Guy Kay - Sailing to Sarantium

Crispin's smile was all benign understanding. . you offered me an unforgettable greeting. For another such, I'll return all the way back to Varena and come again with further word from Zoticus."

She coloured even more. She deserved a little embarrassment, he thought, still amused.

"You do not deserve so much good fortune," he heard inwardly, and then, after a pause, "No, I will not cook myself in a pot for dinner. I told you not to try such an obviously ridiculous-"

There was an abrupt silence, as the inward voice was cut off.

Crispin had a good idea what had caused that, having done it himself many times on the road. He had no idea what was happening here, however. He should not be able to hear this voice.

"You are a Rhodian?" Pertennius's expression, eyeing the slender girl, revealed an avid curiosity. "I didn't know that."

"Partly Rhodian," Shirin agreed, regaining her composure. Crispin recalled that it was always easier with the bird silenced. "My father is from Batiara."

"And your mother?" the secretary asked.

Shirin smiled and tossed her head. "Come, scribe, would you plumb all of a woman's mysteries?" Her sidelong look was bewitching. Pertennius swallowed and cleared his throat again. The answer, of course, was "yes," but he could hardly say as much, Crispin thought. He himself kept silent, glancing quickly around the entranceway. There was no bird to be seen.

Zoticus's daughter took him by the elbow-a much more formal grip this time, he noted-and walked him into the house a few steps. "Pertennius, dear friend, will you allow me the comfort of a visit with this man? It has been so long since I've spoken with anyone who's seen my beloved father."

She released Crispin and, turning, took the secretary's arm in the same firm, friendly grip, steering him smoothly the other way towards the still-open doorway. "It was so kind of you to come by just to see if the strains of the Dykania had not wearied me too greatly. You are such a solicitous friend. I am very fortunate to have powerful men like you taking a protective interest in my health."

"Not so powerful," the secretary said with an awkward little deprecating movement of his free hand, "but yes, yes, very much, very much indeed interested in your well-being. Dear girl." She released his arm. He looked as if he would linger, gazing at her and then past, at Crispin, who stood with hands clasped loosely together, smiling earnestly back.

"We, ah, must dine together, Rhodian, "Pertennius said, after a moment.

"We must," Crispin agreed enthusiastically. "Leontes spoke so highly of you!"

Leontes's secretary hesitated another moment, his high forehead furrowing. He looked as if there were a great many questions he had a mind to ask, but then he bowed to Shirin and stepped out onto the portico. She closed the door carefully behind him and stood there, resting her head against it, her back to Crispin. Neither of them spoke. They heard a jingle of harness from the street and the muted sound of Pertennius riding off.

"Oh, Jad!" said Zoticus's daughter, voice muffled against the heavy door. "What must you think of me?"

"I really don't know," said Crispin carefully. "What should I think of you? That you give friendly greetings? They say the dancers of Sarantium are dangerous and immoral."

She turned at that, leaning back against the door. "I'm not. People would like me to be, but I'm not." She had not adorned herself, or painted her face. Her dark hair was quite short. She looked very young.

He could remember her kiss. A deception, but a practised one. "Really?"

She flushed again, but nodded. "Truly. You ought to be able to guess why I did what I did. He's been calling almost every day since the end of summer. Half the men in the Imperial Precinct expect a dancer to go on her back and spread her legs if they wave a jewel or a square of silk at her."

Crispin didn't smile. "They said that of the Empress, in her day, didn't they?"

She looked wry; he saw her father, abruptly, in the expression. "In her day it might have been true. When she met Petrus she changed. That's what I understand." She pushed herself off from the door. "I'm being ungracious. Your cleverness just now saved me some real awkwardness. Thank you. Pertennius is harmless, but he tells tales."

Crispin looked at her. He was remembering the secretary's hungry expression last night, eyes passing from the Empress to himself and back to Alixana, with her long hair unbound. "He may not be so harmless. Tale-tellers aren't, you know, especially if they are bitter."

She shrugged. "I'm a dancer. There are always rumours. Will you take wine? Do you really come from my bastard of a so-called father?"

The words were rightly spoken, tossed away.

Crispin blinked. "Yes I will and yes I do. I wouldn't have been able to invent a tale like that," he said, also mildly.

She went past him and he followed her down the corridor. There was a doorway at the end of the hallway, opening to a courtyard with a small fountain and stone benches, but it was too cold to sit outside. Shirin turned in to a handsome room where a fire had been laid. She clapped her hands once, and murmured quiet instructions to the servant who immediately appeared. She seemed to have regained her self-possession.

Crispin found that he was struggling to keep his own.

Lying on a wooden and bronze trunk set against the wall by the fire, on its back as if it were a discarded toy, was a small leather and metal bird.

Shirin turned from the servant and followed his gaze. "That actually was a gift from my endlessly doting father." She smiled thinly. "The only thing I've ever received from him in my life. Years ago. I wrote to him that I'd come to Sarantium and been accepted as a dancer by the Greens. I'm not sure why I bothered to tell him, but he did reply. That one time. He told me not to become a prostitute and sent me a child's toy. It sings if you wind it up. He makes them, I gather. A pastime of sorts? Did you ever see any of his birds?"

Crispin swallowed, and nodded his head. He was hearing-could not help but hear-a voice crying in Sauradia.

"I did," he said finally. "When I visited him before leaving Varena." He hesitated, then took the chair she gestured towards, nearest the fire. Courtesy for guests on a cold day. She took the seat opposite, legs demurely together, her dancer's posture impeccable. He went on, "Zoticus, your father… is actually a friend of my colleague. Martinian. I'd never met him before, to be honest. I can't actually tell you very much, only report that he seemed well when I saw him. A very learned man. We. spent part of an afternoon together. He was kind enough to offer me some guidance for the road."

"He used to travel a great deal, I understand," Shirin said. Her expression grew wry again. "Else I'd not be alive, I suppose."

Crispin hesitated. This woman's history was not something to which he was entitled. But there was the bird, silenced, lying on the trunk. A pastime of sorts. "Your mother… told you this?"

Shirin nodded. Her short black hair bobbed at her shoulders with the movement. Crispin could see her appeal: a dancer's grace, quick energy, effervescence. The dark eyes were compelling. He could imagine her in the theatre, neat-footed and alluring.

She said,'To be just, my mother never said anything bad about him that I can recall. He liked women, she said. He must have been a handsome man, and persuasive. My mother had been intending to withdraw from the world among the Daughters of Jad when he passed through our village."

"And after?" Crispin said, thinking about a grey-bearded pagan alchemist on an isolated farm amid his parchments and artifacts.

"Oh, she did retreat to them. She's there now. I was born and raised among holy women. They taught me my prayers and my letters. I was… everyone's daughter, I suppose."