“Pheled? And onchiki?”
“Yes. A family of them. Plus guards and handlers and some very impressive umminhi. Expensive animals. Royal livery, or I miss my guess.”
“Ah.” Blanche seldom missed her guess. She was well informed on most matters, and when information was lacking, her intuition could be relied upon.
The secretary cocked her head. “Perhaps you’d like to enquire?”
“By all means, Blanche. Let us enquire. Let us invite them to tea.”
“It looks like you’ve had tea.” Blanche stared pointedly at the countess’s still sticky hands.
“Not really. Just a little fruit.”
“You’ll be letting out your seams, next.”
The countess snorted. “Kindly remember who is the countess here. Tell Dzilobommo to prepare confections and tea, something relaxing and mind expanding. Something to make the visitors talkative. I’ll be along in a moment.”
Blanche went away without a word. The countess rose, dipped her still sticky hands into the fountain, washed her face thoroughly, dried hands and face on a napkin, then smoothed her gown down over her ample hips. Dieting might make her unattractive to cannibals, which is no doubt what Blanche had in mind, but it would be boring, nonetheless. After allowing sufficient time to elapse to indicate that she was untroubled by anything Blanche had said or implied, she strolled toward the public chambers, intercepting a bevy of serving people laden with teapots and covered plates. Through the open door of the small audience room, she could hear the babble of onchiki speech. How very strange. Onchiki almost never came to Zallyfro.
“Her Grace, the Countess Elianne of Estafan!” intoned a servitor, thumping his baton against a hollow floor tile as she entered. Every room had such drumlike hollow tiles, built in for annunciatory occasions.
She drew herself regally erect and cast a smiling glance across the company assembled. One pheled, a sizeable fellow. A scuinic VIP, and a ponjic one. Plus a trio of onchiki. Evidently the handlers and guards were being fed outside in the courtyard.
“Good day,” she murmured in Estafani.
“Our eyes are delighted to look upon your effulgence,” murmured the ponjic VIP in flawless Estafani, with a bow so low that he all but brushed the floor with his auburn hair. This one was a play actor.
“Our senses are thrilled by your presence,” said the scuina in a clumsy accent, bowing not so deeply. This one took himself more seriously than the other. When he straightened up, however, his dark eyes caught hers, and she felt herself flushing. He was a handsome devil. Lean, with a look of mystical intensity.
“Prince Sahir of Tavor,” he said, as taken with her appearance as she was with his.
She nodded, indicating interest.
“Prince Izakar of Palmia,” said the previous speaker, bowing even lower than before.
“Lucy Low, of the Shore Counties,” said the littlest onchik, in trade language, with a bow so low that the others were left speechless. “With her brothers, Mince and Burrow.”
The countess burst out laughing, and after a moment’s discomfiture, so did Sahir and Izzy, as they settled around the tea table in a mood of general good nature. Sahir kept his eyes on the countess. Izzy kept his eyes on Sahir. As scuinic females went, the countess was a fine-looking specimen. If one liked that sort of thing, she was very much the sort of thing one would like.
The room was much ornamented with carved plaster; tall open windows striped the walls with views of the orange and lemon trees in the garden. The scent of roses wafted in, along with the subtle music of fountains, all conveying a sense of tranquility.
“Are you three all your family?” the countess asked Lucy Low in trade language.
“Sleekele and Diver and Grandmama and my two sisters are outside in the courtyard,” said Lucy Low. “They didn’t want to come in, and Nassif stayed with them, to keep them company.”
“Nassif is my companion,” said Sahir, to no one in particular.
“Are your family shy?” the countess asked the onchiki.
“We don’t hold with buildings much,” said Mince, around a mouthful of smoked salmon sandwich. “Makes us uncomfortable like. Specially places that stand so high from the ground.”
“Is that true?” the countess asked Burrow, who merely nodded, mouth open.
“Little houses are all right,” offered Lucy Low. “Little houses and little rooms. With not so much space all around. Big empty rooms with echoes in, well, those are a bit frightening.”
