A Harvest of Ripe Figs
By Shira Glassman
Copyright 2015 by Shira Glassman
Smashwords Edition
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
Prizm Books an imprint of Torquere Press Publishers
P.O. Box 37, Waldo, AR 71770.
A Harvest of Ripe Figs Copyright © 2015 by Shira Glassman
Cover illustration by BSClay
Published with permission
ISBN: 978-1-61040-867-7
PRINT ISBN: 978-1-61040-873-8
www.torquerepress.com
All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. For information address Torquere Press. LLC, P.O. Box 37, Waldo, AR 71770
First Torquere Press Printing: January 2015
A Harvest of Ripe Figs
by Shira Glassman
Dedicated to Kate the Great
and to the memory of Dame Agatha Christie,
whose greatness I can never touch, but it sure was fun to try!
Chapter 1: Jewels
Queen Shulamit carefully studied the two necklaces before her. Below the throne platform, the men who had brought them eyed her nervously, occasionally glancing with scorn in each other's direction. She did her best to ignore the tension in front of her and concentrated on her work. It was obvious that each of the jewelers had selected his necklace to appeal to her favorite colors, but she wasn't about to let that influence her decision, and it irritated her that they were trying to manipulate her so cheaply. Would they have done the same for her late father, had they been quibbling over something men wore instead of jewelry? Probably not, but moving on... she thought as she fingered the clasp on the lilac-jade beads, her arms bent gingerly around the infant princess sleeping wrapped to her chest. The beads, predictably, matched the wrap.
The clasp opened and closed easily, and when she tugged on the closed loop, it did not come undone. "Good craftsmanship," she commented in an undertone. Naomi would have been with her in the sling anyway, but it was awfully useful to be able to declare that all those presenting their cases for arbitration before the queen must speak calmly and softly if the princess was present, and especially if the princess was sleeping.
"Thank you very much, Your Majesty," said one of the men, his face glowing with pride. His name was Gershom.
The other one, Zev, spoke on top of him. "We're both good craftsmen, but that's not the issue. That's my design! He—"
"She wasn't saying anything about your craftsmanship," Gershom interjected pointedly.
"Well, let's see." The queen examined the other necklace, a circlet with a butterfly made from pink gemstones. The clasp seemed identical to the first one, just as strong and just as easy to open and close. "It's the same as the other."
"That's the wrong way 'round!" Zev protested. His tone had risen slightly in his agitation, and from behind the queen, a huge figure with well-sculpted muscles shifted slightly. The jeweler was cowed back into a baby-appropriate tone of voice. "It's not the same as his; his is the same as mine. I invented that clasp. I'd been working on it on and off for years, and it's based on an idea my wife had before she died."
"I'm sorry about your wife, but maybe if it hadn't taken you so long to develop her design, I wouldn't have come up with it independently first," commented the jeweler of the jade beads.
"That's ridiculous! I don't know how you did it, but you got into my workshop and—"
"How? When? Your landlady has the keys," said Gershom. "Why would she give them to anyone but you—especially to me! She knows we hate each other."
"Then you broke in," retorted Zev.
"And left no evidence?"
"Then you bribed her."
"You know that's ridiculous," said Gershom. "She's been trying to marry you ever since you rented out the workshop."
Zev opened and closed his mouth rapidly like a dying fish. "That doesn't mean she can't suddenly change her mind about who she'd rather throw herself at!"
"Oh, please!"
"You're a dirty liar, Gershom! You knew my necklaces were going to wipe yours off the map next year with that clasp, and you found some way, I don't know how—"
A dissonant wail pierced the air. "Okay, folks, we're done for now." Shulamit stood, bouncing her fussing infant slightly as she cradled her to her chest. "Leave the evidence with me, and the guards will let you know when I need you again."
"But—!" each man yelled.
She smiled at them as if oblivious, stepping down from the platform of the throne. "You've made your cases. We'll investigate it thoroughly. Don't worry! Peace." It was a dismissal.
The hulking figure in brown leather had stepped out from behind the throne and was approaching the two jewelers. Eyeing the guard uneasily, they both hurried for the doorway on the far side of the room.
When they had gone, the queen turned to the captain of her guard. "That could have gone on all day."
"Put them in a pit and sell tickets," the guard suggested flippantly in a heavy accent. "Nu? Did the schmendrick on the right steal the other one's... whatever it was?"
"Shhhh, my love," Shulamit cooed to the baby. Then she looked back up. "I'm going to have to think about it. It seems like there's a pretty good motivation for the witness to stay loyal to her tenant, and there's no evidence of a break-in. But somehow... Rivka, I just don't think Zev was lying."
"Which one was that?"
"The pink necklace."
"The accuser."
"Yeah. I almost wonder, I mean, do you think maybe magic is involved, somehow?"
Rivka shrugged. "For that, you have to talk to Isaac."
Naomi had stopped crying and was now squirming around and moving her head, trying to find new things to look at. "Has Aviva gone to market yet?" Shulamit asked. "I need to get out of this room. And I think Naomi's bored too."
"I think she's going to go this afternoon, so we can probably come along."
