Redemption in Indigo by Karen Lord Read Free Book Online

then, on to my second duty. The old servants remember how pleasant you made Mister Ansige's household for those who had to work there. You have been missed.'
    He paused to dip his hand into his satchel and withdrew an object carefully wrapped in silk. ‘We hope that you will accept from us this token of our thanks, and a remembrance of our sincere prayers that in the future you shall gain a better husband and a more blessed household.'
    Paama took the narrow bundle, touched by the gift and the words that came with it. For courtesy, she unwrapped it there and then, so that he could carry back the tale of her delight and gratitude to the givers. When she saw what lay in the folds of ivory silk, she did not have to pretend to be awed. It was a stick such as one might find in any kitchen, the broad, flat kind made for turning meal to creamy smoothness. However, this one was made of ebony, and its handle was banded with etched gold. It was a trophy for her years of endurance with Ansige, and immediately she was very proud of it.
    'Take it up, hold it,’ insisted the messenger as she hesitantly extended her fingers over the gleaming finish of the handle.
    Paama took the gift into her hand, and her eyes were so focused on admiring the workmanship that she missed the somewhat inappropriate expression of happy relief on the messenger's face.
    'It is the most beautiful stirring stick I have ever seen,’ she said.
    'Yes,’ the messenger murmured, constrained by the habit of truth. ‘It is certainly a Stick for stirring things up.'
    'I shall have to have it mounted on a plaque,’ she mused aloud, turning it under the sunlight and wondering where she should hang it. ‘Or perhaps a stand or rack of some sort might show it off better.'
    'Why not hang it at your waist for now?’ suggested the messenger. ‘It has a loop for just that purpose.'
    Paama stared at him. That was odd! Hanging it on her belt as if it were a guard's truncheon or a tradesman's tool. She started to tell him so, but the words evaporated. Shrugging at her own eccentricity, she did exactly as he said and hooked it onto her belt.
    He smiled. ‘Thank you. I will go take your answer back to Mister Ansige.'
    Paama waved farewell as he trotted away from her front door. 'Thank you'? Why is he thanking me? She watched him, slightly suspicious, to make sure that he did indeed head for the road leading out of the village. When he did just that, she laughed quietly at herself and her foolish thoughts and went back into the house.
    Meanwhile, out of sight of the village, the messenger stepped quickly along the country trail until he was a day's journey out of Makendha. There was a sleeping heap huddled around the bole of a shak-shak tree, awaiting his return.
    'Wake up,’ he told it, giving it a friendly nudge with his foot. ‘Go back and tell your Mister Ansige that Paama's words are, “Don't act as if I don't know you.” She said some other things, too, but the general idea is that she's not coming back. Understood?'
    The heap sat up and stretched. It was a man, the twin of the messenger in every way—features, figure, clothing, even the courier's satchel. He looked strangely fuzzy around the edges.
    'Have I slept long?’ he asked. It was the messenger's voice, too.
    'Two days.'
    The man was still stretching, making noises of pleased surprise. ‘I cannot believe it. I have no stiffness, no pain?'
    'Do you think I would steal two days of your life? To the world you slept for two days. To yourself mere minutes have passed since I left you.'
    'What did she think of your gift?'
    The faux messenger smiled. ‘She likes it very much. When she learns what it is, she will love it even more. But no more questions. We will have an exchange—my memory of delivering the message to Paama for your memory of my existence. You promised,’ he added as the man began to look downcast.
    'I know. Will I see you again?’ he asked hopefully.
    'Me or someone like me,’ came the