Cybele's Secret - Juliet Marillier - Cybeles Secret Страница 9

“Actually, I do live in a castle.” I felt obliged to mention this. “But there’s no prince, and the place has leaky roofs and collapsing floors. Like Murat, it’s a jewel in its own way. One of a kind.”

Irene gave a lazy smile. “He is certainly that. Now”—she rose gracefully to her feet—“we’d best get you into some proper clothing and send you home before that ferocious young man bursts in and demands to know what I’ve done with you. And look—what perfect timing! Here is Ariadne with some garments for you. I want to dress you in the Greek style. I think the look will suit you, Paula. The line of the skirt and coat is ideal for a slim figure.”

My protests fell on deaf ears. The clothes, she assured me, were surplus to needs. They had belonged to a member of the household who had moved on. If I liked them, I could keep them. On went fresh smallclothes and shift, then a narrow skirt with little pleats at the side and a blouse with embroidered borders and over it a long waistcoat in a fabric that seemed either cobalt blue or rich bronze, depending on how the light caught it. It fastened with cunning silver clasps shaped like tulips. On top of this, I had a knee-length coat in a lighter blue, with sleeves to the wrists and a pattern worked in many colors of silk thread around the hem. This was worn open in the front. Ariadne rolled my curly hair into a neat bundle at the back and put a little blue hat like a round box on top of my head. Over that went a gauzy scarf anchored with hairpins.

I was shown my reflection in a bronze mirror and found it startling. The outfit covered me up quite well. Yet it seemed designed to catch the eye, to make men look at me. I was not at all sure it was appropriate wear for a walk through the streets of Istanbul.

“Thank you,” I said, feeling a sudden longing to be back at the han with my father. “If I can repay your kindness in any way, please tell me.”

“I will, Paula. Do come back soon. Would tomorrow suit you?”

“I will come if Father doesn’t need me.” I hoped he wouldn’t. Irene’s house seemed a very special place. Surrounded by women who shared the same sort of interests as mine, I had realized how much I was missing my sisters. It was not just being in Istanbul, so far from home. It was having three of them move away, Tati to the Other Kingdom, Jena and Iulia not so far but separated from me by the profound difference marriage and children create. Stela was a child still. I loved my little sister, but I could not confide in her as I might do in Jena.

Besides, Irene’s library was full of secrets: the symbols I had recognized without knowing why, the writing that had appeared and disappeared, the woman and her embroidery that seemed to have an image of Tati on it. There was a puzzle here to be worked out, and I was good at those. Given a little more time, I would find the answer. I remembered the words I had heard at the docks when I’d seen the black-robed woman the first time: It’s time to begin your quest. Maybe someone was setting clues for me—leading me on a journey. Once, back home, the folk of the Other Kingdom had set a quest for Tati’s sweetheart. Jena and Costi had had their own mission that same winter. Maybe it was my turn. Could such a thing happen when I was so far from home?

“How is your father’s business in Istanbul progressing?” Irene asked. “Well enough to allow him to spare you again?”

“I’ll need to ask him,” I said. I could see from her expression that she knew I was exercising a merchant’s caution; she looked, if anything, amused.

“I mentioned Duarte Aguiar earlier.” Her tone was delicate. “You might wish to pass on a warning to your father where the Portuguese is concerned. He’s highly competitive and does not play by the accepted rules.”

“I don’t think it’s very likely Duarte Aguiar will be doing business with us,” I told her. “I don’t think he trades in the kind of goods we have brought.”

“He was at your han and went out of his way to talk to you,” Irene said. “If I was a merchant, that would be sufficient to make me ask a few questions. I speak only as a friend. I know of this man. He is not trustworthy, Paula.”

“I’ll pass it on to Father. I think he probably knows that already. He’s been trading here for many years, on and off.”

We stepped outside. Stoyan was still standing just beyond the hamam doorway.

“I’m ready to go home now,” I said, not meeting his eye. In the lovely new clothes, with my skin still tingling from Olena’s scrubbing and my limbs heavy after the massage, I felt curiously raw and exposed before his gaze.

“Yes, Kyria Paula.”

On the way back, we saw a band of red-clad musicians with drums and cymbals and horns, and a juggler tossing up plates. The midday call to prayer rang out over the city when we were only halfway back to the han. We paused under a shady tree, not wishing to draw particular attention to ourselves while the streets were half empty.

