by Shannon Page
Would Arouf want her back then? Sian wondered. Once she was an asset again … Would she want him to?
This time the sound of footfalls was unmistakable.
“Thank the gods,” said Arian, rising to head for the door again.
She pulled it open to reveal someone bent back under such a load of bolts and skeins and bags of ribbon that it was difficult at first to be sure it was even a woman, much less guess at her appearance. The poor creature came wobbling in beneath her load, followed by Sergeant Ennias carrying a trunk upon his back half as big as Sian herself. With a groan, the woman dumped her tower of fabrics on Sian’s bed, while the sergeant squatted almost gracefully to let his burden slide gently between his hands onto the floor at the bed’s foot.
“I am glad they sent a man to fetch me,” said the woman. “We’d just have had to ask for one if you had come as planned, my —”
“Shhhh!” The Factora-Consort rushed to close the door.
“Thank you, Freda,” said the sergeant, giving Maronne a gentle nudge.
“This may not be quite so easy as I thought,” Maronne said, twisting to stretch out her back. “Old habits die hard, dear Freda.”
“You are here now,” said the Factora-Consort. “That is what matters. Most of these things can remain where they are tonight, until the dressmaker returns in the morning for Sian’s final fitting.” She looked at Ennias. “Was there some trouble? You were longer than expected.”
“If you wished us back here sooner, Freda, you should have given him an address that wasn’t two miles away. We had to hang around the wagon long enough so that Lord Alkattha would believe I’d gone that far, found this woman, helped her gather all these things, and gotten them back here. Had I come dashing back much sooner, he’d have thrown us all in prison at the door, I’m pretty sure.”
“I’m sorry,” Arian said. “I had not thought the street was that far off. It’s been quite a while since I was here, and I had very little time to invent an address for him.”
“As you said, we’re here now,” Ennias replied. “Unless there’s anything else I ought to know, I’ll leave you ladies to your work. Guards don’t usually hang about to gab with guests.” He started for the door.
“Sergeant,” Sian said.
He turned to face her.
“Thank you. I’ve misjudged you. Clearly. Would you tell Captain Reikos, and my Pino, that … I am deeply sorry for what they suffer, and that they never leave my mind, or my heart?”
“I will, my lady. Just as soon as I can do so without risking notice. They are well, all things considered, and quite concerned for you too. I’m sorry I wasn’t free to tell you earlier.”
“You have nothing to apologize to me for, Sergeant,” Sian said. “My profound thanks go with you.”
He offered her a nod, and vanished through the door.
“Well, then,” Arian said with satisfaction. “Maronne, it’s my pleasure to present Domina Sian Kattë. Sian Kattë, my maid Maronne, hereafter to be addressed as ‘Assidua, the seamstress’ just as I must continue to be Freda.” She gazed pointedly at Maronne. “Are we all clear on that now?”
“Quite clear, dear Freda,” Maronne said, blushing. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you once again.”
“Good.” Arian spread her arms. “Let the fittings begin.”
“What kind of dress should we be making?” Sian asked.
“Does it matter?” the Factora-Consort asked. “The dresses are already made. And anyone who comes to check on us — in this household, at least — is going to be a man, who won’t have any notion what he’s looking at in here.” She went to Maronne’s pile of quite breathtaking silks and airy brocades, and began to toss them here and there around the room. “Let’s just make things look like we’re working hard, and pin some of these fabrics onto you, gracefully enough, of course, so that if anyone should knock we can stand you up and let them have a glimpse before we shoo them off again.”
While Arian went on draping gorgeous fabrics over furniture around the room, Maronne came to start pinning lengths of shimmering violet silk and mouthwatering gold brocade onto Sian.
“So what are we to do for all these hours until we leave tonight?” Sian asked.
“I brought cards,” Maronne said, smiling. “And chocolates, of course. No seamstress of any quality would come to a home as fine as this one without chocolates.”
“And wine, I hope,” Arian chimed in.
