by Victor Poole
"That's the old way of marriage?" Ajalia asked him. He kissed her briefly.
"Mm," he said. She worked her hands around his neck.
"Kiss me again," she commanded. He grinned at her. She pulled him close, and he obeyed.
"I have to go," he told her, after he had kissed her very thoroughly.
"No," she said, clinging to him. The warmth of his tongue was still in her mouth. He laughed at her.
"The boys will notice that I'm gone," he said. She sighed.
"This is terribly anticlimactic," she told him.
"Well, just think," he said, pressing his lips to her palm. "Once you make me the Thief Lord, I can change the law." She regarded him solemnly. "I love you," he offered.
"Hm," she said.
"I love you," he said again. She frowned at him. "May I go, to stay alive, so that we may have many days and nights of kissing?" he asked penitently. Ajalia sighed, and pushed him gently away.
"Go away before I change my mind," she said. Delmar kissed her one more time, and went swiftly out. Ajalia sat down on her bed that lay concealed from the window, deep in the corner, and stared at the wall. She told herself that she was angry, but she was smiling. She lay back on the bed, and looked up at the carvings on the wall. A shimmer of golden light seemed to her to be dancing up and down her spine; she fancied she could still feel Delmar somewhere inside of her, like a corner of sunshine. She thought that perhaps now she would always feel near him, and feel that she was a part of him. She felt curiously satisfied, and whole. Marriage, Ajalia reflected, burying her face in the depths of a flimsy pillow, was not so bad.
THE OLD WITCH
She dreamt of her mother when she slept; she remembered the way her mother had stood in the door of their ramshackle house, her broad arms propped on her hips, a dirty black spoon in one fist. Ajalia woke up in a sweat; she could remember nothing that had happened after she had first seen her mother, but her ribs ached, and she could hardly breathe.
She adjusted her clothes, and told herself that she had to stop sleeping like this, without doing anything beyond removing her shoes and tunic. She still slept with her knife harness; she found herself unable to relax without it hugging her body.
Ajalia felt strangely at peace as she moved through the room, dressing her hair and straightening her things. For a moment, she could not remember why she should feel cheerful, but then she passed near the balcony, and the feeling of Delmar's arms wrapped close around her came back in a rush. She blushed, and went on a hunt for Daniel.
"Today is the day," she told the boy, whom she had found hunched over some dry bread. "We are setting up house."
Daniel looked up at her with wide eyes, his mouth moving regularly up and down.
"What does that mean, you might ask," she said to the boy. "Well, I will tell you what it means. It means we are finally ready to make an impression on the fine people of Slavithe. And it means better food," she added, glancing at Daniel's breakfast. Daniel's eyes brightened at this; he and the other boys had been eating odds and ends of his own procurement ever since the move to the dragon temple. Ajalia had left the feeding of the cleaning crew boys to Card, and the closely supervised Chad, but in her own residence she intended to maintain the ways of the East, which meant Daniel kept the purse for the house servants, and managed as best he could.
When Ajalia assembled her household that evening, they created a far different picture than they had presented in the morning. Clare she had put into an inexpensive set of clothes identical to her own. Sun was arrayed in a gown that Calles had packed into the two bags she had sent with Ajalia, and Ossa was dressed as a man, her dark hair pulled sharply back from her face. Denai she had let be, but the boys and Daniel were dressed sharply now in tidy tunics and leather shoes that complemented the drapes Ajalia had put up against the walls through the dragon temple.
"It's far too much money for clothes," Delmar had murmured, when she had paid for the boys' things.
"Yes," she agreed. "Things are better when you make them yourself, but I do not yet have an estate."
"Were you thinking of an estate?" Delmar asked, shock in his eyes. Ajalia glanced over at him, and adjusted the lay of his clothing. She had purchased several sets of things for Delmar in the market as well; he had protested, but she ignored him.
"My father does not have half so many fine things," he whispered to her, his ears turning red, and his eyes moving nervously to the merchant.
"I have told you before," Ajalia said calmly, "and I will tell you again. Your father is a fool." Delmar watched her helplessly as she piled her purchases into his arms.
