Authors: Marion Zimmer Bradley
Aaron nodded at Margaret. "I want you to be as beautifully garbed as you are lovely. I
don't get too many opportunities to dress fine ladies, but, as you say, once this is seen, I
will be beleaguered." He gave a deep sigh, but the twinkle in his dark eyes belied his
apparent dismay.
Margaret had to laugh, at both Aaron's expression, and the slightly scandalized one on
Manuella's face. "I know, Aaron. It is a terrible burden to be a genius. But someone has
to do it."
"Please, my lady," Manuella protested, holding back a grin of her own. "Don't
encourage him. He is difficult enough as it is."
"Difficult! I am the kindliest and most patient of men, wife. Now, please take her into
the back and see to the fit. I think the underrobe will have to be taken in a bit. You
really must eat more, Lady."
"If I ate any more, Aaron," she protested, "I would do nothing else." She heard him
chuckle at this.
"1 should be so fortunate," he rumbled at her back, and she could hear him pat his
middle.
Margaret followed Manuella toward the back area as Ida came out from behind the
curtains, trailed by Nella, who had a look on her face of barely suppressed merriment.
Ida glanced at Margaret, well aware of the expression on the face of the girl, and gave
a little shrug.
The language is very slippery, and I think I said something odd
—
no
matter.
She did not seem at all discomforted by her gaffe, and Margaret sensed that she
was actually having a very good time. She had a sudden spurt of delight, glad that Ida
was there, that
she was finding her way around in
casta,
but most of all that everything was going
well.
The boy, Doevid, who had gone to the loft, came down the narrow stairs balancing
several bolts as if they were matchsticks, and plopped them on the table. Margaret
hesitated for a second, wondering if she should stay and translate for the older woman,
then decided that Ida was perfectly capable of doing that herself, and that Donal was
there to help.
In the back of the shop, it was quite warm. The smell of tea from the samovar that
stood on a small table wafted up and made her mouth water. Margaret had not realized
she was thirsty until now, but she knew that tea and fine silk did not mix, so she
disrobed, except for her underwear and mitts, and let Manuella slip the violet
undertunic onto her body inside out. The woman begin to pin along the seams, poking
Margaret occasionally. She felt bony and uncomfortable, and wished she were not so
skinny. It was as if the matrix on her skin consumed more energy than she could put
into her body.
There should really be some way to regulate the matrix,
she thought, trying not to
fidget.
Everything is energy, or so the physicists say
—
so why are we entirely
dependent on food as an energy source for matrix work? Because we are human
beings,
she reflected rather ruefully,
not machines or angels.
She let her speculation
lapse and wiggled her toes in her boots. The feel of the silk against her skin was very
nice, and she started to think of nothing in particular, which was a vast relief.
When Manuella was satisfied with her adjustments, she slipped the overtunic on, again
wrong side to, muttering, under her breath. Her generous mouth was full of pins, so
conversation was impossible, and Margaret did not want to talk anyhow. She was deep
in the almost sensual enjoyment of the present moment. Here, there were no demands.
Her shoulders drooped a little, and then she remembered that she had to stand up
straight.
For an instant she was a little girl again, in a long line of small girls, hearing Matron
tell them to keep their shoulders back, their hands folded in front of them, their feet
together. She could almost smell the cold, dry air of the
dormitory at the John Reade Orphanage. Then the feeling passed, and she was herself
once more, adult and tired.
"You can come over to the glass, now,
domna.
You won't see the full effect until the
gown is altered, but the colors are wonderful for you. Aaron thought the gold of the
gauze was like your eyes."
Margaret moved carefully toward the mirror, and saw herself, pale-skinned and red-
haired, reflected in the shining surface. The gown clung to her length like a sheath, and
the small ruff beneath her chin was more becoming than she would have believed. "I
look pretty fine, don't I?"
"Yes, you do. Of course, it helps that you have a good figure. Aaron nearly tears his
hair out when someone comes in who is all curves and bulges, plump as a pigeon, and
wants a fitted gown."
"No curves on me!"
"Now, now. There are a few, but just in the proper places."
"My chest is too flat!"
Manuella chuckled. "Be glad. The generous breasted sag after a few children. I will
take it off now. Would you care for some tea?" Manuella began gently pulling the
garments off over Margaret's head.
"Oh, thank you. My mouth feels so dry, and my throat ... I was singing in the
graveyard a while ago, and I think the cold air has made it sore."
Manuella made no comment, as if singing in the cemetery were a perfectly ordinary
event, and put the gown back on its well padded hanger. While Margaret redressed, she
poured tea into a thick mug, added two dollops of honey, and handed it to her. It was
hot, but not scalding, and very sweet, but Margaret half emptied the container in her
thirst. It slid down her throat smoothly, soothing her overworked vocal cords.
They went back into the front of the shop, and found that the cobbler had arrived,
holding a bundle in his arms. Margaret realized that she would have to sit down for this
part of the fitting, and brightened immediately. She sank onto a bench that sat beside
the stair to the loft, and let the cobbler remove her boots, cupping her mug in her hands
and feeling the warmth of the remaining tea seep into her palms.
Aaron and Ida were standing at the cutting table, and Ida was fingering the various
fabrics, and chattering away to the big tailor, in a nice mixture of
casta
and Terran that
did not seem to confuse the man at all. They made a funny picture, tall Aaron bending
over tiny Ida, but they were getting along very well.
She looked around for Donal then, her heart speeding up for fear she had lost him.
