Orgoru didn’t quite understand what manner of spirit spoke to him, or could live inside a wall—but he did know that he didn’t dare appear frightened in front of so beautiful a damsel. He squared his shoulders and gave what he hoped was a gentle, reassuring smile with a bit of gratitude thrown in—and more than a hint of awe at her beauty. He must have succeeded in some measure, for she blushed and turned away.
“Our visitor has come to live among us, Guardian,” the duke said. “He tells us that he is the Prince of Paradime—but we must ask that you cloak him in the glory that suits his rank.”
“Certainly,” the Guardian agreed.
“Step into the booth,” the beautiful damsel told him. “You will feel nothing, but the spirit will take your measure and give you fresh clothing to replace the rags of your disguise.”
“I will do whatever you ask,” Orgoru said, looking deeply into her eyes, “if you will only tell me your name.” Where had they come from, such words, such courtly phrases? Orgoru had never had a way with girls!
But this was no mere girl—she was a lady born, perhaps even a princess! He found that nothing tied his tongue, that he knew how to address a woman who deserved the title of lady; he found that her gaze on him was admiring as well as flirtatious, and perhaps it was that which unbound his tongue.
She blushed and lowered her eyes, but she said, “I am the Countess Gilda d’Alexi, Prince. May I know your name?”
“I am Orgoru,” he said simply, then stepped into the booth fearlessly—or seeming to be; his heart hammered within his breast.
He felt no touch, he heard no sound, but in a minute’s time, the Guardian said, “Your day’s attire waits in the closet in your suite, O Prince—the Azure Rooms in the east wing. Go forth to rejoice.”
Orgoru obeyed, feeling that he had missed something somewhere—but he stepped out of the booth, and the Guardian’s voice sounded all about him: “It is even as you have guessed, my lord Duke. He is indeed one of your own kind, and belongs among you in this city.”
The countess’s eyes glowed, the duke cried with delight, and all the lords and ladies cheered. They set off toward the east wing with Orgoru in their midst, singing with joy.
CHAPTER 8
Welcome among us indeed!” cried the duke. “And in proof of it, here is your own suite—the Azure Rooms! Put your hand to the panel, for no one else’s will open it now.”
Wondering, Orgoru touched the door, It swung open to reveal a huge room with cream-colored walls and deep blue trim and curtains. Even the people in the pictures on the walls wore blue clothing, and they were all lords and ladies, gods and goddesses, with a few servants here and there to remind him of his station in life.
“Enter, Your Highness, enter!” the duke urged.
“Yes, enter,” the countess echoed, with smoldering eyes. Orgoru looked into them, swallowed heartily, and entered. The crowd tumbled in with him, vying for his attention as each showed him a new marvel.
“This is your sitting room. Here you can be alone in luxury as befits your station!”
“Behold your hearth!” An older noblewoman gestured at the small fireplace in the corner. “You’ll never need it for more than decoration, of course—these rooms stay warm all through winter, cool all through the summer!”
“If you wish to dine,” said a tall young man in scarlet clothes, “here is your table.” He touched a horizontal bar in the wall, and it slid out, extending legs to become a table indeed “Only speak aloud what you wish to eat, and you shall find it on the table when it appears!”
“It seems a pretty picture-frame, does it not?” Another beautiful young noblewoman—they were all beautiful, all these people, as he had known they would be, but none seemed as beautiful to him as Countess Gilda—gestured at an ornate but empty picture-frame. “But speak the word, and it will fill with moving images, images that show a whole story. Picture! Show me The Romance of the Rose!”
The picture came to life, with gloriously clad men and women moving about, straight and courtly, the very paragons of gentility. Orgoru fixed the title of the picture in his memory—he felt lumpen and awkward among these people, and wanted to make sure he knew how to move properly.
“Though there are also books!” A fellow prince gestured toward a floor-to-ceiling case filled with leather-bound editions.
“Amazing!” But Orgoru’s stomach sank—how could he admit to these cultured people that he didn’t know how to read? “This is the most marvelous of all!” The countess plucked a slender volume from a waist-high shelf, opened it, and held it before Orgoru. “See! It speaks!”
He stared down at a pointed shape with a crossbar, while a voice from the book intoned, “This is the letter A, sometimes pronounced ‘ah.’ ”
“A treasure,” Orgoru said with feeling, and his heart went out to the countess. How gracious, how tactful of her, to show him that he had the means to learn to read at hand! And how deep her insight, to know that he needed it!
She closed the book and slipped it back onto the shelf, then turned to a door, saying, “Here are more wonders.” This door opened at her touch, and the crowd ushered him into the chamber. It was half the size of the sitting room, floor hidden by another azure carpet with designs of leaves and flowers, with a huge four-poster bed centered in one wall. Orgoru gawked, imagining lolling in such luxury when the most he had ever known was a pallet stuffed with straw. He felt a hand touch his, and looked down to see Countess Gilda smiling up at him with mischief in her eyes. He stared back, frozen, pulse hammering, but she laughed and spun away to another door. “Your dressing chamber!”
They hurried him in, still vying with one another to show him its wonders. There was a cupboard that made the dirt fall from him, a tub that filled with hot scented water by itself (they assured him that it was safe, and baths within its waters were restorative and were delights in themselves), and another cupboard that always had clean garments for him (old ones dropped on its floor simply disappeared by morning). Instead of a razor, there was a cream to spread on his skin, and when he wiped it off, his beard would be gone—and would stay gone for a month!
“Refresh yourself,” the duke invited, “then come join us in the great hall. Only say where you wish to go, and a spot of azure will appear on the wall, and move before you to guide you to us.”
“Do not make us wait long,” Gilda breathed, reaching out to touch him one last time as she stepped through the door.
They all went out behind her, laughing and joking, rejoicing that there was one more nobleman among them—and another of royal blood, too! Orgoru’s heart overflowed with gratitude to them all, for taking him to their collective bosom so quickly, and without question. Yes, surely he would come to join them as quickly as he could! But not in these peasant clothes, this disguise that had helped him escape from bondage. He closed the door to the dressing chamber, kicked off his heavy shoes and his tunic, and stepped into the cleaning booth.
He was amazed how fresh and new he felt when he came out, and that without a drop of water touching his skin! He wiped away his beard as they had shown him, then opened his closet—and discovered doublet and hose that were so beautiful they took his breath away. They were silver with azure embroidery and a short azure cloak with azure boots. Over them hung a short linen garment that was strange, but after puzzling over it for a little, he drew it on and up about his hips, where it clung as though alive. It was a strange and not entirely pleasant sensation for a man whose loins had always gone ungirded, but if it was the custom here, he would accept it. Then he pulled on the glorious doublet and hose and stood in front of his mirror, amazed at the transformation. Here was no dumpy unkempt peasant, but a tall, lean aristocrat with shining hair and a severe, handsome but noble face that he scarcely recognized as his own.