“We will wait here awhile, then walk on,” Stoyan said.

I sat on a bench and he stood nearby, looking particularly grave. After a little I ventured, “Have I done something to make you angry, Stoyan?”

“No, kyria. I was becoming concerned. You were out of my sight too long.”

“That’s unreasonable,” I said. “It’s all right for you and Father to go to the hamam, but as soon as I get the opportunity, and in a private bathhouse at that, you raise objections.”

“You hired me as a guard, Kyria Paula. As a guard, my judgment is that I cannot keep you safe in such places if I am required to be out of sight.” His tone of calm reason did nothing to improve my mood.

“If I followed your rules, I’d never go anywhere,” I said, folding my arms belligerently. “You can’t know how desperate I’ve been for a walk, an outing, just to see some of the city. And books; I miss those most of all. This was perfectly safe. There were only women there, and all we were doing was bathing and reading.”

“You should be with me, or with your father, at all times when you leave the han. You are not accustomed to a place such as this—a place where death is only an eyeblink away.”

This speech chilled me. I understood why he believed this; it had been true for Salem bin Afazi. But my situation was quite different. “I think you’ve misjudged Irene,” I said. “She does some wonderful things, Stoyan, providing opportunities for people who have none.”

He was silent awhile, then said, “Yes, kyria. What opportunity does she offer you that you do not already have?”

“Access to a library,” I said. “The chance to expand my knowledge. I’m hoping to discover something more about Cybele’s Gift.”

“Shh!” It was a fierce hiss of warning, and I heeded it, mortified that my bodyguard had needed to remind me this particular topic was not for discussion in public places.

“I’m sorry.” It came out despite me. “As I said, it seemed perfectly safe.”

“You believe you are in no danger because you are in a private house or garden? That shows how ignorant you are of this city and of the perils that lie in wait for the unwary.”

“Don’t call me ignorant!” I snapped. How dare he? My scholarship was my one great strength, and to dismiss it thus was, in effect, to call me worthless. How would Stoyan know anyway? A man like him was incapable of understanding how far learning could take one. “A man who earns a living with his fists should not be so ready to dismiss the opinions of an educated woman,” I added. It came out sounding terribly pompous, and I was instantly ashamed of myself, but it was too late to take it back. The silence between us was almost vibrating with tension. After a while, when the time of devotions drew to a close and the street began to fill up with folk again, we walked back to the han an arm’s length apart, and neither of us spoke a word.

Run! My chest heaved. A cold sweat of utter terror chilled my skin. Which way? Openings yawned to the left and right of the dark passage. I stood frozen a moment, then chose a path at random and pushed myself on. Ancient webs draggled down to cling in my hair; small things skittered around my ankles and crunched under my feet in the gloom. Run! Run! A strong hand gripped mine, tugging me forward. Behind me pounded the heavy feet of the pursuers. They were gaining on us. Run! But I could go no farther. I bent double, gasping, and my guardian’s hand slipped out of my hold. The darkness descended. All was shadow. Which way was onward and which way back? I thought I could feel the enemy’s breath hot on my neck. His steps had slowed. Now his tread was the prowl of a creature about to pounce….

“Father!” I cried out. “Stoyan!” I sat up abruptly, my heart going like a hammer. Beyond the door of my tiny sleeping chamber, nothing was stirring. Perhaps I had shouted only in my dream. One thing was certain—I wasn’t staying in here by myself one instant longer.

I threw on a cloak over my nightrobe and stumbled out to the gallery, almost walking into Stoyan, who was standing by the railing, fully dressed.

“Kyria,” he murmured, stretching out his hands to halt my wild progress. “You walk in your sleep. Come, sit here.”

I obeyed. Seated on one of the little chairs overlooking the darkened and empty courtyard, I couldn’t stop shaking. It had all been so real—the shadows, the flight, the menacing presence….

Stoyan crouched in front of me as he had the first time I met him and put his big hands around mine to steady me. Gradually the shivering subsided and my breathing slowed.

“Kyria,” he said, “the night guard has a little brazier down below and a kettle. I will fetch tea for you. You wish me to wake Master Teodor?”

“No, please, don’t worry him. I’m fine. I had a nightmare, that’s all. I just don’t want to be by myself in there right now. Did I scream?”

“No, kyria, or more than I would have woken. Sit quietly. I will not be far away. You can see the man from here, and his fire.”

“Thank you. Tea would be good.”

