Текст книги "The Storyteller's Daughter"

Автор книги: Кэмерон Доки

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Chapter 11

A P L O T

And now, for a moment, we must leave Shahrayar and Shahrazad. Though they are the heart of this tale, a thing that is right and fitting for it is theirs. There are others who must be spoken of, for, without them, the tale cannot travel to its proper end.

I have told you how, in the time following his discovery of his first queens betrayal, Shahrayar locked himself in his highest tower and did not come down. Great was the fear and compassion his people had for him during these days—before he descended from the tower and all perceived that his heart had been turned to stone.

But what none perceived was that it was not Shahrayar alone whose heart was altered during this time.

There were others whose hearts were changed as well. First among them were the former queens brothers, and their hearts were transformed in this way: They were turned into pillars of flame that burned with a desire for revenge. Until it was accomplished or their lives were ended, the fire could never be put out.

Now, Shahrayar had been a prince before he had become a king, for that is the way things usually go.

And so it follows that his first bride had been a princess, daughter of a kingdom taken by Shahrayar's father in one of the many wars of conquest at which he so excelled.

The land he had conquered brought Shahrayar's father great wealth and, though he was glad he could now call it his, he did not want its people humbled too much. He wanted them to retain their pride, for they had become his people, and their pride had therefore become his.

So he married Shahrayar to the sister of the young king he had defeated. The princess was very beautiful, and this suited Shahrayar's father's plans well. For in this way, he hoped to secure both his son's happiness and the allegiance of those who had been his foes.

The prince and princess had been married two years and two days when Shahrayar's father died and Shahrayar ascended to the throne. They had been married three years and thirty days when Shahrayar stood in the garden beside his brother, Shazaman, and saw his wife embrace another. Heard them plot murder even while they murmured words of love. On that night, the marriage ended, for the queen died by her own hand, cursing Shahrayar as she did so.

When the queen's five brothers learned what she had done, at first, they were glad that she lived no more. For, by her actions, she had brought a stain upon their honor that could never be erased. But even as Shahrayar lay upon the tower floor changing the very fabric of his heart, so did the queens brothers begin to change their hearts as well.

The eldest was the first to put his feelings into words. Disgraceful as they surely were, were not their sister's actions actually all her husband's fault? he inquired of his brothers.

King Shahrayar had allowed his wife great liberties, a thing which was not wise, as the eldest brother had cause to know, for had he not been a king himself once?

But this Shahrayar had been so foolish as to create the very garden in which his queen and her lover had plotted against him. He had even gone so far as to proclaim it a place no one, not even he, himself, could enter but by the queen's will alone. Such dealings between men and women simply were not natural.

"Our eldest brother is right," the second declared, a thing that caused the others to stare at him in wonder for none could remember the last time he had agreed with his elder brother.

These brothers were not like Shahrayar and Shazaman. They were so jealous and quarrelsome, they disagreed about everything save the rising and setting of the sun. For these things seemed so sure and set in their course that even the brothers could find in them no fault.

"Women are weak creatures," the third brother said, now picking up the refrain. "They require great guidance and careful watching."

Surely "freedom" was a word that had no place in a woman's vocabulary, he went on. In fact, her vocabulary should contain as few words as possible: Husband. Obedience. Duty. Hearth. Home. These were words a woman should learn well. If she knew these, she need know little else.

"That is so." The fourth brother nodded wisely, though he did not yet have a wife of his own. "And to that end, women should be kept indoors, within their own households." This was not cruelty, but a kindness, he reasoned, for it was better for them so. Life inside the home was the only kind of life that women understood, the only kind they were capable of understanding.

At this, the brothers clasped hands across the brazier around which they were gathered, congratulating themselves on the fact that for once in their lives, they were in accord. Why all men did not think as they did, they could not tell. But this much, they did know: If women were allowed too much liberty, either of mind or of body, trouble was bound to be the inevitable result.

And so, by these degrees did the brothers convince themselves that the deeds of their sister had, in truth, been her husband's fault. And no sooner had they convinced themselves of this, than the desire to be revenged against him—and so remove the stain upon their honor—sparked up and began to glow red-hot.

