But Rehana and her parents only grew more concerned as Afsana began to have visions about more than local and private matters. Rumours grew in Bombay about a strange child living in Adnan’s house, and some called for her expulsion. Afsana began to long for Yount, though she did not know how to express her desire. Sitterjee and the Doctors were aware of this. Sitterjee, wanting to right an old wrong before he died, told Afsana about Yount, though he was very careful to omit certain details about his role in earlier events. One year after she had arrived in Bombay, Afsana received a box with a key. Partly enthralled by the key and partly fearing that Afsana was possessed by a devil, and concerned for her safety and theirs in the face of growing animosity in the neighbourhood, Rehana and her parents acquiesced to Afsana’s pleadings. Rehana bid her parents goodbye and, accompanied by Sitterjee, took Afsana to Cape Town and then on to Yount. The shock of the journey was too much for Rehana, who died shortly after arriving in Yount.
Nexius concluded the story: “Afsana opened the second lock, you see? But that was a double-edged sword for Loositage, since he thinks always about the prophecy — the prophecy he has declared heretical, of course! — relating to a dynasty founded by two Karket-soomi.”
Barnabas pushed back from the table. “I longed to come to Yount and discover I am deceived!”
Nexius spread his hands wide and said, “Not so, I think, at least not in all ways. Here you are and here is Afsana, your daughter — that must be worth something!”
Barnabas, thinking of his daughter in the garden, turned away. Sanford, a protective heron, walked his old friend out of the room.
Sally said, “Nothing has been as we expected it since we arrived, Captain Nax. We trusted you.”
Nexius sighed and nodded. “And still do I hope. Loositage and the Learned Doctors sometimes do things in ways that we Marines disagree with. But please remember that we never promised heart’s desire, only help in regaining it. You came because you wished yourselves to come, and so did Afsana. I am just a soldier, Sally. You have powers that are needed here, not just for Yount but to help Karket-soom as well. Please, we need your help — we cannot find our way home without you.”
Just before he exited, Nexius turned and spoke again: “Please, I will be with you through anything and everything. I am not proud of what happened in Bombay. I was only a young Marine onboard that ship and knew not what Loositage did until much later. Still, it troubles me. Sitterjee is not the only one in the story who seeks to put right an old wrong.”
The next day, a Prannish-Day, Nexius was nowhere to be found. Barnabas would not come out of his room, and Sanford stayed with him. Sally went to the Lord-Chancellor, who agreed to arrange a meeting for Sally and Tom with Afsana, that very afternoon as Sally insisted. Tom and Sally entered the garden.
Oh my, orchids as gorgeous as in Merian’s paintings, thought Sally. Red carnations, masses of carnations, a colibri like those in Catesby. Surely there is smilax here somewhere for Uncle Barnabas.
Isaak raced across a flowerbed in pursuit of the black squirrel with the lavish tail. The squirrel scrambled up a nutmeg tree, but Isaak made another discovery: someone sitting on the far side of the fountain. Watching Isaak stalk, Sally saw the figure as well and strode forward.
Sally and Afsana caught sight of one another at the same time, and both cried out. They had seen each other before — in Sally’s dreams on the Gallinule. Sally and Afsana studied each other, as Isaak circled them both. Each saw a mirror of the other, a pale Afsana, a dark Sally, the same cheekbones, each with a chin just a little too small for their faces. Sally remembered the half-moon earrings and the silver threading in Afsana’s hair.
“You called out to me,” said Sally, without any introduction. “In my dream, the first time.”
“In the dream, you startled me,” answered Afsana. “I was dreaming too, and suddenly you appeared, very forcefully. I had a feeling of great danger. I called a warning to you: ‘Beware.’”
Tom caught up with her. The apprentice from Mincing Lane took off his cap and looked nervous. Tom cleared his throat, hoped Sally would say something. When she did not, he bowed like one of the jointed wooden toys one could buy at the Christmas markets in London, and introduced himself. Afsana gestured to the benches and they all sat. Sally moved to speak but, before she could, Isaak leaped into Afsana’s lap.
“Look at that!” said Tom. “Isaak never takes to strangers! She is always grumpy, except with Sally and the cook.”
