PLANET 5 / CH. 10: DELAY

LETTER TO HIS IMPERIAL HIGHNESS, CROWN PRINCE SALAY

My prince, This is my fourth letter to you (if I include my quick note sent with academician Teng). My third letter and the book have so far found no passage, as the captain of the vessel I planned to send it with became involved in a dispute. That sounds bad, does it not? Let me rephrase it. The honourable captain intervened in a dispute between some menial sailors of his homeland but not his ship, earning himself great honour in the eyes of the law. The matter of the dispute was (inevitably?) a young woman with a reputation now in tatters, who had promised to marry both next time they were in port, with the hope of receiving gifts. The honourable captain, for his troubles preventing murder received a significant but not life-threatening wound, so long as it does not become infected.

But he may not sail for a week. I will send this letter with the honourable captain, but try to find someone else for the book, so you get it sooner. Why have I not left? That is for more simple reasons. The prince looked this morning at the direction of the wind, the clouds, the barometer, and said 'there is a chance of a storm I have no need to risk'. I visited the fruit seller one more time, introduced my sister to him, which I forgot to do yesterday, and now she is happily preserving fruit in the kitchen. Now the wind howls at the windows and I find myself with the prefect excuse to write to you. I have been remiss, my prince, I realise, in not answering your every question. Please forgive me. So, my prince, I shall read your treasured letter once more and answer every question therein, including those you imply. You hope I am well. Yes, I am indeed well. My father often suffered from headaches or colds, but my mother (apart from her heart troubles) gifted my sister and I with an iron constitution, long may I keep it. Neither of us show signs of her heart problem either, I am happy to say. I add that my little sister is twenty-two, and if the reports of your date of birth are correct then I, at twenty five, am a year and a week younger than you. Probably you know this, but mistakes on paperwork happen.

How, you ask, can we meet in person? Are you still as desperate to meet me as your letter sounds? I try to answer it as though you are. The honourable captain I have mentioned already intends to offload his cargo (casks of the best wine from the Isles and textiles from Caneth), remain in port about a week, and return to the port here, with whatever he can fill his ship with. I questioned him and Prince Hal about timings, Hal has corrected his estimate, he says that he was unthinkingly quoting the numbers from Captita, not from here, and also thinking of the winter storms off Captita, not here. If he and Esmetherelda planned to remain in port long enough to pick up some trifles from the foreigners quay market, they could be safely back here before the winter storms are bad here. But they wish to conduct diplomatic talks, which take longer than a quick shopping spree. The honourable captain I spoke of, however, to whom I will entrust this letter, has an additional two weeks of safety margin, even allowing his wound time to heal. He is a seasoned captain and knows that taking risks at sea is a young man's foolishness, thus I predict he will not allow a passenger to delay him so much as to cut into his safety margin; not even an imperial one. Also know that the week in port I spoke of is based on an average journey time. If weather delays his trip to Wahleet, I doubt he will change his departure date much, indeed it is more likely to bring it earlier. But if you are indeed desperate to talk to me face to face, and unseemly haste to pack and a captain from Tesk who knew my father (and indeed, probably remembers me as a girl with an unseemly interest in commerce) do not put you off, I cannot vouch for any better sailor of that route. May I humbly beg that if on his return he does not bring me you, you will at least entrust him with a letter to be treasured? Who, I ask myself, is the desperate one here? Let me make one thing clear, my prince. I am frustrated by uncertainty, I feel the frustrations of a woman watching her younger sister grow large with a second child, I wish to know if my interpretations of things my husband-in-name whispered to me as he was dying are right; at the time they seemed nonsensical, but I see a pattern now. But how much do I trust the ravings of a man losing his mind to unstoppable fever? Reading the lines of your letter to me, I think I saw your hope. Which makes sense in the context. I do not yearn for the title of empress, though if it is to be mine one day I will try to bear its burdens. I yearn more for the title of wife-in-truth, and the oneness that I see in my sister and her husband, and hoped for by Esmetherelda and Hal. I feared I would have to reject an unwanted suitor of no faith and then your faith-filled and desperately frustrated and hopeful kind words thrilled me, and so I focus my hopes on you. I know certainly — from this gift I now have — that most men find me pleasant to look at. Those in love with their wife reserve the word beautiful for her and consider me only pretty. A number of men think that as a widow I must be desperate for the embrace they'd willingly give me. They are wrong. But I hope that, if you hope for my eventual embrace as I hope for yours, you will not be disappointed in me. I pray you will forgive my girlish foolishness if I have read far too much between the lines.