For at Shahrayar's feet could be laid the true source of their shame: He had failed to govern his wife.

If a man could not govern his own wife, how could he be expected to govern a country? the brothers asked themselves. And so, at last, they convinced themselves of one final thing more: Removing Shahrayar would not simply be revenge. It would be justice, also.

And so they began to plot to remove Shahrayar and place the eldest brother upon the throne. But bringing down a king is no easy matter, as many who have tried it have discovered to their cost.

The eldest brother was all for action. "Let us raise an army and storm the palace!" he shouted, leaping to his feet.

The second brother pulled him back down with one quick yank on his arm. "Get a hold of yourself" he ordered sternly. "And keep your voice down. This we certainly shall do, but in secret and slowly. To raise an army takes money and time. Is there nothing that can be done till then?"

"What about poison?" the third brother inquired.

"Impossible," the fourth instantly scoffed. "We could never get close enough to Shahrayar. We're too well known."

"All right, then, we'll hire an assassin," the third brother countered, not yet ready to give up his idea.

But this suggestion only increased the fourth brother's scorn. "And pay him what? Have you forgotten that we've no money? Besides, paying someone else to do our dirty work is a risky business. They can always be bought again by someone else for a higher price. It's our honor that has been sullied. We should handle this ourselves."

"How?" the first brother spoke up again, glaring at the second and fourth brothers in turn. "You don't like our ideas, fine. At least we came up with something. That's more than I've heard from you two so far."

"You didn't come up with something, you came up with the most obvious thing," the second brother replied. And so the argument was off and running.

They quarreled for hours until their eyes grew scratchy with smoke from the brazier, and their voices grew hoarse. And at the end of this time, they still knew two things only: They must discover who could be found to bear arms to support them, for they could not hope to completely overcome Shahrayar on their own. In the meantime, the best way to keep an eye on him was from inside the palace. But who could be trusted to do this, they did not know. The brothers were about to retire to their separate chambers in frustration when the fifth and youngest brother spoke for the very first time.

“Let me go.”

At this, his elder brothers jumped like the guilty conspirators they were, for the truth was that they had entirely forgotten the presence of their youngest brother. They often did this, for he was but a youth of fourteen years old. More than old enough to join in their councils, according to their customs. But the youngest was unlike his older brothers in almost every regard. He was quiet and studious, slim and slight of build; not sturdy, boisterous and warlike as the others had been when they were young. The truth was that they did not understand him, mistaking his quiet air for inattention at best, and cowardice at worst. What they did not understand, they had chosen to ignore.

All the while as the others had been scheming and plotting, bickering and arguing, the fifth brother had been curled up like a mouse in the room's farthest corner. He had watched, and he had listened, but he had made no sound at all. Now his voice fell upon the ears of his brothers like a plunge into icy water, shocking them speechless.

The eldest was the first to recover. He strode to where his youngest brother was now sitting up straight and raised his hand to strike him. But the second brother grabbed his arm and held it motionless.

"What are you doing?” the third brother demanded angrily of the second brother, taking the first brother's side as always. He thought striking their youngest brother was a fine idea. It was the best way to impress the need for secrecy and silence upon him.

"Wait," the fourth brother counseled, stepping between his second and third brothers. He always took the second brother's side. In this way, the brothers were always balanced in their quarrels.

"We have discussed this matter fruitlessly for hours," the fourth brother reminded the others. "It is too late to prevent him from overhearing, for he has been here all along. Therefore, let us listen to what our youngest brother has to say."

"What he has to say?" the eldest brother mocked as he yanked his arm away from the second. "What can he have to say? He is just a boy."

"Exactly," his youngest brother piped up, unimpressed and unoffended by his eldest brothers show of temper. He had big fists, it was true, but his brain was small. Had he not allowed them to be conquered?

"Who pays attention to a mere boy? Not even you, my brothers. But those whom others do not notice may still see much, and they may do even more."

At his words, a sudden silence filled the room. It was broken when the second brother laughed suddenly. He leaned down and pulled his youngest brother to his feet.

"Are you not cold in this corner, small one? Come sit by the fire and tell us what it is you think you can accomplish that we cannot."

