was nice, the one who knew. “That girl from the olive groves treats me like a boy.” She knew the words were wrong, but she couldn’t explain it any other way.

  And her sister had smiled at her, and tucked her hair behind one ear, and told her, “Then treat her like a girl.”

  Hadar did just that. The next time Halleli appeared in the Valley with her parents, Hadar had asked if she’d like to take a walk around the lake behind the general store. “Back in a few minutes, Aba!” she called out, not listening for the grumbling reply.

  “Do you remember those old stories we used to tell each other?” Halleli’s mind ambled down the same lakeside path. “Back during those walks we took.”

  The two young women had amused each other by making up new versions of familiar popular legends, new versions with a simple but important change.

  There was the story of the Nobleman with Eighteen Girlfriends. His valet colluded with the most lovestruck of all the ladies to bring his master to justice after he murdered a different girl’s father. In Hadar and Halleli’s version, the valet was a woman, and she and the lovestruck lady held hands and pledged eternal love at the end.

  Then there was the Story of the Singing Contest, where a young man had to learn the rules of poetry before the strict judges would accept his genius. The girls had transformed him into a bright young woman instead, and she still won the hand of one judge’s daughter along with the contest prize.

  Farming was hard work, and so was creating a real life together, learning to weave their disparate personalities and rough edges together into the real cloth of family. It had been years since they’d made up stories like that. “Is that what you need right now?” Hadar asked softly.

  “That would be perfect.”

  “Which one?” Hadar shifted, brushing some of Halleli’s thick hair out of her own face.

  “Eighteen girlfriends.”

  The made-up versions were never the same twice. Sometimes the lady valet was disguised as a man until the last minute. Sometimes she was an ordinary lady in dresses. Sometimes it wasn’t eighteen girlfriends but eighteen boyfriends, or a mix. The nobleman in the story was a dreadful rascal, but sometimes he was fun to watch until the inevitable downfall.

  “Once upon a time on the Sugar Coast…” Hadar squeezed Halleli’s rear end, and Halleli responded by opening her legs and clamping them around Hadar’s thigh. Thus arranged, she listened quietly and eventually drifted back to sleep.

  Hadar was getting sticky from sweat, but she didn’t want to unpeel her. Maybe, even in sleep, she still needed to feel that Hadar was there.

  Better to live and be a bit sweaty than die in your sweetheart’s dreams, after all.

  ***

  “You cannot possibly imagine how annoying it was.” Tova rolled her eyes and rested her hands in her lap.

  “I understand,” Isaac lied, his face kindly. “It sounds terrible.”

  “No, you don’t understand,” Tova insisted.

  “May I refill your tea?”

  “Thank you.” Tova handed him her cup, and he accepted it with his left hand. With his right, he gestured at the teapot until it lifted itself off the table and topped her off. “That’s a neat trick.”

  Isaac smiled amiably. “Have to.” After replacing the teapot on the table, he showed her what he meant.

  “Ooh, that’s a nasty scar!” she exclaimed. “You know, sometimes those doctors, they really have no idea what they’re doing, any more than anyone else. There’s a man down in Lovely Valley—”