her costume --
even for a night given over to fancy dress -- was ridiculous. It appeared
to consist of blue feathers pasted directly on to her skin, on her hips and
buttocks and on her belly as high as her navel. There were low red shoes on
her feet; around her wrists were beaded bands of various colours, and aside
from that she wore only designs in yellow paint on her face, shoulders
and breasts. She seemed to have emerged from the southward-leading avenue
connecting Empire Circle with the river embankment, and was standing now
in the middle of the roadway staring about her. She seemed both dazzled by
the sudden brightness here and dazed by her surroundings, for she glanced
wildly from side to side like a trapped animal seeking a way of escape.
Ribald yells went up from the crowd and the noise of singing died as
people turned to stare. Not far from Kristina and Don Miguel were a pair
of civil guards; an indignant man of middle age marched up to them and
spoke in furious tone, pointing at the feathered girl. Don Miguel did
not catch the actual words, but their import was clear, for a grinning
youth next to him bellowed, "Speak for yourself some of us like to see
'em that way!"
It occurred to Don Miguel that the sight of someone so nearly unclothed
was hardly fit for a duke's daughter, but the realisation was both
belated and misplaced, for Kristina, her pretty face set in a frown of
curiosity, was staring intently at the girl in blue feathers. She said,
"Miguel, I've never seen a costume anything like hers before. Where do
you suppose it comes from -- a tropical country? Asia, Africa . . . ?"
Something clicked in Don Miguel's mind. The word "premonition" flicked
through his thoughts. But he did not try to pin the idea down. A group
of drunken workmen at the edge of the crowd nearest to where the feathered
girl was standing had clearly made up their minds that if she came out in
public half-naked she could expect what they intended to do to her.
Leering, they moved closer to her, about five or six in a group.
Tiger-wise, she paused in her frightened staring and half-crouched to
confront them.
It looked as though the situation was going to turn nasty.
"Kristina," he said in a low voice, "I think I ought to get you away
from here."
"You'd do much better," came the reply as tart as lemon-juice, "to make
these civil guards go and help the poor girl before those men start to
gang-rape her!"
Accustomed to more conventional language from well-bred young women, Don
Miguel was taken aback and so distracted he failed to witness the next
development. A sudden cry drew his attention back to the feathered girl,
and he saw in amazement that one of the workmen was lying prostrate on
the hard ground and she was in the process of hurling another of her
assailants over her shoulder in a perfect wrestling throw.
"Oh, lovely!" Kristina clapped her hands, then caught Don Miguel by the arm.
"Come on, let's go and cheer her!"
But the ferment of her earlier remark was working in his mind by now,
and the premonition was coming clearer. Never seen a costume anything like hers before . . . What was he doing standing here like a petrified dummy? He started to
shoulder his way towards the feathered girl as violently and rapidly as
he dared, ignoring the complaints of those other bystanders he had to
push aside. Somehow Kristina kept up with him.
By the time he made it to the clear patch of ground surrounding the girl,
two more men had joined the first on the pavement, bruised and cursing,
and the girl was spitting what were obviously insults at them. Her voice
was almost as deep and strong as a man's despite the fact that she was
shorter than Kristina. Listening, Don Miguel felt the hairs on his nape
start to prickle.
The girl was small and thin, but wiry. Now he was close enough he could see
that she had black hair dressed in stiff wings either side of her head.
Her complexion was olive-sallow.
even for a night given over to fancy dress -- was ridiculous. It appeared
to consist of blue feathers pasted directly on to her skin, on her hips and
buttocks and on her belly as high as her navel. There were low red shoes on
her feet; around her wrists were beaded bands of various colours, and aside
from that she wore only designs in yellow paint on her face, shoulders
and breasts. She seemed to have emerged from the southward-leading avenue
connecting Empire Circle with the river embankment, and was standing now
in the middle of the roadway staring about her. She seemed both dazzled by
the sudden brightness here and dazed by her surroundings, for she glanced
wildly from side to side like a trapped animal seeking a way of escape.
Ribald yells went up from the crowd and the noise of singing died as
people turned to stare. Not far from Kristina and Don Miguel were a pair
of civil guards; an indignant man of middle age marched up to them and
spoke in furious tone, pointing at the feathered girl. Don Miguel did
not catch the actual words, but their import was clear, for a grinning
youth next to him bellowed, "Speak for yourself some of us like to see
'em that way!"
It occurred to Don Miguel that the sight of someone so nearly unclothed
was hardly fit for a duke's daughter, but the realisation was both
belated and misplaced, for Kristina, her pretty face set in a frown of
curiosity, was staring intently at the girl in blue feathers. She said,
"Miguel, I've never seen a costume anything like hers before. Where do
you suppose it comes from -- a tropical country? Asia, Africa . . . ?"
Something clicked in Don Miguel's mind. The word "premonition" flicked
through his thoughts. But he did not try to pin the idea down. A group
of drunken workmen at the edge of the crowd nearest to where the feathered
girl was standing had clearly made up their minds that if she came out in
public half-naked she could expect what they intended to do to her.
Leering, they moved closer to her, about five or six in a group.
Tiger-wise, she paused in her frightened staring and half-crouched to
confront them.
It looked as though the situation was going to turn nasty.
"Kristina," he said in a low voice, "I think I ought to get you away
from here."
"You'd do much better," came the reply as tart as lemon-juice, "to make
these civil guards go and help the poor girl before those men start to
gang-rape her!"
Accustomed to more conventional language from well-bred young women, Don
Miguel was taken aback and so distracted he failed to witness the next
development. A sudden cry drew his attention back to the feathered girl,
and he saw in amazement that one of the workmen was lying prostrate on
the hard ground and she was in the process of hurling another of her
assailants over her shoulder in a perfect wrestling throw.
"Oh, lovely!" Kristina clapped her hands, then caught Don Miguel by the arm.
"Come on, let's go and cheer her!"
But the ferment of her earlier remark was working in his mind by now,
and the premonition was coming clearer. Never seen a costume anything like hers before . . . What was he doing standing here like a petrified dummy? He started to
shoulder his way towards the feathered girl as violently and rapidly as
he dared, ignoring the complaints of those other bystanders he had to
push aside. Somehow Kristina kept up with him.
By the time he made it to the clear patch of ground surrounding the girl,
two more men had joined the first on the pavement, bruised and cursing,
and the girl was spitting what were obviously insults at them. Her voice
was almost as deep and strong as a man's despite the fact that she was
shorter than Kristina. Listening, Don Miguel felt the hairs on his nape
start to prickle.
The girl was small and thin, but wiry. Now he was close enough he could see
that she had black hair dressed in stiff wings either side of her head.
Her complexion was olive-sallow.
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