Shadith glanced from Kati Mola to the younger woman in the entranceway slapping her hand on the ledge but keeping her voice too low for her words to reach them. Family affair, huh? And trying to make me one of them. No way. Ahlahlah, I begin to see Lee's problem clearer, it's so tempting to follow one's passions… You could help, you know. You've seen these things a thousand times. Why not slip them a little advice, show them where they're weak? Yeh, a thousand thousand times, enough to know if they don't do it themselves it's worthless. It's their world, let them spend their own blood and sweat on it.
With thumps and creaking behind her as the gate warder opened the great door, Uiaras came running down the steps. "Come in, come. It's, cold out here."
The foyer opened into a huge common room, wood-paneled, hung with tapestries worked in rich earth colors, the forms in them reminding Shadith of the animal carvings in the treelodge where she woke… what? three days ago, four? Seemed like a year.. Except for a few areas lit by shell-shaded oval bulbs putting out a brilliant white light where individuals were reading or working at needlepoint or embroidery, most of the lighting came from oil lamps (bronze straps and plates of amber shell) that spread a rich golden shimmer over the room. There were thick soft rugs on a polished wood floor, plump tapestry pillows scattered about among low divans set up by smaller fireplaces of red brick that were spaced along the walls; in the center of the room there was a round basin of red brick with a crackling fire in it, an inverted funnel over it to catch the smoke and lead it out. There were women in small groups and girls (young but not prepubescent, so they might be considered technically adult in this culture), sitting on the cushions, stretched out on the divans; they wore long robes in dark jewel colors with bands of embroidery about the hems, neck and sleeve edges.
Polite and disciplined inside the boundaries of their culture and courtesy, the women didn't stare at Shadith as she stood in the doorway, but glanced at her, glanced away again, eyes flickering like bi-colored leaves flipping in the wind, turning and turning as they went on with their conversations, their voices a whispering like the leaves of the whisper trees; the air was so thick with curiosity-fear-suppressed anger-hope-awe and lesser emotions that she found it difficult to breathe. She turned to Uiaras. "You said something about a bath?"
Uiaras laughed, clapped her hands. "Sitwa, the Singer NEEDS a bath."
Having been given permission by this to exercise their curiosity, the women and girls came swarming round Shadith, hanging back just long enough to let the housemother greet her, a tall, woman with a stem ascetic face that changed completely when she smiled and a black' mane liberally streaked with gray and white that fell in crimped undulations down past her waist. "Welcome, Singer, we had hoped you would come to us. Leave your things here if you will, the water's hot and waiting."
The bath room was fragrant and steamy, tiled over floor, walls, ceiling, the bath a tiled pool large enough for swimming races. The women stripped off their robes and fell into the steaming water with her, splashing and laughing, treating her like a baby, soaping her lavishly, stroking the hawk outline acid-burned into her cheek, asking a thousand questions about it, never pausing for an answer; they shampooed her hair, exclaiming at its soft springy texture, they stroked her skin wondering at its warm brown, several shades darker than the darkest of them. They wanted to know how old she was, where she came from, what her family was, why she'd come to Kiskai. They clucked and cried out over the sad tale of her abduction, hugged her and told her she was welcome, they'd take care of her. They were curious about Rohant, they wanted to know if he was her lover or what. They were both fascinated and repelled by Kikun, what was he? where did he come from? What kind of world could birth such an oddity? They hustled her from the water, ran her under a warm shower, toweled her vigorously and enveloped her in a loose robe of a dark amber velvet with olive and emerald embroidery. Then they took her off to a meal of thick hot soup, fresh rolls, and the local tea.
Shadith inspected the fingernail she'd glued on to replace the broken one, then drew her hand in a sweep along the strings. "Help me with this," she said/sang. "When I play so…" she demonstrated, "… clap your hands with me, thus and thus. Ah… yes yes, that's the way, thus and thus." She sang: Happiness came by me again
(clap your hands, oh yes oh yes) Yesterday
(clap your hands, my dears) He wouldn't stay I wrapped him in my arms Displayed my charms Like smoke he slipped away.
She played a lively tune, brought them onto their feet swaying and clapping a counterrhythm, then calmed them down and sang: Sorrow came by me again
(clap your hands, o softly softly) And stayed awhile
(clap your hands, my dears) To caress and beguile Bittersweet Is better neat And tastier Than honey I would not let him go But he faded so Like smoke he blew away.
They sang for her when her song was done, then danced with her while some played flute and some played drums and one plucked strings on a round-bellied gourd.
Time passed unnoticed, until it was very late indeed and they fell into bed pleased with themselves and each other and slept away the remnant of the night.
She woke with a thick head, a throat someone had used a grater on, a burning cut on her palm from the fake fingernail she'd forgotten, to take off last night-and a lazy good feeling that rolled like warm water back and forth along her body.
She yawned and stretched and the silence began to seep in on her; the more she thought about it, the emptier the building felt. Her leg twitched and began to itch, she curled round under the quilts and scratched at the side of her calf, sighing, with pleasure at the relief. The skin between her shoulder blades began to itch. With an explosion of impatience she flung the quilts aside and rolled out onto her feet.
Someone had washed and ironed her underclothing, laid it out on a chair; the same someone had sponged off her shirt and trousers and hung them over a hook screwed into the door; her boots had been polished until they gleamed and were standing by the foot of the bed, looking better than they had in years. On a table beside the bed there was a tray with a pot on it swathed in a towel, an overturned cup and a plate with a warmer lid over it.
She dressed quickly, ate a little, then left the room.
A girl was mopping the hall outside, swinging the mop in damp sweeps that barely moistened the flags, elbows flying, narrow body working with explosive energy to finish a job she detested, her distaste so evident it was almost a separate thing walking beside her. After a moment's effort Shadith dredged up her name. "Hasski," she called. "The tray, what shall I do about it?"
The girl halted her furious progress, looked back at Shadith. "Leave it. I'll take it down when I'm finished with this."
"I'll do it if you point me in the right direction."
"Just leave it." Hasski pushed impatiently at hair straggling into her eyes. "I don't have time to fool with you, I'm due at work like now." She snapped her head around and went back to her mopping.
Shadith raised her brows; she leaned against the jamb and watched thoughtfully as Hasski mopped her way round the corner. Mood's a bit different come the morning, it seems. Work? She can't be more than fourteen, fifteen. What was it Aste said? The Islanders tolerate no one who cannot earn his way either with a skill or as a weapon against the Priests and the Plicik.s. Ever. children, it seems. Wonder if they know about unions, maybe I should drop a hint. Na, keep your nose out of this, Shadow, you're not going to be here long enough to spit on the floor. If you're lucky. Children, though. Maybe they're in school. Early for school, isn't it? Not that I know much about schools, don't want to know, either. Hmm. Let's get out of here and see if we can find old Lion or Kikun.