Dark of the Sun (37 page)
Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
Tags: #Fantasy, #Fiction, #General, #Historical, #Horror, #Vampires, #Transylvania (Romania), #Krakatoa (Indonesia), #Volcanic Eruptions
There may be more trouble coming from the wandering peoples of Takla Makan, for some of them are banding together for safety, and they are all searching for pastures for their flocks and herds. I believe that in time we will need more than this company if we are to hold on to this town. I ask you to consider sending us another company of fighting men—they needn’t be Chinese like us, but it would make it easier if they were—to help man the town, for the spring will surely bring more trouble to us all.
In all duty and supreme respect, and with thanks for the nine bars of gold to guarantee the payment of me and my men, I pledge our continuing loyalty.
Hsai Wilung
(his chop)
(his chop)
Rain seethed down on Sarai, washing the fine sand out of the air and leaving the streets streaked with grit that made the paving stones slippery; the first storm of winter had arrived with exuberant ferocity. The wind rioted among the buildings, sending unlatched shutters and loose roofing planks flying; with insistent, cacophonous fingers, it tugged at the oiled-parchment windows, snatching a few from the security of their frames and sending them careening. Anyone venturing out of doors was shoved and buffeted along while being drenched, which accounted for the bedraggled appearance Thetis Krisanthemenis presented when she came to Ragoczy Franciscus’ hired house at the height of the storm. She had attempted to protect herself with a vast woolen talaris with only a single, small tablion inserted in the front, but it was soaked through, her dark-blond hair dripping steadily, serving to give her an appearance of waiflike hopelessness. She lowered her head apologetically, preparing to explain her errand, and struggled to find the words she needed to engage the occupant’s sympathy. Her shivering was completely authentic, although her demeanor was a bit forced.
Rojeh came to the door to answer her third pull on the bell. “Neighbor Krisanthemenis,” he exclaimed in Byzantine Greek. “What is so urgent that you come out in such weather?”
“I fear I come to ask a favor.” She stepped into the shelter of the inner court, under the broad eaves; she twisted the long cuff of the talaris’ sleeve, then spoke in a rush. “Actually, it’s more than that: I have to ask for your help. It is not something I can take to the Master of Foreigners myself, at least not now.” She faltered, then went gamely on, “You see, a portion of my roof has been blown away by this storm, and I and my children are in need of shelter.”
“What a terrible thing,” said Rojeh sympathetically. “Come in, and tell me what my master and I may do.”
“We cannot stay in our house, not with half the rooms ruined, and our belongings.” She took a deep breath. “We have to leave the house, and we must have a safe place to go.” She said this last more bluntly than she had intended. “I don’t mean to be brusque, but I am nearly beside myself with worry. I am afraid we are in a most precarious situation: with my husband dead, there is very little I can do to tend to the house without Emrach Sarai’af’s approval, and he is not going to extend himself while the storm is blowing. But my need is present—it is immediate—and I cannot pretend that the loss of the roof is only an inconvenience.” She shook her head as if suddenly bereft of strength. “We can work, do household chores, if your master requires it.”
“You may discuss that with him, when you know more about what you may do for your home,” said Rojeh, certain that Ragoczy Franciscus would never make servants of this woman or her children.
“I wish I could be permitted to make my own arrangements for the house, as my husband would do if he were still alive.” She pressed her lips together, then went on, “It is much the same for widows in Constantinople, but at least there my brother could supervise our needs.”
“We are not your relatives,” Rojeh pointed out. “Emrach might not permit us to do more than shelter you until your house is sound.”
Thetis flung up her hand. “For now, that is enough.”
Rojeh stared at the raging rain and the flotsam on the wind and listened to the hiss and howl. “Then, if it suits you, I will send our houseman and our man-of-all-work to bring your children and such goods as you need into this house,” he said, making up his mind.
“And your master? What will he say?” Thetis glanced about uneasily, as if she expected to be disappointed.
“He is with the Jou’an-Jou’an just now and will likely remain there until the rain has passed,” said Rojeh, knowing what agony running water could be to Ragoczy Franciscus; he hoped his master would spend the storm in that stupor that masqueraded for sleep, safe in one of the Desert Cats’ tents.
“He is out of the town?” Thetis seemed shocked.
“Yes. The clan he is visiting has had many troubles with their ponies, and he has gone to help them as much as he can.” His austere features revealed little, but his faded-blue eyes were worried. “If you will come into the house?”
