Tanith Lee - Claidi Journals 02 by Wolf Star Rise

Author:Wolf Star Rise [Rise, Wolf Star]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2011-12-12T02:16:36+00:00

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Supper was under the flowering tree near my pavilion. (The flowers give off a marvelous perfume at night.) Several cats and other things soon arrived. They always do. (Jotto says a monkey can hear a pie or a mango being sliced from half a mile away.) Deeply dark black sky and the stars and moon looking washed and shiny, since the Star had moved on.

(It seemed to go faster that night.)

I won’t put down all the conversation. I couldn’t follow all of it anyway, the things he “explained.” And I still don’t know what I think of him.

He looked all right. He had on this white shirt with fringes on the cuffs.

Oh, anyway.

I will make a note of the supper; it was—well, under other circumstances I’d have been fascinated, delighted. Not so much by the food, though that was delicious (it usually is, here). How it was served.

I thought Jotto was going to serve it, as he normally does if he’s around. But he sat down by Grem.

Treacle was there, too, with her spiky black hair brushed up spikier, and long gold earrings. (I was the only scruff-bag, in my now worn-out dress from the Rose Room.) Tall candles burned in globes of pale amber. By this light, up a strange little ramp I’d been wondering about, the first dish was drawn onto the table.

Then other dishes came in procession. Five blue hippos, about the size of kittens, brought vegetables.

Ten black-necked geese, the size of sparrows, brought a train of hot sauces. Two very strong little tigapards, each as big as a blackbird, hauled up a large pie on a gold tray. Three fat mouse-sized mice that also looked like pigs (they had curly tails, and snouts—perhaps I’ll call them pauses?) brought a china castle of assorted nut-cheeses.

They all managed faultlessly, except for the tigapards, which, as soon as they saw us all, promptly sat down and had to be helped to lug the pie by Treacle.

Once released, all these creatures ambled about the table, playing with each other and accepting pieces of food, but only when offered to them. Well, one of the pouses (pice?) did drag a banana away behind the salt cellar, but never mind.

They really were lovely, these little animals.

When I asked, they told me—Venn told me mostly—that they re not dolls, are quite real. They’d been bred, like the vrabburrs. “Not everything she did,” said Venn, meaning his mother, “was dangerous.”

“Where do they live?”

“They have a big hutch and enclosure in the gardens,” said Jotto. Grem added, “They’re taken in at night.”

The supper was relaxed. It was hard to be nervy and angry, with mouse-sized rabbits playing kick-ball with a radish, and a miniature tigapard purring in your lap.

I did think, This is clever. I shouldn’t fall for this.

But I fell for it.

The wine was pink, in rose-amber glasses.

I heard myself laugh at something Jotto said. And then he, Venn, laughed. As if I’d said he was now allowed to.

I’ve wondered about him and Treacle. He’s grown up with her, seems fond of her.

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