ear Speaking the truth about the stranger.'
Sister Carmis, the quietest of the sisters whom Paama had encountered, came forward with a large, light parcel. ‘Place this cushion under your head at night, and I will be with you in your dreams, to show you what may be, and to guard you against what must not be.'
Paama stared at the sisters and at her gifts, overwhelmed. ‘Thank you. I feel less afraid now.'
'But not less careful,’ warned Sister Jani.
Paama looked at the last package, which was so large that Sister Jani had rested it on the floor the moment she entered the room.
'And what is that?’ she said in trepidation.
'The carved stool for your father's gift. Do be careful taking it down the hill. Sister Elen was forced to rush the gluing, and too much movement will shake the joints loose again.'
* * * *
[Back to Table of Contents]
12
the face behind the veil
* * * *
Paama's return to Makendha was as quiet and fuss-free as her departure had been. Although her family was expecting her, their welcome was a touch harried, and her father was actually slightly more cheerful about seeing the stool completed than about seeing his daughter again.
Neila was glad to see her, an unusual state of affairs. She was happy to have someone to talk to about Alton and the man who had sent him, the man who hid his face. Paama listened with more attention than she was accustomed to giving to her years-younger sister and her busy love life. There was more than one stranger in Makendha, and she needed to find out which was the one to beware of.
'Let me see if I have it straight,’ she said, gently pausing her sister in midflow. ‘Alton is a poet, and he speaks beautiful words to you, and you are very interested in him??s that right?'
Neila nodded, beaming radiantly.
'Then there is Lord Taran, whose face no-one has seen, but who is tall, silent, has eyes like amethyst—so far as you have been able to observe, that is—and is very rich. And you are also very interested in him.'
Neila shamelessly nodded again.
'Which one are you considering for marriage again? I have forgotten.'
Neila gave her a hurt look. ‘Lord Taran, as you well know. Alton is only his servant.'
'Hmm,’ Paama said doubtfully. ‘And are there any other men of note in this Lord Taran's household?'
Neila stared at her. ‘I thought you were tired of men and marriage.'
Paama gave her an equally blank stare in reply before she understood the meaning of her sister's words. ‘Not for me, silly child. I?? just want to know.'
Neila smiled in disbelief. ‘There are only a few minor servants??nd the one who heads the household, of course, but he is not very interesting.'
Paama was not reassured. She had seen a djombi make do with the shadow of a six year-old girl and still achieve its purpose. Her enemy might be the mysterious lord, or the extraordinarily gifted poet, but he could just as easily be the boring majordomo, or one of the minor servants—perhaps even the one who would bear the cup of welcome when she first entered the tent of the merchant prince. She would have to meet them all herself and pray that the Sisters’ gifts and skills would give her some insight.
On the day of the dinner, Paama made her preparations carefully. She selected a dress that would help her to fade into the background, and she fastened to her belt a matching cloth purse, taking care to arrange it so that the Stick was completely covered. Then she pinned the brooch at the corner of the square neckline and bound her hair back with the headband. The cushion was already waiting by her pillow; she prayed she would need it for nothing more than an ordinary, restful sleep.
At twilight, everyone was ready. Semwe led the way to the tent of Lord Taran, carrying his gift carefully in front of him so as not to wrinkle or stain his best linen tunic. His wife and daughters walked behind him, treading gently in their embroidered cloth slippers, careful to keep to the
Sister Carmis, the quietest of the sisters whom Paama had encountered, came forward with a large, light parcel. ‘Place this cushion under your head at night, and I will be with you in your dreams, to show you what may be, and to guard you against what must not be.'
Paama stared at the sisters and at her gifts, overwhelmed. ‘Thank you. I feel less afraid now.'
'But not less careful,’ warned Sister Jani.
Paama looked at the last package, which was so large that Sister Jani had rested it on the floor the moment she entered the room.
'And what is that?’ she said in trepidation.
'The carved stool for your father's gift. Do be careful taking it down the hill. Sister Elen was forced to rush the gluing, and too much movement will shake the joints loose again.'
* * * *
[Back to Table of Contents]
12
the face behind the veil
* * * *
Paama's return to Makendha was as quiet and fuss-free as her departure had been. Although her family was expecting her, their welcome was a touch harried, and her father was actually slightly more cheerful about seeing the stool completed than about seeing his daughter again.
Neila was glad to see her, an unusual state of affairs. She was happy to have someone to talk to about Alton and the man who had sent him, the man who hid his face. Paama listened with more attention than she was accustomed to giving to her years-younger sister and her busy love life. There was more than one stranger in Makendha, and she needed to find out which was the one to beware of.
'Let me see if I have it straight,’ she said, gently pausing her sister in midflow. ‘Alton is a poet, and he speaks beautiful words to you, and you are very interested in him??s that right?'
Neila nodded, beaming radiantly.
'Then there is Lord Taran, whose face no-one has seen, but who is tall, silent, has eyes like amethyst—so far as you have been able to observe, that is—and is very rich. And you are also very interested in him.'
Neila shamelessly nodded again.
'Which one are you considering for marriage again? I have forgotten.'
Neila gave her a hurt look. ‘Lord Taran, as you well know. Alton is only his servant.'
'Hmm,’ Paama said doubtfully. ‘And are there any other men of note in this Lord Taran's household?'
Neila stared at her. ‘I thought you were tired of men and marriage.'
Paama gave her an equally blank stare in reply before she understood the meaning of her sister's words. ‘Not for me, silly child. I?? just want to know.'
Neila smiled in disbelief. ‘There are only a few minor servants??nd the one who heads the household, of course, but he is not very interesting.'
Paama was not reassured. She had seen a djombi make do with the shadow of a six year-old girl and still achieve its purpose. Her enemy might be the mysterious lord, or the extraordinarily gifted poet, but he could just as easily be the boring majordomo, or one of the minor servants—perhaps even the one who would bear the cup of welcome when she first entered the tent of the merchant prince. She would have to meet them all herself and pray that the Sisters’ gifts and skills would give her some insight.
On the day of the dinner, Paama made her preparations carefully. She selected a dress that would help her to fade into the background, and she fastened to her belt a matching cloth purse, taking care to arrange it so that the Stick was completely covered. Then she pinned the brooch at the corner of the square neckline and bound her hair back with the headband. The cushion was already waiting by her pillow; she prayed she would need it for nothing more than an ordinary, restful sleep.
At twilight, everyone was ready. Semwe led the way to the tent of Lord Taran, carrying his gift carefully in front of him so as not to wrinkle or stain his best linen tunic. His wife and daughters walked behind him, treading gently in their embroidered cloth slippers, careful to keep to the
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