If the outside of the house had been disappointing for the dwelling of a man as rich as Viscount Matreu, the inside was not. Candles burned everywhere, and tapestries of many colors hung on the walls, some stitched with bright golden wire, but she had little time to admire them as she passed.
The servant silently led her upstairs to an antechamber furnished with thick, low couches and equally low tables and lit by several oil lamps. This room also was too thickly draped with fine tapestries to examine them all, but one in particular caught her attention. After the servant left, she walked closer to examine it.
Jesa had never seen anything quite like it. The design was of a male human figure wearing a crown, but the figure had the tail of a whalefish (or so she assumed, having seen such things only in pictures). The crowned man’s hands were spread wide over what looked like mountains, but much of his vast body seemed to be floating in the ocean, with tiny ships surrounding him on all sides. Surely this must be a picture of Usires the Aedon, Jesa thought, the great god of Nabban, although she had never seen him portrayed in such a way. The strangest thing about the hanging, though, was the material itself. It was not stitchery that made the picture, but rather tiny little shining plates glued one beside another, like the beautiful mosaics on some of the floors of the Sancellan Mahistrevis. None of the shiny bits was much larger than baby Serasina’s fingernails; as Jesa moved they caught the light and seemed to flicker and move, as if the crowned man with the tail was truly alive and watching her. This made her fearful, so she made the sign of the Tree, although it still felt strange and false to do it. Still, in a foreign land there were foreign gods and demons that needed to be appeased, and Jesa was a practical young woman.
“I see you are admiring the picture,” a voice said behind her.
Jesa was as startled as if she had been caught stealing. She turned to see Viscount Matreu standing in the doorway. He wore a long housecoat, with what she thought might be the bottom of a nightdress showing above his hose and leather slippers.
“I beg your pardon, my lord!” she said.
“Why? Do you not like it?” He moved forward, smiling.
“Oh, no. I think it is very good done. No, done very good.” She spread her hands helplessly, thwarted by words. “Beautiful.”
“Yes, it is, I think. It was made by a great artist, one of the last on all of Spenit Island who practices the skill. Do you see the small pieces? Those are fish scales. We have many, many colors of fish in our waters.” He moved up beside her and examined the strange image. “Do you know who is pictured there? That is the great Lord Nuanni, the old god of the sea. The islands bowed to Usires long ago, but my people still have a great affection for him. They call him “Ocean Father,” and still sacrifice to him before beginning a long voyage.” He saw her look and laughed. “Fear not! The sacrifice is not a person. Only a bit of fruit or some pretty polished stones.” He kept his eyes on her face. “Do I not know you? What is your name?”
“Jesa, my lord. I am the nurse to the Duchess Canthia. To her child.”
“Of course! You were in the carriage in St. Lavennin’s Square the other day. That was a terrible thing. I am glad I was able to bring the duchess out safely with her child. And you, too, of course.”
“Thank you, my lord. We owe you very much.”
“I could have done nothing else. But, as we speak of your mistress, I believe you have brought something for me?”
“Oh!” Jesa had been so taken by being once again in the presence of this handsome, dark man—despite his size, he was so much like the men of her own tribe, at least to look at—that she had nearly forgotten. She hoped her shame did not show on her face. “Yes, my lord. Yes, of course!” She reached into the bosom of her dress and pulled it out, embarrassed to hand it to him with the warmth of her body still on the roll of parchment. “My mistress sends this to you and asks you for the kindness of a reply.”
He smiled as he took it, as an adult to a charming child. “Does she want my reply now?”
“Yes, please, my lord. If you may please and do so.”
“Very well. You must give me a little time, then.” He gestured to one of the low couches. “Please, sit, while I attend to your mistress’s letter.”
Jesa sat, and did her best to look as though she did this sort of thing every day, entering the house of a wealthy nobleman without a chaperone, bearing messages from the duchess of all Nabban, but in truth she was flustered and more than a little frightened. She had no idea what the note said—she would no more have tried to read it than she would have intentionally harmed little Serasina—but since she did not know what it contained, she had no idea how the viscount would react. What if what the duchess had written made him angry? What if he beat her, or forbade her to leave?
Courage, woman, she told herself. Remember the Green Honeybird. Your mistress the duchess honored you with this important task. Be a brave soldier for her!
She took a deep breath and forced herself to get up and move around. The room was full of odd, interesting objects, but suddenly she was afraid to be so far from the Sancellan Mahistrevis and all that was familiar. Strange, when she was already so far from her true home!
Jesa was staring at a scowling wooden mask when the viscount said, “A fierce fellow, eh? That is the Mountain Demon. In the high hills of Spenit they still dance the story of how he stole the maiden, the chief’s daughter, and how Brave Wing defeated him and brought her back to her people.”
“It reminds me of something back home,” Jesa said, then had to repeat herself because she had spoken too softly. “They wear masks like this for the Homecoming Boats Festival in the Wran.”
“Ah, is that where you are from? I wondered. You almost look like the hill people on my island.” He looked up from his writing desk and smiled. “Have you ever been to Spenit?”
“No, my lord. I have come to Kwanitupul only, before I came to Nabban.”
“Then this must all be very strange to you. Even growing up in the Honsa Spenitis, I found Nabban disturbing on my first visit. So loud! So many people!”
“Yes, Lord. Very loud people.”
“Very loud people indeed. I hope you are never subjected to a meeting of the Dominiate. They screech at each other like the birds they wear.”
She could not help laughing. She had sometimes thought the same thing herself, that the shouting and arguing of these people seemed like harbor birds fighting over fish guts on the dock.
Viscount Matreu dripped wax, then applied his seal. After he had blotted it, he rolled up the letter. Halfway back across the room, he stopped and looked Jesa up and down. She felt her face grow hot. What did he want? What was he thinking?
“You are a beautiful young woman, Jesa of the Wran. It would do my heart good to see a woman like you as part of this household, instead of the pinched, pale faces of my other servants. Do you think I could hire you away from the duchess?” He smiled again. It was like a moment of sunshine cutting through the clouds on a cold day. “I would make you very happy, very comfortable here.”
For a moment her heart beat as fast as Green Honeybird’s wings, to think of spending her days in the company of this handsome, soft-spoken man. But then she remembered little Serasina, how her tiny hand would curl around Jesa’s finger like a baby monkey on a high branch might clutch its mother’s tail, sure of that one thing only.
“I fear I can come not to here, my lord. Not to work. I owe my lady too much. And her baby. I am the nurse, you see. I could not leave her.”
He shook his head, not sternly but only regretfully. “Ah, too bad. But I admire your loyalty. I wish all of the duke’s and the duchess’s allies and servants were so mindful of their duty.” He extended the roll of parchment. “Here. Take this back to your dear mistress. I have kept you away from your duties long enough.”
She did. This time it was something warmed by Viscount Matreu’s hands that she slid into the bosom of her dress, its length pressing against her chest so that she found it suddenly difficult to breathe. “You are very kind man, my lord.”
“I only wish it were true.” He saw that she hesitated. “I’m sorry, have I forgotten something?”
She was ashamed to say it, but a stern little voice inside her would not let Jesa stay silent. “I am sorry, my good lord, but I must have the letter of my duchess back, too.”
For a moment he looked surprised and perhaps just a tiny bit annoyed, but his features quickly relaxed. “Of course. The duchess cannot be too careful. She has chosen her messenger well.” He returned to his writing desk and picked up the message Jesa had brought, then handed it to her. “Take good care of both. Go straight back to the Sancellan and let no one distract you.”