"But," he said, following her through the street. "But," he said again, and could think of nothing to add to his complaint. Ajalia wound through the market to the stable district. She found the place where the yurl had been kept; the paddock was empty now, but in one corner, a very small donkey was mulling over some wisps of grass.
After some trouble, she found Denai.
"What is that little jennet?" she asked, pointing to the short creature. The donkey had thick ears with black tips, and a sweet face.
"The yurl started to fuss a lot, being alone," Denai explained "I put Pudge in there, and they made friends."
"I want Pudge," Ajalia said. Denai grinned at her, and went to find a rope.
"You are getting too many things," Delmar whispered, his eyes following Denai into the darkness beneath the stable roof. Ajalia looked at Delmar. His cheeks were red, and his eyes looked panicked.
"What is the matter with you?" she asked. She felt quite fond of Delmar today; she reflected that she regarded him now as belonging to her. It was a novel sensation, and she enjoyed it. She smiled at him.
"I think you'll run out of money," Delmar admitted, his voice low. His eyes skittered over the short donkey, and Denai. "I can't understand how you go and get all of these things. Why aren't you nervous right now?" he asked. He was keeping his voice at the volume of a whisper; his cheeks were coarsening with a firm brown stubble. Ajalia looked at him, and felt as though she were eating sunshine.
"I am rather wealthy," she told him.
"Well," Delmar said doubtfully.
"It's all right," she told him. "I will work on you with money." He looked at her nervously. He licked his lips.
"What does that mean?" he asked. She patted his arm, and went to take the jennet from Denai. Delmar watched her converse with the horse trader over the state of the Eastern horses. He shifted the bundle of things in his arms, and sighed fitfully.
Ajalia returned, leading the jennet by a rope around the short donkey's fuzzy neck. She had sent the boys home with their clothes from the market, and the three young women she had commanded to wash and dress their hair.
Ajalia took the bundles back from Delmar, and balanced them in her arms.
"I can carry them," Delmar said.
"Oh, no," Ajalia said. "Now we are moving on to the next lesson." Delmar looked at her, and there was fear in his eyes.
"What does that mean?" he demanded.
"You," she said, "are going to look as if you are in charge." Delmar followed her as she walked through the stable district, the rope of the jennet looped over her hand, and the clothes and jeweled finery heaped in her grasp.
"But I'm not in charge," Delmar contended.
"No," she agreed. "But you are going to look as though you are." Delmar walked beside Ajalia and considered this.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because you are going to be the Thief Lord," she said quietly, watching the Slavithe traders who idled at the sides of the stalls, and watched Delmar in his fine clothes. "You will be the Thief Lord," she said in a murmur, "and the people are going to learn to trust you." Delmar glanced to the side, and moved closer to Ajalia.
"How am I going to be the Thief Lord?" he asked. He had never asked her this; she looked up at him, and saw that his eyes were more active now, more alive to the reality of his situation. She rejoiced to see that his mind was begi
nning to awaken.
"We need a private language," she said briskly. "Too many of my people are learning the Eastern language, but you should know it as well. When will you learn?" She looked at him questioningly. He stared at her.
"Will you teach me?" he asked finally.
"Why would I do that?" she asked. She watched him, and waited patiently. His eyes clouded; he looked down at the scuffs his boots made against the white stone.
"I don't know," he admitted. She shifted the bundles in her arms, and nudged his elbow.
"We are coming to the street now," she said. "Here is a test. How shall I arrange these goods?" Delmar stopped and turned to her. She was standing with several layers of fabric, and a wrapped series of belts and collars in her arms. The jennet stood patiently behind her, one black ear tipped to the side.
"Can't you just carry them?" he guessed. "I will carry them," he added quickly, and began to take them from her.