“To the home of Escotte Alkattha?” Maronne scoffed. “Surely we can send down for far better wines here than any I’d have brought. The Factorate’s neglected cellars have grown quite disappointing lately, have you not noticed, Freda?”
“I may have been distracted by some larger issues,” Arian said. “It’s just as well, though. Given the brilliant exchange Sian conducted with her cousin earlier, I suspect we’ll want to call the servants up from time to time so that they can report to him what tremendous girlish fun we’re having. Which reminds me, you should send me downstairs in an hour or two, my lady, to request that your meal be sent up here tonight, due to such extended fittings. If your cousin objects to being deprived of your company at dinner, we may have to stage another audience with him up here so you can wheedle his permission. It is crucial that the dressmaker not be asked to leave before the maid goes home as well. And they would never let Assidua just sit up here while you were in the dining room.”
“I trust you will remember, Freda, to convey the lady’s wishes that we be fed as well,” said Maronne.
“I am a maid, dear Assidua, not a moron,” the Factora-Consort said with a smile.
Listening to this banter, the Factora-Consort began to fade in Sian’s mind into … well, Arian des Chances. A woman made of flesh rather than of mere power and politics. Capable of friendship. And of feelings … Feelings as real and immediate as Sian’s. Arian. Sian had known what the Factora-Consort’s name was just as well as she knew cousin Viktor’s. But never until now had she connected it this way with the woman herself. Arian. It was a lovely name. Like music. I’m so glad I did not call the guards on you, Arian, she thought with a shudder.
As Maronne continued covering Sian in fabrics such as she would likely never see again — even in her line of work — Sian studied this woman’s appearance more closely too. Though clearly of an age with Arian, Maronne’s skin was far lovelier, if several shades lighter than Sian’s. Probably a benefit of having had to slather far less cosmetic paint across it than the Factora-Consort did each day, if her claims were not exaggerated. Maronne’s dark hair was long and delicately curled, though heavily streaked with gray, as Sian’s own hair had been just weeks ago. Maronne’s eyes were green, not fire-spattered black like Sian’s.
Noticing her scrutiny, Maronne looked up and smiled. “Of course, we will spend some time with the cosmetics case I’ve brought as well, Domina Kattë. Do not worry. By the time you are ready to leave me here, I will be a darker, younger-looking woman, while you, alas, will look a great deal more like me.”
But I am not a younger woman, Sian almost said, having briefly forgotten, even now, the effects this god’s gift had worked upon her thrice-healed body.
The time flew by. Twice they sent Freda down for wine, then laughed and japed as Sian posed for the servants who brought it up to them, to reassure Escotte that he need have no further worries about Sian’s discontent. Then they sat playing Five Birds, Picapenny, and Spar with Maronne’s cards until the time came to send Freda back down with Sian’s request that she and her attendants be allowed to eat dinner in her room that night.
A new, more careful simulation of real fitted drapery was pinned to Sian just beforehand, in shimmering silver and peacock blue silks even more breathtaking than the ones before, just in case Escotte himself should come to debate this latest request in person — which, as they had feared, he did.
Freda had been gone for hardly any time at all when the knock came. Sian and Maronne rushed into position, Sian’s arms
held out, Maronne’s clenched teeth filled with pins as she adjusted pleats. “Come in!” Sian called out.
“You are decent then, cousin?” Escotte asked, already through the door, just steps ahead of Arian. “What marvelous colors, my dear!” He brushed past Maronne as if she weren’t there, to finger Sian’s nascent dress appreciatively. “What truly lovely fabric!” His surprise seemed quite genuine. “My congratulations! Your creations promise as much elegance as I had hoped.” He looked down at the seamstress finally, and said, “I am impressed with your selection, woman. Perhaps we should have a word downstairs before you go. Several of my sitting rooms are in need of drapes.” He gazed around at the textile treasure-trove thrown over half the furnishings. “These luscious fabrics fill me with ideas.”
“It would be my great honor, lord,” said Maronne, neither rising from her crouch at Sian’s hem, nor raising her green eyes to meet his gaze, which was quick thinking, Sian realized.
