A Tour of the Alhambra

Pt 2: Rama, the Coronet of Nasr and Saturday

As Asfar leaves, Sorashi sees the apparition grow larger and somewhat clearer. To her eyes it looks like a reptilian cyborg seen through a window of glass crazed into tiny prisms, creating an aura around the thing sort of like that sometimes seen at the beginning of a migraine. Then the word ‘migraine’ triggers a recent memory and Sorashi is unsurprised to hear a familiar voice say, “Missztressz…?”

I hope this is a brief conversation, thinks Sorashi. “Yes, Kirgiz, what is it?”

Although the experience feels mentally and visually stressful, Sorashi realises that she recovered from the earlier conversation remarkably quickly. Of course that doesn’t help with the pain behind the eyes she’s experiencing right now but it does bode well for the imminent future.

“Ssszz… Missztressz eaten not… yet?” Sorashi hears a strange noise which she recognises as laughter – Kirgiz, it seems, has a sense of humour.

Sorashi is not inclined to join in the merriment, however. “No, Kirgiz, still not been eaten.”

“Perhapssz thissz nexzt…?”

Sorashi looks around, slightly startled. Is the threat still there? “What next, Kirgiz? Why have you contacted me?”

“Sssz… Missztressz one nasszty off hassz sszeen… yessz… but nassztiessz in threessz… come…”

Come to think of it, the interdimensional serpent did mention ‘nasszty thingssz’ before, and Zuby is only one.

Wonderful, thinks Sorashi, trying to ignore the ache building behind her eyes.

“What nasty thing is next, then?” she asks, unable to keep all hint of rancour from her voice.

“Like lasszt issz… nasszty flat sszing… hassz big noessz…”

“And where is this thing?”

“Sssz… At the door… issz.”

And at that moment comes the now familiar Knock of Doom.

With a mixture of irritation and dread, Sorashi exits the Treasury, locking the door, and makes her way to the Throne room again. She is dimly aware that the portraits in the Chamber of the Ancestors seem even more agitated than they were before, especially that one with his head on a plate; but there are more pressing matters for the moment.

‘Nasty flat thing with big nose’? Could be anything – or anyone. Her imagination furnishes her with a surreal picture of a walking scroll topped by a large nose and a disapproving expression. I can only hope that attackers don’t knock at the front door, she thinks, as she awaits Asfar and her latest guest. She has time to settle herself and achieve serenity. She notices once again that, while it threatened to induce a migraine at the time, she has already recovered from her conversation with Kirgiz.

Then, in a stroke of déjà vu, the doors at the far end of the room swing open and Asfar enters and steps to one side, announcing, “Lady Sorashi, Dame Gorgant of the Seasoned and Crapulous Order of the Undulating Thing, Calipha Slayer, Mistress of the Alhambra by right of conquest and daughter of Princess Deirdre of the most Pagan and Heretic cadet House of Barimen.”

Behind him comes a very familiar face; his bow is as deep as Zuby’s but less stylised and more natural.

“May I present Mirza Rama, Knight Commander of the New and Innovative Order of the Lugubrious Vendetta, Driver of the Chariot of Storm, Wielder of the Flash that Blinds and Pursuivant of the most Jagged and Electric House Indra.”

Not even slightly what I was expecting, thinks Sorashi, as she smiles in greeting – despairing faintly of ever understanding Kirgiz’ perspective, whilst trying to stay on her guard against someone she would never have thought of as ‘naszzty’.

“Welcome, Mirza Rama, my house is honoured by your presence.”

“The honour is all mine, lovely lady; and may I offer my heartfelt congratulations on your accomplishment of suzerainty. I know something of House Abal and it cannot have been easy to best the Beast in the Basement.”

Rama looks about the chamber with an air of familiarity. “It has been some while since I was last here; it is sad to see such magnificence in a state of dilapidation – though I notice you have made some emergency renovations.” His brow creases in scrutiny. “The style is not familiar to me… this is not Sir Zuby’s work…” He sounds as if he expected it would be – actually that creased brow is more of a frown.

“No, not Sir Zuby – a little help from one of my cousins.” Sorashi asks Asfar for refreshments for her guest. Asfar nods curtly and claps his hands twice while staring pointedly at Jakabok, who lurches from his place by the wall and follows Asfar off into the depths of the Alhambra.

Rama observes the two demons leave before turning back to Sorashi. “Unless my eye deceives me your new demon is a gift from House Sheol – I recognised one of their ilk leaving as I arrived.”

