Read Online Wildwood Dancing by Juliet Marillier - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Juliet Marillier
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the best kind of treasure hunt. Salem bin Afazi’s consignments were always full of exotic surprises.
Stela found a box full of tiny glass phials and flasks filled with a variety of sweet perfumes: spicy, floral, musky, pungent. She began to set them out in a row by color, handling each with careful fingers.
Paula had discovered books destined for the monastery near Sibiu: a most precious cargo. Now she sat cross-legged on the marble, spectacles perched on the tip of her nose, engrossed in an old text bound in dark leather.
The rest of us were working together, for there were rolled-up carpets in this consignment, and each had to be checked in its turn and set away. They were long and heavy. By the time we reached the last of them, our backs were aching.
Stela had packed away the bottles and put the box on a shelf. Now she was investigating a basket of curious toys—wooden bees, and dragonflies, and bats, that whirred and buzzed and flapped their wings when they were pushed along. Gogu was by her side, enthralled. His eyes bulged with fascinated apprehension. “They’re not real, Gogu,” I heard my sister say. “Not really real.”
“Oh, look at this!”
Iulia had begun emptying a crate of fabrics. Tati had unwrapped the protective covering of the first bundle to check for imperfections and water damage.
“Oh, it’s so lovely, like cobweb!” Tati lifted a length of the silk cloth between her hands. It was not-quite-white—the color of a pale spring flower with the smallest hint of sunshine to soften its stark purity. The cloth was exceptionally fine and clung to Tati’s fingers. The whole surface was closely embroidered with a pattern of butterflies done in the same subtle color as the background, so they showed best when light shone through the sheer fabric. Here and there an eye or wing or antenna was accented by tiny pearls, by miniature crystals, by odd glass beads with swirling patterns in them.
“Just wait,” I said. “As soon as the wife of one
voivode
appears in this, the others will be knocking down our door, wanting something just the same, only better.”
“Oh, Jena.” Tati was holding the silk up against her cheek; it was plain to me that she had fallen in love. “This is so …”
“There is quite a lot of it,” Iulia remarked, eyes thoughtful. “And it’s been ages since Tati had a new gown.”
“If we all worked on it, we could get it finished for tomorrow night,” Paula said without taking her eyes off her book.
“Oh, yes!” declared Stela, clapping her hands and making Gogu jump.
“What?” asked Tati, who had been standing there in a daze.
“How many yards do you need?” I asked her. “Iulia, pass me the shears.”
“Oh, we shouldn’t—” Tati protested, but her eyes were alight.
“Iulia’s right, there’s plenty of it,” I said. “Father won’t mind, and I’ve already signed for the cargo. We won’t be taking much. You’re not exactly a big girl. You’ll need an under-dress with this, it’s almost transparent.”
“I have an old silk shift we can use,” Tati said, coming back to herself. “Are you sure, Jena? Four yards, I think. It’s a lot of sewing in one day. We have to unpack the rest of this first.”
“A project will be good for us,” I said, wielding the shears. This would make a nice change from staring at columns of figures and worrying. “Let’s hope we have no unexpected visitors before tomorrow night.”
Tati went off with Paula and Stela to make a start while Iulia and I got the rest of the cargo unpacked, labeled, and stored. By the time we’d finished, Tati had cut most of the pieces and Paula was busy altering the silk shift. The sun set early and fine work was difficult by lamplight. When we went down to eat supper, our minds were elsewhere, and both Florica and Petru gave us funny looks.
“We’re worn out,” Iulia said, helping herself to a second bowl of
ciorbă
. “That must be some kind of record, unpacking a
Stela found a box full of tiny glass phials and flasks filled with a variety of sweet perfumes: spicy, floral, musky, pungent. She began to set them out in a row by color, handling each with careful fingers.
Paula had discovered books destined for the monastery near Sibiu: a most precious cargo. Now she sat cross-legged on the marble, spectacles perched on the tip of her nose, engrossed in an old text bound in dark leather.
The rest of us were working together, for there were rolled-up carpets in this consignment, and each had to be checked in its turn and set away. They were long and heavy. By the time we reached the last of them, our backs were aching.
Stela had packed away the bottles and put the box on a shelf. Now she was investigating a basket of curious toys—wooden bees, and dragonflies, and bats, that whirred and buzzed and flapped their wings when they were pushed along. Gogu was by her side, enthralled. His eyes bulged with fascinated apprehension. “They’re not real, Gogu,” I heard my sister say. “Not really real.”
“Oh, look at this!”
Iulia had begun emptying a crate of fabrics. Tati had unwrapped the protective covering of the first bundle to check for imperfections and water damage.
“Oh, it’s so lovely, like cobweb!” Tati lifted a length of the silk cloth between her hands. It was not-quite-white—the color of a pale spring flower with the smallest hint of sunshine to soften its stark purity. The cloth was exceptionally fine and clung to Tati’s fingers. The whole surface was closely embroidered with a pattern of butterflies done in the same subtle color as the background, so they showed best when light shone through the sheer fabric. Here and there an eye or wing or antenna was accented by tiny pearls, by miniature crystals, by odd glass beads with swirling patterns in them.
“Just wait,” I said. “As soon as the wife of one
voivode
appears in this, the others will be knocking down our door, wanting something just the same, only better.”
“Oh, Jena.” Tati was holding the silk up against her cheek; it was plain to me that she had fallen in love. “This is so …”
“There is quite a lot of it,” Iulia remarked, eyes thoughtful. “And it’s been ages since Tati had a new gown.”
“If we all worked on it, we could get it finished for tomorrow night,” Paula said without taking her eyes off her book.
“Oh, yes!” declared Stela, clapping her hands and making Gogu jump.
“What?” asked Tati, who had been standing there in a daze.
“How many yards do you need?” I asked her. “Iulia, pass me the shears.”
“Oh, we shouldn’t—” Tati protested, but her eyes were alight.
“Iulia’s right, there’s plenty of it,” I said. “Father won’t mind, and I’ve already signed for the cargo. We won’t be taking much. You’re not exactly a big girl. You’ll need an under-dress with this, it’s almost transparent.”
“I have an old silk shift we can use,” Tati said, coming back to herself. “Are you sure, Jena? Four yards, I think. It’s a lot of sewing in one day. We have to unpack the rest of this first.”
“A project will be good for us,” I said, wielding the shears. This would make a nice change from staring at columns of figures and worrying. “Let’s hope we have no unexpected visitors before tomorrow night.”
Tati went off with Paula and Stela to make a start while Iulia and I got the rest of the cargo unpacked, labeled, and stored. By the time we’d finished, Tati had cut most of the pieces and Paula was busy altering the silk shift. The sun set early and fine work was difficult by lamplight. When we went down to eat supper, our minds were elsewhere, and both Florica and Petru gave us funny looks.
“We’re worn out,” Iulia said, helping herself to a second bowl of
ciorbă
. “That must be some kind of record, unpacking a
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