by Tanith Lee
Nevertheless, she showed Tanaquil and the peeve a marble bathroom, to which a large tray of earth had already been brought.
The other room led from the bedchamber. It was colored like a rose, and in it were a fireplace and a bed, both with columns of cinnabar. "It's where my visitors stay," said Lizra airily, "friends."
Tanaquil raised her eyebrows. "You're too kind. Surely you don't honor me by thinking of me as a friend?"
"Are you an enemy then?" asked Lizra, with a knife-like glance.
Tanaquil said, "I only meant—"
"Don't mind me," said Lizra. She watched the peeve in the bathroom, in a delayed reaction, scraping dirt out of the tray all over the floor. "Make it say something," said Lizra. "I think it wants to."
"Buried it," said the peeve. "Clever me."
"Yes," said Lizra. "I thought so."
Tanaquil bathed in a bath where she could have swum, had she known how. There were jade ducks that floated full of soap, and a fish, when you tilted it, sluiced you with warm water.
From her closet Lizra chose for Tanaquil a gown of lion-yellow silk. It was ornate and boned, like the red gown. "We're the same size. Just as well. You have to be formal here, particularly for dinner. So many rules, like the procession."
Lizra had been driving through the city to "inspire the people." "Father says it does," said Lizra, "but half of them don't take any notice. Why should they? I have to go round once a month. He only bothers with the festivals. It makes you sick."
"What does your mother say?"
"My mother's dead," said Lizra briskly. "Don't tell me you're sorry or how awful, because you never knew her, and neither did I, properly. It happened when I was only five."
But Tanaquil had actually paused to visualize a life from the age of five without a mother—or without the only mother she could imagine, Jaive.
"We'll go down then, Tanaquil," said Lizra.
"Will your father want to know who I am?"
"He'll assume, if he notices either of us, that you're some royal person from another city he's agreed to allow on a visit. It happens a lot. I usually find those girls stuck-up or stupid. On the other hand, I was once friends with a road-sweeper's daughter, Yilli, and she came here often. I really liked her. Then she tried to cut my throat one morning. She wanted to steal some of my jewelry, which I hate anyway. She could have had it. I've avoided friends since then."
Tanaquil was shocked into weird sympathy. She could see it all, the sweeper's daughter's painful jealousy, Lizra's bold, blind trust, her own shock, the emotional wound she thought she should be casual about.
"I still sometimes catch sight of her," said Lizra bleakly. "She bakes pies in the Lion Market."
Tanaquil realized she might have eaten one of these pies. She said, "You mean you let her go?"
"I held her upside down out of the window first."
Tanaquil said, "Are you in fact warning me to be careful? Since you don't know anything about me—"
"So what?" said Lizra. "I just think I might like to know you, not about you. Yes, poor Yilli was my mistake. But you have to take risks."
"Yes," said Tanaquil
"Bring your peeve. It'll like dinner."
They went down to the dining hall in the Flying Chair. The peeve did not enjoy this, as it had not enjoyed coming up in it.
Several flights of marble stairs, with vast landings, ran up and down through the fifteen stories of the palace. For each flight there was also a Flying Chair. It was like a birdcage with bars of gilded iron, and inside was a bench with cushions. You entered, sat, and rang a golden bell in the floor of the cage. This communicated to gangs of servants at the bottom and top of the palace, and they began to haul on the gilded ropes. The cage worked against a counterweight, which was gently released to bring the carriage down and gently lowered to lift it. Should you wish to alight at the twelfth story, the bell was rung twelve times, and so on. Sometimes, the bell was misheard, but never by very much.
Tanaquil herself did not completely like the flying up and down through the air of the staircase wells, with carved pillars, balustrades, and windows sliding by in the other direction. The gang of Chair servants could sometimes be seen far below or above, leaning over banisters and grinning. All of them looked quite insane.
"Have the Chairs ever had an accident?" she had inquired, on having the method first explained to her.
"Once or twice," said Lizra. She added philosophically, "They never fall far. Father's Chief Counselor, Gasb, once got a broken leg. Rats had gnawed the ropes. The rope-checker was beheaded."