Perhaps Rama only saw one of Sheol’s demons, not Zuby himself – or perhaps that was not Zuby who had just left. I am possibly more than a little naïve, thinks Sorashi. “Yes, it is a gift from House Sheol – my ascendancy seems to have brought me popularity.”

“Yes, you can be assured your newfound position is guaranteed to draw attention, especially from the less… er… august houses.” He smiles wryly. “Though I would not like you to believe I am besmirching Sheol on that account, I regret my own house is hardly in the front rank of even the minor houses – no one will be considering Indra as a candidate for the Rim – though perhaps that may be for the best.

“But it is customary for visitors on the occasion of great advancement to offer gifts to those who have achieved, so may I say that Zamindar Krishna, the head of my house, has instructed me to tell you that you may now consider the loan of the demon Mahabali as a gift – it is yours, a part of your household, to do with as you will. Furthermore, before we turn to the main purposes of my visit, may I also offer a further gift of my own – a demon, raised, summoned and bound to your service, by myself, to your own specification. You tell me what you need and I will do my best to fulfil your request.”

“I thank you for your most considerate gift, Lord Rama,” Sorashi replies, and considers for a moment. Mahabali could assist Asfar, releasing Jakabok from the obviously ill-suited role of servant to a more fitting defensive role. “I do require a martial demon.”

“Of course,” agrees Rama, “your first duty must be the defence of your new possession. It will take a little time to summon and bind the entity but I promise you shall not have to wait long. Do you have any specific requirements you would have me consider? Or would you be content to leave all parameters to me?”

“I am sure your experience is more than adequate to fulfil such a task, Lord Rama.”

Rama nods and smiles, accepting the compliment gracefully. At this point Asfar and Jakabok return with refreshments. Evidently Asfar regards Rama as higher up the pecking order or perhaps just more in Sorashi’s favour, as he brings a wider platter with a selection of foods, both sweet and savoury. And Jakabok carries two huge pitchers, one of which proves to have wine, the other sherbert. But this time Asfar carries the goblets on his tray rather than trust them to Jakabok. Asfar sets the tray down on the side table and makes himself busy lading two plates.

Sorashi is grateful to her healthy Amberite appetite – the second repast of the day, soon to be followed by a third if the pattern continues. Waiting for the plates, she asks after Tajal’s educational progress.

Rama accepts a cup of wine from Asfar and takes a sip before replying, nodding appreciatively. “Your ward is generally attentive to her studies, though sometimes she allows herself to be distracted by the prospect of visiting Amber. Her magical studies are going well but currently she is fixated by a masterclass in swordsmanship to be given in Stoneguard, the domicile of House Petrus, by your kinsman, Lord Darig.”

Sorashi nods and smiles, “Yes, she was most desperate to attend. I hope it lives up to her expectations.”

“I understand your concerns,” agrees Rama, accepting a platter from Asfar, “but I think you have little to fear. I saw Lord Darig commanding the right wing of your army in the recent battle and I can assure you his reputation could not be greater within the Courts. Petrus are proud to have him and I am unsurprised that they chose his seed to replenish their losses. There are few here who would cross blades with him. Tajal will be in good hands.”

With due deference, Asfar conveys a goblet and platter to his mistress. ‘Chosen his seed’? thinks Sorashi in muted disdain – it would seem that even Lord Darig runs true to the Amberite male model. She smiles, however and agrees with Rama’s analysis. Sorashi is confident that Rama does not pick up on her instinctual ‘disdain’, though it might cross her mind that were it not for at least one of Oberon’s daughters emulating her brothers Sorashi would not exist – then again, it has to be said that Deirdre does emulate her brothers in other ways as well.

Interestingly, unlike Zuby, Rama does not seem interested in Sorashi’s dynastic ambitions or whether she intends to make the Alhambra a permanent residence and presumably never return to Amber. He seems content to make small talk. Having had the opportunity to compare the two so close together, Sorashi gets the feeling that Rama is more of a soldier and less of a courtier or politician, though she’s certain Rama is higher-up in Indra than Zuby is in Sheol.

After a suitably polite interval of conversation, Sorashi decides it is time to move the social call along. “So, Lord Rama. You mentioned your visit had more than one reason?”

Rama puts his plate aside and takes a sip of wine to clear his mouth before replying. “Indeed, Lady. I must be honest, I personally had an interest in seeing the Alhambra once again, having visited several times in my youth.