You hope that I have a pleasant home. You will allow me, I trust, to describe it. It is a grand house built in the local style, the old home of an important man, a general, the only heir of a rich family, who, I understand, died in the same battle with Tew as his heir. His wife had died in childbirth.

It was unoccupied for those years as the state looked for a new owner. The captain you sent with us assessed this house, along with others, for security, for strength, for access to markets, for a quality of build befitting your representative, for an imposing entrance and secure vaults, for fitting quarters for the ambassador and wife, for servants, and for state visitors. In all of these qualities, i.e. as a representation in bricks and mortar of the stability and prestige of the empire, it is an excellent building. In winter, I expect to spend too much on firewood or live in the kitchen. I have already dipped deeply into the gold to supply the house with some new mattresses, some missing furniture and curtains and cushions that did not smell of moth, decay, and old smoke. What more would I like? Dahel is known for its carpets, but here the price is ridiculous and the quality is what father would call 'only good to those who don't know better.' My mother taught my sister and I the slave's trick to getting a good shine on a stone floor with minimal effort, and indeed, the stone floor is of very good quality. Far more impressive than any carpet I could buy without re-entering the drugs trade. For the medicines, by the way, I have a second customer, again with a doctor's recommendation. Slowly the bales of medicines in the (secure and dry) cellars are providing an income. I have explained my policy to my sister, and she understands and agrees. We supply for a week or a month, no more, without good clear reasoning. We supply based on medical need, under the recommendation of a doctor. For the first dose or for any change in dose we require the doctor present and a relative of the patient or the patient themselves to witness the transaction, and the amount we charge. We issue receipts, and for dangerous medicines everyone knows that we record receipts and register the sales at the medical institute. Also, we never do what I was foolish enough to do: get the medicines while the customer was in the house. But I have digressed. No longer is this house a mausoleum. With the little messes of spilt food my sister's son makes, the smell of cooking, and her domestic touch and her loving husband, her room in the servant quarters has immediately turned into a home from a hospital. I have a bedroom which I have been slowly decorating with things I like, but while it is the smallest of the main bedrooms, it is too large. I am tempted to have a book-case made that would wall off part of it and make it a more homely size. I leave my sister and her husband the privacy of the servants quarters, where in any case I left the bad memories of nursing my husband-in-name before he died. Did I love him? I don't know. I was grown used to him, and to our strange relationship. As the soldiers left immediately after his death, I was uncertain and alone, and for months was truly a widow in mourning, feeling suddenly useless and confused and that my life had been better while he lived, and wanting him back. I did not want the memories of his pain so I moved into this room that I write from now, looking over the gardens.

