No Brighter Dream: The Pascal Trilogy - Book 3 (4 page)

Ali sighed. “Ah, it is very beautiful, this name. It is a name with great dignity. It suits you, I think.”

“Thank you,” Andre said. “I am delighted that you approve.”

“And your sons will also be marquesses?” Ali asked, imagining him in his palace, surrounded by beautiful wives and many children.

“No. Just my eldest son—if I have any at all. First I would have to marry, and that’s the last thing in the world I wish to do.”

“But why?” Ali said, shocked. “All great pashas have wives! Many, many wives. It is a sign of high position.”

“In my country, it is the custom to only take one wife at a time,” he said, then adroitly changed the subject. “Tell me, Ali, have you ever seen a great pasha? You seem to have a very fixed idea of what they do and don’t do.”

“Well … one once came through the village near to us. It was a great procession.” Ali sighed in fond memory. “The pasha himself, he was dressed in the most magnificent of colors, the silk beautifully worked. He wore the richest of jewels too. Even his horse wore jewels!” She began to knead Andre’s thighs, not an easy task since the muscles were so hard. “His Zoorigees, they beat us all soundly as they passed to let us know we were vermin next to them.”

“And in your eyes this beating made the pasha even grander?” he asked.

“Yes, of course,” Ali said, looking up at him in surprise. “Do you not beat the peasants in your own country?”

“No, actually I don’t. I give them stern looks instead, and they fall to the ground in mute terror.”

Ali nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Yes, I have seen this look. You have given it to me, but I did not realize that I was meant to drop to the ground. I thought you would beat me if you wished me to do that.”

Andre ruffled her hair. “I had no such thing in mind. If for some reason I wish you to drop to the ground, I’ll let you know. Verbally. All right? I didn’t mean it when I threatened to beat you earlier, you know. I was only teasing.”

“Yes, I know you were teasing then,” Ali said. “It is at other times that I have wondered why you have not beaten me.”

“Why do I get the feeling that I’ve just dropped a few notches in your estimation? I’m afraid I have no use for physical violence, Ali, but if you wish me to beat you in order to maintain my standing with you, I suppose I will have to summon up the stomach.”

“Oh, no! It is only that I must learn to think differently about what you wish from me if I am to serve you correctly as my lord and master.”

“You serve me very adequately as it is.”

“Yes, but I only know the ways of my people, and some of these ways might not be correct for your happiness. Not,” she said firmly, “that it will change the matter of your bath. This is good for you, and on matters involving your well-being I will not be turned aside.” She finished rubbing his feet and held out his clean clothes.

“Very well,” Andre said solemnly, dressing. “On matters that regard my well-being, I will not object. But if you wish to serve me well, then you must submit to my will when I command it. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” Ali bowed, touching her fingers to her chest, then to her lips and forehead.

“Good. I’m glad we have that settled. Now what about a bath for you?” he said, running his fingers through his half-dried hair. “I am sure you want to put on your new clothes, and you don’t want to be dirty, do you?”

“No. But this I will do for myself,” Ali said quickly, fabricating an excuse. “It is not correct for servants to be seen bathing before their masters. It is not correct for servants to be seen in
any
state of undress, as it implies disrespect.”

“What would I do without you to tell me how to be a pasha?” Andre said. “But very well. As you wish. Just be careful not to take a chill, and I am very serious about that. Oh, and Ali—thank you. It was a nice bath, and a nice massage. You are skilled indeed with your hands.”

“I am pleased to have given you pleasure,” Ali said shyly. “Your happiness is all I wish.”

Andre lightly flicked her cheek. “I’m beginning to believe you mean it,” he said. “But be careful, little one, about such unbridled devotion. I’m bound to disappoint you.”

“You will never disappoint me. You cannot disappoint someone whose heart belongs to you,” she said simply.

Andre drew in a sharp breath, and then he released it. “Ali,” he said very softly. “Don’t ever give your heart away. Ever. And certainly not to me.”

“It is too late,” she said cheerfully. “Allah has ordained it.”

“Then your Allah is a fool, for I have no heart, and will only break yours,” he replied harshly. “Remember it.” He quickly walked away.