"Go find Isaac and we'll all go together," said Shulamit. "And put these somewhere safe." She deposited the two necklaces into Rivka's waiting hands and then aimed herself at the entrance, where the glorious light of the outdoors beckoned invitingly.
***
Behind a table in the marketplace, piled high with fruit, stood a middle-aged woman and a young man. The woman was calling out to all the passersby about how their fruit juice was fresh and delicious and tasted like treasure. The young man was busily smashing fruit into a bowl with a pestle, picking out seeds and rinds with his other hand.
During a slow moment, the hawker bent her head toward her companion. "Oh, good, you're really getting the hang of it."
The other one looked up at her through sweat-drenched eyelashes. "This is hard work and we've been at it for hours!"
"This is what we do," said the woman proudly. "I told your father I'd look after you and get you straightened out."
"Mmmmggnn," grunted the man, who was her nephew.
"Decent work, that's all you needed," she continued cheerfully. "Oh, hey, Caleb, look! Over there, it's the queen and her guards! See, isn't it much more exciting here than in Ir Ilan?"
"Queen Shulamit?" Caleb looked up from his thousandth bowl of juice. He saw a rather ordinary-looking woman, very short and very slender, with a plain face and heavy eyebrows. Her skin was a smooth medium brown like the rest of her countrymen, and her thick black hair was braided tightly into t
wo pigtails that were coiled together behind her head. Strange jewels that complemented her light yellow dress shone from her ears and throat. "She looks just like she does on the money. I thought maybe they'd messed up the portrait, but..."
"Royal blood doesn't make you pretty," his aunt reminded him. "And she's a decent person. She's in the marketplace all the time, but she never expects us to drop whatever we're doing and cater to her. Not like some people who don't even have a quarter of her power. I guess," she added as she picked up another mortar and began to help with the juicing, "she has nothing to prove."
"Who's the pretty one?" Next to the queen, a beauty with messy hair piled on top of her head and held in place by two sticks chattered merrily, peering in and out of stalls with sharp-looking eyes. She was comfortably built with curvaceous hips and a large bosom that he couldn't help but stare at for a moment.
"Oh, that's Aviva. She's the queen's personal chef and constant companion. Those two are never apart for very long."
"You'd think the queen would be afraid to have such a pretty companion. Isn't she afraid Aviva's going to steal her prince consort?"
"He lives somewhere else on a vineyard," she replied vaguely.
"Why are their guards foreign?"
"I don't know."
"Are they brothers? They look similar."
"No, they don't. You're just saying that because they're not Perachi."
Caleb squinted at them curiously. They were both very broad and very tall, and their skin was a much lighter gold than a native Perachi's. Both of the guards had hair the color of brass—one long and messy and past his shoulders, the other cropped short, as was the faint beard and mustache that ringed his mouth. Strangest of all, the one with long hair wore a cloth mask covering the bottom half of his face. "They look like something out of a legend," he murmured.
"The one with the mask is Captain Riv," said Caleb's aunt, "and the older one holding the baby princess is Isaac, the wizard."
Suddenly, a pair of steel-blue eyes was on him. The guard had heard his name. He lifted a pointed eyebrow at the juice stand, and Caleb and his aunt both flushed. "Juice for the queen?" she offered.
Shulamit stepped forward, surveying the booth with searching eyes. Whatever she was looking for apparently satisfied her, so she nodded quickly. "Does anyone else want?"
"We'll share one," said the one called Isaac, who had been conferring with his compatriot. His voice was exceedingly deep and reminded Caleb of when he and his friends back in Ir Ilan had amused themselves calling out into a cave to hear their voices echoed and magnified. Caleb also noticed an accent, but that made sense if they were foreign.
"I can't get over this big, tall guard carrying around a baby princess," Caleb whispered as they prepared the beverages.
"Well, he's not your ordinary man," explained his aunt. "Like I was trying to tell you, they're not brothers." And then she made an awkward face that Caleb finally understood.
"Ooohhhhh, okay! Wow, really? I wasn't expecting that. They look like such big heroes." Caleb was staring at the visible biceps on both men, the height that far exceeded his own, and the statuesque posture.
"They are! It doesn't get in the way. Honestly, think about it—why should it?"
Caleb eyed them suspiciously. If they were that big and powerful, and they both liked other men, he hoped they wouldn't notice him. He supposed he could take care of himself in a fight against one or even two other Perachis, but these two with their northern genes—huge! He shuddered.
Shulamit accepted the drinks and handed one to Captain Riv. Then with her free hand, she fished some coins out of her pocket.
The owner of the stall held up her hand. "Majesty, you come here so often and I'm still grateful for those stirring words you spoke on Rosh Hashanah. This one's on me."
"Thank you so much! But that's next month—oh, you mean last year." The queen smiled awkwardly with half her face, with a combination of warmth and embarrassment in her eyes. "Thank you. That's very sweet of you—" she began, but was suddenly interrupted by a commotion at the back of the stall.
"Hey!" Auntie Juice whirled around as a thin figure slipped swiftly through the crates of fruit. Caleb could see a pair of hands desperately holding on to as many starfruits as could fit. "Get him!"
