House of Shadows(27)

The confidence in the proprietor’s manner was sufficient that Taudde was not surprised to find the notes of the pipe unusually clear and delicate. The hum of the reeds lent a deep resonance to each note without harming its clarity. Taudde wondered how the effect had been achieved. He squinted into the pipes to see the thin reeds within each, noting their faint purplish sheen. Perhaps they had, in fact, been treated in some manner he did not know. “You made these?”

The proprietor gave a modest little bow. “My poor efforts are assuredly not sufficient to match those of the craftsmen with whom my lord is no doubt accustomed to do business.”

Taudde played a quick set of trills, running through the surprisingly broad range of the pipes. They were not tuned to the familiar descene scale but to the far less common ioscene scale, every other note set half a step off.

“The pipes are not out of tune,” said the proprietor, seeing Taudde’s eyebrows rise.

Taudde returned a noncommittal nod. He lifted the pipes again and produced another brief ripple of notes, listening curiously to the odd catch and drag produced by the ioscene tuning. It seemed to him that the breathy resonance of these pipes was well suited to the sea. If he went down to the shore where the waves broke on the rocks, he wondered whether he might be able to capture the changeable sea winds in the reeds of this instrument. “Though I have traveled widely, I do not believe I have often seen better,” he said at last. “And I see you are accustomed to such work.” He gestured to the generous and varied supplies that occupied this part of the shop, the faint beginnings of a new inspiration murmuring at the back of his mind. He still would not claim to have a distinct plan, but he felt himself closer to one than he’d dared hope.

“I dabble from time to time,” conceded the proprietor. “When an interesting idea occurs to me.”

“I see. Well… I believe I will purchase these, if you are willing to part with them.” Taudde began to turn back toward the front of the shop and unexpectedly found Benne at his elbow. He blinked. Benne flinched back slightly and dropped his gaze immediately.

Taudde hesitated for a moment. Then he said at last, “I will purchase this item,” gave the pipes to Benne, and walked away, to wait politely out of earshot for Benne and the proprietor of the store to settle a price.





CHAPTER 4




The Mother of Cloisonné House, disposing of the iron custom of the flower world with a fine arrogance, made Karah into a keiso three days after the girl had been bought into the House. Leilis had hoped for exactly this, but the speed with which Narienneh made her decision impressed her anyway.

“You haven’t the training, of course,” Narienneh told the girl. “You will have to work very hard at your lessons.” Karah could play the knee harp and sing some of the short gaodd poems that every keiso was supposed to know, but there was no pretending her accomplishments were up to Cloisonné’s usual standards.

Karah bowed her head, looking young and shy. She made Leilis feel old.

Thirty-one keiso were present, sitting or kneeling gracefully on cushions all around the edges of the dance studio, which was the only room in the House large enough for the ceremony of adoption. The mirrors and the bar, along with all other utilitarian features of the room, had been hidden from sight behind tall color-washed screens.

Fourteen independent keiso had come to attend this adoption. They wore robes in restrained colors and few—but expensive—jewels. Meadowbell, her nature as sunny as her wheat-gold overrobe, was clearly amused and pleased by Mother’s departure from tradition. On the other hand, though Celandine’s mouth was set in a good-humored expression, her eyes were cold as the winter sea embroidered on her overrobe: She did not care to have a mere child handed special favors that had never come her own way. Nemienne knew Celandine bitterly resented Karah, with a steady, cold resentment that would wear down the years, but at least Celandine was not a resident of Cloisonné House, so Karah would not be thrown into her close company.

Silvermist, oldest of the independent keiso, would have far more influence than Celandine over the reaction of the flower world to Karah’s too-swift advancement. Silvermist, her silver-shot hair braided with blue ribbons and fine silver chains, had been independent for better than thirty years. Her noble keisonne had long ago given her a house of her own and she had invested his gifts wisely; her wealth showed in her assurance as much as in the restrained elegance of her robes. Her daughters, Bellflower and Chelone, had settled near her. Each of them also had accepted a keisonne and acquired property of her own. Bellflower owned a restaurant near one of the bridges and Chelone a shop that made and embroidered keiso robes. Neither of them would feel in the least threatened by a child such as Karah, and fortunately neither liked Celandine. But what Silvermist herself thought was not obvious from her manner.