Trinka and the Thousand Talismans

by Christy Jones

Chapter Eight

  Of Castles and Cousins

  Throughout the journey, Trinka felt surprisingly calm. But as the swift motion of the carriage abruptly halted and she felt Ghert’s big hands lifting her out into the unknown, she found that the nervousness she had felt in school was nothing compared to this. Her feet touched the ground, and Trinka saw that it was not the hard-packed sand of the market street beneath her boots but a smooth, polished surface like a river of white stone, flowing in wide sweeping steps from a huge, black door. From there, her eyes floated up higher still, taking in the sweeping archways of windows without glass, only patterns of sand-colored stone, criss-crossing over each other like a loosely woven basket. She could see a tower rising from each corner of the building, perched upon a cliff of red rock that blocked her view of whatever lay beyond.

  “Come on now,” Pimlico urged her impatiently. “I do have other deliveries to make.”

  Grudgingly, Trinka put aching foot onto the lowest step. She glanced back and saw Ghert standing by like a guard animal.

  Pimlico drew a small object between his thumb and forefinger. It made a single click, and suddenly Trinka’s tired legs snapped to attention and began taking her quickly up the steps. She moved as fast as if the talaria were taking her, only her feet didn’t dance through the air but marched stiffly until she stood gasping for breath at the top of the steps.

  Pimlico smiled with satisfaction and slipped the talisman back into his sash, then rapped sharply on the black door.

  The imposing gate immediately swung wide to reveal a tall, severe-looking woman in a starched, floor-length garment as black as the door itself. Without a word, she looked Trinka over sharply. For a moment, Trinka wondered if she could be rejected from household slavery as easily as she had been rejected from everything else, but the woman in black handed the man his payment. Pimlico grabbed it and positively scampered down the stairs.

  “Right this way,” she announced crisply.

  Trinka took one glance back at the bottom of the stairway, where all she could see in the glowering dark was the bright form of Ghert, arms akimbo. She swallowed hard and followed the black back in front of her. They made their way down a narrow passageway, then stepped into a room that rivaled the atrium in the City of Mirrors. The ceiling soared above them in wide arches hung with long, embroidered rugs that swayed gently as if there were a breeze indoors.

  “In here.” The woman stopped abruptly, and Trinka collided with her back. The effect was like walking into a stone wall. She peered nervously at the grand figure who appeared before them. Her face looked long and pinched, with unusually high eyebrows, a long nose, and pursed lips that positively glittered with red dye. Her long, black hair was swept up in tight coils beneath a fan-shaped green and gold hat, while her wide skirts slid across the floor as if she had no legs at all, like a puppet being worked by people hidden by the curtains underneath.

  “Madam Vashti, your new servant,” the woman in the black dress announced. “And Bahir Faruq is here to see you as well.”

  “Ah, excellent,” Vashti answered. She seated herself at a small table cooled by enormous white fans that swung themselves gracefully up and down as if held by unseen hands.

  “I’m sorry to delay our visit, Faruq,” Vashti stated, as a white-haired man with glowing golden skin stepped past Trinka and took a chair beneath the swinging, white feathers. “I just purchased a new watering girl, and I wanted to see her so she understands what it means to serve in this household.”

  “Well, isn’t she cute,” Bahir Faruq smiled at Trinka as the woman in black pushed her forward into the room.

  “That skirt,” Vashti exclaimed in dismay, “is much too short!”

  Trinka looked down, puzzled, to where her hemline came just above the tops of her boots. “It’s the only one I have,” she began.

  “Wherever did you get that horrible blonde hair?” Vashti interrupted.

  Trinka’s cheeks flushed. She had never really considered her hair blonde—just a brownish mess—but she nervously twisted the ends of it in her fingers.

  “I’ve never seen a color like that on any slave from the marketplace. Are you from Brace?” She daintily took a sip from a small, red glass she held loosely in her long, white fingers.

  “I’m from Ellipsis, actually,” Trinka stammered.

  “You look awfully stocky for that,” Vashti returned bluntly.

  “My father was―is―from Brace,” Trinka explained, wishing she could float away from there with the white fans.

  Vashti wrinkled her nose distastefully.

  “And my mother was from Apostrophe.”

  “Really?” Vashti asked dryly, taking another sip from her cup. “What was her name?”

  “Ashira.”

