Dave Duncan - Children of Chaos

However annoying the interruption, Benard must be gracious. Women whose husbands could afford such a retinue were sources of future commissions. He wished he had not left the front of his shed undraped, showing all its intestinal clutter.

"Your mistress works you hard," he said in his rusty Florengian.

"I do not speak that language."

Only now Benard noticed the seal thong around the swordsman's wrist. His ears were not cropped, as the bearers' were. By the Twelve, artists were supposed to see !

"I beg your pardon, master swordsman. I assumed you were a prisoner of war."

The man smiled graciously. "A natural mistake, master. I am a freeborn citizen of Podarvik, two menzils from here. My parents still live there."

"There is cool water in the well. I am Master Artist Celebre, if you would be so kind as to present me."

"That's not needed," said a woman's voice. A hand glittering with seven or eight jeweled rings emerged from the drape.

Benard bent to kiss it. Then he recognized the perfection of its line and texture, the scent of her skin. He jumped back, startled. "Hiddi!"

"Who else?" She threw back the drape. "Go water the team, Nerio. I'm quite safe with this fellow."

The swordsman bowed and trotted off, gesturing for the slaves to accompany him. Hiddi favored Benard with a smile to slay armies.

"Master Benard! We meet again." She was enthroned in her chair, draped in a sort of pink spiderweb that did not reach her knees. Ropes of garnets, coral, and amber encircled her slender neck, her wrists bore a dozen bangles of gold, silver, and jade; jewels sparkled in her hair, in her ears; a tiara of pearls adorned the flaxen pillow of her hair. She was enjoying Benard's amazement.

Part of that was despair, though. How could he ever hope to match such perfection? What marble could equal the translucency of her skin?

She favored holy Anziel with a glance of twin sapphires. "You made that? How clever! Is that an owl?"

"It does not do justice to the original," Benard said warily. Having recalled that he had a gold arm ring buried under his sleeping mat, he had worked out why the Nymph had come calling. It was surprising that she had not caught wind of his windfall long ago, since Horold's donation had been so public. Benard was no longer a penniless artist, but that situation could be rectified.

"I am 'stremely impressed." Hiddi managed to look bashful. "It was terrible of me not to at once recognize your name that night you ... Thod ! Go and play by yourself for a while. We grown-ups are talking!"

Thod had been listening with ears like winnowing fans and eyes not much smaller. He knew her! Whatever would little Thilia say if she heard that? At Hiddi's snarl, he turned an impossible shade of scarlet and shot a horrified glance at his master.

"Off with you!" Benard said, and Thod vanished in a spray of marble chips. "You know my apprentice?"

"I know them all. But as I was saying," Hiddi continued, obviously trying to make her voice sound less like a refugee's from a pig farm and more like a high priestess's, "I shouldn't have overlooked the name of the greatest artist in Kosord. As a collector of beautiful things myself, I am very honored to know you, Master Artist Benard." She flaunted her kohl-darkened lashes.

She was a child dressed up, robbing her mother's jewel box to play at being a queen or great lady. She was also unnecessary. Whether Nymphs were purely benevolent as they claimed or vicious gold diggers as their reputation labeled them, Benard needed no such distraction interrupting his work just now ... except maybe a quick glance at her feet. On the night they met, he had not taken adequate notice of her feet. Understandably. He could invent feet, but they would look wrong, at least to his over-critical eye.

"The lady is gracious to praise my art."

"That, too." She smiled coquettishly. Her face, her body, were delectable, incredible, but her flirting was clumsy and lame.

Puzzled, Benard said, "What can I do for you, mistress?"

The Nymph's sigh strained the muslin over those flawless breasts. "I still have to show you how thankful I am to you for rescuing me from those Werists." Earnest.

He bowed. "Say no more. It was my pleasure."

"I would be willing to show my gratefulness." Sickly coyness.

"I really am very busy today, Hiddi. I would appreciate a quick glance at your ankles, though."

"Just ankles?" Flirtatious.

"And feet."

"You should be more ambitious. Come back to my house with me and I'll show you all the pretty arty things I have, mm?" Imploring.

The prettiest of all were in plain view through her wrap. The lashes could not possibly be real—they were probably made of feathers and glue—but the rest of her was all genuine, every delicious morsel. Other appetites stirred. He could feel his resolution melting like snow in high summer. Rumble !

Hiddi smirked. "I'll feed you! I have a wonderful cook."

"No images of holy Eriander?"

"Not one, I promise!" Amazingly young, very desirable, she was somehow contriving to appear innocent while implying that her intentions were anything but. Her scent alone was intoxicating. Hard hammering had made Benard's hands tremble; her smile could make all of him flap like a flag, and his body was already saluting the view through that web. She sat at ease in the shade; he was being broiled.

"I have no gifts to offer you," he protested.

"Am I so stupid? If I wanted gifts, I wouldn't show you this." She rattled bracelets in a clash of metal. "And I wouldn't come begging from a man who lives in a kennel."

He did want to work on the statue while there was daylight. Nymphs did have a bad reputation for enslaving men and bleeding them of everything they possessed. On the other hand...

The other hand held several good arguments on its sweaty palm, not least of which was that he must eat sometime. He could not hope to hold on to his gold, because wealth was his corban. And he was curious to see her collection of loot.

"I'm not dressed to go visiting."

"I'll undress you when we get there." Teasing.

"No gifts, no god, no talk of love?" he said sadly. "Just rank animal copulation? Like a cat—one yowl and it's over?"

"As rank as you want, master."

"I do not enjoy being treated like an animal."

"You are an animal," she said sweetly, sure of her success now. "All men are."

"I suppose we seem so."

Slaves and swordsman came trotting back, dripping and apparently ready to begin another journey. Thod followed them cautiously.

If gauze could be slammed, Hiddi slammed the drape. "Then follow. Home, Nerio. Benard— heel !"

♦

He took a moment to outline some work for Thod, then sprinted after the chair as it vanished into the alley. He caught up with it just before the first fork. In these narrow ways, he made no effort to join the swordsman out in front. He had not expected to have trouble keeping up with older men so burdened, but Hiddi's slaves were trained to their work and kept up a fiendish pace, charging through crowds and narrow gaps like runaway onagers. The journey was much longer than he expected, uphill to the palace complex and then around to the fashionable side of the city. They stopped eventually at a gate set in an adobe wall. Nerio rang a bell. In a moment the gate was opened.

Winded, Benard staggered in after the slaves, down into a shaded courtyard. Someone handed him a soft towel and a golden goblet of cool water flavored with some astringent fruit.

He drank, wiped, and drank again before he felt able to judge his surroundings. The garden was spacious, running from a dwelling of three or even four rooms at one end to obvious servant quarters at the other, the sides being blank walls clad in vines. The overall effect was exquisite. He had been raised in two palaces and had visited rich folk's homes many times to discuss or carry out commissions, yet he had seen nowhere with more harmony and appeal than this miniature forest. He had stepped down into it from alley level, which meant that it was old, and obviously those massive trees were ancient. Their spacing around the obligatory fishpond blended with flower-spangled shrubs and glazed-tile paving in a perfect union of balance and peace. This haven had been designed and executed by someone with admirable taste.