She continued to bustle around, and I submitted to her ministrations, as I had long since determined that there was no other way to survive them, and before long found myself fed and turned out in a soft kirson of a beautiful violet hue, and sitting before my new dressing table as she pulled my hair into the intricate braids of Trusca.
“Kiera... my riding clothes—”
“I am having them cleaned.”
“Can you get me more?”
“More? You only need them for riding. How many do you need?”
“I like them. They feel like the clothes I wore at home. I’m comfortable in them. Surely Dalph wouldn’t mind?”
“Dalph would give you anything, you are his Queen. You must know that. How many sets would you like?”
Dalph would give me anything. With what easy assurance she spoke the words.
“Another three?”
She frowned. “So many? I do not see the need, but of course, if you would like them—”
“I would,” I said firmly, staring at my hair. The braids bothered me. They were very attractive, but they pulled when worn all day. In fact, they gave me a niggling headache. And I didn’t intend to spend the majority of my time in the kirsons, but in the riding clothes, when I got them. My hair was longer than I had worn it for years, at Carlos’ implicit orders. He thought that wearing it in a more feminine longer style than in the shorter, easier styles most businesswomen adopted gave me an edge over them. “Conceals what a shark you are,” he’d said. But I had worn it for years before that in a chin-length full pageboy and sometimes even shorter that would look wonderful with the tunics and leggings. Later, I promised myself. When I got the rest of the riding clothes.
Johnny came to fetch me, and as we walked down the hall she said I looked the very epitome of a Truscan Queen.
“Thank you,” I said, and nothing more. I was still uncomfortable with Johnny and knew that I would be for some to come. Maybe for always.
“How’d yesterday go?” he asked.
“Fine.”
“Haven’t seen Dalph that relaxed in years,” he said.
“That’s none of your business,” I said shortly.
“What isn’t?”
“If the marriage is physically official yet. It’s none of your business, so don’t ask again, round about or otherwise.”
He gave up the attempt at personal small talk and led me into a wing of the Rata that I had never explored. That wasn’t surprising, I supposed, as I hadn’t explored half the Rata. After all, I hadn’t been here a full week yet. He opened the door to a sunny chamber where sat a young boy, leaning over a table with scrolls of some sort in front of him. The young man with him, obviously one of the boy’s tutors, stood up at our approach. Johnny spoke a few sentences and the young man departed.
“Dal, I want you to meet somebody.”
The boy rose. He was a handsome child, as he could hardly help but be, as he resembled his father greatly. He was ten, Johnny had told me, and like all Truscans, he was very tall. I was sure he wasn’t overly tall for Trusca, but on earth, he’d easily pass for older than he was. He stood straight, but when he moved toward us, he favored his right leg, and I could see that the high leather boot had been modified to support his right foot. The clubbed foot.
“My father’s wife,” he said. His English was quite good, but somehow, more mechanical than I’d expected, given the amount of English he was exposed to.
“Yes, this is Tess. Tess, this is also Randalph of Trusca. This is Dal.”
“Hello, Dal,” I said and held out my hand. Did Truscans shake hands? Come to think of it, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t think I’d ever seen the gesture. He hesitated a minute, and then he took it. A voice from the doorway summoned Johnny. I didn’t catch much, other than the “McKay,” but it was obvious his presence was very much required elsewhere.
“Damn!” he exclaimed under his breath. “I won’t be long, Tess. You two get acquainted. Dal, why don’t you take Tess for a walk in the garden?” he suggested, and he hurried out the door.
“I do not like to walk,” Dal said flatly, and moved back to the chair, where he sat down. “I do not walk well.”
That surprised me. I recalled Dalph’s emphatic declaration that his son was not handicapped, he was merely inconvenienced, and I hadn’t expected Dal to think otherwise, to use his foot as an excuse for anything. And the continued mechanical, stilted flavor of his English, after Dalph’s fluency, was off-setting.
“Then we can sit and talk,” I said, moving to the chair beside him.
“I did not give you permission to sit,” he said.