Caleb sprang up and tried to catch the little thief, but he was tired after his first day of honest work in a year, and the starfruit thief was gone before he could do anything. "Do you want me to go after him?"
His aunt let out a noise like a dog snoring. "Micah is such a pain in my rear end. He's just a kid, but he's always up in everyone's stock; lives on the street—"
"Please," interrupted a female voice, and they both looked back at the queen, having temporarily forgotten her presence. "Take my coins; let it pay for what he took today."
"Well... okay. Thank you, Your Majesty."
Caleb, behind his aunt, studied the queen. Well, of course she could afford to be so generous, with all those jewels she was wearing! He wondered what they were; he'd never seen pale yellow gems before. But they matched her dress perfectly. She's probably wealthy enough that she's got jewels to match any color dress she ever wears, he mused as he watched her walk away sipping her drink.
His aunt gave him a sharp look, and he hastened for a topic of discussion that would prove he wasn't thinking about the queen's riches. "So one of those men was a wizard?"
"Isaac," said Auntie Juice. "I've never seen it happen, but they say he can turn into a serpent."
"But she trusts him enough to keep him so close."
"Oh yes, he and Queen Shulamit are very close. I don't know if you remember, but she was only twenty when her father died. Isaac stepped in and was there for her, and now he's pretty much got free run of the palace. More than a guard, even—like a second father."
"Must be a good life for him," said Caleb, picking up the pestle to return to what seemed like endless work.
Chapter 2: The Woman with the Violin
It was late afternoon, and Shulamit had dozed off, cuddled into Aviva's soft, fleshy side. The baby was fast asleep on Aviva's chest, and the whole family was so comfortable that it took at least a minute before Shulamit realized that someone was calling her name.
Or at least, one very special pet name.
"Malkeleh! Aviiiivaleh... come on, wake up so we have enough time to get to the recital."
"I'm up," said Shulamit with her eyes closed. Then she put on her mental crown and forced herself out of bed. "Mhmm," she grunted to Rivka, who was pacing around the room like a caged lion. "What state is my hair in?"
"Black," said Rivka, who never paid much attention to her own wild blonde mane, as long as it wasn't caught in something.
"Very funny." Shulamit undid one of her braids and with busy fingers started resurrecting it.
Aviva stirred on the bed and then sat up, Naomi in her arms. "She probably needs to eat again before you give her to my mother."
"Yeah, the recital should be close to an hour, and then there's travel time. Just let me do this other braid."
"I'll do it for you." A flirtatious look came into Aviva's face, still veiled in drowsiness. "C'mere, you."
Shulamit sat back down and leaned the unkempt side of her head towards Aviva. Naomi woke up and started fussing, and Aviva passed her over so that she could nurse.
Before too long, they were standing at the door to the room where Aviva's parents, Leah and Ben, made their home. Ben, who also sold his clothing at the marketplace, was Shulamit's official royal tailor, and their living quarters were large enough to double as a fitting room. Ben was still at market, but Leah's face lit up when she saw them, and she straightened in the chair where she'd been sitting to read. She didn't get up, because then she could use both arms to reach for the baby instead of having one hand occupied by her cane.
"How's my sweetest princess?" Leah cooed as Shulamit placed Naomi into her arms.
"In case she wants," Aviva explained as she handed ove
r a small parcel containing mashed banana.
"Let's see if it goes in her mouth this time instead of all over her face!" Leah's eyes were twinkling.
"It's a beauty aid, haven't you heard?" Shulamit had a sarcastic side. "Latest thing from Imbrio."
Aviva stuck out her tongue.
They met Rivka in the palace courtyard. Isaac was with her, already in his dragon form, and they all eagerly climbed aboard his vast back. Shulamit nestled into Aviva's strong, squishy arms and reveled in the feeling of the wind whipping around her face as they soared into the sky.
Over the prosperous bustle of Home City they flew. Shulamit, as she always did, admired the gleaming, clean brightness of the white buildings with their rippled red-tile roofs, separated by broad-leaved banana stands or towering date palms. This was the land over which she'd been given title by her father's untimely death, the people below her as much her responsibility as the child she'd left in Leah's arms back at the palace. She watched them scurrying about as she flew past them and imagined how impressive Isaac must look to them from down there—a great, black-green shape against the long, honeyed rays of a waning afternoon sun, giant wings in the shape of a bat's propelling himself forward.
On the other side of the city, there was a lake at the bottom of a smooth, grassy hill. Some king who had come before her had built a stage at the shore, and there the people of Home City often enjoyed concerts or public events. They brought blankets or chairs and sat on the grass, and if the event was supposed to last a long time, they brought picnic baskets. The recital of Esther of the Singing Hands, however, was only supposed to last an hour, so there were few baskets. But there were still opportunists here and there selling coconuts with the tops lopped off, in case anyone needed a drink.
Shulamit, as queen, was entitled to special seating at the base of the hill, nearest the stage, but Isaac landed at the back of the crowd because there didn't seem to be enough room for him to land any closer. "Except on the stage," he pointed out as his feet grasped the ground.
A Harvest of Ripe Figs Page 1