“Very good. Very good,” Escotte purred, smiling back up at Sian. “So what is this I hear about our dinner, cousin? I am to eat alone?”
“Oh, dear Escotte,” she said, bringing both hands to her mouth as if just realizing he might be disappointed. “I am so sorry. I did not mean to hurt your feelings; it is just that I am having such a wonderful time, and there is still so much more to do.” She let her eyes grow wide. “I know! Why don’t you bring your dinner up here too, and join the fun!” She spread her arms wider to gesture at the fabrics he had just been praising. “I am sure you would have wonderful ideas to contribute to some of my designs. We could make dresses together!”
He did not disappoint her. His expression grew just a little queasy, his smile a bit less certain. Even Gigi looked dubious, burying her face in his fleshy neck with a low whine. “I am honored and delighted by your invitation.” His joviality seemed hardly forced at all. “And were my attention not required by so many other tasks tonight, I would accept enthusiastically, of course. But alas, the burdens of my position often curtail my freedom. I have come to enjoy our evening conversations so, but, if you must go on without me here, I will simply look forward all the more to your company in one of these fabulous new dresses tomorrow evening. If that would be acceptable to you, my dear?”
It was getting almost too easy to pull his strings by now. “You are so kind, dear cousin. Thank you for understanding. I shall make it up to you, I promise. And, please, don’t put the kitchen to any more trouble than necessary. We require nothing fancy here. A plate of sandwiches or something will do very nicely.”
“I would not hear of such a thing,” he said with mock severity. “I’ll make sure personally that they send up something worthy of all this beauty.” He had the grace to gesture at all three women as he said this, not just at Sian.
As soon as he was gone again, Maronne started giggling. “Oh my,” she said. “You are a genius. I would never have thought to ask him to come join us.”
Blushing at such praise from this sophisticated woman, Sian turned to Arian, only to discover that she seemed far less amused.
“Unfortunately, we have a problem,” said Arian. “Now he wants to speak with the seamstress before she leaves.”
Maronne’s laughter fled instantly. “Oh. I did not think.” She looked up at her mistress, horrified. “I am so sorry.”
“What for? You did not offer. He asked, and Assidua could hardly have refused. But while merely escorting Sian from the house would not have been too hard, allowing her to sit and talk with Escotte about drapes for any length of time … I am not sure that can be managed.”
“Perhaps … if we stay here late enough,” Sian tried, “he will have gone to bed?”
Arian shook her head. “Staying here through dinner has already pushed credible convention much too far. We cannot risk more such attention.”
Maronne looked up suddenly, the light of an idea in her eyes. “He clearly intends to send us something unusual for dinner. Did you see him take our lady’s bait? Sandwiches, indeed.” She shot Sian another appreciative smile. “A second brilliant stroke, my lady. Escotte Alkattha’s pride would never allow a supper of sandwiches to be served in his house, even delivered to a room of working women. Which means that there will surely be something in tonight’s meal which poor Assidua’s tender stomach has never encountered and cannot begin to handle.”
“Oh! I am surrounded by genius,” Arian crowed. “We would have to cut our labors short then, wouldn’t we? Sian will order me to accompany poor, sick Assidua home just as soon as I have asked Sergeant Ennias to call the runner-cart for us — and tucked my exhausted mistress into bed early for the night, of course. We will make our escape all the sooner!”
“I doubt my cousin will even wish to say goodnight to her if she is ill,” Sian said. “When the butler informed him of Cleone’s illness, he just seemed terrified that she might have been contagious. This could work very well indeed.”
“As soon as they have brought up dinner,” Arian said, “we must close the door and begin work on the exchange.”
Maronne had not guessed wrong. The meal they received was as exotic as it was sumptuous. Cockles and trumpet snails in a spicy sauce of coconut, curry and powdered firefruit. Spade fish poached in curdled cream with tarragon and leeks. Saubot root mashed with truffle oil and honey imported from the continent … The list ran on for half a dozen courses, accompanied by three different wines, one spiced, and one almost too sweet to drink without pinched noses. Who could have sampled all these dishes and not risked growing ill?