What he fetched tasted more like sugar syrup than anything, but I drank it gratefully. The glass shook in my hands. Stoyan refilled it without comment. At last he said, “This happens often? Night terrors, sleepwalking?”

“Night terrors, no. My sisters used to tell me I walked in my sleep. They kept our bedchamber door bolted so I would be safe. There are lots of steps at Piscul Dracului, and some of them are very uneven.”

“Piscul Dracului. That is a strange name for a house.”

“It’s an old castle in the forest. The name could be translated as Dragon’s Peak or Devil’s Peak. It’s isolated. Full of strange surprises.”

Stoyan nodded, not pressing for further explanations.

“That dream was horrible,” I said. “Someone was chasing me. Underground, a dark, deep place with many ways and no map to say which was right. I knew the moment they caught me they would kill me.”

He took my hand again. Here in the darkness, with the city sleeping all around us, the rules of custom that would have made this improper didn’t seem to apply. His touch warmed me.

“You spoke my name,” Stoyan said. “Your father’s, and then mine. In your dream.”

“I was awake by then. I’ve never been so glad to wake up.”

“I could swear you were still asleep when you walked out here. I thought you would go over the railing.”

“It felt so real. Someone was holding my hand, pulling me forward. And someone was coming after us….”

Stoyan got up, fetched his blanket, and put it around my shoulders over my cloak. “Better?” he asked.

“Much better, Stoyan. Thank you. I’m sorry to be such a nuisance and disturb your sleep. I don’t usually go to pieces like this. I’m generally quite a capable person.” His opinion of me must have plummeted today. First my unpleasant remark on the walk home, and now this.

“I know you are capable, kyria.”

“Stoyan?” It was time to swallow my pride.

“Yes, kyria?”

“I’m sorry I was so unpleasant to you before, when we were walking home. What I said was inappropriate and offensive.”

“You are forgiven. Besides, I am your hired guard. You may say whatever you wish to me.”

“It doesn’t give me an excuse for bad manners. I’m not used to servants, Stoyan. I felt quite awkward at Irene’s house when she told me some of her folk are slaves. At home, the old couple who look after things for us are viewed as part of the family. Occasionally, if they’re feeling put out about something, they address me as Mistress Paula, but mostly they just use my name.”

“It sounds a good place, this Dragon’s Peak.”

“It’s an interesting place. Both the castle and the wildwood around it are very old.”

“You are fortunate to have so many sisters still living. And now some have husbands and children, Master Teodor tells me. Your father is blessed.”

I wondered about that. There had been sorrows aplenty for Father: the death of our mother when Stela was born, the tragic accident that had claimed Uncle Nicolae, the loss of my sister Tati to a realm from which she could never return. But what Stoyan said was true all the same. Jena’s and Iulia’s children had brought a new richness to Father’s life.

“The five of us were very close, growing up. We had exciting times. Adventures.” I would not tell him of our visits to the Other Kingdom. We guarded that story with great care for fear of being misunderstood. “Do you have brothers or sisters, Stoyan?”

“Perhaps you should try to sleep, kyria. It is late.”

“I don’t want to sleep. I’m afraid the nightmare will come back. But there’s no need for you to stay awake with me.”

“I will stay.”

He leaned against the wall by my chair, arms folded. After a little, he said quietly, “I had two brothers. One died at five years old in an accident. The other was taken in the dev shirme, the collecting. You know of this?”

I shook my head. “Tell me,” I said.

“The Sultan sends a Janissary, a senior officer of the army, as his representative to certain lands under his rule. This official travels with the purpose of taking a levy in boys who have not yet reached manhood. In this way, a supply of pure, healthy, and biddable slaves is maintained for the sultanate. Some go straight to the palace; some are sent to work for wealthy families until a position is found for them, generally as soldiers. Some endure surgery. A eunuch, unable to father children and limited in his capacity for physical desire, is regarded as a suitable person to guard the Sultan’s women or educate their sons.” He saw me wince and added, “My mother tried to hide us, me and my younger brother, but we were found. It is their policy not to deprive a widow of all her sons. I was allowed to remain at home. But Taidjut was taken.”

I struggled for the right thing to say, imagining what it must have been like for young Stoyan. What a burden for a boy to carry, not just grief and family responsibility but probably misplaced guilt as well. “How terrible for you and your mother,” I managed. “How long ago did this happen?”