Read Online The Family Tree by Sheri S. Tepper - Free Book Online
Authors: Sheri S. Tepper
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his stockings are darned. But I don’t know what you mean by intimate services….”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, child. He may need you to scrub his back. Something of that sort. Surely you didn’t think I meant…” She snorted, not finishing the sentence, amused by the thought.
“No, Great Queen.” I turned red again. Of course the prince would not want sex with a…a draggletail, as Frowsea called me. Or one as untutored as I in the amorous arts.
“Do you know where the Strangers live?”
“I have heard they live afar. The Hospice of St. Weel is on the back side of beyond.”
The sultana’s mouth twisted in amusement. “Not quite. Say rather the near side of beyond, on the west coast of the Crawling Sea. Pay great attention to everything on the way. Use your eyes well, and your ears. When you return, we will want you to tell us all about it.”
As I tried on the various articles of clothing, I wondered why Sultana Winetongue had really picked me to go with Keen Nose. None of the reasons given seemed enough. And why not send a male? Males could scrub backs and tell stories, too. There was nothing gender specific about either! Perhaps Soaz would tell me thereal reason. He was unlikely to have me beaten for impertinence so close to the time of departure, as this would inconvenience the prince and Sultan Tummyfat. On the other hand, if I proved too curious and importunate, they might choose someone else, and I really, really wanted to go! All in all, best keep my questions locked inside. Perhaps Prince Keen Nose would tell me on the way. Seemingly we were to have much time for conversation.
I peeled off the last shirt. All the clothing in the pile would fit, more or less. None of it was too tight, though some was a trifle loose, as though made for a larger person.
“That’s all right,” said Frowsea. “I’ll put the bigger ones in the bottom of the pack. It’s a long journey and likely you’ll grow into them.”
The sultana directed me: “Pack your own shoes and underclothing and any small treasures you cannot bear to leave behind. Come up here before first light. Don’t say anything about the prince to those, down there.” The sultana gestured at the curtained wall, meaning the women in the courtyard. “Make up a tale, you’re good at that, but don’t tell them the truth. And here, girl. Put these in your shoes, or sew them into your underclothes. They are for my son’s help and safety. You may need them on the way.” And she spilled gems into my hands, cut rubies and emeralds and a shimmer of poinuid pearls, glowing blue as the depths of the sea. These pearls are fished up by the onchiki or the Onchik-Dau, all along the coast below Isfoin.
I had only time to bow my acquiescent thanks and to thrust the gems deep into a pocket before I was seized up by Frowsea, jostled back down the stairs, and turned out into the courtyard as though nothing had happened. Except that something had happened, which everyone within sight or hearing knew. People drifted in my direction, as though aimlessly. Questions were whispered from mouths hungry for happenings; eyes peered rapaciously. What? What was going on?
“The Great Sultan learned that my father had been falsely accused,” I said, surprised at the firmness of my own voice. “He wished me to know that no stain attached to my family, that my brother is safe, that I may join him if I wish.”
“Why did the sultana want to see you? Her. Winetongue? Why?”
“The sultana said a kind word. She gave me a gem for my years of service.” And I showed one cupped in my hand, a very small one, not enough to incite envy. In the harim, envy was as dangerous as a carpet snake; as readily hidden, it too could kill without warning.
Disappointed, they went away. No one cared about my years of service, or my father who had been falsely accused or my brother. Truth to tell, by this time I didn’t care about my brother. He was older than I by a good fifteen years,
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, child. He may need you to scrub his back. Something of that sort. Surely you didn’t think I meant…” She snorted, not finishing the sentence, amused by the thought.
“No, Great Queen.” I turned red again. Of course the prince would not want sex with a…a draggletail, as Frowsea called me. Or one as untutored as I in the amorous arts.
“Do you know where the Strangers live?”
“I have heard they live afar. The Hospice of St. Weel is on the back side of beyond.”
The sultana’s mouth twisted in amusement. “Not quite. Say rather the near side of beyond, on the west coast of the Crawling Sea. Pay great attention to everything on the way. Use your eyes well, and your ears. When you return, we will want you to tell us all about it.”
As I tried on the various articles of clothing, I wondered why Sultana Winetongue had really picked me to go with Keen Nose. None of the reasons given seemed enough. And why not send a male? Males could scrub backs and tell stories, too. There was nothing gender specific about either! Perhaps Soaz would tell me thereal reason. He was unlikely to have me beaten for impertinence so close to the time of departure, as this would inconvenience the prince and Sultan Tummyfat. On the other hand, if I proved too curious and importunate, they might choose someone else, and I really, really wanted to go! All in all, best keep my questions locked inside. Perhaps Prince Keen Nose would tell me on the way. Seemingly we were to have much time for conversation.
I peeled off the last shirt. All the clothing in the pile would fit, more or less. None of it was too tight, though some was a trifle loose, as though made for a larger person.
“That’s all right,” said Frowsea. “I’ll put the bigger ones in the bottom of the pack. It’s a long journey and likely you’ll grow into them.”
The sultana directed me: “Pack your own shoes and underclothing and any small treasures you cannot bear to leave behind. Come up here before first light. Don’t say anything about the prince to those, down there.” The sultana gestured at the curtained wall, meaning the women in the courtyard. “Make up a tale, you’re good at that, but don’t tell them the truth. And here, girl. Put these in your shoes, or sew them into your underclothes. They are for my son’s help and safety. You may need them on the way.” And she spilled gems into my hands, cut rubies and emeralds and a shimmer of poinuid pearls, glowing blue as the depths of the sea. These pearls are fished up by the onchiki or the Onchik-Dau, all along the coast below Isfoin.
I had only time to bow my acquiescent thanks and to thrust the gems deep into a pocket before I was seized up by Frowsea, jostled back down the stairs, and turned out into the courtyard as though nothing had happened. Except that something had happened, which everyone within sight or hearing knew. People drifted in my direction, as though aimlessly. Questions were whispered from mouths hungry for happenings; eyes peered rapaciously. What? What was going on?
“The Great Sultan learned that my father had been falsely accused,” I said, surprised at the firmness of my own voice. “He wished me to know that no stain attached to my family, that my brother is safe, that I may join him if I wish.”
“Why did the sultana want to see you? Her. Winetongue? Why?”
“The sultana said a kind word. She gave me a gem for my years of service.” And I showed one cupped in my hand, a very small one, not enough to incite envy. In the harim, envy was as dangerous as a carpet snake; as readily hidden, it too could kill without warning.
Disappointed, they went away. No one cared about my years of service, or my father who had been falsely accused or my brother. Truth to tell, by this time I didn’t care about my brother. He was older than I by a good fifteen years,
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