Ali watched him until he disappeared from sight, her brow knotted. Her master could be very silly sometimes. No heart indeed. Well, with an attitude like that, it was no wonder he was unhappy. She could see that she really did have her work cut out for her.

As she prepared her bath she set herself the task of looking for solutions. It didn’t take her long to come up with one.

That night the skies opened and it poured with rain. Ali wrapped herself more tightly in her blanket and drifted back to sleep, but she woke with a start as she felt her blanket shifting off her face. Andre knelt over her, rain dripping in rivulets down his cheeks.

“Come, little one,” he said, scooping her up in his arms. “It’s wet out here. If you are to look after my well-being, then I must first look after yours.”

He ducked his head and pushed aside the flap of the tent, settling her on the ground next to his mattress.

Ali curled up happily and tucked her cheek under her fist. “I have been thinking, Handray,” she murmured. “I am going to find you a wife. Someone to give you sons.”

Andre’s voice emerged muffled from beneath the towel he was using to dry his hair. “Oh? And how are you going to do that, may I ask?” He tossed the towel aside and regarded her curiously. “Do you think to find a wife for me in the bazaar?”

“No, no. You do not find wives in the bazaar, only slaves. Maybe in one of the villages.” She sat up suddenly as a thought occurred. “Oh. But you probably need an English wife.”

“Oh, and now you want to marry me to a cold fish?” he asked, settling back on his mattress and pulling his blanket up over his chest. “No thank you, Ali. There are few things more dreadful than an Englishwoman. But please, let us leave the subject alone. Lie down and go to sleep. We have a long day tomorrow.” He rolled over onto his side and soon his breathing slowed into sleep.

With a little sigh of contentment Ali closed her eyes. But something woke her in the middle of the night, a sound as if someone was in pain. It took her a moment to orient herself, and then she realized where she was. She sat up.

Andre tossed and turned fitfully on his mattress, his forehead knotted as another moan escaped his lips.

Ali quickly moved over to him. She placed her hand on his forehead, smoothing it. “Shh,” she whispered. “Shh. It is all right, Handray. I am here.”

The tension on his brow gradually eased as she stroked it, and his body stilled. Ali pulled the blanket that he’d kicked off back over him, tucking it around him. “Sleep peacefully,” she said, lightly laying her hand on his cheek. “You have me to look after you now.”

Ali crawled back onto her blanket and turned on her side, watching him for a few moments. But he didn’t stir again.

“Ah, Xanthos.” Andre pulled his horse up and drank in the sight of the peaceful valley that stretched before them. “Finally. Look at that, Jo-Jean.”

It was not their first visit, but Andre never failed to be stirred by the sight of the magnificent city sitting broken and abandoned in its valley, yet still exuding a sense of majesty. The history alone was enough to break the heart, and for Andre, the valley emanated echoes of a haunting past from every rock, every blade of grass.

Joseph-Jean glanced over at him. “Sometimes I think you would rather be here than any other place on earth.”

“And in this instance you might be right,” Andre replied. He looked over his shoulder.

“Ali. Ride ahead to Koonik. Tell the governor, Ahmed, that we come, and we seek his protection. These people know us, but it’s only polite to give them warning—it’s the tent city directly before us, perhaps two miles. Use my title.”

Ali instantly kicked the protesting donkey and was soon no more than a dot surrounded by dust in the distance.

“You like Ali, don’t you?” Joseph-Jean said conversationally as Andre watched until Ali had disappeared.

“Like him?” Andre said. “I suppose. I find Ali refreshing.”

“Refreshing. That’s an understatement, but yes, Ali is definitely refreshing. Do you intend to keep him on, now that we’ve reached our destination?”

Andre frowned. “Why wouldn’t I? He’s useful, far more useful than anyone we’ve had in the past. He doesn’t complain, he gets things done, he’s unobjectionable company. Why are you suddenly having questions now?”

“Only because you said you intended to let him go when we reached Xanthos,” Joseph-Jean replied reasonably enough.

The thought of Ali’s leaving gave Andre an unexpected shock. Ali was an odd, quixotic chatterbox with a mercurial nature and exceedingly strong opinions, but who was also endowed with a lively curiosity and a surprisingly quick mind.

He didn’t even object to the constant ring of laughter that sounded around him. Odd. In the past that sort of thing had had the effect of making him feel even more isolated. But Ali was … different. Comfortable.