I stared. One thing I had definitely not expected of Dalph was for him to have raised a spoiled brat. I knew that children often presented one front to a parent and another front to the rest of the world, but I wouldn’t have thought Dalph would be an easy father to run a scam on.
“That’s all right,” I said. “I didn’t ask your permission to sit.”
He glared. “You are an outsider and you are a woman. And I do not want you here. So it is good that McKay was called out, and no pretense is required.”
“I am definitely a woman and at present, I am an outsider. But I don’t want to remain an outsider, and I don’t want you to consider me the enemy.”
“Your wishes do not concern me. You have been chosen by my father to breed the sons who will replace me. I am not stupid, and the Rata has many voices.”
Enough was enough. I got up and headed toward the door. Did Dalph know what this child thought of him, that he was so insecure as to believe his position as Dalph’s oldest son meant nothing to his father? I couldn’t believe it, but Dalph stayed so busy and fathers often knew so little of what their children really thought. Perhaps he didn’t know what was really running through that young brain, but if he didn’t, it was certainly time he did.
“Where are you going? I did not give you permission to leave.”
I turned. “I do not require your permission, not to sit, not to leave, not to stand on my head, if I so choose to do. And I am going to find your father. The two of you need to have a long talk.”
“My father doesn’t talk to me,” he said, his face changing into a mask of insecurity. “He is ashamed of me. He thinks me unworthy of the Truscan throne.”
“I think you definitely need better manners before you ever claim the throne,” I said. “I thought your father’s were pretty bad when I first met him, but you sure got him beat. And I don’t know who’s been telling you these things, or if you’ve just manufactured them yourself, but they aren’t true, and I will not be made miserable while you throw a pity-party. Your father loves you very much and it’s the last thought in his mind to replace you with another heir, and he is certainly not ashamed of you. I repeat, you and your father have to have a talk.”
I turned back and started out the door again, where I careened right into the broad chest that suddenly filled the doorway.
“We do? About what?” asked Dalph, as he reached out to brace me in my stumble.
“Abba!” exclaimed the young terror, shouting the Truscan word for father and running, though he didn’t like to walk, with open arms toward the man whom he’d dismissed as being ashamed of him.
Dalph laughed and set me gently aside, opening his own arms, and pulling his son close to his side. The little ass! I thought. Was he really that consummate an actor?
“I think she’ll do, Abba,” he said, looking up at me with a grin.
“Do you now? I’m delighted to have your stamp of approval,” Dalph said. “What makes you say that?”
I stared. No kid was this good an actor.
He grinned wider. “Because I gave her the chance. I told her you were ashamed of me and wanted to replace me with another heir, and she didn’t tell me I was right, like she would have done if she was working for Baka and trying to win me to their side, to take the throne with me as a figurehead. And she didn’t tell me I was wrong and try to persuade me of t
hat by herself, like she would have done if she was trying to build a powerbase for herself—”
Dalph was shaking his head as he looked at his son. “What’s the matter?” asked the terror. “I was just checking—”
Dalph roared, and Dal looked insulted.
“Her loyalty to you, and she was going to tell you just how awful I was—”
“Thereby proving her worthiness. Is that it?” asked Dalph.
“I don’t see what’s so funny.”
“How funny are you going to see it when you eat bread and milk for supper for a week for this little prank?”
“You wouldn’t!”
“Don’t push it, Dal.”
I fought my own grin, hearing the shades of Dalph’s mother in those words. How often had she told her brood, and Lord, she’d had four of them, not to “push it”? Pretty often, I’d bet.
“All right, you would,” Dal conceded. “But you won’t. Will you?” His expression was priceless.
Dalph roared again. “That depends on how quickly you apologize to Tess and how well you behave for the rest of the day. Or don’t you care that she thinks you’re undoubtedly the most manipulative, spoiled little brat that ever drew breath?”
The manipulative little brat turned to me and bowed. “I’m very sorry, Tess,” he said solemnly, the mechanical speech having disappeared as though it never was. “But my father doesn’t stop to think sometimes and I have to look out for him. You could be a plant for Baka, you know.”
That did it. I cracked up totally. “A plant? A plant? What sort of James Bond stories does Johnny tell you? When I crashed out of the sky only five days ago?”