She sneezed. “Oh. Yes. Thank you.”
He indicated the door to the reception room. “You will find an upholstered bench and a table. The lamps are already burning. I will have some mint tea sent in to you.” Fortunately, mint was hardy enough to still be available, and Dasur Shiraz’af, the Persian cook, used it frequently in the five-person household.
She looked startled. “Mint tea? Hot tea, with honey? Yes, if you would.”
“I will instruct the cook,” said Rojeh, and left Thetis in the reception room. He decided he would ask Aethalric, the houseman, to build up a fire for her—in those wet clothes she could easily become chilled, and the chill could bring aches and sickness.
Both the Persian and the Goth were in the kitchen, huddled in front of the great, open hearth where a single lamb’s carcass turned on a huge spit intended for oxen, and both men looked about guiltily as they heard Rojeh enter the echoing chamber. Dasur scrambled to his feet and reached for another log, thrusting it into the burning stack in the huge fireplace.
“I will begin the afternoon meal shortly,” Dasur said as if he had only just become aware of Rojeh.
“I have another task for you,” said Rojeh calmly. “For both of you, and for Chtavo, as well.”
“He’s in the stables, cleaning tack,” said Aethalric.
“Then he won’t mind having to stop awhile; the stable is drafty as a tree, and as damp as sitting under one,” said Rojeh. “You, Aethalric, are to build up the fire in the reception room, where you will find our neighbor, and then you and Chtavo are to take the covered handcart and go to her house. You are to gather such items as clothing and personal possessions as they might need and bring those things, and her children, to this house. Take blankets of oiled muslin with you, to protect you from the storm.” He paid no attention to the incredulous stares of the two men, but went on, “Dasur, if you will make a good portion of mint tea with honey, and provide whatever we have in the way of breads for the widow and her children?”
Aethalric stared in astonishment. “Why should we have those Byzantines with us?”
“Because, as I understand it, their house is damaged, and they are in need of a place to stay while it is repaired. You cannot expect her to remain there with the storm still at full cry, not if there is no shelter to be had.” Rojeh gave both men a hard glance. “Not that it is for you to question such a decision.”
“It may not be,” said Dasur, “but it is not the usual thing.”
“This storm is not the usual thing, either, from what I have heard,” Rojeh observed. “Nothing in the last”—he calculated the length of time since he and Ragoczy Franciscus had left Yang-Chau—“nearly two years has been.”
“You may think this excuses what you do, but it may not,” Aethalric warned. “It is dangerous to take strangers into the house.”
Rojeh regarded him in silence, then said, “My master brought you into the household, and you both are strangers.”
“The law provides that you cannot employ natives of Sarai,” said Dasur.
“Even they are strangers to Ragoczy Franciscus and me,” Rojeh observed. “The times have made demands on all of us—this is no exception.”
Dasur added his own note of caution: “Taking in a widow and her children, there will be talk.”
“Particularly about the odd habits of foreigners.” This remark of Rojeh’s got the men’s attention; Dasur went to fill a pot from the water barrel, and Aethalric started for the door. “Let me know when you and Chtavo are back.”
“All you will have to do is listen; children are never quiet, and you haven’t special accommodations for them,” replied Aethalric as he went out into the gushing rain toward the shed containing the household supply of wood. He came back with five cut logs in his embrace, two of which he shoved at Dasur before he headed up the stairs toward the reception room.
“Mint tea with honey?” Dasur asked Rojeh as he hung the pot of water on a hook and pushed it over the fire. “Enough for the women and her children?”
“Yes. There are three still living, as I understand it,” said Rojeh. “I have seen the boy walking with his mother. He’s about ten or eleven, by the look of him.”
“Oh, yes,” said Dasur. “He is a well-mannered youth, reserved and trying to be grown-up, now his father is dead.” He retrieved a large, metal, spouted pot from the utensil shelf, set it on the trestle table in the center of the room, then went to his spice chest to take out a handful of dried mint leaves; these he put into the pot, then went to the pantry to get the honeycomb. As he brought back the sticky box containing it, he said to Rojeh, his face showing disapproval, “Take care that the widow does not take greater advantage of your hospitality.” He acknowledged Rojeh’s nod as he set about pouring off a generous portion of honey into the spouted pot. “When it is ready, I will bring it. A pity we have no dried figs or dates, but no one has had any for well over a year.”