  The cup shattered into hundreds of fragments as it suddenly dropped from Vashti’s grip and hit the table. Her hand flew to her chest. Her eyelids fluttered for a moment, and her expression bore a strong resemblance to the way Trinka had looked when she had first tasted Kolinkar’s cooking. Quickly, Vashti uncorked a small bottle, inhaled its fragrance, and then drank the contents in a single gulp. She smiled faintly, and a bit of color trickled back into her cheeks. Her hand still clutched at her necklaces, and her breathing came uneasily. With a look that Trinka surmised was mounting dislike, Vashti rose slowly and surveyed Trinka closely.

  “Well, it’s of no consequence,” she said firmly, her shaky fingers still gripping at her little vial.

  “Ashira, Brace―why she’s your sister’s child!” Bahir Faruq exclaimed.

  “Thank you, Faruq. I do know my own sister’s name,” Vashti answered coldly. “This is an odd coincidence, nothing more.”

  “You know only one person can be registered to each name,” Faruq countered. He stood up to look at Trinka more closely. “She must be the one.”

  Trinka’s breath caught in her throat. But that must mean… “Is my mother here?” she finally asked, her throat nearly closing in anticipation.

  “No, she isn’t. She is far away, and you will not ask any more questions. You will go about your chores quickly and quietly as Beatrice directs.”

  “Ah, Vashti,” Bahir Faruq smoothly butted in, “If the young lady is your relative, the decree of Hamatha the Great bars you from having her in your household as a slave.”

  “Very well, I shall call Pimlico and have him return me her price and find her a more suitable situation at once.”

  “But she’s your niece,” Faruq objected. “You can’t sell her any more than you can sell your own daughters. I’m afraid,” he continued, settling back in his chair, “that you have lost the money and gained a family member.”

  Vashti’s lip curled, and she looked ready to stand up and strike someone, but instead she gripped her fingers around another glass from the center of the table.

  “As always, Faruq, you have a supreme social conscience,” she snarled. “I will have her stay with my own daughters. Beatrice, show her to Jamilah and Sabirah’s room.”

  Trinka’s eyes snuck to the right, then to the left as she followed Beatrice down the hall. Every few paces an entry to a new corridor appeared, leading off into unknown directions, or an alcove curved into the wall, creating hollows filled with massive statues. Each alcove was lined with brilliantly colored jewels or tapestries, their shining color making the plain, white marble figurines in front of them look almost illuminated.

  Trinka wondered how large Vashti’s palace (or, she supposed, Aunt Vashti’s place) really was. If the downstairs had been any indication, it must stretch farther than an entire village in Ampersand. She looked forward to exploring it but only hoped she didn’t have to clean it all. Trinka wanted to ask a million questions, about the palace, her aunt, her cousins, her mother.

  “This way, please,” Beatrice’s sharp voice interrupted her thoughts. She opened a door and steered Trinka inside.

  “Girls, this is your cousin Trinka. She just arrived, and your mother would like her to stay with y
ou in your room,” Beatrice announced crisply to the two girls who stood at opposite ends of a very odd table set in the center of the room.

  The taller girl’s mouth fell open, while the shorter girl dropped the paddle she was holding with a clatter and then wrinkled her nose in distaste.

  “Supper will be served at the usual time. Good-bye girls.” Beatrice shut the door firmly, leaving Trinka to stare back in silence at her “new” cousins as the last sound of Beatrice’s footsteps echoed down the hall.

  “We don’t want her in here!” the shorter girl whined loudly, as if her protest had been delayed by her shock.

  “Well, I don’t want you in here either, but I’m stuck with you,” the other girl retorted.

  “I didn’t even know we had another cousin,” the whiny girl complained.

  “That’s because you don’t know anything!” her sister snapped.

  With a look of outrage, the younger girl picked up her dropped paddle and swatted a ball at her sister. It missed, bounced off the table, and rolled across the smooth floor until it disappeared under a plush, pink settee.

  “Well,” the older girl demanded impatiently, thrusting her paddle toward Trinka. “Go get it!”

  Without a word, Trinka retrieved the ball and handed it to the taller sister, who snatched it up and hit it back to the other side of the table, scoring a direct hit on her sister’s forehead.

  “Hey!” the girl shrieked. “What was that for?”

  “You should know, you started it!”

  “I was only playing. You just didn’t hit it!”

