as you suggested, and continue to research Darkovan
music. I have collected enough material to keep you busy
for a decade, and I didn't even really scratch the surface.
There are songs here that go back to Old Scotland, on
Terra before they went into space, and also new ones that
are interesting. As near as I can discover, no one has in
vented the symphonic form, but there is an enormous body
of vocal music to be studied. I hardly scratched the surface.
And the Musicians Guild would be delighted to help you
and to share your knowledge, too. You would not be idle,
unless you wanted to be."
"I am so used to fighting for funding, that I can't quite grasp the idea of not having to do it. More than that, I am beginning to realize that there is nothing to go back to, not really. The house belongs to University, and although I have life tenancy, I don't know if that will continue, with all the nonsense about cutting off pensions and such. I was not joking when I said I 'might end up on the street."
"I know you weren't, Ida. My father and I have been discussing it for the past few days. Even though he has retired from the Senate, he still keeps in touch with our current Senator, Herm Aldaran, 'and with some other people he knew. He thinks things are going to get worse before they get better."
"If they get better at all," Ida muttered bitterly.
It was almost midday when the carriage pulled into the intersection of Threadneedle and Shettle Streets, as close as they could get to Master Aaron MacEwan's shop. There was, mercifully, no wind to speak of, and the icy patches on the cobbles were few. The three of them walked down the street carefully, however, and finally arrived at their destination.
Manuella, Aaron MacEwan's wife, was solemnly folding a bolt of cloth at the great cutting table in the middle of the shop. Margaret remembered awakening on it the day Ivor died. Shivering, though not with cold, she felt that Ivor was everywhere today.
The tailor's wife brightened when she saw Margaret, and approached them with a smile and glad greetings. "Vai domna! How lovely to see you. Aaron will be back in a few minutes. He just stepped out to harass the embroiderers, even though I told him not to."
"Greetings, Manuella. May I present my teacher, Ida Davidson, and my young cousin, Donal Alar. He wants a blue tunic for the Midwinter Festival, and I need a fitting, I suppose, for whatever masterpiece Aaron has been working on for me. And I need to have things made for Mestra Davidson, who is staying with me now. Ida, this is Manuella MacEwan; though her husband is the master tailor, she is the one who runs the place."
The little woman beamed at this praise. "Of course! Welcome, Mestra Davidson." She then peered uncertainly at Ida, wondering if her words had been understood.
"Thank you for your welcome, mestra." She had the phrase down pat. Margaret could see Manuella relax at the answer. "I have been looking forward to coming here since Marguerida told me about your establishment." Ida used a word that actually meant something closer to "landholding" and Manuella's eyes widened slightly, but the sense was clear enough. "I am wearing some things that were left in Comyn Castle, but they are somewhat too large, and I cannot sew a stitch." Her verb forms were not perfect, and she tended to use the infinitive rather than the gerund, but the meaning came across well enough. It did not seem to have occurred to Ida to ask one of the servants to alter the -clothing she was lent. Like Margaret herself, she did not quite know how to behave with the maids and manservants.
"And why should you? Leave that to experts. Here, now. Nella! Where is that girl? Ah, there you are. Please take Mestra Davidson into the back and measure her. Then tell Doevid to go to the loft and bring down that bolt of dove gray wool, the green from Ardais, and . . ."
"Perhaps that mauve we just received," the girl broke in saucily. She was about fifteen, round and pert, a pretty young woman.
"Humph. Maybe, though I am not sure the color will suit Mestra Davidson. That violet we have had since summer might be better."
"Yes, Manuella." Nella and Ida vanished behind the curtains at the back of the shop.
"Now, young man," Manuella began, "what sort of blue did you have in mind?"
"Do you have something very dark, like the sky after sunset, almost purple." He seemed to know exactly what
he wanted, and Margaret was a little surprised. Both of his parents were very indecisive, and she could not imagine where he had learned to be so certain.
"Now, why do you want such a color?"
Donal looked up at Manuella, frowned for a moment, then shrugged. "1 don't know—it just seems good or something."
The tailor's wife looked over at Margaret, as if to say that young boys wanting new tunics was a strange experience for her. Then she smiled at Donal again. "I believe we do have a short bolt in a color that you might like—it has been sitting in the loft for a long time, because no one really liked it."
"Maybe it was waiting for me," Donal announced, as if he expected such occurrences in his life.
Margaret had not realized how tense she had been until she began to relax in the calm atmosphere of the shop. Ida thought she had written the song for Ivor, but Donal had known it was for Domenic, and had been wonderfully discreet as well. She found herself wondering what sort of man this clever little boy was going to become, and wanting very much to see it.
Still, the incident had left her feeling conflicted and anxious. The smell of wool and silk and linen, mingled with dust and the scent of tea wafted around her. These odors made her think again of her first visit, and the pain of Ivor's death seemed fresh again. But the soothing atmosphere of the shop wore away the edges of her sorrow, muting it down to a bearable level. It was very restful, with nothing to trouble her immediately, no Domain lords and ladies arguing, no Gisela Aldaran clinging to Mikhail's arm.
