Chapter One - Richard Lewis

egrets to the family that an emergency of state had detained the great man. Nonetheless,
it was still an honor for the palace to have his personal regrets.
Anak Agung Mantera broke away from a group of cronies and crossed the
courtyard to welcome Nol and Suti, turning last to Arini to greet her. He startled as he
finally noticed Dharma. "What are you doing here hiding in the background, my brother?
Come, come."
The invitation included Nol and Suti and Arini, who were shepherded along by
Mantera's outstretched arm to the empty velvet chairs. "Come, come," he said, "let's not
waste these chairs." He insisted they sit and clapped his hands for a serving girl to bring
them iced lime juice.
Nol fidgeted, acutely uncomfortable at occupying such a seat of honor, with
everyone throwing them glances. He was keenly aware of Raka whispering heatedly with
his father. His mother, sitting beside him, remained serene, not a ripple of expression.
His uncle Dharma was impassive, too, but the way his eyes were inwardly rippling, Nol
could tell he was furious. People would talk. You should have seen them, such airs sitting
there.
The celebrants emerged from the dressing rooms, the girls in full regalia of
elaborate brocades and shimmering gold headdresses, their faces exquisitely painted.
Wulandri, Nol had to admit, was stunning in her classical beauty.
A gang of boys with Putu in their midst stopped their noise and gawked at her.
One of them hooted. Wulandri's head jerked up, her gaze zeroing right in on Putu, as if he
was the loutish culprit. He reassembled his pole-axed expression into one of unimpressed
indifference.
The male celebrants, in nearly equal finery, were led by a boy old enough to sport
a mustache that did not sit well on his powdered face. Tucked behind his back was a
palace's heirloom keris, its sheath and handle dazzlingly bejeweled. The keris was said to
have been forged by a renowned priest during the Gelgel Dynasty.
Dharma leaned his head close to Nol. "A pretty bauble," he whispered.
True, Nol thought. It was nothing compared to their family keris, the powerfully
charged Ki Poleng.
"Look at us," Dharma whispered. "We've been put here on display. Sorry the
Governor can't make it, but here's something interesting for you all to stare at."
The heady scent of incense billowed from the offerings. The sun beat upon the
awning. The air was still and hot. Sweat trickled down Nol's back.
"Wouldn't it be interesting," Dharma whispered, "if you grabbed that keris and
stabbed somebody with it? You're already up here on display," Dharma whispered, "you
might as well make a spectacle of it. Just think, three quick strides and a pull and a slash,"
Dharma whispered.
The whispers swirled in Nol's head. The heat thickened. Raka stood rudely in
front of Nol's chair, bending to take photographs of Wulandri upon the pavilion, his silksaronged
ass right in Nol's face. The humiliation of being fired when he should have been
promoted rose bitter in Nol's throat, and the taste of it brought to mind all the other
humiliations of years past, and also of Raka was harassing Suti with the rent increase.
Nol couldn't breath. He had to move. How easy it would be to grab that keris. He
imagined himself rising, striding, grabbing. His hand twitched. He could feel his fingers
wrapping around the handle. A quick lunge with pointed tip—
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