Tanith Lee - Claidi Journals 01 (4 page)

She turned in her clumsy bulking way and knocked a case, which shuddered. As I was shuddering.

The other girls looked glum. But some ladies had come tinkle-rustling in, loudly exclaiming that the enemy-invader had been imprisoned in the Black Marble Pavilion.

Daisy gasped. Then I did, because one of the ladies turned to me and snapped, “You, girl—Claidi-is-it?”

“Yes, madam.”

“Her Oldness, Jizania Tiger, wants you.”

Somehow I swallowed nothing the wrong way and choked. Pattoo thumped me on the back, luckily just clear of the bruise.

Dengwi guided me to the doorway. “Listen,” she said, “I don’t know what the Old Lady wants, but everyone says she’s all right. Appeal to her mercy. You
mustn’t
be
whipped
. You do know, don’t you, Claidi? My sister was, and”—Dengwi’s face was like smooth black steel—“she nearly died.” I didn’t know what to say. (Had I ever heard that Dengwi had a sister?) There wasn’t time anyway. A slave of the Old Lady’s was standing there, looking haughty and patient—a slave of an Old Lady had more status than anyone’s maid.

My head was already whirling inside. So much was happening in my life, where, as you know, for sixteen-ish years nothing had happened at all.

THE LION IN THE CAGE

I’m staring up at the moon, which, ironically, is visible tonight. Again ironically, I keep hearing a piece of LJL’s terrible poetry:
O moon, of liquid floating lemon-green
…

In a way I feel sorry for her now. That’s no doubt pretty stupid of me. But she’s so hopeless. I mean, there really isn’t a shred of hope for her. She’ll always be like that, mean and spiteful and unjust and downright appalling. She isn’t happy. If she were happy, she’d be different. Look at Lady Iris and Prince Eagle, and there are others. They’re kind to their servants.

There’s some lecture we were given, about the time I was polishing the floor where Nemian lay down so wonderfully and went to sleep. The lecturer told us hard work and suffering would refine our characters, make us
better
.

What a load of nonsense.

Anyway, here, at this very high window, staring at the moon, with something whirling in me and all of me trembling and yet somehow
serene
—I cant be angry at Jade Leaf.

But I feel weird about the other maids, especially Daisy and Pattoo. Because I wont be able to say good-bye.

==========

To get back to my story:

Jizania Tigers haughty slave took me along the glassy corridors (windows, burnished wood) and up marble stairs. We reached Her Apartment, and I found it was built up on a flat roof. There was a roof garden with trees in pots and a pool with a fountain and colored fish.

The Old Lady was sitting in a room open to this garden.

She’d taken off her jeweled headdress, and I admired her well-shaped bald head. She truly is magnificent looking. (But of course I have extra reasons to be impressed with her.)

“Sit down,” she said to me. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

Startled, I mumbled I wasn’t. Although my mouth was dry.

She seemed to know this—I suppose not too difficult. She had the slave pour me a glass of fruit juice, orange, I think, which we only ever had watered-down in the Maids’ Hall.

“You have no notion,” she said, “why you’re here.”

“No, lady.”

“It’s been a busy day so far,” she said. She gave a short bark of laughter, like one of the Garden foxes.

Then she said, “Jade Leaf is an unpleasant girl to serve, I should think. I intend to look into that. And no, I understand you can’t agree. But your life, Claidi, won’t have been much fun. Is that true?“ Amazing she knew my name. Amazing she’d singled me out.

I said, awkwardly, “Well, not really.” I thought of Dengwi’s words and blurted, not having meant to so soon, “I slapped Lady Jade Leaf’s face today. And she says I’m to be properly whipped. The whip with… spikes.”

 

Jizania Tiger slowly raised her exquisite eyebrows.

“A slap? A whip with spikes? I don’t recall such a whip. I think there isn’t one.” I was afraid for a moment. Dengwi knew there was.

Then Jizania added, “However, just in case, perhaps we had better think of an alternative to the whipping.”

I blurted again, “Thank you, thank you.” I knew well enough Jizania had power in the House. If she promised it, I’d be safe. At least for now, which always seems all you can ever hope for.

A crazy thought came to me. Perhaps Jizania Tiger would make me one of her own maids. They were of a rarer breed than us; they didn’t even use the Maids’ Hall but had their own rooms in the Old Lady’s apartment.