"Just this," his youngest brother said when all were seated around the brazier once more. "I can get into the palace. Once there, I can find a way to get close to King Shahrayar."

The first and third brothers both gave barks of derisive laughter, but the second and fourth leaned closer.

"How?"

"Many inside the palace know your faces, as you have already noted," the youngest brother said, "for they fought against you when our country was lost. But they do not know my face, for I was too young to fight. I have been inside the palace only once, on the day our sister was married to Shahrayar. Few had reason to notice me then. All eyes were on the prince and his bride."

"But you can't be sure," the eldest brother objected, more for form's sake than that he disagreed with what his youngest brother had said. There were principles and hierarchies to be maintained. Elder brothers deserved respect, not to be contradicted by those who were younger than they. "Someone may have noticed you."

"Why should they?" the youngest brother asked with a smile as sweet as a honey cake. "I am just a boy."

The second brother chuckled, causing his older brother's face to turn the color of sour wine.

"Suppose we get you a place in the palace," the third brother said. "What then? How will you accomplish what must be done?"

"I don't know yet," his youngest brother answered honestly. "How can I know ahead of time? I will keep my eyes and ears open as I always do. When the time comes, I will know, and I will seize it. I will cleanse the stain from our honor and be revenged upon King Shahrayar."

"Oh, this is nonsense!" the eldest brother exploded, leaping to his feet. "I will not trust something so important to one so young, this one least of all."

"Shut up and sit down!" the second and fourth brothers roared.

At this, all eyes turned to the third brother, the only one who had not yet indicated what he thought.

"For once, I must agree with the others," he said, a thing that caused the eldest brothers mouth to open and close like a fish out of water, for the third brother had never disagreed with him before.

"We have talked all night and come up with nothing," the third brother went on. "Perhaps a boy may accomplish what we may not. Why should he not have a chance? His dishonor is as great as ours."

And so it was decided. The very next day the second brother, whose brain was the most devious, found a way to send his youngest brother to the palace as kitchen help. It was below his station to be sure, but there was an advantage in this that could not be ignored: If others overlooked children, they overlooked servants even more. One who was both a servant and a child would therefore be all but invisible. So the second brother reasoned as he made his choice.

And so the youngest brother settled into life at the palace not long after Shahrayar came down from the tower. He was there when the vizier proclaimed Shahrayar's intent to take a wife again. He was there when the king wed Shahrazad. He even managed to have a hand in preparing the wedding feast, helping to carry it to Shahrayar's private quarters himself.

And, through it all, the youngest brother did what he did best: He watched. He waited. And he kept his eyes and ears open, never doubting that one day, his time would come.

Chapter 12

S H A H R A Z A D I S J O Y F U L , A N D T H E C O N S P I R A T O R S M A K E A D I S C O V E R Y

And so it came to pass that on the same bright morning that Shahrayar decided to spare Shahrazad's life for at least one more day, his first queen's youngest brother labored in the palace kitchens, keeping his ears open in between mopping his brow. Dinarzad was put to bed, having fallen asleep somewhere in the middle of her sister's story. And Shahrazad herself was reunited with the vizier, her father.

Their reunion was a joyful one, but it did not last long. For no sooner had Shahrazad returned to her old rooms and told her father what had come to pass than they were interrupted by a frantic pounding at the door. It was opened to reveal the chamberlain, his face bright red and his breath huffing in and out.

"My lord vizier, my lady Shahrazad—that is—I mean to say—Your Highness—," he panted.

"For heaven's sake," Nur al-Din cried out, genuinely alarmed. Never had he seen the chamberlain look like this, and he knew how important the other man's dignity was to him. Next to his love for the king, it was the thing he kept closest to his heart. "Stop worrying about getting our titles right and get to the point."

"The king," the chamberlain gasped out. "You must go to the king at once."

He was in his private audience chamber. Not the room he used for show, the one in which he and Shahrazad were wed, but the one from which he conducted the true business of running the country. It was simply furnished. At one end, tall windows looked out over the largest of the palace courtyards.