“That’s what Johnny calls Baka’s spies. Plants. Now what’s so funny?” he asked, his expression truly injured as Dalph and I laughed like hell. I didn’t know whether I was more amused at the twentieth century cloak-and-dagger term, or at the child’s self-appointed mission in life to “look out for” his father, or at the aplomb with which he’d carried out his charade. A worthy heir for the throne of Trusca, for sure.
“That kid’s dangerous, Dalph,” I said. “What brought you here? Not that I wasn’t glad to see you, under the circumstances, but I thought you were meeting with the Captains of the Guards.”
“I am, and I must go back. I merely wanted to make sure Dal was on his best behavior, which he obviously wasn’t. Where’s Falco?”
“Johnny told him to take a break,” interjected Dal.
“And where’s Johnny?”
“Here I am,” he said from the door.
“About time, too,” I said. “Left me on the rack.”
“I was afraid of that. Dal, how bad were you?”
“She’s not a spy, Johnny,” Dal said brightly.
“Oh, hell, I don’t even want to know what you did to make sure of that! Let’s get your tutor back in here and give Tess some breathing room.”
“No, Johnny! I just met her! And you and Abba are busy. Let me be her guide today.”
“What makes you think she wants your company?” asked Dalph with a lifted eyebrow. “And you have your lessons.”
“I’ll catch up tomorrow. And I’ll behave. And I’ll make you a deal, Tess.”
I smiled in spite of myself. What was it that Johnny had said, about Dal and his own two boys? The base of the next Round Table? Contemporary, slangy, colloquial English was obviously the secret language of that Round Table.
“And what might that be?”
“I’ll help you with Truscan if you help me with English. You are trying to learn, aren’t you?”
“Somehow,” I said, “I think you’d be a lot more help with my Truscan than I’ll ever be with your English.”
“I don’t know. I bet Johnny’s out of date. And he and Abba don’t have time to tell me as much as I want to know, like Abba says my grandmother did with him and my uncles. Do you know the stories of Camelot? And Charlemagne and his Paladins? And Kirk and Spock and the Enterprise? And James Bond and Goldfinger and Dr. No?”
I laughed at the hodgepodge of fantasies, and Johnny groaned. Johnny’d obviously been busy.
“I bet I’m much better on Kirk and Spock and the Enterprise than Johnny is,” I said, reaching out to ruffle his hair.
“Good!” he shouted, and reaching out, he took my hand and tugged. “Let’s go!”
I couldn’t resist. “I thought you didn’t like to walk?”
“What? Oh, that! Just part of the act. C’mon.” He tugged again. “If we hurry up, we can get to the kitchen before Tandor starts baking for lammas tonight. We might get to lick the bowls.”
“Then by all means, let’s go. Johnny, your boys? Aren’t they back, too?” I asked.
“They dropped themselves off at some of their cousins in Krenor,” Johnny said. “Kiera’s people. Dal’s bored stiff. If you can tolerate him, you’d be a godsend.”
And so I followed Randalph of Trusca the Younger out the door, thanking God that I had met him when he was still a child. And to think I’d thought his father was dangerous.
By the end of the day, I knew that I had found my main tutor, as I fought to assimilate the language of Trusca and make it my own. And whatever my feelings might be toward Randalph of Trusca the Elder, I knew I was definitely in love with Randalph of Trusca the Younger. Dal was a remarkable child, an absolute riot, smart, tough, and, I was already sure, a good little soul who would grow to be a genuinely good man. Dalph had done himself proud.
It hadn’t occurred to me before, as I knew Dalph took him out with him on night patrol, but the afternoon spent in his company made me wonder where he’d been on the evening of my “wedding.” This was the heir to Trusca, and his presence was obvious wherever we wandered.
“Why didn’t I see you at the wedding?” I finally asked. He hesitated.
“Well, to tell the truth—”
“Please do.”
“It’s so awful sometimes to be a kid, Tess. I wouldn’t not go with Abba for anything, you know, but when we get back, I’m always so tired, I just, well, I crashed.”