Aaron stomped crossly into the shop, muttering under his breath, then stopped and smiled when he saw Margaret. He was a large man, black-haired and broad-shouldered, who looked more like a carter than a master tailor. Only the fluffs of fiber clinging to his sleeves gave any hint of his occupation. He made her a brief bow, glanced at Donal curiously, and said, "Domna Alton! What a pleasure to see you. Did you like the white gown your father ordered for you?"
"I love it, Aaron. It is very beautiful, and I received a great many compliments on it. The cut of the cloth is so
wonderful, and I think that Lady Linnea and Domna Ail-lard were almost envious. No doubt they will want something of the sort for themselves."
"Well, if they envied that, when they see you at the Midwinter ball, their eyes will pop out of their heads."
"Aaron! What a thing to say," Manuella commented, throwing up her hands as if to say there was nothing she could do with her husband.
"Nonsense! You yourself said it is a remarkable bit of work, and I confess, domna, that I enjoyed the making of the gown more than I have anything in years. I was getting quite stale, making ordinary clothing for this one and that. Did you know that Rafaella came by and ordered a gown for the ball? I wondered at it, but she seems to think she will be attending."
"She did tell me, when we were returning from Neskaya, that she was going to be there with a friend." Margaret did not want to mention that the friend was her uncle, Rafe Scott, because she thought it was no one's business. She wished them the joy of their odd alliance, and only wished her own life could be as simple.
"I see. I confess I did not quite believe her. Renunciates do not often attend balls at the Castle," he finished, clearly feeling that people should know their places, and keep to them. "Now, let's get the gown out and see how it fits. You look to have lost a bit of weight, domna. And I shall warn you now that if you do not like the gown, I shall have to fall upon my scissors."
Donal, who had been listening to all of this with great interest, looked up at the tall tailor and said, "Why would you do that?"
"Because my heart would b
reak," Aaron replied teasingly.
"Don't be foolish, Aaron," Margaret answered, before Donal could inquire further. "Everything you have made for me has been wonderful."
Manuella had left the main room, and now returned carrying something wrapped in a white sheet. She bore it across her arms, and moved as if holding something precious. She laid it on the cutting table and began to unfold the coverings.
Under the faint light from the street and the flickering
illumination of the lampions, Margaret saw what at first appeared to be a mass of glittering gold on a bed of violet. Then Aaron leaned forward and picked it up, shook it out, and held it by the hanger.
Prepared as she was for something beautiful, Margaret still gasped with delight. The undergarment was a long column of violet silk, shining in the light, with a low neckline, though not at all immodest. Except for the sleeves, the underrobe was rather plain, almost severe, and she knew it would cling to the planes of her body like a second skin. After months of garments cut full, to conceal the body, she thought it might be rather outrageous, and, perversely, she liked the idea.
Margaret was a little surprised at her feelings of rebellion. Then, as she stared at the beautiful garment, she realized that Gisela Aldaran would be either shocked or envious, and that she was delighted by the prospect of one reaction or the other. I never knew I was such a cat!
The sleeves were large, gathered things, full at the shoulder and falling to midarm, where a wide ruffle cascaded down, ready to conceal the silken mitts she would wear. It was a form she had not seen on Darkover before. The edge of the ruffle and the hem were embroidered with golden silk, a pattern of tiny vines and small flowers.
The overtunic was made of a fine, sheer stuff, gold threads which shone like a sun even in the dim light of the room. It had no sleeves, so the purple of the undergown was visible along the arms, and then muted over the body. The neckline of the overtunic was high, and gathered into a small ruche which she knew would fall just beneath her square chin. It was very simple in its lines, but the overall feeling was one of opulence. Margaret fell in love with it immediately, then wondered if she was up to wearing such a dramatic gown.
"Aaron, this is magnificent! You have created a whole new style, and all the fine ladies of Thendara will be pounding at your door the morning after the ball, even if there is the mother of all snow storms."
"And that Gisela will be mad as fire," Donal added, looking pleased with himself. Margaret shot a quick look at the little boy—he did not miss much, did he?
Aaron ignored Donal, and looked both pleased and
smug, "I am glad you find it good, domna. The glover has made some new mitts, of the same fine silk as the under-gown, but a shade paler, and he promises that he will have them at the castle in good time. And the cobbler is working on the slippers even as we speak. Indeed, we must send to him, to make certain they do not pinch, for you will not want tight shoes to dance in."
"You seem to have thought of everything, as usual, Aaron. While he is here, I would like him to measure Donal for some new boots. Don't let me forget, please."
"Cousin Marguerida!" Donal seemed stunned.
"If you have grown taller, your feet must be longer."
"Thank you!" His face was red with blushing.
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 i
n 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.
The Shadow Matrix Page 38