The countess looked at the walls, which were some distance away, and up at the ceiling, which was lofty. No doubt the onchiki’s feelings had to do with predators. It was sensible to fear things with teeth coming out of the night. One would want one’s back to a wall and limited space for the enemy to maneuver in. If the countess’s own people had built this palace, it might have been less lofty, but it had been built long ago, no one knew by whom, though it had been much elaborated since that time. She nodded, understanding.
“Thank you for coming,” she told them. “I hope you are not too overawed to enjoy your tea.”
They said the place wasn’t all that awesome, which they proved by consuming a good deal of whatever was on the table. Dzilobommo had provided several sorts of tea, to suit various tastes. Soaz grew pleasantly drowsy, the onchiki became even more cheerful, while the rest of them conversed comfortably about their journey. Izzy and Sahir even unbuttoned themselves sufficiently to tell the countess about the Great Enigma and the sultan’s lost fortune. She, in turn, mentioned the Dire Duke and the quandary he had placed her in.
Said Lucy Low, “These folk say there is help to be had at St. Weel, and perhaps you should seek help there, too. Oh, I would like to go to St. Weel. I would like to see the world.”
“Well, then,” said the countess, surprising herself, “why don’t you?”
The little onchik shook her head and wrinkled her nose. “We have nothing to pay our way, lady. It is only the shore counties that will take our fortunes, and the little sea towns so far as Sworp. But these people will go beyond Sworp, and perhaps inland from the sea.”
“What fortunes do you have?” asked the countess.
“Grandmama is keeping most of them, but I have two,” she said, fishing them out of her pocket. “They were given to my long-back Grandmama Erntrude Biwot by the lady Amalia Gershon.”
“Gershon!” exclaimed Izzy. “That was my mother’s name. She was from Sworp!”
“Well, well,” said the countess. “And have you opened these fortunes, child?”
“No, ma’am. Since they were given personal like, Grandmama thought maybe I’d profit from them, but then, maybe not, as who can tell.”
“I think she should open them now,” said Blanche from her position behind the countess’s left shoulder. “I feel a tingle coming on.” She gave a premonitory shudder as she fixed her eyes upon the onchik.
“What a good idea,” Elianne remarked. “And if they lose value by being opened prematurely, I will compensate you, child. You and your brothers.”
Looking around rather doubtfully at the company, Lucy Low put the fortunes upon the tea table, cut the gold seals and slowly unfolded them. They were written upon fine vellum that remained unyellowed by time and were folded in the likeness of strange animals. When the first one was smoothed, she took it up and spelled it out, letter by letter. “It’s not writ in Sworpian, ma’am. Nor Uk-Luk, neither.”
“May I?” asked Izzy, taking the sheet from her. “Actually, it is in Sworpian, but it’s an archaic form. ‘I, Amalia Gershon, guided by fate and the Sorceresses, of whom I am one in all but name, send this message to my future grandson, whomever he may be, whenever he may appear. If Doom approacheth, get ye to St. Weel.’
“By all the bans of Bandercran,” said Izzy, almost reverently. “How can this be?”
“You’re the magician,” said Soaz, roused from his drowsy state. “You figure it out.”
“And the other fortune?” asked Elian
ne, in a hushed voice.
Lucy Low handed him the second fortune, and he read, “‘I, Amalia Gershon, guided by Fate and the Sorceresses of Sworp, send this message into a future time. Ye rulers and leaders of peoples, beware. Turn not to arms but get ye to St. Weel, for there I have seen the Door stand open.”
“Not worth nothing, now,” said Mince, staring regretfully at the fortunes. “She opened ’em, and they’re not worth nothing.”
“Not so,” said the countess. “Simply because your sister is not the one directed by the fortune does not mean she cannot profit from it. She has done precisely what she should; she has brought them here and made them available to the people they were intended for. Both a grandson and a ruler were present at the opening, just as the seeress knew we would be. We have been warned, as was intended, and I will pay Lucy Low well for telling us of this geas, and—”
“Telling you of what?” cried Lucy Low.
“This geas, child. This warning, this weird….”
“Well, and then maybe it was geas my fortune was about, and I would indeed rather travel the weird world than tend your geese, ma’am.”