They reached the fifth floor, that of dining, and got out to a chorus of pleased whoops from the lower Chair gang.
The doors to the hall were covered in gold. Two servants flung them open. At once a boy playing a flute and a girl strewing flower petals jumped into their path and preceded them into the room. If anyone of the hundreds of people there looked round, it was unlikely. The din was deafening. Scores of musicians played on a gallery that encircled the chamber, pipes and drums, harps and tambourines. Nobody listened, or tried to.
Ranks of tables, high-legged and low, laden with food and drink, had attracted sitters like hungry gulls. Servants glided about with enormous platters of vegetables, fruits, breads, roasts, and cakes, and vessels of wine, water, tea, and brandy. The meal did not apparently have courses. Everything was served at once and continuously. On the mosaic floor, flowers lay crushed. Sleek dogs, cats, and monkeys, with collars of silver and jewels, roamed the area, while on several of the great golden chandeliers, pet parrots swung, eating something or singeing themselves on the candles. A pink bird dived overhead, trailing a leash of crystals. The peeve made to spring, and Tanaquil held it down. The bird settled in a cut-glass tureen of presumably cool soup, and began to splash and preen.
The Prince's table was at the end of the endless chamber, amid an indoor arbor of vines and potted trees, the branches hung with small gems, glittering. The table itself was of gold, and of an odd coiling and twisting shape, like the bends of a river. About seventy people were seated at it in one curve or another. They were all dressed in incredible clothing, many flamboyant styles, armored by precious metal and stones.
"There's father," said Lizra. "And that's Gasb, with the hat like an owl."
Tanaquil saw the hat first. It was made of feathers, the spread wings extending over the Counsellor's head to either side, the savage face coming down to mask his eyes and shield his nose with a beak of gold. Whatever he truly was, the contraption made him look both absurd and rapaciously cruel. Of the Prince, Tanaquil had only a fleeting glimpse before Lizra had turned her aside into one of the bends of the table: a man with very black, long, curled hair, a diadem with diamonds, patchwork clothes of silk, cloth-of-gold, and the hides and furs of a great many animals, which might otherwise have been living their own lives.
"Have some of this," said Lizra. "Let the peeve on the table if it wants. Look, there's Lady Orchid's marmoset in the pie."
Tanaquil began to eat. The food was good, though some of it highly spiced. The nobles of the Prince's court were also constantly shaking out clouds of pepper, salt, and cinnamon onto their plates, and dipping sugars and essences into their cups. Occasionally, Tanaquil got another look at Lizra's father. He was a handsome man. He never smiled. And though he paid no heed to the general antics, when the clean, dainty marmoset pattered close, he pushed it roughly away, and Lady Orchid might be seen creasing her glorious gown in bows of apology.
Lizra seemed to have no connection to her father. She glanced about and spoke of several people at the table. She pointed out a lord who had invented a strain of rose that would shrink into the soil at sunset, and thereby not need to be protectively covered every night by gardeners against the frosts, and a lady who had won a chariot race, and a general in golden mail who was said to have eaten a crocodile. But of Prince Zorander Lizra said nothing. There's nothing between them, thought Tanaquil. As I had nothing with Jaive. Then sh
e and Lizra started to laugh again at something, and Tanaquil heard herself with surprise. Who does she remind me of?
"Do you know," Lady Orchid's voice broke out in loud, self-conscious tones, as she tied the marmoset's emerald leash to her chair, "a unicorn has been seen again in the city."
Tanaquil felt as if a stream of boiling cold water were being poured down her spine.
"A unicorn? Some foolishness—"
"No, there were various reports on Lion and Lynx Streets. About midnight a ghostly shape went by with a blazing silver horn."
"I heard the creature was scarlet and had fiery eyes," said a noble to Lady Orchid's left.
"The fishermen said they saw the Sacred Beast of the city swimming in the ocean near dawn."
"There are always these lying rumors," said Gasb suddenly, in a harsh, owl-cruel voice that carried over all the table's coils.
Everyone hastened to agree. "Oh, true, Lord Gasb."
Somewhere above, in the vault of the palace, a huge bell rang out. It tolled for midnight, and the whole hall sank into abrupt and utter silence.
