Mearsies Heili Bounces Back

  Raneseh appeared to misunderstand my intent. “There is no duty involved. Rel is my ward. He aids me in my own tasks, or not, as he wishes. His time is his own.”

  Rel did not speak, or move. I glanced suspiciously at both, sensing a shift in the atmosphere, but I completely misunderstood its direction, assuming a jab aimed at me, when the conflict—if conflict there was, more of a question of obligation—lay between the two.

  I said sulkily, “Then I want to go. Once you’ve tasted freedom, anything else is sour.”

  As a hint it was about as subtle (and effective) as a cudgel against stone; Raneseh repressed a sigh. “I hope we can send a pleasant report to the Wise One.”

  As a delicate hint about expectation of behavior, it was about as successful as my cudgel.

  I jumped to my feet. “Oh, I’m sure he’s too busy turning our people into zombies, or worse. And I have to get back—” I clamped my jaw shut, struggled hard, then said, with a ferocious glower, “Oh, until I can do that, I’ll behave. You bet.”

  Raneseh sat back. “Thank you. If you wish to leave the house, then, Rel will accompany you.”

  I shifted my glare to Rel, making it plain that I understood that the Rules of War had been established.

  Raneseh chuckled, and when I turned my nuclear-powered scowl on him, he exclaimed, “It will be an extraordinary fellow who takes you to wife one day.”

  My jaw-dropped horror brought the first hint of expression I had ever seen in Rel: his jaw tightened, his eyes narrowed. He was trying not to laugh!

  He was trying not to laugh. At me!

  Raneseh regarded me with the same bewilderment I saw in his daughter.

  I wrestled inwardly. This, after all, was why I’d had the anti-aging spell. When Raneseh regarded me in mild question, I finally said with a (failed) attempt at neutrality, “The idea of mush—er, marriage, makes me want to run for the barf pail!”

  And that pretty much brought the interview to a close, the boy and man obviously wondering what a barf pail was.

  FOUR

  I worked hard to behave like a good little kiddie.

  After supper, which I again shared with Pralineh, I kept the latter company while she sewed. Impressed by her nimble fingers making a beautiful satin stitch without ever putting the needle wrong, I listened to her chatter about the different types of decorative stitches.

  I knew how to mend my own clothes—and would do it if a hole annoyed me enough—but that was about the extent of it. I no longer railed loudly against what I’d been taught as a child was “girls’ work” but I still tended to scorn anyone who chose house-holding in preference to adventure.

  However, I labored mightily not to let a hint of that attitude show as Pralineh talked about some of the local girls, and who was good enough to commence tapestries—including one girl who apparently had designed one so good that she’d won a Guild prize.

  But then she said, “Here I am talking on and on about people you have yet to meet. I am afraid I’ve been tedious, and you have been so forbearing. You are my guest, so you should be the one to speak. What talents do your own friends share?”

  I bit my lips, sustaining another of those terrible waves of homesickness. Where were the girls now?

  I would not worry. Not, not, not. “Well, Sherry is a great cook. Seshe, now, she knows this kind of sewing. We think she may have been—” I frowned, about to say been born a toff, but that seemed disloyal, even so far away. And so I amended it to: “—may have had training like yours. Before she came, and joined the gang. And, um, Diana is good at forest work. And Faline is good at—ah—making everyone laugh.” I was not about to betray Faline’s secret ability. Or Dhana’s real origin. “And Dhana is a dancer. I know, anybody can dance. But I’ve never seen anyone as good as she is. And Irene, well, she’s good at acting. And Gwen can copy voices.”

  Pralineh smiled. “So you live together without a parent? Or guardian?”

  “Yes. Clair found us. Invited us into the gang. We don’t have any grownups wreck—boss—ah, in charge. I mean, there are grownups around. Janil is the Steward at the White Palace. She used to be Clair’s governess, sorta. Then there’s Ka Nos, the regional governor of Seram Aru, who helps Clair with magic. He’s old, but really smart, and he never tells Clair what to do. So she asks his advice on government junk. And magic stuff. But that’s it.”

  “How many of you are there?”