Sally watched as Isaak turned once in Afsana’s lap and curled up. Afsana tried to contain her astonishment, but Isaak conquered her discipline, and Afsana laughed.
One part of her wants the other part to stop laughing, thought Sally. And she does not wish us to see her inner struggle. Still, her laughter would not be out of place in Mincing Lane.
Afsana composed herself. Hesitantly she pet Isaak, who purred loudly enough for all to hear. Tom stared and shook his head, expecting Isaak to dig her claws into Afsana’s blue silk dress and then pounce off after some distraction in the garden. But Isaak did not, only burrowed her head more fully into her tail.
“I have the advantage,” said Afsana, “since I knew about you whereas you did not know about me. The Queen and the Learned Doctors told me I was to meet my father at last. About my father I have heard my entire life. I did not know I had English cousins until just recently, when the Learned Doctors said that my father had been accompanied here by his niece and nephew, and two other members of his household.”
Not knowing what to say, Tom said, “Scottish, actually. We’re Scots from Edinburgh, at least originally. Though we’ve lived most of our lives in London, so I guess — ” Tom stopped and wished his sister would say something. Afsana stared right at Tom so that he felt compelled to say still more. “Anyway, your English is frightfully good. How did you come by it?”
Afsana, blinking once, said, “English is my birthright, just as it is yours. My grandfather spoke it fluently since he dealt with British — is that better? — merchants. My mother had some English. She insisted I learn it so I could speak with my father when he came back for me.”
Tom interrupted her. “Uncle Barnabas is a good man.”
Afsana reared her head and said something in a language Sally and Tom did not know, Hindi perhaps. Sally raised her hands, hugged herself, to curb the anger she felt. What she wasn’t certain of was whether the anger was at Afsana or at Uncle Barnabas. Probably both, she decided. Isaak looked up at Afsana’s face, nestled back into her lap. Sally was determined to change the subject, as nearly impossible as that might be.
“They told us you have been here five years,” Sally said. Afsana shrugged, letting the question of Barnabas’s goodness rest. She told the McDoons about her life in Yount: that she lived in the Palace as a special ward of the Crown, that the Learned Doctors spoke with her frequently, that her only real confidante was the Rabbi of Palombeay, and that she had little to do since opening the second lock on the moon in the Temple.
“The Yountians hunger for our presence,” Afsana said, touching one of her half-moon earrings. “They honour us Karket-soomi, need us for their escape from exile. Yet they are wary of us at the same time, and some, perhaps a growing number, are afraid of us. Though their fear is not so different from what I experienced in the Big World.”
“In Edinburgh they feared our grandmother, said she was a witch,” said Sally, nodding.
I wonder what people in London would say about me now, if they knew what I can do, she thought. Call me a dangerous lunatic, the way they’ve done with Joanna Southcott. Mrs. Sedgewick might understand. Not many others.
Tom said, “The Yountians hate the Cretched Man, but he is, well, their opponent only because he must be, and in Yount’s best interest, even though they don’t see it that way. Oh, Quatsch, the point is that people fear the unusual and don’t always know who their real enemies are.”
Afsana looked for the first time with interest at Tom. She asked Tom about
the Cretched Man and, for a while, conversation centred on Jambres’s role as gatekeeper, his subordination to Strix Tender Wurm, and the opening of the Door at the Sign of the Ear. Sally spoke little, listening to the way in which Afsana posed questions. Light in the garden faded as the sun disappeared over the courtyard roof, the citrus fruits glowing yellow and the carnations glowing red in the dusk. Isaak twitched a paw as she dozed in Afsana’s lap.
Afsana said, “I felt the Door opening and the emergence of the Owl-Wurm. I was very afraid.”
“I felt you, but not in the Temple,” said Sally. “You were in the chorus when we sang the ship, the Gallinule, out of Silence.”
“Yes,” said Afsana. “I did not know what was happening and had no idea who you were. I simply answered a call. I did not tell the Doctors, or even the Queen, about that.”
