Part 9 (1/2)

I could have pointed out that if we all slept, whatever damage might befall the house would befall us as well, but instead I made myself as comfortable as possible against the door frame and followed her example, as Aster also soon settled herself to do. The rain was still pelting down very hard, and after eating I found I was incredibly sleepy.

I had no sooner closed my eyes, however, than I had a nightmare. Confused images of the fruits, the candles, iron rings and a donkey tied by its hooves to a spit tumbled over and over in my head. Finally, all of this receded to be replaced by a black-shrouded figure, whom I took at first for death but saw, as it approached, to have the angry eyes of Um Aman. She was shaking her finger at me and shouting silently. Perhaps this was her way of telling me she had recovered from her wound and was back to normal. She seemed to be quoting something from what I knew, in the way one knows in dreams, to be a prayer book-something about wives-I was about to make it out when I heard another voice and snapped awake, drawing my dagger even as I opened my eyes.

My first thought was of Amollia's last words and I looked over to see her still soundly sleeping and unimmolated by vagrant candle flames. Aster was sitting halfway up, her eyes focusing beyond me.

Following her gaze, I found myself staring at what was surely a Yahtzeni prince. Behind him were two other princes, and, though all were clad in warrior garb, each of these fellows was in aspect as varied from the other as the three of us were from each other.

If he who stood grinning down at me, making no move to parry my dagger, was not a Yahtzeni, then he was surely of a related tribe. Red hair bristled fiercely from under his leather helmet and fringed his face. He was clad in a sleeveless tunic of embroidered sheepskin and leggings also of sheepskin. He wore ornaments of bronze upon his arms and down his chest in the manner of armor. A sword was strapped to his hip and a full quiver of arrows and a bow were slung over his brawny shoulder. His eyes were the cold blue of our mountain streams.

To his left stood a man as black as Amollia. His face and arms were covered with patterned scars like tattoos carved into his skin. He was clad in a robe of blood red girded with a spotted hide that looked suspiciously like that of Kalimba and he brandished a white-tipped spear. He was taller than the man of my race, and finely muscled. His smile gleamed through the rain-not the smile one uses to greet guests but the smile of a hunter congratulating himself on a recent kill.

The third of these fellows was smaller and appeared to be of the same race as Aster. He was clad in subtly woven silks of misty sea green, over which was linked a sort of wooden armor. His black hair he wore long and his thin beard and mustaches he also wore long. Though slight of build, he was no less handsome and muscular than the other two. Like Aster, he was also apparently p.r.o.ne to curiosity-for he was straining to see around the redhead's shoulder-and to talkativeness, for it was he who spoke first, though to his comrades rather than to us.

”What have we here? Three wild roses taking root in our chambers? Three pearls beyond price so far from the sea?”

The redhead grinned down at me so heartily I thought I heard his teeth grind. ”Two ewe lambs and a very wet shepherdess more likely from the look of them,” he said.

Amollia roused up with a languid smile and said graciously, ”We hoped you wouldn't mind. But we were pa.s.sing and noticed you'd left your candles burning. And it being monsoon season and the rains having started-”

”Gracious lady!” the man of her race said in Kharristani so fluent I wondered if he too had been tutored by the djinn, ”Please do not apologize. Your eyes light this poor dwelling far more than all of these puny candles. You must stay with us. Share our meal.”

”Yes,” the silken-clad fellow added with a warm glance at Amollia. ”Though our home is but a sty of a place, hardly fit for such rough dogs as we, we would be sorely aggrieved if you did not grant us the honor of your company.”

I was dubious about this invitation, even then, for they looked as dangerous as they did handsome. But, we had entered their home without permission, and they were blocking the door.

We spent the best part of the afternoon eating, drinking, and engaging in pleasant, if rather limited, conversation. The black man joined Amollia among her stacks of cus.h.i.+ons, the Oriental prince sat beside Aster, and the red-haired fellow fairly swept me from the stony threshold, paying no attention to my protests about my wet clothing, and deposited me upon silken cus.h.i.+ons similar to those enjoyed by my friends. Asters friend clapped his hands once. Half of the candles extinguished themselves. He clapped again. A br.i.m.m.i.n.g tray of mutton and rice seasoned with saffron appeared before us, along with bottles of strong drink, the first I had sampled in these lands.

Nor did these princely beings expect us to wait until they were done, as had Marid Khan and his men, but like Aman Akbar fed us morsels with their own fingers. I noted with amazement and approval that, in spite of my new friend's rough manner, his hands and fingernails were clean.

Even better, though he had the looks and manners of those accursed relatives of mine, he smelled much better. In fact, he smelled not at all of the wet wool, horse sweat and smoke of dung fires that cling to my people even after repeated baths. I confess I wondered briefly what his mother was like and how many women he already had.

At once I felt guilty, remembering poor Aman Akbar, and stole a peek away from the rugged face above me to see if Aster and Amollia noticed what had to be my obvious disloyalty in thought, if not yet in deed. Neither appeared to notice anything but the countenance of her companion. I would have to look elsewhere for moral guidance.

I cleared my throat and said to my warrior's beard, ”Good of you to offer to put us up. I am Rasa Ulliovna of the Yahtzeni. We three are the wives of an important and wealthy man named Aman Akbar-”

”I know,” he said shortly, though by no means in an unfriendly fas.h.i.+on, for his arm tightened around my shoulders as he spoke. He gave the impression that he was simply a man of few words.

I tried again. ”What is your name and how came you and your companions to dwell together?”