  “Nine altogether. Ten, if you count in Clair’s cousin, who visits sometimes.”

  “Then you are all good company, yes? But you, what talent have you?”

  I suspected it was just a polite question, but I was being polite back, so I said, “Well, I sing.”

  Pralineh’s eyes widened. “Oh! I do so love music! But though I tried most earnestly to learn singing, and to play, I have no ability at all. Would you sing to me, or do I ask too much?”

  I felt kind of stupid, and said cautiously, “Um, most people don’t want to listen to our kind o’ songs. I, ahem! Make a lot of them up. I mean, I make up new words. To pretty melodies. Because I don’t always remember the real words. Though I’ve learned a lot of Mearsiean songs.”

  Pralineh summoned her maid with the tiny crystal bell on the side table. “My mother, Perleh, played and sang,” she said. “Do you need accompaniment?”

  “Your mother?” I asked, and then, hastily, “I don’t know how to play, but an instrument would be good, just to get the right note.”

  “Yes. She died in a racing accident when I was small. I do not remember her well, except that she always looked so pretty. She went often to house parties. Her things came to me, among them a lute.” And when the maid appeared, she sent her for Perleh’s lute.

  Seshe had taught me to pick out chords on stringed instruments. I regarded the lute with misgivings, scolding myself mentally for not practicing, but I was able to tune it, at least. Handling this instrument with its gold inlay brought Seshe to mind, which made me more homesick. And so my first song was colored by my emotions as I sang a minor key ballad about a haunted ship.

  Pralineh presently put down her sewing. Everybody tells me my voice is clear and pure, a note-true soprano without any of the colorations or stylistic tricks of trained singers. Clair once said it’s so clear and so pure and so true it’s like the music version of a waterfall, or a golden day in spring. I’ve always loved that compliment. But fancy singing? That I can’t do, so there are plenty who don’t think my voice is anything much.

  When the song was over, Pralineh drew in a breath and exclaimed, “You sing well! Perhaps not with the training of some, but I like songs without a lot of the Colendi lark flourishes now so popular.”

  “I don’t have any training,” I said. “Except the girls being plenty loud with the eeeews! If I flub a note. But that song makes me sad. How about a funny one? See, I take songs I remember, and change a little, and put in villains’ names for the funny parts. Like this one about Fobo meeting a very old goat, and a spoiled banana-cherry-sour cream pie.”

  “Fobo?” she repeated.

  “One of those grownups I mentioned who thought she could take the kingdom away from Clair. Not to be a good ruler, just to have more people bowing to her. And have more money to spend on her horrible dresses and her nasty son, Prince Jonnicake. Her name is Glotulae—”

  “That’s a pretty name,” she said.

  “Yep, Dhana says so too. Says it sounds like a brook. So we never use it, because she’s too mean to have a pretty name. Anyway, she’s now back in Elchnudaeb. Anyway we call her Fobo.” I trilled the name in the fake tremolo that Fobo uses as part of her ‘courtly manner.’ “Want to hear it?”

  Pralineh assented. I watched her carefully while I sang, and though my voice trembled with suppressed laughter, it was clear that Pralineh was listening to the melody, but ridiculousness seemed to pass her by. How could anyone possibly not crack up when the goat kicked backward, launching the rotten pie straight into Fobo’s phizz just as she was bellowing
conflicting orders to execute everyone in sight and to bow, and oh, first bring her mirror?

  Maybe you just have to know Fobo, I thought as I finished, and Pralineh thanked me politely, but with none of the enthusiasm she’d expressed for the haunted ship ballad.

  So I gave up on our joke songs. “Name some of the songs you have here? Let’s see if we have ’em in our country.”

  We traded titles back and forth. Not surprisingly, some of the older ballads were known both in old and new Mearsiean kingdoms; when I named a favorite of Puddlenose’s, about a man who’d traveled the world in search of his name, and never found it but changed everyone he met, Pralineh exclaimed, “That is Rel’s favorite!”

  I clapped my teeth shut. Rel, huh! He was now The Enemy, because Raneseh had set him to spy on me and prevent my escape. I had no intention of liking, pleasing, or heeding him—except if it would aid me to escape.