The sun sank farther. Sally thought she saw in the shadowed bushes a pheasant, looking very much like the indigo bird on her favourite china. She rubbed her eyes. The hummingbird hovered for several seconds just above their heads, its gorget glowing in the dimness. They all stopped talking to watch the bird. Isaak woke up and watched too.
Afsana said with a sudden fierce urgency, “Do not tell anybody everything! Tell as little as you can. Guard your hopes, keep them small, or you will always be disappointed!”
Her emotion caused Isaak to jump off her lap. The cat sat at her feet for a moment, looking up, and then trotted to Sally. Tom and Sally each had a question but Afsana stood up like a fist being thrust into the heavens, cutting off further conversation.
Sally stood up and said, “I do not know that I agree but I believe I understand some of your reasons for saying what you do.”
Afsana, perhaps because Isaak was gone, retreated into the icy reserve she had brought with her to the meeting. Sally saw Afsana peering at her with suspicion. The young woman from Oman turned and walked away. Sally walked after her, but Tom was even quicker. He caught Afsana gently by the elbow. Afsana pulled her elbow away so that her bracelet jingled but she stopped. She did not look at Tom, or at Sally as Sally joined them. The three cousins stood in a tableau against the banks of carnations as the sun disappeared and the first stars appeared through the glass of the Winter Garden.
Tom spoke first: “Afsana, this makes little sense to us either — any of it. Not long ago I was an apprentice scratching all day in ledger books. My biggest worry was what play I might see that evening.”
Afsana turned then, with narrowed eyes, and hissed, “Yes, exactly! Your biggest worry was a . . . a trivial thing! All my life I have lived waiting for a father who deserted my mother and who cared to know nothing of me. All my life, do you understand? A father who, it seems, cursed me doubly by giving me powers that cut me off from the few who do love me!”
Sally felt the falcon in her rise up, but Tom was steady. He said, “We are sorry for your suffering. Uncle Barnabas needs to speak with you about that. He will, I am sure of it, from his heart.”
The granddaughter of Khodja merchants stood up so straight it seemed she might lift right off the ground, and said, “You might be confident but only because he has been to you the father that has not been to me.”
Sally could not restrain herself longer, crying out, “But how could he be a father to you, when he did not know of you? Had he known . . .”
Afsana glared at Sally, her eyes flashing in the starlight, and yelled, “He did know! My mother sent him a message. He never answered! He did not wish to know me.”
Quietly Tom said, “He did not know. The Learned Doctors destroyed the message. He never received it. Here’s what Nexius told us yestereve.”
Afsana displayed no emotion as she listened. When Tom finished, Afsana brushed by him and walked back to the benches. The garden was dark but slivers of starlight reflected off the water and the marble and the jade. Afsana sat a long time on the bench. Sally and Tom came back to her.
At last, Afsana said, “I surprise myself but I believe you. I want to hear this from my father as well.”
“You will,” said Tom.
Afsana said, “My life has not been mine to control. I did not ask for this, any of this.”
“Neither did we,” said Tom.
Sally shook her head and said, “But we did wish ourselves to come, Tom . . . you and I. You as well, Afsana . . . cousin. We three were born with this longing. The question is, what shall we do with it?”
Together the cousins thought about Sally’s question while they contemplated the moonless sky. They sat listening to the water from the fountain. The sky above was fabulous with stars. Tom caught glints from Afsana’s earrings, saw the sheen of her glossy black hair. He heard her bracelet jingle as she moved her hand to stroke Isaak, who was weaving around her and Sally.
Afsana looked up to the stars and said, “No moon here, but elsewhere . . . We Muslims reckon time by the lunar calendar, so I know that tonight the moon should be nearly full.”
Cole-Month slipped into Grappling-Month, and headed towards the winter solstice. Barnabas met Afsana every day at noon in the Winter Garden. They talked for hours, sometimes until sunset. Sally let Barnabas bring Isaak (and Isaak would suffer Barnabas’s transport), to Afsana’s delight. On the days when Isaak curled up in Afsana’s lap, the conversations between father and daughter were much less fraught than when Isaak was absent.
“Buttons and beeswax,” said Barnabas to Sally after one of his visits to the garden. “Isaak shall dine on fresh fish every day forever, even if I must catch the fish myself!”