”Some call me Dag, but you can call me 'beloved, ”' he answered with another squeeze. After that, he was long on the squeezing and short on the conversation. His idea of wooing seemed to be a variation on Yahtzeni fighter practice-he would thrust and I would parry, all the while laughing as if he were privy to some joke I was not, which did not particularly move me but did provide me with ample opportunity to hear the conversations on either side of us.

Aster was giggling as her new friend snapped his fingers and changed her hairdo, twining the black locks into a tall crown interlaced with pearls and pink rosebuds. With another snap he provided her a golden-backed mirror with which to admire herself.

”You shouldn't!” she protested in a teasing and half-hearted fas.h.i.+on. ”I hardly know you.”

”What is there to know, my little peony blossom?” he replied, stroking his mustache between thumb and forefinger. ”I am handsome, witty, talented, educated, and have a fine house-”

”Oh, then the three of you don't own this place together?” she asked with a coy look from under her lashes.

”Well, yes, but only as a gesture of brotherhood-because we're such fond friends and everything. But this is only one of our hunting lodges. Each of us lives by himself in a great palace with many pavilions and enough servants to populate a small city. There I could give you anything you want.” He snapped his fingers and a skewer full of mutton chunks and vegetables jumped into his hand. ”Here we are forced to rough it.”

I applauded not because I hadn't already seen much better but because I was sure I was expected to applaud, the magician having caught my eye as he amazed and astounded Aster.

”That's not so much,” Dag grumbled, his pride apparently injured by the fickleness of my attention. ”We can all do that stuff. Wish for something. Go on. Anything. Wish for something.”

What I really wished was to be home again with Aman Akbar in his original form, minus Um Aman and the others, with Hyaganoosh nothing more than another silly name, but I had the feeling that that particular wish would not be well-received by my host. So I scaled my aspirations down somewhat and said, imitating Aster's teasing tone, ”If you can truly do as you say, fetch me that old rag Amollia has in her sash.”

He snapped his fingers and nothing happened, whereupon he first flushed, then scowled mightily. Changing tactics, he pointed his thumb at Amollia, who, without looking away from her escort or indicating in any way she knew what she was doing, took the headcloth from her sash and tossed it over her shoulder to me.

”There is something strange about that rag,” Dag said, still scowling. He withdrew his arm from my shoulders when I tucked it into my own sash.

I found I did not care to explain to him the properties of the rag-not until I knew him better at any rate. I therefore changed the subject to the one always certain to fascinate any Yahtzeni warrior-himself. ”You're remarkable!” I exclaimed. ”How came you by such skills?”

”My brothers and I are all great friends of a-er-very powerful magician.”

Amollia's friend had noticed our little byplay and decided to get into the act too. He flashed us a dazzling smile and I saw that his teeth had been filed to points.

”Some of us are greater friends than others, however. What you lack, beloved brother, is flair. Watch this!” And from nowhere great ropes of gems and ornate bands of gold and silver dropped over Amollia's head onto her neck while bracelets far s.h.i.+nier and more ma.s.sive and ornate than the one she had used to purchase-excuse me, rent-the elephant clasped themselves around her wrists and ankles. Long open-work pendants studded with rubies and sapphires and emeralds swung from her earlobes while a matching trinket adorned her nose. Her eyes crossed as she tried to admire it all.

”Don't be too impressed by this, my little panther,” her friend said. ”This is nothing compared to what my brothers and I have to offer the maidens we love if only they agree to brighten our lives by marrying us. Isn't that so, brothers?”

”I was about to say something of the sort myself,” Aster's friend said, bowing slightly.

”How about it?” Dag asked with a wink, and ventured a cautious squeeze of my knee.

Amollia rose with jingling dignity to her feet and said firmly, ”My sisters and I need to confer. Will you please excuse us?”

Before Aster and I could rise, our suitors politely withdrew into an adjoining room.

”What do you mean we 'have to confer'?” Aster asked. ”What's to confer about? Chu Mi was just getting ready to produce a new gown for me.”

”That is exactly what we need to talk about,” Amollia said, studying her with a solemnity at odds with her own festive appearance. ”I think there is something strange going on here. A prince for each of us? Did you take their proposals seriously?”

Aster considered, her finger tapping her pointed kitten's chin. ”I take a new gown seriously. There's nothing so strange about that. And if we each went our separate ways with these men, it would solve the problem of who was in favor with Aman Akbar. I'd say it was a good opportunity for a smart girl to be the pet of a rich husband of her own people.”

”You can't mean to abandon Aman now,” I protested. I felt very sorry for Aman, even if he had brought most of his trouble on himself. I was glad he wasn't around to hear his last favorite speak of him, that disastrously romantic man, in such discouragingly practical terms. I didn't agree with her about the advantages of having a husband of my own people either. I was not really ready, for one thing, to be initiated into the joys of sheep-style lovemaking.

”I didn't say I I was going to abandon him,” she said defensively. ”I just said I could see where it would be a smart thing to do.” was going to abandon him,” she said defensively. ”I just said I could see where it would be a smart thing to do.”

”If you're thinking, little sister, to use this situation to rid yourself of compet.i.tion, consider how much harder it would be for you alone to free Aman Akbar from his curse,” Amollia said.

Aster looked glum. ”I just thought of that.”

”You might also consider that the three of us at least seem to be able to get along. A new husband might marry other wives less compatible. So, for that matter, might Aman, should you succeed in ridding him of the curse after having rid yourself of us.”

Aster shrugged. ”All right. All right. I was only pointing out that on the surface it seemed a very good opportunity. I didn't really expect either of you to take advantage of it any more than I intended to. Personally, I'm in favor of letting them down easy and leaving as soon as possible. I find I have developed a certain dislike for magicians-too much like djinns for my taste.”