  Trinka’s eyes slowly wandered as the arguing continued. Her cousins’ playroom was the size of a small palace all by itself. Numerous comfortable-looking settees faced the window, piled high with tassel-cornered cushions of all shapes and sizes. A small table surrounded by high-backed, pink and red chairs stood closest to the window, and the table top was set with a neat, white cloth and dishes that seemed to be carved from single jewels. They sparkled in the brightness, and produced drips and puddles of rainbow lights all over the ceiling and walls. A bar strung with countless numbers of fancy dresses ran all along the back wall, which was about twice the length of the entire school in Parthalan.

  “What’s the matter, can’t you hear?” a demanding voice interrupted her thoughts.

  “I’m sorry, I was just admiring your room,” Trinka explained.

  “Nice, isn’t it?” the shorter girl said smugly.

  “Except for having you in it,” her taller sister retorted.

  “You mean it’s nice except for having her in it,” she countered, pointing a stubby finger at Trinka.

  Trinka sighed inside. It isn’t going to be easy getting along with two people who so obviously don’t want to, she thought as she racked her brains for something to say that they wouldn’t argue over.

  “So which one of you is Jamilah and which is Sabirah?” she asked.

  “I am!” they both shouted simultaneously.

  The two girls glared at each other.

  “I’m Jamilah,” the older girl edged her sister out. “And she is not even worth talking to!”

  “I would be if you weren’t talking all the time!”

  “So where do you go to school?” Trinka tried to change the subject.

  “We don’t have to go to school,” Sabirah said smugly.

  “Because I’m already too smart, and she’s too stupid,” Jamilah returned with a hint of a satisfied smile.

  Sabirah’s mouth worked for a moment, but no sound came out, and Jamilah giggled as the spectacle seemed to prove her point.

  “Are you sure you’re our cousin?” Sabirah finally blurted.

  Trinka nodded.

  “Then how come we’ve never heard about you before?” she demanded.

  “I didn’t know about you either, until today,” Trinka admitted. “I didn’t even know my mother had a sister.”

  The two girls drew in audible breaths and looked at each other without arguing for the first time since Trinka had entered the room.

  “You’re Ashira’s daughter?” Jamilah demanded.

  Trinka nodded solemnly.

  “You can’t be!” Sabirah insisted. “Aunt Ashira doesn’t have any kids! She’s not even married yet.”

  “How do you know?” Jamilah immediately objected.

  “Everybody knows,” Sabirah said defensively.

  “Well, you aren’t everybody, you’re a nobody,” Jamilah returned. “When was the last time you saw her?” she asked Trinka.

  Trinka’s breath caught in her chest, and she wished she hadn’t brought up the subject.

  “She left when I was little,” Trinka explained quietly. “She had a fight with my dad. My older brother left for Ampersand a few years later, and my dad went back to Brace after that.”

  “You’re a liar!” Sabirah shouted. “Ashira can’t be your mother!”

  “Be quiet!” Jamilah yelled at her sister. Sabirah threw herself stomach-first onto one of the settees, her underskirts flopping out as she put her legs in the air behind her.

  “Sabirah, don’t do that. It’s not ladylike,” Jamilah reprimanded her.

  “Neither is hitting someone in the head with a ball,” she batted her eyelashes innocently.

  Trinka wished she could escape from that room. And more importantly, from its occupants. (Without them, the room might be quite interesting.)

  “You started it!” Jamilah returned.

  “No, you did. You were born first,” Sabirah sneered.

  “You’re lucky you don’t have a sister,” Jamilah confided loudly to Trinka. She grabbed her arm and steered her onto the settee that was farthest away from Sabirah.

  “Actually, I do,” Trinka began as Jamilah roughly pulled her into a sitting position.

  “She doesn’t even have cousins. She’s just a liar,” Sabirah protested.

  “Fine, have it your way. I am a liar. I wasn’t born at all!” Trinka responded in exasperation. Her cousins fell silent for a moment, and Trinka blushed. What had made her words rush out like that?

  “Have you ever seen my mother?” Trinka asked her cousin quietly.

  “That depends,” Jamilah answered haughtily. “I have seen Ashira, but in a way, I’ve never seen your mother.” Trinka tried to figure out what that might mean, but Sabirah broke in.

  “Let’s go back to playing habbatoe. I was winning.”

  “You were not. And besides, that’s only for two people.”

  “So? I don’t want to play with her.”

  “Well, I do,” Jamilah huffed. “It’s better than playing with you all day. Come on,” she said to Trinka. “I want tea.”