Margaret knew that no harm could come to him in Aaron's shop, but every time she
looked at her charming little cousin, she remembered how she had inadvertently sent
him into the overworld, and that he could have died there. Ah, there he was, in the
shadow of the wide shelf that ran along the street, where goods were displayed in fine
weather. There was someone with him, bent down to the level of the boy, in dark
clothing, with his face turned away, so she could not recognize him.
Then she caught a glimpse of rufus-colored hair, and a quick, familiar gesture. "Ethan?
Is that you?"
The cobbler had her feet in his hands, and was slipping something over her hose, but
Margaret hardly noticed. "How do they feel?"
"Yes,
domna,
it is me. I was just talking to your cousin here, because he had a lot of
questions." Ethan stood up, stepped from the shadows, and came to greet her, beaming.
"He wanted to know about the Big Ships, and, oh, everything, just like I did when I
met you."
"How do they feel?" repeated the cobbler, ignoring everything except his art.
Dutifully, Margaret wriggled her toes, and found the soft slippers did not pinch. She set
her mug down on the bench, rose to her feet, and took a few steps. Ethan moved closer.
He was still a skinny lad, but seemed to have grown a couple of inches in the months
since she had last seen him. His face no longer had the hungry look of a frustrated boy.
She remembered how she had gone to the letter writer in the Horse Market, as she was
leaving with Rafaella for the Kilghards, and dictated an introduction to Captain Rafe
Scott for him.
On impulse, she bent down and hugged him. She was pleased and surprised when he
returned it Indeed, his hug was fierce, hard and full of unspoken emotions. There was
nothing complicated about these feeling, for they were clear
and simple. Margaret wished everything were as easy as getting Ethan started on the
way to the stars had been.
The cobbler was a single-minded fellow, if an artist, and tugged at her sleeve,
demanding her attention. "They do not pinch, but the sole on the left one seems to poke
me where it oughtn't. The arch is just a bit too low, I think." She rocked forward onto
her toes, then back on her heels. "Yes, that's it."
"Very good. I wish all my customers noticed such things. They come in," he explained,
"and take their shoes, then complain that they are not right, when they did not take the
time to try them on."
"I learned a long time ago to pay attention to my feet, since an ill-fitting shoe will sour
my disposition very quickly." She went back to the bench and let the cobbler peer at
her feet, watching him take out a small ruler with arcane markings on it, measure
something, then nod to himself. At last he was satisfied, removed the slippers, put them
into a soft, cloth sack, and promised to have them delivered to Comyn Castle the
following day. Before he could escape, she told him to measure Donal, and the lad
grinned up at her.
Margaret sat on the bench, stocking-footed and too tired to put her footwear back on.
Ethan sat down on one side of her while Donal was being measured. "You have grown,
haven't you?" she asked.
"I have done that. Both my body, and my brain, which seems to expand more all the
time. I am studying mathematics, as you said I must. It is very hard, but I love it. The
Captain says I have a lot of talent for it. And, if the Terranan don't close the port, I will
begin some engineering classes in the spring."
"Close the port?"
"HQ has more rumors than all of Darkover, and one is that they are going to close the
port. The Captain says not to worry, so I don't. Well, not too much." The hero worship
in his voice when he spoke Rafe Scott's title was unmistakable, and Margaret felt that
she had done a good thing in sending Ethan to her uncle.
"It is as good as you hoped it would be, Ethan?"
He did not answer immediately, but looked thoughtful. "It is not anything like I
imagined," he said at last, "not at
all, but it is interesting. The mathematics are wonderful—I am doing calculus now,
which the Captain says I need in order to understand spatial relationships." -
"Calculus? I never got that far."
Ethan grinned. "Well, it truly strains my brain." Margaret could tell he was proud of his
accomplishment, and knew that he probably had no one close who could understand
what it meant.
"How does your family feel about all this?"
"They did not like it, at first, but Father said I had to do what was right for me. Mother
tried to make me promise never to take ship, wanted me to sit around in HQ and write
reports, but Father said not to be silly, that if I was offered the chance to travel, it was
my fate to do it. She cried a lot, but then she stopped. Now she is trying to find me a
girl, so I will change my mind or something. Mothers!" He said this last word with
great feeling.
"How is Geremy?" She remembered his cousin, and how the two young men had led
them to the house of Master Everard the day she had returned to Darkover. Only half a
year had passed since that day, but so much had occurred that she felt she was an
entirely different person—one she barely knew and did not entirely trust. It was a very
disspiriting thought, and she set it away abruptly.
Ethan rolled his eyes toward the heavy beams in the ceiling very comically, and lifted
his long hands with an expression of helplessness. "Geremy has fallen in love, and
stands around mooning over Rachel Maclvan like a ninny. , It is really disgusting! She
has several others trailing after her, like a goose with a lot of goslings, for she is pretty
enough, I guess. But vain, and really stupid."
"Have you told him that?" Margaret was amused, and she could tell that Donal, beside
her, was taking it all in. It struck her that this must be a peculiar experience for her
young cousin, that he had lived all of his. short life in the shadow of his nervous
parents, and that he had no real idea of how other boys behaved. He would be old
enough to enter the Cadets in a couple of years, if Ariel Alar permitted it. Which she
might not, being the person she was. At least she knew that Ethan was completely
trustworthy, and that he would not lead Donal into mischief.
"No, I haven't. He would just be cross with me. I listen
to his attempts at poetry, and his discussion of Rachel's hair, skin, the shape of her
nose, and all of that, and pretend to be interested. I am too busy with my studies for
girls, anyhow, so I do not see him often enough to be bored with it, but I do miss the