  I scowled, then bent over the lute so my hair swung in front of my face to hide the sour expression I couldn’t squash down.

  “Here’s one.” To get away from the subject of Rel I sang one of Seshe’s favorites, one with a tricky melody of triplets that changed chord in half-steps. It was a tough song to sing—Seshe had warned me that it was Sartoran, which was known for those triplet flourishes—but the melody was so compelling I often had it running through my head.

  And sure enough, Pralineh was delighted with it.

  I sang a couple more until my throat began to frog up, then begged off. Pralineh was contrite at once, but thanked me profusely. I discovered I was quite tired. I got up to go. Pralineh immediately laid aside her sewing and accompanied me to the door, wishing me a good night.

  I sped down the halls to my room, and once again was drawn irresistibly outside, where, unknown to us, clouds had formed up and a soft, steady warm rain fell. I walked out in it, dancing around. The tiredness was gone; if I breathed deeply I could pretend I was home.

  But I wasn’t home. My knee knocked into the stone bench. I almost fell, opened my eyes and caught myself on the back of the bench. And when I straightened up, the movement of light caught my attention: the steady swing of a lamp.

  I slipped up beside the big tree in time to see a tall shape walk steadily along the path, ignoring the rain. Rel. Patrolling, I thought narrowly.

  And so the illusion of freedom was gone.

  I retreated to the guest room, slammed the door, yanked the curtains across, and put on my Mearsiean nightgown. I stood there fuming for a time, as the rain increased to a roar and then tapered gradually to a hissing, tapping shower.

  Finally I blew out the candles, eased the door open so I could hear the rain, and crept into bed.

  o0o

  And so the next few days passed.

  That second day Pralineh invited me to dine ‘with the family’ but when I asked what that meant, and was told that Raneseh and Rel would join them, I said I didn’t mind staying in my room and going without.

  So the dinner with the family never happened.

  I spent most of my time with Pralineh, though when she went off to visit friends, I stayed behind. Raneseh offered me use of his library-sitting room, which I accepted with a forced and determined politeness. I scoured his shelves for any memoirs or stories written by girls, or about girls, finding nothing. History about adults—phew! Raneseh didn’t have any magic books, either, just useful books packed with information. About the prettiest was an illustrated herbology, another about trees. The rest were about farming and trade, at least in the sitting room. If the books in his study were different I didn’t know—I never wanted to set foot in there, because he and Rel were too often in it.

  So I gave up on reading, and when Pralineh was off visiting, or supervising some boring household task, I retreated to the very topmost branches of the tallest tree in the garden, where no one could see me, and sat there swaying in the wind, pretending I was home.

  That’s not to say I didn’t test Rel, because I did. I tried several times to sneak out of the garden and over the wall, but he always seemed to know when I was in the garden. There were of course other doors in the house, but between me and those doors there were always servants about, so my only way to freedom seemed to lie through the garden, where I never saw servants.

  Nothing was said—everyone went about their daily business—but whenever I walked too far out into the garden, somehow I just always seemed to find a tall, impassive figure.

  I began to really hate the sight of Rel.

  FIVE

  The rest of that week and then another flitted by, after which Pralineh held a party she’d twice postponed.

  Pralineh, like most ordinary, somewhat-on-the-quiet-side people, had two or three good friends, and a whole lot of acquaintances who went by the name of ‘friend.’

  Her father was only a Holder—the lowest of the noble ranks. That meant he owned, or ‘held’ land, but he was not a lord, who in the very old days protected the Holders, and gradually since that time acted as local tax-collector, magistrate (judging probs between Holders) and peace keepers. Like in many countries, the lord or lady who inherited these positions were called Count or Countess, a county being one tax area.

  It didn’t always happen that everyone invited came to Pralineh’s parties, she explained. Without any regret or unhappiness she told me she wasn’t ambitious enough to get the climbers, or charming enough to be the center of her particular circle, so she didn’t know how many guests she could promise me. But her closest friends would all be there.