Though she could not see it, Shahrazad knew the room well, for her father had described it to her many times. She could tell at once that the windows were open, for into the room there came a sound like the movement of the sea, a sound that both swelled and swallowed itself up all in the same moment.

“I am glad you have come, Nur al-Din," Shahrayar said as the chamberlain ushered the vizier and his daughter into the room, then, at a wave of the king's hand, bowed himself back out again. No one hearing Shahrayar would have guessed at the bitterness which had so recently passed between him and his vizier.

"Let your daughter stand back from the windows, but come here yourself, and tell me what you make of what you see."

Shahrazad's father gave her arm a quick squeeze, then moved to do the king's bidding. After a moment he said, "It is a crowd, my lord."

"I can see that for myself, thank you," Shahrayar replied, his voice sharp. “It is their purpose that I cannot fathom. The captain of the guard said they began to gather before sunrise. I had him command them to disperse, but they refused. I fear this may be an uprising."

"They do not appear to be armed," Nur al-Din observed, though he had to admit Shahrayar might have good cause to be alarmed even so. Never had he seen so large a crowd assemble in the courtyard, save for the funeral procession honoring Shahrayar's father.

"Did your captain ask them why they had come?"

"I am the king," Shahrayar said. "Would you have me inquire of my own subjects?"

"Well, it does seem to be the most straightforward way of learning their intentions," the vizier said.

"I know why they have come," Shahrazad spoke up from behind them.

She heard the scrape of Shahrayar's sandals as he turned around.

"You what?"

“I know why they have come," she said again. "And why they have refused to leave. Are these things not plain to you also?"

Shahrayar made an exasperated sound. "If they were plain to me, I would hardly have had the chamberlain summon you and your father at a dead run. Stop talking in riddles, and tell me what you think you perceive that I do not."

The vizier's head swiveled back and forth as he watched the exchange. They speak to each other as if they have been married for years, he thought.

"They came to see an execution," Shahrazad said simply. "And they have refused to leave because they do not understand why there has not yet been one."

There was a beat of silence. In it, though Shahrazad could hear her own breath and—she thought—her father's, it seemed to her that Shahrayar breathed not at all and that even the voices in the courtyard below had fallen silent.

"You mean they came to see your execution," Shahrayar said at last. "Merciful God. What kind of a king am I that my people are so bloodthirsty?"

"It may not be that," Nur al-Din put in swiftly. "My first thought when I beheld this crowd is that I had not seen so many assembled since the passing of your father. Perhaps they do not come because they think my daughter's death will be a sport, but to pay witness and to honor her. By her death, many will live."

“I think that they are afraid," said Shahrazad.

"Afraid," Shahrayar echoed, struck. "By your actions, they have been spared. What have they to fear?"

"Your actions, my lord. What you have proclaimed must be has not come to pass. Does this bode well or ill? You alone can tell them."

"You think I should explain myself to my own subjects," Shahrayar said.

"I think you should allay the fears of the people who loved your father, and who love you, also,"

replied Shahrazad. "Fear makes people unpredictable. They become like—"

"Children," Shahrayar interrupted, for now he saw which way her thoughts were going. "Their fear makes them think of themselves alone. But I am king, and I must think of all."

"It is a wise king who thinks so," agreed the vizier.

Shahrayar gave a snort. "So you agree! I should have known. Very well. I will tell my people what is in my mind, for to me this course seems right and just. But I shall not do so alone. Let us stand together upon the balcony, Shahrazad, that all may look upon you when I proclaim that you are to live as long as your story does."

"As the king commands," Shahrazad said, and she moved to take her husbands hand and stand by his side.

And Shahrayar told his people what had taken place the night before. That Shahrazad had begun to tell him a story of such wondrous deeds, he could not bear to end her life until the tale was over. For as long as her story lasted, so would her life.

Upon hearing this news, the people wept with amazement and joy. For, in showing such mercy, it seemed to them that the king they had so loved had returned to them once more. And they laid this miracle at Shahrazad's door. So they shouted all together, with one great voice, "Long live Queen Shahrazad!"