"No," she said. "It would ruin the effect your clothes make. How can I, and the little jennet, set off your costume?" Delmar frowned at her, and then looked at the jennet. He took the clothes from her, and untangled a twine that had been wrapped all around the fabric that had bundled a pair of wrist cuffs. Delmar crouched beside the small donkey, and tied the bundles into two equal portions, which he hung over the donkey's back. Ajalia watched him, and thought that his shoulders were broad and pleasant. His fingers were quick and sure; he was nothing like the lost child she had found in the woods weeks ago. Delmar stood quickly, and examined Ajalia.
"Your clothes are too plain," he said critically, and looked over her hair. She saw his mouth purse out in displeasure. "Can you tie your hair up, like it was, with the pins?" he asked her. She handed him the rope, and twisted her thick dark locks into a neat bundle on her head. She kept hair pins tucked in a seam of her knife harness still; she held her hair with one hand, and retrieved a few. Delmar watched her with his arms folded, a discerning look on his face.
They were standing near the edge of the horse district, at a quiet inlet into the city proper, and there were no passersby. Ajalia secured her hair, and looked at Delmar.
"That's better," Delmar said. He took one piece of hair out of Ajalia's twist, and lay it against her cheek. He looked at the jennet, and then at Ajalia. "Do I pass the test?" he asked. She sighed, and squeezed Delmar's hand. "What was that for?" he asked in alarm.
"I like you," she told him.
"But do I pass?" he asked anxiously.
"Yes," she said. "And stop doing that."
"Doing what?" Delmar asked at once.
"Trying to check to see if I hate you now," Ajalia said. "I don't hate you." A pained expression came into Delmar's eyes. "You walk just ahead of me," Ajalia said, pointing into the street. "If you speak to me, you may turn your head just a little, but you do not defer to me, or lean towards me with your shoulders. Go," she said. Delmar moved nervously into the street. His hands jiggled a little at his sides.
"Will you teach me your other language?" Delmar asked, glancing back at her.
"I'm the servant," Ajalia told him. "You don't check visually with me. You look ahead, or to the side. It's my job to pay attention to you." Delmar looked round at her, his eyes wide.
"I can't ignore you!" he exclaimed.
"I am like furniture," Ajalia said patiently. "You must learn to take my attention for granted, and use it when it conveniences you." Delmar looked at her as though she had lost her mind.
"I really can't do that," he told her. His face was growing ashen. "I mean," he added, "I really can't."
"You can," Ajalia said.
"No," Delmar said fervently, "I can't." Ajalia laughed at him. He frowned at her. "Why are you laughing?" he demanded.
"You remind me of me," she explained, "when I was a child." Delmar's face puckered. "You walk ahead of me," she told him, "and keep your eyes fixed straight forward, and I will tell you a story." He examined her eyes carefully, and then nodded.
"But I'm not going to be mean to you," he said defensively, "even if you tell me to."
"Go," she said, nodding towards the street. He looked doubtfully at her again, and then edged out slowly into the street. Ajalia followed him, leading the jennet by the rope. The tiny Pudge was fluffy and adorable; the white marks under her eyes, and along her chin, made her look like a small stuffed rabbit. Ajalia kept her eyes fixed forward, just behind Delmar's ear; she watched his jaw, and listened with her whole body to the tension in his shoulders. He stepped forward slowly, walking towards the long circuitous road that led to the dragon temple, and Ajalia followed him.
She had a knack for making her masters look well; when she had belonged to the shady Eastern silk trader on the very edge of that country, he had taken her out alone in the city to do his dealings with the salvage yards. She overheard him saying once to his wife that Ajalia made the other traders respect him more, because of how obedient and deferent she was around him. He used to call her his lucky slave, before Ajalia fixed the sale to her current master.