  “I want some too!” Before Jamilah and Trinka could take a step closer, Sabirah scuttled around the small table and took over the red chair that Trinka was about to sit in.

  Biting her tongue, Trinka stepped around her and sat in a pink one. Her stomach grumbled loudly as Jamilah took the lid off a plate piled high with what looked kind of like vanity cakes, except they were covered with a thick, fluffy substance and dotted with brightly colored candies.

  “Isn’t it almost dinner time?” she asked hopefully.

  “Who cares? We can have as many cakes as we want,” Jamilah answered.

  As Trinka watched both of her cousins shove pieces of cake into their mouths, she quietly reached for one.

  “She said we can have as many as we want, not you!” Sabirah sneered.

  Trinka was about to forget the piece of cake and give her cousins a piece of her mind when she felt something wriggling and bumping against her chest. Startled, her hand flew to the front of her dress, but she felt only the talismans strung, hidden, around her neck.

  “What’s the matter?” Jamilah demanded, and before Trinka could answer, a series of sharp toots and tweets whistled through the room. Then all was silent for a moment. Trinka stood staring faintly at her cousins, and they stared back. Sabirah opened her mouth to speak just as two balls of bright pin
k and yellow fuzz erupted from the whistles around Trinka’s neck, hit Sabirah full in the face, and then zoomed toward the ceiling.

  Sabirah spluttered, then began screaming as she knocked over her chair and started hopping up and down first on one foot, then the other. Ickle and Fiszbee raced down and hovered near her shoulders.

  “Oooh,” they cried in unison.

  “That was a beautiful noise,” Fiszbee proclaimed.

  “And a wonderful dance,” Ickle added. “Will you do it again?”

  By this time Sabirah had stopped hopping, but her scream pierced the air afresh as Ickle brushed lightly against her face before whizzing back up toward the ceiling. The two of them raced about, reveling in the awful noise and obviously glad to have escaped. When Sabirah quieted, they dropped and hovered near her again.

  “We like you,” they chorused and tried to snuggle into her hands. She tried to swat them away, but they only tumbled about, laughing with delight as if they thought this fun person obviously wanted to play!

  “Do something!” Sabirah finally shrieked to Jamilah, who still stood by in shocked silence. But Jamilah could not think of what to do, and, for the moment, neither could Trinka.

  “What is all this noise?” a sharp voice behind them demanded. The girls whirled to see the black form of Beatrice glaring down at them. As if in response, Ickle and Fiszbee zoomed right over her head in their race to the ceiling, making her short, stiff hair blow over so it stood completely on end.

  Sabirah’s high-pitch giggle shrieked throughout the room then quickly turned to real screaming as Ickle and Fiszbee rushed down to see her again.

  “That is so coooool!” Fiszbee exclaimed excitedly. The tip of his fuzz lightly brushed her face, and Sabirah jumped onto one of the settees, still screaming. Ickle and Fiszbee began racing around the room anew, spilling dresses from their hooks and knocking over the teacups.

  “Can’t you control your creatures?” Beatrice demanded.

  Trinka fumbled for the whistles, but the sight of her younger cousin throwing a full tantrum kept her from getting a firm noise. Resignedly, she handed them to Beatrice. Two commanding tweets pierced the air.

  “Nooo, not again,” Ickle buzzed as he was sucked back into the whistle.

  “Just when we were having soooo much fun,” Fiszbee added, brushing Sabirah’s cheek one last time before retreating.

  “Well, now that you’ve had a chance to visit your cousin,” Beatrice began. “I shall show her to the kitchen.”

  “She’s not really our cousin, she’s just an awful liar who attacked us with vicious monsters!” Sabirah sobbed.

  Jamilah rolled her eyes.

  “They’re not monsters,” Trinka protested. “They’re just pets who get out of control easily.” She took the whistles and hung them around her neck again.

  “And she can’t really be our cousin because Ashira’s not her mother!”

  “Yes, she is,” Trinka insisted, her cheeks growing hotter.

  “Well, if it is true, then Ashira only left because she didn’t want to be your mother.” Sabirah stuck out her tongue and flounced back to the other end of the room.

  Trinka had no response to that. Just a sinking feeling in her heart that it was true.

  “Come along now,” Beatrice commanded quietly. “We haven’t got much time left before supper. Hold this.” She handed Trinka a surprisingly heavy, curiously carved, white crystal stick that dangled from what looked like an upside-down purple saucer. “You’ll be needing it where you’re going…”