“What geese?” the countess demanded, taken aback.
It was Mince who explained about the geese, and the chimneys and the alehouse and all the rest of it.
“Do you have your fortune with you, Lucy Low?” the countess asked.
She brought it from her pocket and unfolded it upon the tea table, spelling it out letter by letter. The word could have been either geese or geas, as they all could see. The little onchik explained again how it had all happened, and how it was indeed her sharp eyes which had read it out, so that all was true.
“Blanche,” said the countess when this account was done. “See to it, please. Appropriate jobs in the palace for Lucy’s mama and grandmama and father. We have rooms to clean and chimneys to mend, enough to keep them busy, I should think. The sisters…well, if it is to be an ale house, at least let it be a reputable one. Perhaps the Eel and Anchor, or the Glamorous Clam. See to that as well.”
“What about me?” asked Mince irrepressibly.
“I will ask my uncle, the admiral,” said the countess. “He will find shipboard jobs for you and your brother, if that is what you desire.”
“Rather not,” said Burrow, suddenly articulate. “Rather go see the world. But it’s said them as ignores fate, fate don’t ignore. An’ we got fortunes say fishing boats.”
“Do you have them with you?” asked Blanche.
Burrow dug it from a pocket, much the worse for wadding.
Blanche smoothed it upon the back of the chair where the countess sat. “It says you will find a future on a fishing boat, but it does not say when. What about your brother?”
Mince came up with his fortune as well, in somewhat better shape, for he had kept it folded in his wallet.
“‘He who stays with his brother strengthens himself,’” Blanche read. “So, if your brother travels the world, you may keep your fortune by going with him, both deferring your piscatorial preoccupations until later in your lives.”
Mince nodded. “Guess I’d got to, don I?”
“How wonderful,” cried the countess. “What fun! We shall make a sizeable party, shall we not?”
“We…” murmured Sahir.
“Surely.” She smiled sweetly upon him.
“What have you in mind, madam?” asked Soaz, still drowsy.
“I am going with you, gentle sirs. With the Dire Duke breathing down my neck, I would be a fool not to take this chance to escape him while at the same time seeking a solution to the problem he affords.”
“Oh, my lady….” cried Blanche in considerable agitation.
“Don’t get all ruffled, dear Blanche. I couldn’t do without you, now could I? You must come along as well.”
This invitation merely increased the secretary’s agitation, putting her in such a state that she went fluttering out of the room to engage in a fit of anxiety in the corridor outside.
Looking after her, Sahir said, “The journey may be difficult.”
The countess nodded. “Don’t worry about Blanche. Though she greets each new experience with trepidation, she is rocklike in her perceptions. I spoke only the truth in saying I could not manage without her.”
18
Opalears: Upon the Crawling Sea
“Pheledas are well known as a proud and warrior people. Even the females among them, nay, even the children, show an exemplary ability to defend themselves from attack or misuse. Pheleds have formed the bulk of our armies for generations, and no person of wealth would think of traveling without pheledian guards. The ships that ply the Crawling Sea are largely crewed by pheledian folk. To their fierce and independent nature is allied an appreciation for certain arts, particularly those of the table and of the dance….”
THE PEOPLES OF EARTH
HIS EXCELLENCY, EMPEROR FAROS VII
When Mince, Burrow and Lucy Low returned to their family, they were shown to rooms near the stables and I rejoined Prince Sahir and Izzy, who told me of the countess’s plans, and I heard more about these plans when they were discussed in greater detail over the dinner table. For purposes of communication, we all spoke trade language, based on the very ancient language of Inglitch, said Prince Izakar, and long used to facilitate understanding among the people of various tribes.
I knew trade language, of course. My father had spoken it in the marketplaces of Tavor, and many slaves in the harim spoke it, since their own native tongues were often not understood.
The secretary, Blanche, said, “At all costs, we must avoid Finial. The Dire Duke has the province in his grasp, and we could not hope to get through the land without being certainly stopped, probably recognized, possibly eaten.” She shivered dramatically.
“So Fasahd has indeed relinquished the ethical standards set by Faros VII,” remarked Izzy. “How does he hope to endear himself to the emperor by eating the emperor’s subjects?”