Prince Zorander rose to his feet. He was tall and commanding in his robe of dead things. He raised a goblet cut apparently from a single amethyst. Every person in the hall also got up and raised a drinking vessel. Tanaquil rose too, as Lizra did. The Prince's cold, calm voice rang like the bell. "The city salutes midnight and the Sacred Beast."
"Midnight. The Beast."
They drank and sat down. The peeve, which had speechlessly devoured pieces of meat on the table and spilled gravy, climbed into Tanaquil's lap and ruined Lizra's yellow dress.
8
In the sunrise, Lizra took Tanaquil round the mile of palace gardens.
Tanaquil was not sure she liked going to bed so late and then getting up again so early. The fire lit in her cinnabar fireplace for the night was still glowing when she woke to Lizra standing by the bed with a tray of food, already clad in a wild white gown with feathered sleeves. "Salute the day!" said Lizra, just as Jaive had made her sorcerous portrait do.
However, the sun rising on the many different trees and statues, and over the limpid pools of the garden, was a marvelous sight.
The gardeners were going about uncovering the plants and shrubs. Some had been left to brave the cold; their blooms were frostbitten and black, but already new buds were breaking, and by noon everything would be in flower. Wading birds fished in the ponds.
"Do you think there could be such a thing as a unicorn?" asked Lizra.
"Do you?"
"I don't know where you come from," said Lizra, "no, I don't want to know. But probably you haven't heard the city legends. There are two. One says the unicorn founded the city. It was carried ashore on a great wave, and where it touched the earth with its horn a magic well was formed that became the source of all the waters of the city. Then, from time to time the Beast returned, to greet the princes of the city. One day it will come back and, approaching the prince, touch him and endow him with mighty powers—make him immortal, impervious to harm, that sort of thing. And then the city will flourish as never before."
"What's the other legend?" said Tanaquil, remembering the yelps of the artisans.
"The other legend is that we offended the unicorn—I don't know how. And so when it comes back it will kill and maim, and maybe the sea will wash in and destroy the city altogether."
Tanaquil stood in thought. She pictured the ancient sea covering the desert, the fossils, and the star-bones found beneath the hollow hill.
The peeve fell into a pond. They fished it out.
"Spuff. Bad," said the peeve. "Wet."
"It's really brilliant how you do that," said Lizra. "Your lips don't move at all."
Tanaquil wanted to tell Lizra the facts, but once again held herself back. Like Lizra, perhaps she too had never had a friendship. Certainly she had tried to make friends with the maids in the fortress, but resolutely they had kept Tanaquil in her "proper place": Madam's daughter.
The day was warm, and the peeve shook and fluffed itself beside them as they went to see the mechanical waterwheel that drew up water for the gardens.
As they were standing watching the wheel, which revolved the full buckets high, tipped them sideways into a canal, and then swung them on down again into a cistern, a palace servant jogged up to Lizra.
"Highness, your father invites you to his library."
"Thank you," said Lizra, "I obey." The servant went off and Lizra swore. "I know what it is, it's about the Festival of the Blessing at the end of the week—tomorrow. There's just so much ritual," she said, as they entered the palace and walked toward a Flying Chair. As the gang hauled them up with cries of hilarity, Tanaquil clutched her knees and the peeve clawed the cushions, bristled, and looked as if it might be sick. Lizra added, "By the way, I'm afraid the last three floors will be in father's private Chair. It's worse than this."
"Worse?"
They alighted on the twelfth landing, and walked down a corridor lined with saluting golden soldiers. At its end was a carved door, and going through they found a landing of green onyx. On a flight of stairs a band of terrible-looking people were rushing unsafely about, cartwheeling and swinging from the banisters, hanging upside down, and giving awful raucous screams and giggles. They were dressed in beautiful clothes, but were barefoot. Their hair stood on end.
Lizra said sternly, "Chair down."
At once the crazed activity was transformed into a thundering, screeching race up the stairs. From three floors up presently there were calls and howls, and then a burst of song—the words sounded nonsensical.
Down the stairwell came a Flying Chair of stupefying magnificence on a rope bound with silver. It stopped at the landing.
