Crescent in the Sky (Mechanical Sky Book 1) by Donald Moffitt

Author:Donald Moffitt [Moffitt, Donald]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Open Road Media Sci-Fi & Fantasy
Published: 2014-04-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

Lalla was in a coquettish mood. “You’re a naughty man to lead a poor helpless woman on so, ya Abdul,” she said in mock reproof. “My poor head is spinning.”

“I meant every word, Little Candy,” he said fatuously. “I have only the deepest respect for you. Admit me to your heart and I will die with joy.”

“Oo, la, I don’t want you to die. Compose yourself.”

He settled back on the cushions facing her across the symbolic screen of dangling cords. Her dress this evening was more revealing, gathered at the bodice to suggest the outlines of an opulent bosom, and the designer veil had dropped an inch and a half. She had allowed him to take her hand, and he had crushed it to his face and smothered it with kisses. She had sat passively, not snatching it away. The young eunuch at the opposite end of the room had carefully looked in the other direction, though Hamid-Jones had not bribed him. So it must have been Lalla herself who had bribed or cajoled him into leniency before Hamid-Jones had been ushered up the broad stairs. The thought made Hamid-Jones’s heart beat faster.

“I can’t live without you,” he said recklessly. “My intentions are honorable—not like some others I could mention. Little Sugarplum, make me happy and say you won’t see anyone else!”

Her brow above the designer veil’s monogrammed headband clouded with momentary annoyance. Recovering, she fluttered her lashes and said coyly, “What’s that I see in your lap, ya Abdul? Have you brought me something?”

“Oh.” He fumbled with the package. Aziz, despite his unwillingness, had outdone himself in the gift wrappings. The wrapping paper was a thin film of trapped holo scenes from the Arabian Nights, shifting and changing with the angle of vision. Lalla giggled as one of the more indecent scenes flashed into view—a tableau from The Five Ladies of Baghdad—then lowered her eyes demurely.

He tried to pass the package through the dividing line of cords, but an ill-tempered snarl in the piccolo range came from the mini-Cerberus nestled in her lap. The two tiny heads lifted one at a time to bare their teeth, then burrowed again into the folds of Lalla’s skirts.

“Haven’t you gotten rid of that thing yet?” Hamid-Jones bristled.

“What, give up my little Bijou? How could you make such a cruel suggestion, ya Abdul?”

“I only mean … couldn’t you leave him in your quarters or something?”

“Poor little boojums,” she cooed at the squirming little beast, hugging it protectively. “The bad man doesn’t like you.”

Miserably, Hamid-Jones apologized. She relented and reached through the hanging cords to take the package from him. She ripped off the holopaper and a scene from Sindbad expired, blinking.

She inspected the tiara in an offhand manner. “Very nice,” she said. She called over the eunuch, who took it from her. “Take it away,” she told him. “I’ll wear it Thursday for my outing. It will go with my new bracelets.”

“What outing?” he said. “What bracelets?”

“Eh, fi! Don’t look so fierce! A very dear friend has invited me for a weekend in Memnonia.

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