treeways. I can’t.”
But still I refused, until finally she said, “Then give me your underclothing.” I agreed to that, and reached under the robe to strip off the pants and halter. The pants were too tight for her hips, but she struggled into them anyway. The halter, however, fit nicely—one more sad proof of exactly how buxom I had become.
I had a worse realization, however, at the same time. The halter, as I slipped it off my shoulder inside my robe, had snagged on something on my shoulder. There should have been nothing there to snag on. Which meant that something new was growing.
An arm? Then I had less than a week before I’d have to cut it off, and it wasn’t in a good position for me to get at alone. How could I go to an Nkumai surgeon ( were there any Nkumai surgeons?) and ask him to remove an extra arm?
But the momentary alarm that gave me turned into relief as I realized that of course I didn’t have to stay here for a week, or even another day. I had all that I needed, all I had hoped for. I could now make a great show of leaving Nkumai in disgust at their failure to let me see the king; I could return to my father and tell him what the Nkumai sold to the Ambassador.
Smelly air.
I might have laughed, except that we were climbing the ladder again. And as I realized how close I had come to laughing, it occurred to me that whiffs of Nkumai forest air above noxious swamps could be dangerous. Self-restraints that I could normally count on, disciplined reflexes that had always been sure, didn’t function as well here, not this night.
Finally we reached the platform where the guards were watching.
“Stop,” said the sharp whisper, and then hands grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward the platform. Unfortunately, I wasn’t ready for the movement, and it was only with luck that I kept my feet on the rope ladder. As it was, I hung over the abyss, my feet on the ladder and my one arm suspended in the firm grasp of a guard.
“Careful,” said Mwabao. “Careful, she’s a soiler, she might fall.”
“Who are you?”
“Mwabao Mawa and Lady Lark, the soiler emissary from Bird.”
A grunt of recognition, and I found myself being pulled toward the platform, until my shin struck the edge. I stepped clumsily onto the wood, falling to one knee.
“What are you doing, wandering in the dark like this?” the voice insisted. I decided to let Mwabao answer. She explained that she was leading me to meet with Official Who Feeds All the Poor.
“Nobody has torches out now,” said the voice.
“He will.”
“Will he now?”
“Two torches,” she insisted. “He is expecting a guest.”
Whispers, and then we waited while quiet feet scampered off. A guard—or two, I realized, as the breathing patterns broke up—stayed with us, while another ran to check. It wasn’t long before he returned and said, “Two torches.”
“All right then,” said the voice. “Go on. But in the future, Mwabao Mawa, carry a torch. You are trusted, but not infallible.”
Mwabao mumbled her thanks, and so did I, and we were on our way again.
When two torches shone in the distance, Mwabao Mawa said good-bye.
“What?” I said, rather loudly.
“Quiet,” she insisted. “Official must not know that I brought you.”
“But how do I get there from here?”
“Can’t you see the path?”
I couldn’t, so she took me closer, until the dim light of the torches illuminated the rest of the way. I was glad that Official didn’t have the same penchant for narrow approaches that Mwabao did. I felt safe enough following the path in the dark, as Mwabao Mawa slipped off into the night of the trees.
I came to the door and said, very softly, “From the earth to the air.”
“And to the nest, come in,” said a soft voice, and I stepped through the curtains. Official sat there looking very, well, official in his red robe in the flickering light of two candles.
“You came at last,” said Official.
“Yes,” I said, and
But still I refused, until finally she said, “Then give me your underclothing.” I agreed to that, and reached under the robe to strip off the pants and halter. The pants were too tight for her hips, but she struggled into them anyway. The halter, however, fit nicely—one more sad proof of exactly how buxom I had become.
I had a worse realization, however, at the same time. The halter, as I slipped it off my shoulder inside my robe, had snagged on something on my shoulder. There should have been nothing there to snag on. Which meant that something new was growing.
An arm? Then I had less than a week before I’d have to cut it off, and it wasn’t in a good position for me to get at alone. How could I go to an Nkumai surgeon ( were there any Nkumai surgeons?) and ask him to remove an extra arm?
But the momentary alarm that gave me turned into relief as I realized that of course I didn’t have to stay here for a week, or even another day. I had all that I needed, all I had hoped for. I could now make a great show of leaving Nkumai in disgust at their failure to let me see the king; I could return to my father and tell him what the Nkumai sold to the Ambassador.
Smelly air.
I might have laughed, except that we were climbing the ladder again. And as I realized how close I had come to laughing, it occurred to me that whiffs of Nkumai forest air above noxious swamps could be dangerous. Self-restraints that I could normally count on, disciplined reflexes that had always been sure, didn’t function as well here, not this night.
Finally we reached the platform where the guards were watching.
“Stop,” said the sharp whisper, and then hands grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward the platform. Unfortunately, I wasn’t ready for the movement, and it was only with luck that I kept my feet on the rope ladder. As it was, I hung over the abyss, my feet on the ladder and my one arm suspended in the firm grasp of a guard.
“Careful,” said Mwabao. “Careful, she’s a soiler, she might fall.”
“Who are you?”
“Mwabao Mawa and Lady Lark, the soiler emissary from Bird.”
A grunt of recognition, and I found myself being pulled toward the platform, until my shin struck the edge. I stepped clumsily onto the wood, falling to one knee.
“What are you doing, wandering in the dark like this?” the voice insisted. I decided to let Mwabao answer. She explained that she was leading me to meet with Official Who Feeds All the Poor.
“Nobody has torches out now,” said the voice.
“He will.”
“Will he now?”
“Two torches,” she insisted. “He is expecting a guest.”
Whispers, and then we waited while quiet feet scampered off. A guard—or two, I realized, as the breathing patterns broke up—stayed with us, while another ran to check. It wasn’t long before he returned and said, “Two torches.”
“All right then,” said the voice. “Go on. But in the future, Mwabao Mawa, carry a torch. You are trusted, but not infallible.”
Mwabao mumbled her thanks, and so did I, and we were on our way again.
When two torches shone in the distance, Mwabao Mawa said good-bye.
“What?” I said, rather loudly.
“Quiet,” she insisted. “Official must not know that I brought you.”
“But how do I get there from here?”
“Can’t you see the path?”
I couldn’t, so she took me closer, until the dim light of the torches illuminated the rest of the way. I was glad that Official didn’t have the same penchant for narrow approaches that Mwabao did. I felt safe enough following the path in the dark, as Mwabao Mawa slipped off into the night of the trees.
I came to the door and said, very softly, “From the earth to the air.”
“And to the nest, come in,” said a soft voice, and I stepped through the curtains. Official sat there looking very, well, official in his red robe in the flickering light of two candles.
“You came at last,” said Official.
“Yes,” I said, and
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