The countess agreed. “When I met him, I saw a person moved by envy, emboldened by rivalry, thinking no farther than the next acquisition, intending to prevail over his brother by pure force of terror, unmitigated by reason. He wants what Fasal Grun has, and what the emperor has, but not what the emperor wants.”
“The emperor wants peace,” said Soaz. “So I have often been told.”
“The Dire Duke does not want peace,” said Elianne. “The Dire Duke wants power. He wants it for itself; no other dream attracts him, though he would accept riches and fame, perhaps. His greatest joy is to see people bowing before him.”
“So,” yawned Izzy. “We won’t go through Finial. How will we go?”
“We can go around,” said Blanche. “On a boat.”
“A boat?” Soaz frowned. “A ship?”
“A fishing boat. It was the fortunes of the two young onchiki that gave me the idea. The fishing fleet owes allegiance to no particular province. The little boats sail up and down the coast of the Crawling Sea, from Estafan to Sworp and back again, sometimes easterly along the shore counties and sometimes, though rarely, around the north coast even so far as the Temple of the Eye. Since they are crewed by pheledas, who can well defend themselves, since they carry no riches but do provide a good portion of the food of the shore peoples, they have attraction neither for privateers nor for the pressmen of the Dire Duke. We can hire a fishing boat to take us to Sworp.”
“What about our umminhi?” asked Soaz, his brow wrinkled.
“Several fishing boats?” suggested the countess. “If Prince Sahir takes the umminhi, we would need several.”
“Actually, it would be better to leave the umminhi here,” Blanche said, fixing Sahir with her black-eyed stare. “Sell them or put them in stable awaiting your return. We can rent others in Sworp. Or,” and she looked pointedly up and down the countess’s voluptuous figure, “we can walk, which would probably benefit us all.”
I hid a smile. The countess chose to ignore this insolence. The con
versation went on for a time in rather desultory fashion, and at last the countess excused herself with a yawn and was escorted from the chamber by Prince Sahir. Since I was sleepy, also, I followed them out.
“They’ll sort it out,” Sahir was telling her. “Soaz is good at that sort of thing. I’m afraid we scuinan people are less practical, Countess.” He smiled warmly at the countess, and I stepped behind an arras, wanting to see what happened next.
“Let us say rather we enjoy our pleasures,” she murmured, glancing flirtatiously from under her lashes. “I bid you good night, Prince Sahir.”
“I shall await a morrow already blessed since the Countess Elianne will be in it,” he said, leaning forward to press her cheek with his own. He turned then and went down the stairs to the guest wing, leaving her to appreciate his retreating form, his robe swirling elegantly around him as he moved, almost at a trot.
She sighed.
I had not seen Blanche arrive, but she was suddenly there, beside the countess. “A fine picture he makes. A suitable person, as well. It is time you wed.”
The countess stamped her foot. “No one is speaking of wedding, Blanche! Surely I may indulge myself in a few romantic thoughts.”
“Only with care, Countess. The Dire Duke is no romantic. Given the chance, he would eat your lover as lief as he would eat you.”
The countess’s expression told me she did not find this a happy thought on which to end the day. “It will not keep me from sleeping, Blanche. I learned long ago that one must sleep when one has the chance.”
A good lesson, I thought, going quietly away to my own room, full of wonderings about the prince and the countess and whether they would indeed have a romance, or even a marriage. I wondered what the sultan would think about that, if and when it happened. I wondered myself asleep.
When morning came, our entourage took measures to reduce itself both in numbers and bulk. One of the countess’s hostlers took the umminhi and their handlers to be boarded at a stable in the southern fringes of Zallyfro. From among Prince Sahir’s guards, Soaz selected four and put the rest on board wages at the palace, awaiting our return. Prince Izzy insisted on taking Oyk and Irk, though he left his body servant at the palace under the supervision of one of Elianne’s under-butlers. All of us went through our baggage, removing bulky items which were not actually necessary, reducing the whole to a volume that could be handled by porters hired in Sworp, or put into a light wagon, perhaps, depending upon the roads.