Sadly, the women had little time to do much more than nibble at the feast as all three worked to darken and straighten Maronne’s hair while curling and streaking Sian’s with gray. Paints and creams Sian had never even heard of made Maronne’s complexion darker while engorging whatever skin it touched to make all but the deepest wrinkles disappear. Sian’s face, neck and hands, which were all Assidua’s concealing silk ensemble revealed, were swabbed with some astringent rinse that made her skin dry and pucker, wrinkling like leather, before being painted in a clinging cream to lighten her tone.
“I hope this is reversible,” she murmured as Maronne and Arian applied their wicked magic to her wrists and fingers.
“It washes off far more easily than it goes on,” said Arian. “Regrettably, in my case. What I wouldn’t give to be free of the ordeal I must go through every morning.”
By the time their meal might reasonably have been finished, Sian could well believe that anyone might mistake Maronne for her, or vice versa, as long as they didn’t look too closely. Assidua would be bent over in illness as well, clutching at the veil across her face in distress and embarrassment as any common woman might, leaving a grand house in such condition after so fine a meal. It should work, Sian assured herself again. It really should.
As soon as Maronne had been tucked in bed, the lights turned low, and everyone felt satisfied that the two women should pass reasonable inspection, even if Escotte came up himself, Arian went down to inform the butler of the seamstress’s distress, and Sian’s wishes in the matter.
Not long later, she was back. Alone this time, to everyone’s relief. “Quatama has assured me that Sergeant Ennias will be sent to engage a two-man runner-cart,” she said, closing the door behind her. “I saw no sign of Escotte down there. So, hopefully, he really was required elsewhere tonight and will not hear of any of this until it’s long over.”
Sian crouched in one of the room’s more shadowed corners, clutching her silk robes around her, waiting breathlessly for Escotte to show up, demanding explanations. Maronne’s dress fit her a bit loosely, and her sandals too tightly, but nearly all of her was covered, which was what mattered most. Eventually, they heard footsteps coming down the hall, followed by a knock at the door. “Come in,” Sian said. It was important that whoever was outside the door hear her voice.
To her deep relief, it was just Quatama. He glanced briefly at the woman lying in Sian’s bed, then looked rapidly away, as if unsure
that even one look at a sleeping female guest was not some violation of propriety. Next he peered at Sian, bent over in the corner wearing Assidua’s clothes and coloration now. “I am informed the runner-cart you requested is … pulling through the gate, my ladies,” he intoned uncomfortably. “Do you require my assistance to convey the seamstress downstairs?”
“Thank you, no, Quatama.” Arian offered him a grateful smile. “I can take her. My lady has requested that I escort the woman home, however. So I will be departing a bit earlier than usual. As you see, my lady is abed, and retired for the night. You may send up her guard at any time.”
He glanced again at Maronne, who nodded her dark head without turning to look at him.
“Very well, then,” said Quatama. “I shall go to fetch him now.”
Without further comment, he turned and started back down the hallway, leaving the door open for Arian and Sian.
“Goodnight, dear,” Arian said very softly to Maronne. “Sleep well. We will see you early in the morning. I’m sure Assidua will be quite recovered. And … I will not cease to think of you until then.”
“Thank you, Freda,” said Maronne. “Good luck, Assidua. I can hardly wait to see my new dress.” She gave them a pale smile. “Travel safely.”
Arian led Sian out the door, and turned to close it softly before they started down the hallway toward the first flight of stairs. Sian clutched at her arm, bent in obvious discomfort, face turned toward the floor. Only now did what they were about to do truly reach her. It was suddenly not hard at all to feign weakness and a sour stomach.
They traveled through the house without encountering anyone except a couple stray domestics, none of whom seemed to pay them any attention. As they approached the grand entrance hall, Sian again braced herself to find her cousin waiting with a thousand questions. But no one was there either except Quatama. He stood by the huge front door, watching them come as if they might be ghostly specters rather than women.