effect in the harim, I wondered if she might not be risking beheading for it.
“I have already spoken to Tummyfat,” said the sultana, as though she knew what I was thinking. “He will allow it. And I’ve spoken to my son. A caravan traveling with females or with treasure is a temptation to the angels and would lure bandits from as far as Isfoin. An armed troop, without females or treasure, travels safer than a caravan, though if someone important is along, seizure for ransom may be attempted. An armed troop following the banner of a minor, and thus unprofitable, official travels safer yet, which is the way you will go. I don’t want my son leaving one danger merely to fall into another.”
I heard myself asking, “Was he really poisoned, Great Sultana?”
Frowsea grasped my shoulder, lifting, and for a moment my feet left the ground.
“Put her down, Frowsea!” said the sultana in a fervent whisper. “She didn’t mean to be impertinent; she’s merely curious.”
Reluctantly, Frowsea set me down.
The sultana said, “We don’t know that he was poisoned, girl. We are not priers and pokers, like those at the hospice, able to peer into our bodies to see what is awry. He may have been poisoned. He may have been cursed. He may simply be ill, there are illnesses enoughthat have no known cause. Whichever, among the Strangers at St. Weel, he may be healed, and the Great Sultan has permitted me this favor, to send him thence.”
“He loves his son,” said Frowsea.
“He loves his comforts,” said the sultana, pouting. “And those who know how to provide them. He has enough sons to afford wasting a good many. Such wastage is traditional. It is the custom of great kings to sow their seed widely, begetting sons by half dozens to assure much rivalry, much connivance, many plots, from which the clever, the ruthless and the strong emerge as victors to ascend the throne. Of such struggle comes tutelage in both diplomacy and power, creating a lineage to brag of!”
She sighed. “Unfortunately, Keen Nose is not ruthless, as the king well knows. He is an intelligent lad, rather old-fashioned, cleverer than all his rivals! Also, he is my son, and the king favors me by permitting this journey. Now, girl, do you understand your place in this?”
“No, Uplifted One. Except I am to tell the prince stories?”
“We cannot send one of us! Obviously! So, we send you. You are to amuse him. Because you are still a virgin girl, shut in here since childhood, you are probably healthy and thus no threat to him should he require intimate services from you. No male has given you a disease, the stinking air of the markets has not tainted your lungs. Because you were well reared as a child and have been always well treated here, you have still a sweet and unwounded character that does not bite without warning. My embroiderers tell me you have skill with the needle. You cook well, so the armakfatidi say.”
The armakfatidi were the kitchen people. I helped in the kitchen from time to time, and I had learned much. The armakfatidian people could taste things others could not and smell things others could not, and their dishes were recognized throughout all Tavor as the highest form of cuisine. Armakfatidian dishes, however, werenot for commoners. Only the wealthy had sufficient treasure to hire armakfatidi and to afford the spices and flavorings they required, some of them from far, strange outlands. In Tavor, the armakfatidi mostly ran restaurants, grew specialty fruits and vegetables, or involved themselves in the perfume and spice trades.
“Well?” the sultana prompted, waiting for an answer.
“Yes, Great Sultana,” I said.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I cook fairly well, Uplifted One. Well enough to see your son does not go hungry or uncosseted.” Cosseting a scuinic prince went without saying. Scuini liked their food. “Yes, I can do ordinary stitchery, well enough to see his laces stay on and his headscarf stays hemmed and
“I have already spoken to Tummyfat,” said the sultana, as though she knew what I was thinking. “He will allow it. And I’ve spoken to my son. A caravan traveling with females or with treasure is a temptation to the angels and would lure bandits from as far as Isfoin. An armed troop, without females or treasure, travels safer than a caravan, though if someone important is along, seizure for ransom may be attempted. An armed troop following the banner of a minor, and thus unprofitable, official travels safer yet, which is the way you will go. I don’t want my son leaving one danger merely to fall into another.”
I heard myself asking, “Was he really poisoned, Great Sultana?”
Frowsea grasped my shoulder, lifting, and for a moment my feet left the ground.
“Put her down, Frowsea!” said the sultana in a fervent whisper. “She didn’t mean to be impertinent; she’s merely curious.”
Reluctantly, Frowsea set me down.
The sultana said, “We don’t know that he was poisoned, girl. We are not priers and pokers, like those at the hospice, able to peer into our bodies to see what is awry. He may have been poisoned. He may have been cursed. He may simply be ill, there are illnesses enoughthat have no known cause. Whichever, among the Strangers at St. Weel, he may be healed, and the Great Sultan has permitted me this favor, to send him thence.”
“He loves his son,” said Frowsea.
“He loves his comforts,” said the sultana, pouting. “And those who know how to provide them. He has enough sons to afford wasting a good many. Such wastage is traditional. It is the custom of great kings to sow their seed widely, begetting sons by half dozens to assure much rivalry, much connivance, many plots, from which the clever, the ruthless and the strong emerge as victors to ascend the throne. Of such struggle comes tutelage in both diplomacy and power, creating a lineage to brag of!”
She sighed. “Unfortunately, Keen Nose is not ruthless, as the king well knows. He is an intelligent lad, rather old-fashioned, cleverer than all his rivals! Also, he is my son, and the king favors me by permitting this journey. Now, girl, do you understand your place in this?”
“No, Uplifted One. Except I am to tell the prince stories?”
“We cannot send one of us! Obviously! So, we send you. You are to amuse him. Because you are still a virgin girl, shut in here since childhood, you are probably healthy and thus no threat to him should he require intimate services from you. No male has given you a disease, the stinking air of the markets has not tainted your lungs. Because you were well reared as a child and have been always well treated here, you have still a sweet and unwounded character that does not bite without warning. My embroiderers tell me you have skill with the needle. You cook well, so the armakfatidi say.”
The armakfatidi were the kitchen people. I helped in the kitchen from time to time, and I had learned much. The armakfatidian people could taste things others could not and smell things others could not, and their dishes were recognized throughout all Tavor as the highest form of cuisine. Armakfatidian dishes, however, werenot for commoners. Only the wealthy had sufficient treasure to hire armakfatidi and to afford the spices and flavorings they required, some of them from far, strange outlands. In Tavor, the armakfatidi mostly ran restaurants, grew specialty fruits and vegetables, or involved themselves in the perfume and spice trades.
“Well?” the sultana prompted, waiting for an answer.
“Yes, Great Sultana,” I said.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I cook fairly well, Uplifted One. Well enough to see your son does not go hungry or uncosseted.” Cosseting a scuinic prince went without saying. Scuini liked their food. “Yes, I can do ordinary stitchery, well enough to see his laces stay on and his headscarf stays hemmed and
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