But even though they lifted their voices as high as the rest, the former queens brothers looked at one another in triumph out of the corners of their eyes. For it seemed to them that Shahrayar had just put a weapon into their hands—one they had never expected to find there.

He had a weakness, and her name was Shahrazad.

C h a p t e r 1 3

S H A H R A Z A D R E S U M E S H E R T A L E

“Now," said Shahrazad that night, "where was I?"

"I know! I know!" Dinarzad cried. "You were telling about the king, and how he was well and truly. . . "

"Dinarzad," Shahrazad interrupted, laying a hand on her younger sisters head, for Dinarzad sat at her feet just as she had the night before. "Remember that this is not your story, but Shahrayar's."

At Shahrazad's words, Dinarzad caught her breath. How could she have forgotten herself so? she wondered. Her relief that her sister had been spared, her delight that Shahrazad's plan seemed to be working had driven every other thought from Dinarzad's mind. It had even made her forget her awe of Shahrayar.

I cannot afford to forget, she thought. Not while he holds Shahrazad's life so tightly in his hands.

She hung her head. “I beg your pardon, my lord."

"I wish you wouldn't," Shahrayar said easily from where he stood near the trunk. Never guessing what was in Dinarzad's thoughts, knowing only that he was secretly delighted that she was as interested in the story as he was. "To tell you the truth, I'm glad to know I'm not the only one who is so eager."

At his words, Dinarzad's face lit up in a surprised smile. Shahrayar smiled back. This is how it should be, he thought. Comfortable. Like a family. And suddenly his whole body was flooded with so many different sensations that he could make no sense of any of them, and he sat down upon the lid of the trunk.

"My lord!" Dinarzad cried in alarm. "Are you all right?"

"I think so," Shahrayar replied, though the truth was, he was far from certain. When had the room grown so warm? "It's just—perhaps a glass of something cool to drink?"

"Dinarzad," Shahrazad said. "Ring for a servant, and have him bring His Majesty a cup of water from the deepest well."

Dinarzad did as her sister instructed while Shahrayar sat motionless upon Maju the Storyteller’s ebony trunk, a great tingling filling all his limbs, but most particularly the region of his heart. The room around him began to shimmer, and suddenly it seemed to Shahrayar that he could see his future unfurling like a great silk ribbon before him.

He blinked, for his eyes were all but blinded by the vision's textures, its richness, and its color. The life he suddenly envisioned blazed with possibilities, and the greatest one of all was the one he least expected: the possibility for love.

But as yet this chance was nothing more than a bright glimmer in the distance. To reach it, Shahrayar perceived that he would have to pass through places where he could not see his way straight, if at all.

Places where the road was filled with traps and shadows. With a thousand nameless, faceless, unguessed-at things that could deprive him of the love for which he suddenly so longed. And just the thought of these dangers twisted like knives in his heart.

For the first time, he began to understand just what he had made of himself in his high tower. For the first time he began to perceive just how terrible it would be to live a life that was truly without love. Worse than terrible—it would be impossible.

Then Shahrazad spoke, and the vision wavered and vanished.

"Here is some cool water, my lord."

Shahrayar blinked again and saw Dinarzad's concerned face bending over him. "Thank you," he said.

And he took the cup and drained it in one long swallow. "Now," he went on, rising to his feet and tossing his cup to the young serving boy hovering in the background, "let us have our story."

And so saying, he knelt and opened the trunk. The cloth came to his hand as if it had been waiting for him. He took it out and brought it once more to Shahrazad. And as he placed it in her hands, he thought he heard her sigh. Shahrayar took up his same place among the cushions. Dinarzad curled at her sister's feet as she had the night before.

"Now, let me see," Shahrazad said as her fingers roamed the cloth. "Oh, yes. The king was well and truly. . . "

Lost, Shahrayar thought.

"Lost. Or so he feared when he realized he had been walking for as long as he could remember, yet seemed no closer to reaching the stream at the bottom of the mountain than he was when he had left the seer and started out. And in all that time, the sun had neither risen nor set, but the king had walked through a pearl-colored twilight.

"Without warning, the words of the seer came back to haunt him. Had she not said his way would be both hard and long? So great did the king's fear become when he remembered this, he came to a complete stop, and for many moments was unable to go on.

