Kate Elliott - An earthly crown

"Certainly, eminence, the rewards for succeeding will be great. Your most honored uncle has already begun negotiations, I believe, for your suit for the hand and dowry of the daughter of this house."

"Yes. The daughter of the Great King's fourth cousin. That would be sweet indeed."

"With such a connection to the royal family, eminence, surely a Companion's Sash would be guaranteed you."

Jiroannes did not reply. He watched the Tadesh. Her hands, stroking his feet and ankles, were strong and assured. She was a foreign girl, from the Gray Eminence's lands across the sea. He had paid a ridiculously high price for her. She was not a beauty, certainly, but exotic as any foreigner is, and in any case she knew the five fabled arts of seduction and the five erotic dances of Tadesh. He could tell, by her lowered eyes and the set of her chin, that she knew he was studying her. She did not smile. She never did.

"Syrannus," he said abruptly. "There is a slave-boy about her size. Go get his clothing."

"Your eminence?"

"His clothing."

Syrannus looked troubled. "Your eminence, surely, if your most honored uncle said-"

"Are you questioning me?"

Syrannus bowed. "Of course not, your eminence, but in my position as a tutor for many years in the palace school, from which your eminence so graciously elevated me to become your secretary, I beg leave to remind you that while your high spirits and rebellious nature made you a favorite among the tutors at the school, it would not perhaps be wise to go against your uncle's orders."

"I can cut the girl's hair." The concubine's hands halted for a moment, then resumed their rubbing. "With short hair, and loose clothing, she will pass well enough for a boy. By my ancestors, Syrannus, surely my uncle cannot expect me to endure an entire year without female companionship? The First Prophet himself warns against such privations. It is simply too much. She will go in the slave-boy's place. My uncle will not know of it, and the barbarians will neither notice nor care."

Syrannus hesitated. At last, he bowed and left the room. The curtain parted, whispering, to let him through, and with a jangle of beads settled back into place.

Jiroannes sighed. "Something to drink, Samae." The concubine rose and padded in her slippers to the far table and brought him back a cup of melted fruit sorbet. He liked to watch her. She had an unconscious grace, and her slim hips swayed in an enticing manner. He did not think she did it on purpose. She had yet to show the least interest in him, except to perform her duties as ordered and with exacting perfection.

She knelt beside the couch and lifted the cup up to him. He took it, and drank. She wore two layers of cloth, an outer silken gown slitted cunningly to reveal the sheer silk garment beneath and the white curves of her body. The sorbet cooled his throat, but not his ardor.

"My sash," he said.

She undid the complex knot that bound his sash and unwound him from its confines. The emerald cloth studded with jewels and precious stones fell to the floor in a heap. Even as she slid his trousers and blouse off, he was thinking as much of his ambitions as of the expert ministrations of her hands: endure this one year, negotiate a successful treaty with this Bakhtiian, secure Vidiya's borders and perhaps even arrange some diplomatic marriages-the Great King had a daughter by his fifth wife he was willing to offer to the Bakhtiian, and surely this nomad prince had some female in his family to offer the Great King or his heir in turn-and then…

Samae paused in her stroking while Syrannus came in, deposited the boy's clothing in a neat pile at the foot of the couch, and left. As the beaded curtain settled back into place, she dabbed oil on her hands and began again.

Then he could marry well and gain the honor of wearing, instead of a gaudy, jeweled sash, the plain white silk granted only to the Companions. With such a prize within his reach, he could almost look forward to the coming year.

Manifest of the Soerensen Expedition

Compiled by Margaret O'Neill, Assistant to C. Soerensen

Personnel:

Charles Soerensen Dr. Cara Fel Hierakis Margaret O'Neill David ben Unbutu Ursula el Kawakami Rajiv Caer Linn Joanna Singh

The Bharentous Repertory Company:

Ginnaia Lac Arbha Seshat Onn Anahita Liel Apphia Helen Angiras Diana Brooke-Holt Madelena Quinn Oriana Vuh Catanya Yomi Applegate-Hito

Owen Zerentous Dejhuti Joldine Gwyn Jones Jean-Pierre Dasas Henry Bharentous Hyacinth

Phillippe Navarone Joseph Applegate-Hito

1

Partial Manifest of Goods:

1

22 Hou-Kohl palm slates thermal mitts

1 Ananda-Cray Modeler

2 frying pans

1 Ananda-Cray clothespins demiModeler rope

1 Grousset solar mini portable platform

1 Xi-Dela portable

4 free-standing screens cookery

10 carpets

10 two-capacity canvas scrubbing pads and towels

1 tents

1 fire extinguisher

3 ten-capacity canvas tents

3 buckets

23 canvas cots

1 portable efficiency: WC

4 folding tables and shower

23 folding chairs

7 crates belonging to Dr. Hierakis (uninspected)

23 wilderness thermal

1 blankets

5 crates of misc. props

4 dishpans and costumes: see

25 sets: knives, forks amp;

Company manifest for Interdiction allowance

25 sets: mugs, plates amp; misc. personal items, ltd. bowls to 2 carry bags

3 chopping boards person (12 kg. ea.)

3 kettles

100 gallons of water

3 ladles

emergency transmitter

1 water purifier

5 Minimax solar cells

axes and shovels

10,000 bags of tea

1 soap

A peremptory knock sounded on the door behind Diana. She glanced up, startled, and lost hold of the inkwell just as the ship rolled steeply. The inkwell slid off the table and fell to the floor. Diana swore and ducked under the table to grab for it. It spun in a furious circle, spewing ink, and then rolled with the tilt of the floor toward the bunk. Diana swore again, more heated words this time, bumped her head on the top of the table, and saw a booted foot catch the inkwell, stopping it neatly before it could roll under the lip of the bunk.

"Such language," admonished the owner of the foot.

She crawled out from under the table. "Hello," she said, surveying Marco Burckhardt with remarkable calm. Somehow, her anger at the mess counteracted her fluttering heart.

He grinned at her and bent to retrieve the inkwell. "It's a messy business. Writing with pen and ink. Palm slates are much more convenient."

"This is an interdicted planet." She took the inkwell from him, stoppered it, and used a rag to mop up the spilled ink. "Thank you." Out in the passageway she heard the voices of the rest of the party as they packed and readied to leave.

Marco examined the room-Hal's three duffel bags, open, with clothing and interesting odds and ends strewn over the lower bunk; Diana's two little carry bags on the upper bunk, tied and neat and ready to go. "Where's your roommate?"

"Out throwing up over the stern one final time, I think."

"Ah, he was one of the really sick ones."

"And an actor, you know. Think of it as a farewell gesture."

"If you're ready, I can get you on the first boat going in to the harbor.''

"Can you?" Diana clapped her hands together and clasped them at her throat. "That would be marvelous! Here, I'm ready to go right now." She closed the journal, laced it shut with a leather cord, and stuffed it into the side pouch of one of her bags.

"May I carry those for you?"

"No, I'm fine. Well, if you insist, you may take one." She handed him the bag without the journal in it, hoisted the other in her left hand, and followed him out of the cabin and down the passageway, dodging actors and their gear.