“They will probably return, in time,” said Rojeh, and went to the rear door to secure it against the blustering wind.
“May you prove right,” said Dasur as he returned to the pantry. “I haven’t much in the way of breads, just a few sesame cakes I made this morning, with a bit of chopped egg to garnish them. And I have an oil-loaf with a few raisins. I can cut some of that, if you think it will do.”
“Both sound adequate.” Rojeh wanted to add that at other times such spartan fare would seem the height of inhospitality, but in these days, this bordered on lavish. “Put them on a tray and bring them up when the tea is ready.”
“I will,” said Dasur, going to choose a platter for the food and cups for the tea.
Rojeh returned to the reception room and found Thetis huddled next to the fire, her talaris tented about her to make the most of the heat from the blazing logs. “I could get a blanket for you, if you like,” he said as he came a few steps into the room.
She managed not to jump, although she was startled. “I am sorry,” she said, moving back from the fire. “Your man brought more wood, and I was making the most of it. The warmth is so …”
“You needn’t move on my account; take all the advantage you can of the fire,” said Rojeh, choosing a chair some distance from the hearth for his seat. “I’ve sent two servants to fetch your children and your clothes from your house. When they arrive, you may have this room to yourselves until chambers may be prepared for you.”
“I have two servants,” said Thetis. She scowled briefly. “When my husband was alive, we had two more, but they were provided manumission in his Will.” Her voice became more peevish. “In such times as these, you’d think we could offer work to one of those many unfortunates who are native to this town, just so they have lodging and food, but the Master of Foreigners still refuses to allow it.”
“It is their tradition,” said Rojeh. “Tell me about your servants?”
“Sinu is a Hun; she maintains the house and does our cooking. All other work is done by Herakles, whom my husband brought with him from Constantinople. He is getting on now and suffers from stiffness, but I promised Eleutherios that I would keep him with us as long as he wished to remain.” She did her best to produce a brave smile, but she could not sustain it, and so she looked away from Rojeh. “It is bad enough I have to ask shelter for me and my children. It is inexcusable to ask for my servants as well.”
“Servants are as much famiglia as any child,” said Rojeh, deliberately using the old Roman word for household. “If your Sinu is willing to sleep in the same room with your daughters, there should be no trouble.”
Thetis looked about in confusion. “I suppose … I think my girls would agree.”
“Very good. In a household such as this one, where only males have been permitted, keeping females together will lessen any comments that might be to your detriment.” Rojeh stopped as something clattered into the courtyard. “I had better see what that was,” he said, rising and reverencing Thetis.
“I hope I have caused you no difficulty with your employer,” she said as if suddenly recalling her manners.
“You and your children, and your servants, have nothing to fear,” said Rojeh, and left her to the heat of the fire while he went out to check on the small courtyard. A wooden plank with a long break in the grain lay by the gate to the stable-yard. Rojeh picked it up and moved it under the eaves; he squinted up at the sky, noticing that the afternoon was growing darker. He made a quick calculation and decided that it was growing late in the afternoon, which meant to him that the storm might last into the night. His thoughts turned to Ragoczy Franciscus with the Desert Cats, and his concern increased, for with such heavy rain, the low-lying islands could well be swamped, which would be horribly debilitating to the vampire. A rattle of wheels on paving stones barely penetrated the roar of the storm, but it alerted Rojeh to the arrival of Aethalric and Chtavo with Thetis’ children and servants, and he went to admit them to the courtyard, handing the Goth and the Volgaman a copper coin each for their service.
Pentefilia, the older daughter, had disdained riding in the cart; she walked ahead of the sodden household, her talaris gathered around her like a shroud; if she was aware of the storm, she was determined to ignore it. She hardly glanced at Rojeh as they started toward the main door of the house, as if acknowledging him would end what little dignity she had left. Aristion, her brother, came down from the cart with alacrity, a small box of his possessions clutched to his chest, his face set with concentration as he looked around him. He squinted anxiously toward the roof, as if to be certain it was intact. Next the Hunnic servant Sinu climbed down from the covered interior of the cart, then turned to lift out Hrisoula, the youngest child, who was doing her best not to cry; she burrowed her head into Sinu’s shoulder, muffling her whimpers with her fist, allowing the squat-bodied Hun to protect her with a flap of her rough-woven cloak. Heraldes brought up the rear, his rolling gait revealing the pain of a stiff hip.
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