"Oh, get a hold of yourself, he commanded himself finally. Stop acting like a baby and start actinglike the king you are. You can't really be lost. You're still on the mountain, after all.

"Besides, the seer had not said that his way would be long and hard no matter what. It would be so only if he saw his desire and claimed it not. The king still considered this possibility highly unlikely.

"Remember you are in a place of enchantment, he reminded himself. And at this, he grew incensed at the unfairness of it all. How were mere mortals supposed to find their way when those who were more than mortal made all the rules but would not reveal what they were ahead of time?

"As a king, he could not approve of such a thing. And so, by degrees, instead of allowing his fear to make him humble and careful, the king worked himself up to a fit of righteous indignation. And because of this, he lost his caution as thoroughly as he had lost his way.

'"I want off of this mountain,' he declared.! don't care how.'

"Now I will share with you a thing that Maju once shared with me," Shahrazad confided to her sister and husband, her voice melodic and low. "And that is that you should always think at least twice before you speak your innermost thoughts aloud. And more than twice in a place of enchantment where things may have ears that do not in the day-today world.

"And if things that do not usually have ears suddenly possess them, it may be that they have mouths and tongues and wills also. And if they have these things, who knows what they can do?"

"Thus the king soon discovered when he heard a voice declare, 'Let me help you.'

"At this, the king was so startled that he lost his footing, tumbled to the ground, and began to roll.

Down, down, down the mountain he went, taking quantities of earth and rocks with him as he tumbled along. Just as he was sure his very bones would be crushed within him, the miracle occurred.

"Thump!

"With a great crash, the king collided with something. A thing that made a grunt and a cry. He was no longer rolling, and for that the king was grateful. But he was also cross, for the thing that had stopped him was treading on his beard, which suddenly seemed much longer than the king recalled. No sooner had it ceased to tread on his beard than it pulled his hair, which brought tears to his eyes. And so, instead of speaking in gratitude, the king spoke sharply.

'"Stop that! Why don't you watch where you're going, you great oaf?

"Now, I'm sure you will agree that this was hardly the way to speak to another person, for so this thing turned out to be. Particularly a young man whose strong and sturdy body may have just prevented yours from rolling right off the side of a mountain. But by now the king was feeling so altogether thwarted, tricked, and vexed that he no longer cared for anyone but himself and so he no longer cared how he sounded.

'"What are you doing here? he demanded crossly as he got to his feet and did his best to dust himself off. 'How dare you bump and bruise me? Don't you care who I am at all?

""Not in the least,' the young man said. 'Why should I? I am on a great quest to find my long-lost father. I was doing just fine until you came tumbling down upon me. A thing which probably saved your life, by the way. You might try being a little nicer.'

"'I most certainly will not!' roared the king. "The least you could have done was to notice me coming and get out of the way.'

'"If I had noticed you, I would have,' the young man roared back, 'but you came from out of nowhere.'

All of a sudden his eyes narrowed. 'Perhaps that was your intention,' he said. 'Perhaps you rolled into me on purpose to thwart me in my quest.'

'"Oh, don't be so ridiculous,' the king snapped. I've never met your father, and if you're the best he can do for a son, I'm not surprised that you haven't either. He probably ran away from you. All I'm trying to do is to get off this mountain.'

"At this, the young man pointed downhill. 'Try going that way,' he said.

'"I know that!' the king shouted. 'What do you take me for, a total idiot?'

'"No, only a rude, insensitive boor who rolls into people and then yells at them for no reason,' the young man shouted right back.

"At this, the king lost his temper so completely he did a thing which, had he been himself, would have shamed him deeply. He picked up a stone, intending to bring it crashing down upon the young man's head.

But no sooner had he raised it high than to his complete and utter astonishment, the stone spoke and said, Your wish is my command.'

"The young man gave a yelp and jumped back. As for the king, he was so amazed, he almost dropped the stone right on his foot.

'"Did you say something?' the king asked.

"The young man gaped, his mouth wide open, his eyes as big and round as two full moons.

'"Of course I did,' the stone replied. 'I said, your wish is my command.'