  Pralineh made an offer to order me a party gown when she told me about the party, which had been planned before I had arrived ... Poor Pralineh hesitated then, and finished somewhat lamely, “... for your visit.”

  I shrugged. I’d already made a vow to keep my opinions about prisoners, Chwahir, and so forth to myself—when around Pralineh.

  The other two, of course, would be getting the full worth of my opinion because they were the ones keeping me put.

  So I only said, “Why? There’s all that stuff you gave me—I don’t even think I’ve worn ’em all. I like this light blue one fine.”

  Indeed, I wore pretty much the same gown every day, just jumping through the cleaning frame each morning to make it fresh. It was the plainest of all Pralineh’s old gowns, one she’d only worn in the garden a couple years before, with no ornamentation whatsoever to get caught on twigs and brambles.

  Anyway. Pralineh explained that Mirlah, the Count’s daughter, had accepted the invitation—and her behavior tended to set the tone of any party she attended. Pralineh explained that she would properly be titled ‘Honor’ as her older brother was heir, but the others—even Holder-Heirs, tended to follow her lead.

  I frowned as I considered what Pralineh was saying. “You mean this girl will fooble around with titles and bowing and stuff?”

  “Well, it is for her to choose whether to admit one past the title to friendship. If one is of a lower rank. Do you see?”

  “Kinda like you say ‘Raneseh’ to your dad—your father, that is—but to someone else’s dad you’d use the titles?”

  “That is it.”

  “So how does it work? Do people introduce themselves?”

  “The person of higher rank does, yes,” Pralineh said. “They introduce themselves as they wish to be addressed. So you can introduce yourself—or I can since you are my guest, but from how I express it will be understood how you wish to be spoken to.”

  I frowned. “What are the other titles?”

  “Honor-Holder, like me, that is one day will inherit, or if brothers and sisters, just Honor.”

  “But you don’t use those titles at one another?”

  “At,” Pralineh repeated, wrinkling her nose a little. “Forgive me, that sounds ... odd. As if honorifics were insults.”

  “Aren’t they? In a way? Fancy ways of saying ‘I’m better than you are’?” I sighed. “I hate all that spackle, to tell the truth. Ignore it when I can. But I won’t have any
one sneering at Clair or the girls because we don’t bow and use titles and all that gorbaggio.”

  Pralineh looked taken aback as I often did at my blunt language. Her brow puckered as she considered her circle, then she finally said, “Mirlah will not sneer—and her brother, who rather likes sneering, will not come. But some of the others—” She stopped, uncertain, and obviously unhappy about that.

  I said, “Then I’m going to be My Imperial Royal Excellence, Chwahir-booter Extra-Ordinary, Primary Pie-Flinger, and High and Mighty Sniff-Nose of Mearsies Heili.”

  Pralineh had by now gotten used to me enough to understand when a joke was being made, and she smiled, though she obviously was never going to understand my type of humor.

  o0o

  After worrying about this party, and getting annoyed with myself for worrying about such stupidities as dress and deportment, I braced for attack. I had been practicing my Propah Manners (which made me homesick with memory of our fun evening with Seshe teaching us) at meals. I even forced myself to wear shoes, proof of my loyalty to Clair and my home.

  I put on the other blue dress, the one with the black ribbons sewn down the front in a pattern that on Earth would be likened to the sort of art deco that had Japanese motifs. (I later learned that that was a popular motif in Colend, off and on, over the centuries.)

  The boys and girls—everybody had come—all looked at me and I looked back, everyone on their very best behavior. I’m sure I appeared to be a peculiar sort of princess, so short and slight, my long black hair a straight-hanging flag down my back instead of being curled, braided, or ornamented. For a short time they were vying with one another to impress this princess, young as I was, from the Mearsiean Colony as they yapped and yipped about horse races, boat races, fashions and yadoo nannoo.

  I sat very upright, hands in my lap, saying almost nothing. The girls were hard to tell apart at first, with their braided hair with ribbons in it, and their flouncy dresses. Honor Mirlah was the tall one with the brown skin and black eyes. She mostly talked about clothes, and her younger brother talked about horses. I pretty much ignored the boys.