"They untie it above," said Lizra. "We'd better get in. They aren't able to stay still for long."
Tanaquil followed Lizra uneasily into the Chair, sat, and held the peeve between her arms in an iron lock.
Lizra kicked a gold thing in the floor and a trumpet pealed overhead.
The noises became a gale; the cage juddered and began to rise.
As they went up, they encountered and passed the Chair gang, who were plunging down the stairs with the other end of the silver rope, shrieking and singing something like "Heave ho, rope and woe—" their feet never missing the treads, their eyes red, foaming at the mouth.
"Oh, the God!" cried Tanaquil.
They reached the upper landing and the chair stopped rockstill.
"They'll tie it up at the bottom now," said Lizra. "Then they must wait for the next one going up or down. When father's busy, sometimes they run up and down every ten minutes. They're the counterweight, you see. It was Gasb's idea. My father thought it was unusual. They all go off their heads. They can't keep still. They have to sleep in clockwork hammocks that sway."
Tanaquil felt sick, and not only from the Chair.
Two gold soldiers now stood with spears crossed over a gold door.
"This is the door to the apartments of the Prince."
"I, the daughter of the Prince, will enter with my companion, the Princess Tanaquil."
"Enter!"
Beyond the door was a thing of which Tanaquil had heard, but never seen: daytime winter.
"Don't take any notice," said Lizra.
They walked up ten steps that seemed made of the sheerest ice, but somehow did not slip. On either side long plains of snow extended to bluish distance, where white snow mountains stabbed into a royal blue sky. On the snow plains great cats of white, spotted fur stalked each other.
Tanaquil grimaced. She made herself recognize the panes of glass between herself and the snows.
They reached the top of the stair, and an open arch. Into the space came a snow leopard treading on taloned feet. It turned its wicked head to them and snarled, and the fur rose along its back.
The peeve lay flat, waggling its rump and grumbling.
"It's only clockwork," said Lizra. "It's all clockwork."
; The peeve got up again. The snow leopard had no smell, and now indeed had retreated into a wall.
They walked through the arch and out of the snows into a great library of golden books. The sunlight gushed over the polished floor from a doorway to the roof outside. Butterflies had come in; white and silver and palest blue, they flew about the room and lit upon the books.
"Clockwork," said Lizra. She glanced at Tanaquil. "My father likes things that aren't real."
Along the roof, which was paved with dragon tiles, a painted boat was sailing, drawn by a balloon of sail wind-catching up in the air. The boat came to the doorway, and the balloon deflated and sank down. The Prince and his Chief Counselor stepped into the library. Today Zorander wore a tunic of beetle wings, and Gasb a hat like a vulture.
"Who is this?" said the Prince. For a moment Tanaquil thought he meant his own daughter, and was strangely unsurprised. But it was Tanaquil he referred to.
"Oh, Princess Tanaquil. Of . . . Erm," said Lizra.
"And that?"
"Her pet peeve. It can talk."
"Is it house-trained?"
"Yes, Father."
"Shorten the leash, please," said Zorander to Tanaquil.
Their eyes met. His were cold, like his snows, and like the clockwork. He seemed not to like her hair, her borrowed dress. She bowed, and he looked away from her. She was glad.
"The Festival of the Blessing," said the Prince to Lizra.
"Yes, Father?"
"This year you'll be a credit to me. The people expect it. Your gown is even now being prepared. Tonight you shall have it. There are seven layers of golden lace."
Lizra winced. The Prince did not see. He stared across the library to where, on a frame, a suit of male clothing was displayed.
Tanaquil observed velvets in purple and a breastplate of gold and jewels. It would be even hotter, though perhaps not so scratchy as lace.
"Go and look at it, if you wish," said the Prince. He was speaking to Tanaquil. Cold as snow, but also a showoff. She went across the room politely and stopped before the frame. "The city offers respect to the sea. And so the cloak is made of the skins of seventeen sharks," he said. "And fringed with the teeth of twenty dolphins." What a pity they could not bite him! Tanaquil glared at the clothes. And saw that at each shoulder, the cloak was fastened to the breastplate by a gleaming, milk-white whorl. Fossils—and of such size and perfection she ached to prize them loose.