herself did.
She could not be trusted with any decision-making.
“We’ll make camp here,” Sairu declared in a loud voice, and the slaves, all of whom had fallen into an uneasy stupor, startled and looked around at her. Who was she, after all, to speak for the mistress? Nothing but a handmaiden!
But Sairu urged her donkey up beside Lady Hariawan’s mule. She found Sticky Bun, held gently, fast asleep in the lady’s arms. Lady Hariawan herself stared into the space between her mule’s ears and did not seem to hear Sairu when she spoke.
“My mistress, you are tired,” Sairu insisted, and reached out to touch her arm. “We must rest now.”
Sairu’s fingers scarcely brushed the heavy wool of the cloak, but Lady Hariawan startled and turned to her with wide, staring eyes, nearly dropping Sticky Bun, who growled and wriggled in protest. Lady Hariawan gazed unseeing at Sairu.
“Please, my mistress,” Sairu urged gently, saying again, “you are tired. Let us stop.”
Recognition slowly crept into Lady Hariawan’s eyes. She nodded slowly but said nothing even as Sairu issued commands to the slaves. Tu Domchu and a younger slave helped their mistress down from the mule and placed her upon some blankets out of the way; she might have been nothing more than a porcelain doll to be dressed, propped up, and ignored. Tu Syed ordered his brethren to build one fire for her and another for themselves a little ways off. Slaves though they were, they were not about to share their meal or fire with a woman, much less with a temple girl and her handmaiden.
Sairu unpacked a large purple eggplant from among their supplies and placed it near the fire to roast. Then she set about erecting a tent and making other small preparations while her dogs milled about her feet and whined piteously for their own supper. All this time, Lady Hariawan sat still as stone and scarcely seemed to see the flames of the campfire under her fixed gaze.
The cloak slipped from her shoulders. Though the evening was cold, she made no move to draw it back into place.
“What a baby you are!” Sairu exclaimed when she found her mistress sitting so exposed, nothing but her light gown to protect her from the night air. “A helpless baby! Did no one teach you even to keep yourself warm?” She wrapped the cloak back in place and, when Lady Hariawan made no move, picked up one of her mistress’s hands and made her clutch it at the throat.
“There,” Sairu said, and cast an irritable eye over her shoulder at Tu Syed and the others, none of whom had noticed Lady Hariawan’s state. A useless lot they were, they and their condescending noses!
Frowning, which felt uncomfortable on her characteristically cheerful face, Sairu pulled the roasted eggplant away from the fire and dug her knife into the top of it, loosening the skin. She worked efficiently, burning her fingers only slightly in the eggplant’s hot juices. And she watched her lady across the flames.
Sticky Bun lay at Lady Hariawan’s side, hoping for pettings and signs of affection that never came. Yet he remained beside her, though Dumpling and Rice Cake took up their usual positions on either side of Sairu, watching her work with intent eyes, in case the strips of eggplant skin might miraculously transform into beef jerk.
Suddenly Dumpling growled. Sairu glanced at him and saw his head come up, his pushed-in nose begin to twitch. Rice Cake echoed him a moment later, and then Sticky Bun, still pressed to Lady Hariawan’s side, followed suit.
It was that cat.
Sairu, her eggplant peeled, sliced it in half and, using the tip of her knife, began to flick the little seeds out of the fleshy center. All the while, her eyes scanned the darkness beyond the firelight. That cat was near, she was certain of it. Whatever and whoever it was, it had followed them from the city, stalking them out here into the night.
The dogs’ growling continued. They never forgot a scent. Then they silenced as swiftly
She could not be trusted with any decision-making.
“We’ll make camp here,” Sairu declared in a loud voice, and the slaves, all of whom had fallen into an uneasy stupor, startled and looked around at her. Who was she, after all, to speak for the mistress? Nothing but a handmaiden!
But Sairu urged her donkey up beside Lady Hariawan’s mule. She found Sticky Bun, held gently, fast asleep in the lady’s arms. Lady Hariawan herself stared into the space between her mule’s ears and did not seem to hear Sairu when she spoke.
“My mistress, you are tired,” Sairu insisted, and reached out to touch her arm. “We must rest now.”
Sairu’s fingers scarcely brushed the heavy wool of the cloak, but Lady Hariawan startled and turned to her with wide, staring eyes, nearly dropping Sticky Bun, who growled and wriggled in protest. Lady Hariawan gazed unseeing at Sairu.
“Please, my mistress,” Sairu urged gently, saying again, “you are tired. Let us stop.”
Recognition slowly crept into Lady Hariawan’s eyes. She nodded slowly but said nothing even as Sairu issued commands to the slaves. Tu Domchu and a younger slave helped their mistress down from the mule and placed her upon some blankets out of the way; she might have been nothing more than a porcelain doll to be dressed, propped up, and ignored. Tu Syed ordered his brethren to build one fire for her and another for themselves a little ways off. Slaves though they were, they were not about to share their meal or fire with a woman, much less with a temple girl and her handmaiden.
Sairu unpacked a large purple eggplant from among their supplies and placed it near the fire to roast. Then she set about erecting a tent and making other small preparations while her dogs milled about her feet and whined piteously for their own supper. All this time, Lady Hariawan sat still as stone and scarcely seemed to see the flames of the campfire under her fixed gaze.
The cloak slipped from her shoulders. Though the evening was cold, she made no move to draw it back into place.
“What a baby you are!” Sairu exclaimed when she found her mistress sitting so exposed, nothing but her light gown to protect her from the night air. “A helpless baby! Did no one teach you even to keep yourself warm?” She wrapped the cloak back in place and, when Lady Hariawan made no move, picked up one of her mistress’s hands and made her clutch it at the throat.
“There,” Sairu said, and cast an irritable eye over her shoulder at Tu Syed and the others, none of whom had noticed Lady Hariawan’s state. A useless lot they were, they and their condescending noses!
Frowning, which felt uncomfortable on her characteristically cheerful face, Sairu pulled the roasted eggplant away from the fire and dug her knife into the top of it, loosening the skin. She worked efficiently, burning her fingers only slightly in the eggplant’s hot juices. And she watched her lady across the flames.
Sticky Bun lay at Lady Hariawan’s side, hoping for pettings and signs of affection that never came. Yet he remained beside her, though Dumpling and Rice Cake took up their usual positions on either side of Sairu, watching her work with intent eyes, in case the strips of eggplant skin might miraculously transform into beef jerk.
Suddenly Dumpling growled. Sairu glanced at him and saw his head come up, his pushed-in nose begin to twitch. Rice Cake echoed him a moment later, and then Sticky Bun, still pressed to Lady Hariawan’s side, followed suit.
It was that cat.
Sairu, her eggplant peeled, sliced it in half and, using the tip of her knife, began to flick the little seeds out of the fleshy center. All the while, her eyes scanned the darkness beyond the firelight. That cat was near, she was certain of it. Whatever and whoever it was, it had followed them from the city, stalking them out here into the night.
The dogs’ growling continued. They never forgot a scent. Then they silenced as swiftly
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