Her new master, the master she served now with all her heart, was the only man she had ever met who realized her powers, and made use of her potential. She had not been his face-bearing slave at first, but her master had kept her close, and given her much to do within his sight. She had watched him watching her, and seen that he saw what she could do, if she was given the scope. Gradually, her powers in her master's house had grown, and her reputation with them. He had given her the right to govern his children, and then he had given her the keys to his purse. She had managed well for him, and she thought that he valued her discretion more than anything else; few slaves in the house knew of her powers, or suspected her influence with their master. Both Ajalia and her master preferred things this way; the less the other slaves knew, or suspected, of her strength in her master's heart, the freer they were with her, and the more she saw. She never told her master what to do, or how to manage his affairs, but he soon took to confiding in her, and her sympathetic silence led him from strength to strength in his estate. When he asked her for advice, which he rarely did, she directed him gently back to his own wisdom, and he grew finally to trust her entirely with his affairs. Their relationship was a very quiet one, but gave deep satisfaction to them both. They understood each other, and this made them value and respect each other greatly. Ajalia would have died for her master without hesitation; her devotion was limitless, and without regard to her personal desires. She saw that her master was a just man, and that his morals agreed with her own. She was, to him, as an extension of his own arm, efficient, and as steady as the shining of the sun.
"When I was a child," Ajalia said in a low voice, for Delmar alone to hear, "and I was first a slave—" She broke off, and watched Delmar steadily. She saw that he was listening; his breathing slowed, and his pace grew less fevered and jittery.
"I ran away from home when I was very young," she said. "My mother tried to sell me." She watched Delmar, to see if he would turn and look at her. He walked forward, his face tilted only just to the side. She could see the side of his cheek, and the curve of his ear.
"My first master wanted me to make babies," Ajalia said. "I killed him." She watched Delmar; he waited for her to continue. They were winding slowly through the wide stone streets; a crush of people surrounded them, and Ajalia tightened her grasp on the jennet's rope. She kept one hand on the bundle on the far side of the beast, and felt for disturbances within the cloth.
"I am watching for thieves," she told Delmar, when the crowd had passed a little. "You will have to begin to do the same." Delmar looked back at her in surprise, his eyes wide.
"People don't steal here," he began to say. Ajalia nodded forward, and he blushed, and turned to face front again.
"People steal no matter what city they live in," Ajalia told him, "and they are more likely to steal if they live under a tyrant." She saw Delmar open his mouth, and she knew he was going to tell her that his father wasn't a tyrant. He stopped himself, and con
tinued to walk forward. Ajalia smiled. Progress, she told herself.
"Do you understand about the babies?" she asked him, when they came to a corner. Delmar glanced quickly at her.
"That means sex," he said.
"Not like you think," Ajalia said. "The wetlands slavers breed children. They breed children like goats, and they raise them in crops." Delmar looked at her with a wrinkle of disgust on his face. "It is messy," she said, "and very loud." Delmar stood at the corner, and rubbed his hands together.
"That's gross," he told her. She could see that he was nervous and anxious. She stood and waited for him to feel better.
"It's loud," she said. He looked at her. She saw that already he was beginning to stand a little taller, and to look at her with less fear. She was pleased with the change in him. She knew that he was beginning to notice the way the Slavithe people looked at him, when they saw him passing. He was taking note of the way their eyes travelled quickly up and down his clothes, and the way their communal gaze came to rest on his face. Ajalia was sure he was beginning to see himself as a handsome man; she kept the quiet tumble of joy that turned inside of her hidden in her heart. She thought that she would frighten Delmar, if she let him see how much she loved him.
"Why?" Delmar asked suddenly. She looked at him, and scratched the ears of the jennet. "Why children?" What good are children, she heard at the end of his question.
"Well," she said slowly, "it is difficult to explain, when you have not lived in the wetlands."
"Why?" he demanded. She grimaced.
"I am ashamed," she said.
"Of what?" he asked. "Of killing that man?"
"No," she said, but her voice betrayed her.
"I'm glad you did," Delmar told her. His eyes took in the passing women on the street; they were staring at his earring, and giggling to each other. The Slavithe women saw him glare at them, and they blushed and hurried away. Ajalia saw with delight that Delmar was quite imperious when he was thinking. He was perfect, she reflected with satisfaction. She told herself that she could not have come up with a better candidate for a political coup if she had fashioned one with her own hands from some living clay. Delmar was a living embodiment of natural power. Ajalia gazed on him with a surge of belonging, and thought that he was quite as nice a man as her master.