I have found some local artists whose work I like and is in a style similar to those of home, and they are on display in the imposing entrance hall, for sale at a percentage commission. Thus we have a growing gallery of Dahel-inspired work, and visitors interested in such are becoming more common. Another income stream, for when the medicines become too old and the current money runs out. My sister also cooks Dahel-spiced variants of local dishes. This was an income stream for her when I found her and she continues with it, at set times of the day, much to the delight of her old customers. They use the traders entrance, and word is also spreading. Unlike at home, the laws on where you can sell food and are not regimented here. I asked Esmetherelda, and she smiled and said of course. So, the Dahel embassy smells a little of Dahel cookery, which makes it more of a home to me as well, and I have a percentage of her profit — she does the work but it is, after all, the embassy's cooking fuel and kitchen that she uses. As we are an embassy, local business taxes are not charged, but to be fair — that is to say so that neither of us is accused of favouritism, the little enterprise pays a 'local tax equivalence' to the embassy (before profit). She still makes three times as much as she did when she was employed near the docks, so Taheela is a happy woman. I hope you do not object to the embassy aiming to make a net profit on its operations, but to me that also speaks of home. So far, we don't, not quite when I spread the cost of furniture over ten years, but a few more artists or perhaps my brother-in-law deciding to move to paying rent for another of the servant's quarters (at the going local rate, of course), should mean that we do. It is a difficult decision for them, and I am staying out of it. It would mean he gets a nicer work environment, an impressive location and a friendly landlady, but he could not escape from work, and also his current clientele would not know where his shop is if he moves, which would cause him loss of repeat business. Plus he'd get no walk-past custom, unless they came for Tahela's cooking. Possibly some of his customers or suppliers might not like the idea of the guards out the front either. I am no expert, but some of his maps seem rather too precise to be on sale to the general public. They are all purchased legitimately, with receipts, and so on, but who knows how they originally came into the map-trading circles. Did you know that a map could be subversive? He has a very pretty map claiming to show who was sleeping where on the night before a certain important vote ninety years ago on Tesk — that to exclude the royal family of the (then four) Isles from Tesk, after yet another beautiful thought-hearer had gone to marry the king and rumours were circulating of girls leaping into bed with the king to get the catalyst. I hear from Hal that that indeed happened — in the sense that some stupid girls were sometimes so desperate to spend time with the man who became the first king of the isles — that his wife had to chase them out of their bedroom before he dared enter. Hence he and she fled from Tesk. The map seems to show not dissimilar illegitimate incursions into bedrooms. It is only when you compare it with a political history of the time that you realise it is not showing marital infidelities, but a public perception of political corruption. Interestingly, and possibly because of this political corruption, the vote was never approved by the high council of Tesk — the thought-hearers. Any thought-hearers. Thus it is that Esmetherelda or myself (or both of us in unison) could visit that Isle and formally reject the measure. Or indeed just simply set ourselves up as dictators over every decision of the lower council. Esmetherelda has promised (via the disgraced ex-ambassador) that she will not visit except to reject that measure. I however have made no such commitment. Would you like me to exercise some power in Tesk, my prince? I stand ready at your service. Probably. I think I might get lynched if I stand too prominently and threaten to make Tesk an outpost of imperial rule.

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I've digressed again, haven't I? I am a little sorry, bit not very.

After all, part of my reason for writing these things is so that you have a chance to know me, and how better to expose to you the workings of my mind than to digress on flights of fancy or things that I consider interesting if irrelevant.

So, back to my home. It is not particularly warm, or snug. It is not particularly decorated in my favourite style. It is big, impressive, grand. The rooms are tall (cool in summer, but hard to heat in winter, I expect), the grounds... let me get to the grounds later, my prince, please. I love the grounds. I don't know if I have actually counted the rooms. On the ground floor, there is the entrance hall (now gallery) which quite easily holds fifty people standing around, sipping expensive drinks they don't actually like but they wish to appear sophisticated and so keep on sipping, while pretending to admire the pictures while actually sizing each other up as potential business partners, adversaries or suitors. That was the grand opening of the gallery — tickets an absolute bargain at only two gold pieces per head (two month's salary for a menial worker, remember) for a chance to meet the princess regent and her fiance, and the enticing opportunity to see the new lady ambassador from distant exotic Dahel, examine her entrance lobby and make guesses about her underwear or re-marriage prospects based on your gender. Sorry if that sounds so very cynical. It is, Esmetherelda thought to me, the problem with this gift. I was amazed at how few actually enjoyed the expensive drink. Next time I hold one of these things I'll ask people if they'd prefer some authentic Dahel-style milk instead. At least that way I'll enjoy what I'm drinking not to mention the look on their faces when I tell them that for Dahel-style milk you start off with a cow and massage it's... sorry, you know how to get milk from a cow, I presume. So do the people around here, but stick 'Dahel-style' on it and it's got to be exotic, and if you listen to the thoughts of the men around here, probably involve scantily dressed virgins eager to not be.