He supposed it was because Ali gave without expectation of receiving anything in return, save for food, shelter, and an occasional pat on the head. God, it had been a long time since anything had been simple. And for some odd reason he seemed to sleep better with Ali in his tent.

He turned back to Joseph-Jean. “Ali stays.”

“I’m delighted to hear it. Shall I track down another tent? He can’t stay outdoors all summer.”

“No need for the extra expense or baggage,” Andre said. “He can share mine—he’s small and unobtrusive enough. Just purchase another bedroll.”

“Consider it done.” Joseph-Jean kicked his horse into a trot and Andre followed him, thinking that the prospect of summer suddenly seemed more pleasant.

There was feasting that night in the tent city. Andre and Joseph-Jean rested against plush cushions on lavish carpets in front of the chiefs black goat’s-hair tent, as Ali watched from one side near the fire. Plate after plate of food appeared before them, and Ali was pleased to see that the chief had a clear idea of her master’s importance.

“You are Ali?”

She looked up from her delicious pilaf of kid to see a boy, somewhere around fourteen or so, his dark eyes gleaming with curiosity. “I am,” she said, gesturing for him to join her.

“I am Umar.” He dropped down to the carpet upon which she sat. “You have come with Banesbury and Claubert—I know them from their journey here last year. You are their guide?”

“No, only their servant,” Ali said. “I have never before been to this region.”

“Ah,” Umar said. “Where is your village then?”

“Farther south,” Ali said. “My people are Yourooks, like yours.”

“Ah,” Umar said again. “This is good. But why are you here with the foreigners and not with your people? You are young to be on your own.”

Ali shrugged. “My people are gone, and so I came north to find work. The effendis are good to me, very generous and kind. It is a good life, full of adventure.”

“They are very rich, the effendis?” Umar asked, pulling up one knee and leaning his elbow on it.

“Oh, yes,” Ali said with enthusiasm, warming to her tale. “My master lives in a great castle with many coffers of jewels and servants dressed in the richest of materials. His camels even have ruby headdresses and his herds of stallions and mares all have cloths of gold and silver upon their backs.” Oh, she did like the way that sounded.

“Ahhhh,” Umar said, his eyes wide. “How many wives has he?”

Ali chewed her lip. She didn’t want her master to lose face because he had no wives. It was a tricky matter. She couldn’t exactly say that he found women inconvenient, or that the women of his country were like dead fish, smelly and cold.

And then she remembered the strange thing he’d said the day before about never giving away one’s heart, and she seized upon that, improvising wildly as she went.

“He has no wife,” she said sadly. “He had one once whom he loved more than life itself, the most beautiful woman who ever lived, but she died, leaving him distraught and heartbroken. He mourns her and honors her memory by not taking any more wives.”

Umar let out a long, appreciative breath. “A great tragedy. A truly great tragedy. I thought there must be a story there, for your lord has the look of one who suffers in silence. He is to be praised for his forbearance and sense of loyalty.”

“His honor is above all others,” she said, her eyes shining with pride—and delight that her story had gone down so well.

“Indeed.” Umar then launched into a hundred other questions, and soon they were joined by a number of others, all with questions of their own.

Ali was happy to answer. She explained how she’d been rescued by her master, how he had nursed her back to health and given her work, and the villagers were suitably impressed by his extraordinary kindness and his bravery in the face of his terrible loss, which Umar had been quick to relate even more tragically than Ali had—much to Ali’s satisfaction.

But as happy as she was to indulge in talk, she was even happier when the music began and conversation stilled. Ali leaned back on her hands and listened, drinking in the soulful notes of the lute.

She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed the sweet sound that poured like liquid into the dark, star-filled night. Music had always soothed her, assuaged her soul. It sang of things lost, things never to be again, but it transformed pain into something that could be borne. It sang of beauty too, all the things of the universe that couldn’t be spoken but were perfectly evoked in the lyrical notes that drifted across the moonlit encampment.

Umar brought out a flute and played a simple, wild melody on it, and someone else got up and began to dance. Ali lay on her side and rested her cheek on her hand, watching, admiring the man’s skill. It was nice being back in familiar surroundings, nice hearing familiar music, eating familiar food, holding conversation around a fire.