Sally and Tom would meet with Afsana in the garden for an hour or so before Barnabas appeared. The conversation was not always fruitful: sometimes Afsana fell into icy indifference and sometimes she raged at Barnabas and sniped at Tom and Sally for defending him. Sally lost her temper more than once, usually on days when she let Barnabas bring Isaak. Throughout, Tom stayed calm. He wanted nothing more in the world than to be sure his sister and cousin were friends. On one particularly trying day, he laughed and said, “The Three Graces, we are assuredly not! The Three Blind Mice is more like it!” After explaining the references, Afsana smiled too, despite herself. So it went day after day as the McDoons struggled to find a place for an unexpected family member and Afsana struggled to decide whether she should find a place and, if so, on what terms.
In the afternoons, Sally visited Reglum Bammary, who was continuing his recuperation back on station at the Marines’ Analytical Bureau. The A.B., or Abbey as Reglum called it, was located in a modern building on Immer’s Canal, across the river from the Palace. Two days before the winter solstice and the kjorraw ceremony, after a vexing session with Afsana (who, if Sally were fair about it, had equal reason to be angry at Sally), Sally fled with relief to the A.B. and found Reglum free of bandages for the first time since the skirmish. They walked to the Department for Fulgination, to show off Reglum’s “new” shoulder to Dorentius Bunce. Sally loved Dorentius’s office, which contained piles of specially made graph paper filled with notations and symbols and a huge slateboard filled with more scribblings, besides all sorts of books, globes, and maps and several ansible-devices in various states of repair.
“Hello book-weevil,” said Reglum on this day, waving his arm ostentatiously in front of Dorentius’s face.
“Hello yourself, nib-whittler,” answered Dorentius, who, seeing Sally, said, “Or perhaps I should demonstrate that Cantabrigians are true gentlemen by congratulating you, sir, on being named the new editor of the catalogue.”
Sally said, “Well . . . ?”
“Youngest editor ever, in fact,” said Dorentius. “For the Phorcydiana, which is the Catalogue of Monsters and Goettical Creatures, one of the A.B.’s most important projects. After fulgination, of course, but otherwise quite worthy.”
Reglum said, with pride that belied his words, “Oh, zattipatti, they probably just wanted to be nice to a chap who won’t be much use with a sword for a while.”
“So, Reglum, show Sally, take her up to your
department,” said Dorentius with an expectant look and a small flourish. “You won’t find any monsters down here, no ‘centaurs, gorgons or harpies, no, our work relates to mankind.’”
Neither Sally nor Reglum reacted to his last statement, causing Dorentius to sigh. “Oh, what’s the use of learning dead languages from Karket-soom if not even you two get the reference?”
In his new office, Reglum said to Sally, “We Yountians started the Catalogue of Monsters & Goettical Creatures over seven hundred years ago. It’s a running treatise of comparative anatomy and interpretative biology to match the descriptions reported by the two to four strong ships sent out each year. Never-ending work, more data pours in every year.”
He showed Sally page proofs, plate after plate of exotic creatures with detailed descriptions.
“Vizomri oon bjetti?” she said. “What would you call these in English?”
Reglum frowned and said, “Little Goblin Butchers, something like that. See how they have a cleaver-like bone at the end of their arms, instead of hands or paws? Only three feet tall but very fast. Tentacles around the mouth to pull in what they chop off.”
Sally turned to the next page. Reglum frowned again, saying, “The Pendryre-Bird, like a giant woodpecker. Feeds on brains.”
Reglum cleared his throat and added, “These are proofs for a section about species that can fulginate. The little butchers infested several islands in the southern Liviates last century — took us two years to hunt them all down. There’s a similar story for each creature described in this section, and it is not a short section.”
Sally turned the page, found herself looking at a picture of a horghoid with its multiple mouths and six arms, pushed the pages away and said, “Is it really nothing but monsters out there?”
Reglum scratched at his sore shoulder and looked out the window at the harbour before answering. “That’s not really a question of biology, which I am qualified to answer, so much as a question of philosophy — or theology — or state policy, none of which I am qualified to address as such.”
The Choir Boats Page 29