So, that was the entrance hall. Parallel to, and the same size as, the entrance hall is the dining room. A gorgeous inlaid table which would fit twenty, and is, praise God, protected by what must be a very expensive single sheet of glass. I understand from Esme that the normal practice would be to cover the table with a white cloth at meal times, and with a thicker, dark cloth when the room is not in use to protect the wood from the sun. At one end of the house, is the kitchen and in a wing from there, the servant's quarters. The other end is what was probably a games room or family lounge, but now it is my office. Beyond my office there's another wing, which on the ground floor has another room, one of which was used by the guards as their ready room, the other as their barracks, and then a carriage house. Oops, I forgot: the stables are past the servant's quarters. Upstairs (I forgot the grand stairs in the entrance) there are suites of rooms and above each wing, and more bedrooms above the dining room, one of these, with the best view over the grounds, is mine. Each suite has three bedrooms, and two hygiene rooms, the central bedrooms also have a hygiene room. Each such room has piped water, hot water is stored in a large tank below the sloped roof, heated by pipes that warm it in the sun. I am told that even in winter the water will be warm. In summer it would be dangerously so, if there was not a complicated mechanism to make it feed heat into an outdoor pool. Yes, I have a heated outdoor pool to bask in during the hot summer (except I felt too exposed and alone to do so) or swim in during the cooler autumn evenings. The recent addition of family members and soldiers at the gate mean that I no longer fear to do that. My sister and husband have also enjoyed it, especially as I was being auntie at the time.

The pool does have a fence to stop the young from entering it, or I'd fear for my nephew; it's not meant for paddling. For paddling or playing with stones there's a small stream further from the house, and there are also some small ornamental gardens. They needed a lot of care, and while the soldiers were waiting for my husband-in-name to die or recover they tidied them beautifully. During the summer, I spent many productive hours at the menial task of weeding them as I wondered about my role, and the possible futures you might have in store for me. I did not know if I was to be merely caretaker or married once more to some stranger with no faith, and the ambassador of Tesk wanted me to remain dependent on him. I think I healed in the gardens. Beyond the gardens there is a gentle hillside which rises to above even the house, and gives me a view of the city and the port. Perhaps I should say while firmly within the city, the embassy is one of several that back onto one of the larger hills here, actually a ridge, with a cliff-edge behind it. The palace is on another such hill. Due to its position, the embassy gets the summit of the ridge within its grounds. There is, again, an anti-child fence protecting the cliff edge. Below the cliff there's a small beach used by some optimistic fishermen and the river. The neighbours have extended their garden walls — taller than me — along the edge of the cliff, but the soldiers declared the cliff more difficult to climb than a brick wall, so what's the point in spoiling the view? I guess it might stop someone going around the end of the wall, but if I was that desperate to be nosey, I'd use a ladder, personally. Or approach their gardens from the front of the house. Unlike the embassy, they have no front gates or guard-house. Now that I have the guards from Esmetherelda, I ask that they keep the main gates mostly shut, and the side gate open during the day. Previously, there seemed no point in either, since the hinges make little noise. Now the side gate, which leads to the servant's quarters, has gained a sign saying 'Enter here for Daheel cookery, use main entrance for gallery.' This keeps people from walking on the grass. Oh, the grass! I must tell you of the grass. In the eyes of my neighbours, I am remiss, I am clearly foreign, and alien. How can I? I allow the grass to... dare they say it, grow! The back garden grass was, before we arrived, harvested by the army for fodder for their horses. The front grass, between the carriageway and the path to the servant's wing, was not worth anyone trying to harvest. There are fruit trees growing there, making it a pain. When we arrived, I saw pretty flowers there and what I learned were rare butterflies, and I liked it. The army still harvest the back garden. But my neighbour suggested I might like to hire someone — perhaps one of their sons, he'd only want a gold coin per month — to manicure the grass at the front, as a sign that the house is occupied by a morally upright person. I replied that as a morally upright person of limited means, representing a government (sorry, I got that bit wrong) which valued nature, I would not be squandering the limited money my husband had left me and destroying important habitat just to provide their sons with money they could in turn squander on getting drunk and singing at the top of their voices — as I had noticed the previous weekend. And to make my point I asked the army to leave a nice wild border near the garden walls. I've seen more of the butterflies out there. The stables remain empty, the carriage, which is in the carriage-house is unused. Perhaps if you visit it would be appropriate to change that.