Why such an extreme of good luck should come my way I couldn’t imagine. This kept me cautious.

Then she said, without warning, “And what did you think of the enemy-invader, the young man called Herman?”

Did I go red? Somehow not. I think I was too surprised.

“Er—well—he er—well he’s—er—” cleverly said I.

“A very awful enemy, wasn’t he?” asked Jizania. “I’m sure you were terrified.” It seemed daft to lie. Her eyes seemed to say she could read one’s mind.

“He looked just like the princes here,” I said. “Well, actually, better.”

“Yes,” she said, “very fit and bold. And that hair.” She sounded younger than ever when she said this, only about fifty. I blushed after all. She took no apparent notice. “And the flower he brought from the Waste. That was a shock, wasn’t it, Claidi? Did you ever guess things might grow there, beautiful healthy things?”

“No, madam, I thought the Waste was all poisoned.”

“Some of it. Some.”

There was a gap then. My eyes roamed uneasily. She had a spectacular, indigo-feathered bird on a perch, which sat looking at me with wise old eyes like hers.

All at once, Jizania Tiger rose, with a stiff old grace.

“Come along,” she said, as I scrambled up. Naturally I didn’t impertinently ask where we were going.

Where we went, however, was through the room and a door, and down a back staircase—a winding cranky staircase with only the narrowest windows. Several floors must have gone by, and then she took a key from a bracelet and unlocked a narrow door.

Outside the door was a hanging. Brushing that aside, we were in the Black Marble Corridor.

Its not a lovely place. They send you there at night for lesser punishment. Strange, eerie sounds come through holes cunningly cut in the walls, and there are dimly lit, dismaying pictures of executions and people being cast out into the Waste, crying and pleading not to be. I’d sat here on the floor as a kid more than once and had nightmares afterward, as they know you will.

At the end of the long corridor is a courtyard and, in that, the Black Marble Pavilion.

Another key from the bracelet opened the door to the yard.

Huge paved slabs sloped away to the Pavilion. Its black columns hold up a black cupola. Between the columns run thick black bars.

Above, the sun was shining, but the Pavilion looked like total darkness. I couldn’t see through the bars and columns to anything.

But Jizania Tiger, with only me to attend her, went sailing out on the paving.

Immediately two House Guards came striding around the Pavilion.

They saluted and stood to attention for the Old Lady, but as she got near, one shouted:

“Wait, please, madam. The enemy prisoner is here.”

She just gave a nod.

“Why else am
I
here?”

“Its this, madam. The prisoner is an alien from the Waste. It would be better if you—”

“Tottered back to my easy chair?” Her voice sliced him in two. He lost his stern military stance. “Don’t presume, my lad,” said Princess
Jizania
. Tiger, “to give orders to an Old Lady of the House.” Now there was creepy-crawl rather than salute. “Excuse me, madam.” (The other Guard was grinning.) She swept on, and I with her.

Nemian was around the other side in the Pavilion cage, where the Guards had been. Maybe they’d been insulting him, or just talking. Surely someone must be interested in the Waste just a teeny bit.

He stood there inside the bars. His coat hung over a bench. He looked… overpowering, so close. So I couldn’t even squint at him.

“Oh,” he said. “Hello, madam. A great lady, and a girl in a blue dress with green hair tangling from a blue scarf.”

I could
feel
him staring at me, a long, long gaze. He, who would never have glanced my way.

“She is Claidi,” said Jizania Tiger. And next she said, “Claidi for short, that is. Her full name is Claidissa Star.”

My head shot up. I goggled at her. Most unbecoming I must have appeared. I had no words. I’d even forgotten the gorgeous Nemian.

Was that—
that
—my proper name?

==========

My arm aches from writing so much, but I can’t stop. There isn’t time. The moons moved. Can I squeeze the rest in before I have to go down?

==========

For a minute, dazzled by the new name, I didn’t take in what the princess and the prisoner were saying to each other. They were talking about something.

I sort of came back to hear him say, “Its kind of you to inquire, madam. I wasn’t seriously injured, no. A handful of bruises, a scratch or two. The balloon brushed against some of your trees in falling, and I was able to swing out on a handy bough. Then the balloon veered again and crashed at quite a distance. I was damned lucky.”