I wondered if I would ever get used to the slang that fell from this little boy’s lips as I exploded yet again into laughter.
“You don’t think I’m a wuss, do you?” he asked anxiously.
“Lord, no.” I gasped. “It’s just—I didn’t expect—it’s the way you talk. Your father’s good, but you—”
“We practice. Crayton and Cretor and me.”
“You don’t say.”
“Johnny says Abba talks like a bluestocking sometimes but it’s not his fault, ’cause it’s the way my grandmother raised him.”
I toured the Rata as I had never toured it before, as Dal pointed out various nooks and crannies that were useful to a small boy from a “hiding” vantage, which an adult would not consider; I met the cooks in the kitchens and assisted Dal in licking the batter from the bowls from which poured the great dessert cakes that graced the dining tables. When Dalph finally ran us to ground in Dal’s chambers, I was inspecting a perfectly carved chess game that stood in a position of honor on a highly polished table in the corner.
“It was Abba’s. He calls it chess. My grandmother taught him and his brothers and he taught me. Do you play?”
“It’s been years,” I said. “And I’d be scared to play with you.”
“Then you are wise.” Dalph spoke from the door. The man moved like a cat. I never heard him coming. “He’s very good, and I’m scared to play with him myself. I’m out of practice. It’s almost time for lammas, we need to change.”
“Oh good!” Dal exclaimed and made as though to scamper out the door.
“No,” said Dalph firmly. “You’ve had her all day. It’s my turn. And you need to change as well, you’re filthy.”
Dal was, in truth, somewhat dusty from our excursions into corners of the Rata which were seldom explored. I felt somewhat bedraggled myself.
“Oh, Abba!”
“You will see her at lammas,” Dalph said, and took
my arm. “Go take a bath.”
“Yes, Abba.” He sighed and protested no further as we moved out the door.
“Did you survive?” Dalph asked, with a smile in his voice.
“He’s remarkable.”
“He’s a pain in the butt,” pronounced the king, “but he is remarkable.”
We approached our chambers, and he opened the door and motioned me in. “You should hurry. We’re running late, and you’re almost as dusty as Dal.”
“And you?” As grateful as I was for his obvious intention to remain firm in his declarations that he would not attempt to crowd me, I realized that these were, after all, his quarters.
“It’s a big Rata. Don’t worry about me.”
He leaned over and kissed me lightly and walked swiftly away. I entered the room where my steaming tub waited for me, realizing that these chambers seemed very empty when he wasn’t in them. Surely, in two days, I shouldn’t miss the man’s presence? Get a grip, Tess, I told myself. I hadn’t wanted to be pushed, and now he wasn’t pushing. So I told myself I didn’t miss the sparring, and proceeded to complete my queenly toilette.
Chapter Fourteen
The days settled into a comfortable pattern, made more pleasant by Dalph’s decree that Dal was overdue for a holiday from his formal schooling, and his call for an extended moratorium on the boy’s studies. I didn’t know whether he did it for me or for Dal, though I suspected the vacation benefited us both.
Dal was effusive in his delight and confided that he wished his father had remarried sooner if such benefits could be reaped from the union.
“Though, of course, he couldn’t have married you any sooner ’cause you weren’t here, and you’re just as good as the holiday. How long a break you think he’ll give me?”
I laughed. “I have no idea, but I doubt if it’s indefinite. Haven’t you had holidays before?”
“Oh, sure, but they don’t usually last much over a few boskas. That means—”
“Dakar, days, boskas, weeks, ras, years,” I said by rote. I tried to converse as much as possible in Truscan, but Dalph and Johnny slipped into English when a conversation got hot and heavy, or when they wanted to be certain I understood an explanation being offered, or when they didn’t want to be overheard. Dal spoke Truscan with me to a large extent as well, but he was actually much more bilingual than his father was, hard as that was to believe, and slipped back and forth between the two almost without thinking, sometimes conversing in both languages in alternate sentences, even occasionally in the same sentence. He loved to speak English with me and assimilated my slang into his speech with the ease of a sponge soaking up water.
Miami Days and Truscan (K)nights Page 10