Will you come, my prince? Will your honourable father and mother permit you to visit this small palace? I do not know or dare to hope what changes that will bring to my life, or even if it would be more fitting for you to stay in guest-rooms at the palace, as princess Yalisa of Tew does. But knowing that you cannot reply faster than you can arrive, I intend to ensure that one of the wings — I think the wing over the kitchen, as that will be warmer — will be ready for important visitors. If you do not come before the winter, and you do not send me other instructions, my plan is to accept the invitation of princess Esmetherelda and prince Hal.

If I may presume upon my understanding of your hinting once more my prince — forgive me once more if it is wrong and if my misunderstanding puts you in a difficult position — I have just had a messenger arrive to bring me this. It seems that while I was delighting in her sister's artwork, Esmetherelda who of course knows the thoughts that bubble up in my brain, asked Bethania to sketch me. Esmetherelda writes 'knowing as we do the visual focus of many young men, I asked Bethania to provide this sketch, a gift for the crown prince of Dahel from the crown princess of Caneth. As you see, she has in fact engraved it and painted the print. It is entitled, according to Bethania, “A meeting of fashions, beauty delights in beauty.” ' Urm, what can I add? I am embarrassed to be the model of a picture I didn't know was being made. I'm even more embarrassed by what my sister said: 'Well, it'll certainly give him a face to recognise you by and some vague hints that you might possibly be a girl, won't it? Couldn't she have missed that mole?' 'No, it's there' 'Why didn't she show more of your figure? She could have painted you in your swim-wear, couldn't she?' 'I wasn't wearing my swimwear, I don't walk about in my swimwear, and if the prince is interested in marrying me it won't be for my swimwear, so why should she paint me in my swimwear?' 'Because what's under your swimwear is probably more important to him than you being dressed like a boring modest high official.' 'That's what I am, a high official in his service.' 'Not in your swimwear you're not; you're utterly gorgeous. I wish I had your figure.' 'You can't have my figure, you're due to give birth in about six weeks.' 'You'll look after my children if I die, won't you, Hayeel?' 'Why should you die? Eat properly, rest enough, pray and do not worry.' 'But if I do die?' 'I will do all I can, Taheela, but I am the servant, the slave if you like, of my prince and our God. It is not my will that counts.' 'You're saying that if it's a choice between marrying him and looking after my children, you'll choose him.' 'I'm saying that if it's a choice of marrying him and so saving the planet in obedience to prophesy, or making soup for your children that your husband could make if you only taught him, then I will save the planet, because without the planet, soup is a waste of time.' And I realised that I meant it my prince, and also it's converse. I admit that I am excited at the thought that I might be a married woman sometime after we meet, and that I will be entirely mortified when I hear your have shared these scandalously uncensored and open letters with your honourable parents after you have been so wisely restrained in what you have written, but that does not affect my determination. I mean it, do not be tempted to marry me if I am not the one in the prophesy, my prince. Do not. I might be pretty, I might even be, as my sister insists, utterly gorgeous. But I also grew up near a port and you know must sailor's language by reputation. If you think you can marry me for love or for desire against the dictates of the prophecy, then I'll insult you and your sanity and your manhood in every language and dialect I know and then make up a few too. I'll probably cry as well, but not as much as I would if I knew I'd helped end the world.

Your Ambassador and God's servant, Hayeel.

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