“Lucky but damned?” said she.

Nemian smiled, and I saw him color very slightly. My heart turned a somersault. I’d certainly remembered him again.

“Pardon my rough language, lady,” he said. “I’ve been traveling some while and lost my good manners.” Then his eyes came back to me. For a moment they held mine, and I seemed to be sinking in them. (Still cant recall their shade—blue? grey?? Soon I’ll know.) Then he smiled such a smile. And I thought, I really am not going to be so totally, tiresomely
soppy
. So I frowned at him in a grave and ugly way. And he laughed. And I turned my head. (Childish.
I’d
run out of ideas on coping.) Nemian said to the princess, “She seems to have had enough, Lady Claidissa Star.”

“I expect she wants her tea.”

“Then please lose no further time in seeing she gets it.”

I found that she was turning me with her slender claws, and we were going back over the paving, the Guards saluting. I was convinced I’d messed everything up—whatever everything was.

Back in her apartment a carved table had been laid with the most delightful “tea.” (Really it was lunchtime.) I thought she meant for me to wait on her, but she said I was to sit down and eat with her.

In fact she only drank a glass of iced chocolate.

(It would be madness not to note down at least some of the “tea.” There were sliced peaches and strawberries in painted dishes, and cakes still hot, and biscuits in the shapes of birds, and white butter shaped like a rabbit. There were hot and cold drinks of all types. How the cups and glasses sparkled!) What a shame I couldn’t eat anything. I tried. I’d never been offered such a feast. But you’ll grasp why I couldn’t.

And when Jizania Tiger saw I couldn’t, she started to talk to me, and what she said made it impossible for me to eat and drink even the crumbs and drips I’d been trying to get down my throat.

“So much is said,” she said, “about the House. Long ago, the House was a sanctuary. It was a pleasant enough place. But now its like an overwound clock. It goes in fits and starts and tells the wrong time.” Then she said, “They talk about the Waste, too, and terrorize little children with stories of it. But you saw the flower. The Waste isn’t as bad as its made out, just as the House isn’t as good.” Then: “That young man, our handsome prisoner—they don’t know what to do about him. He meant us no harm, but by now they’re so used to distrusting and fearing anything from outside that they can only lock him away. They may keep him in that cage for years. Or, in some sudden unreasonable alarm, they may decide after all to murder him. Really, I think he should Be allowed to escape, don’t you? But then, someone needs to assist him. I have the means, but I’m old. I can’t be bothered with such an adventure.” After this she looked into my eyes with her amber hawks stare.

“Then there is you. You’ve had a deathly life here, Claidi, and what can you hope for or ever look forward to? Beatings, nastiness, endless uninteresting work. Perhaps a marriage with some suitably obedient servant, if even that’s allowed. You too, my girl, ought to be let out of your cage.” I hadn’t followed it all, not properly. My heart followed though, in rattling leaps.

Was she saying what my heart thought she was?

“You see, Claidi, you’re reckless enough, and young enough, and
bothered
enough. If I gave you the means to let Nemian out of the Pavilion and spirit him away from the House and the Garden, and into the hellish Waste… which is the world… would you?”

Yes, heart, you hit the bull’s-eye.

She said, “The Waste is more than we know. And you’ve said yourself Nemian is a lord. He comes from somewhere just as grand, grander, no doubt, than here. And he would take care of you.” Before I could think it through, I cried, “Why would he? I’m only—”

“Only what? Only a lady’s maid?”

I withered at her words. The truth of them made them less swallowable even than the food. Maid—I was a
slave
.

Princess Jizania Tiger half turned and held out her wrist for the indigo bird to soar down to, weightless as muslin. As it perched there, she fed it peaches, which it tucked daintily into its beak.

“Claidi,” said Jizania Tiger, “you recall that your parents were driven out in the first year of your life?”

“
Y
—yes.”

“They profaned a Ritual. A most serious one.”

“Yes.”

“You don’t know what it was? No one has told you?”

I shook my head. The bird scanned me and shook its head too, copying.

But then Jizania Tiger told me that the first profanation had been that my mother was a princess of the House, and my father her steward, and that the second profanation was
me
— the fact that I was born, because no one is allowed to be born here save when permission has been granted, and n
e
v
e
r of mixed rank.