“As you know, House Abal were once the highest of the high, first among the Rimlords, even. But various vicissitudes, not just the wars with Amber but also local politics and internal strife, had caused the house to dwindle until your knife granted the last member a more honourable death than she deserved. But with that death, and the history of decline of this once most august house, the Alhambra itself has declined, one symptomatic of the other, I dare say.

“I must congratulate your cousin;” Rama looks around the chamber, “his ministrations, while outré and ill-suited to the décor, seem nonetheless effective in arresting the rot. However I am sure you will agree that the Alhambra needs a more long-term care-plan and, if it is to be displayed to its best advantage and do my lady proper honour, the repairs and maintenance must be better suited to the ethos of the original house. Do you agree, Lady?”

“It certainly needs maintaining,” agrees Sorashi, and waits to hear the price of this help. The image of the suddenly agitated portraits springs up in her mind – a warning, perhaps?

“I shall be honest with you, Lady; I have discussed the Alhambra and your acquisition of it with certain individuals within my house, including Krishna. House Indra has a certain interest in the Alhambra and also dynastic links to the extinct House Abal, distant links to be sure but nonetheless they exist. Also there are certain among us, and I count myself in their number, who hold a… ‘sentimental’ attachment to this edifice.

“If we were to suppose that you [and here Sorashi is quite sure Rama means her personally] intended to stay within the Courts then Indra would be first in line to offer you a formal liaison of alliance. However, I think I have got to know you a little and I am sure in my mind that you intend to return to Amber, Lady.” He grins rakishly, “And were your intentions otherwise, you would bitterly disappoint Tajal, for one. Am I right?”

Sorashi smiles, “I cannot disagree with your reasoning, Lord Rama,” she replies.

He smiles back – Sorashi is sure he realises that she has not exactly confirmed her intentions. “This being the case, your intentions for the Alhambra are of interest to House Indra… and to me personally, truth to tell.

“I see the two likeliest possibilities are that you trade the Alhambra as it is to another house, in return for other considerations. We see this as quite likely; there are many things you might gain of value. However I am uncertain if a single house in the Courts could offer a large enough inducement to part with it. A Rimlord might, but why would a Rimlord need another manse, particularly one in need of renovation?

“My own feeling, knowing you as I do, is that you will either gift the Alhambra to your monarch or keep it as a personal possession, in either case to serve as an embassy or similar. I have an intuition that imminent political events will bring an end to current hostilities, in which case diplomats will doubtless be exchanged to ensure the peace has a long life expectancy. Of course, my intuition could be wrong…?”

Whilst he speaks, Sorashi debates the pros and cons of honesty against political gamesmanship. She decides on the former, mainly on the grounds of having reached the limits of her talent with the latter.

“No, Lord Rama, your intuition has not let you down.” She realises that he was probably referring to ‘imminent political events’ rather than the future of the Alhambra, but decides to proceed assuming he wasn’t. “Obviously nothing is completely decided upon, but I would say that the embassy route is the one I favour and it seems the most practical – not least because it would give Tajal an initial base for when she returns to the Courts, should she need it. One hopes that the current hostilities are amicably resolved in the future for this to be achieved.”

Rama raises an eyebrow at the mention of Tajal, evidently this hasn’t occurred to him before now. Then he nods agreement, “In which case, Lady, you will need certain things: maintenance of the fabric of the Alhambra in a style suited to its ethos (to ensure Amber’s Embassy conveys a suitable impression), and also you will need staff.”

Sorashi agrees and, again, waits for the price.

“Zamindar Krishna has instructed me to offer you the following: that House Indra will restore the fabric of the Alhambra to its true glory, and in a style as close to the original architecture as possible (subject to your own wishes, of course) and then we will undertake to maintain the edifice in a state suitable to be the residence of your Ambassador, or to accommodate yourself, Lady, should you choose to visit at any time.

“Furthermore, as a martial house, we will undertake to maintain a small cadre of demons to be held ready to support the defence of the Alhambra should this become necessary. These will, of course, not be kept on the premises, but we will install a gate between Cloud Nine and the Alhambra so they can be brought here as soon as they are needed. And I will personally add half-a-dozen demons suitable as staff, which will of course be resident at all times.

“In return for this, Zamindar Krishna asks for two things. Firstly, we understand you have inherited the full contents of the Treasury of House Abal, which is famed for the artefacts contained within. Zamindar Krishna asks for one item from your Treasury, a mystical glove once owned by one Lomar of Ku’urkil, both name and house long dead. Is this agreeable to you, my lady?”

“I am happy to give you the glove, Lord Rama. What is the second thing?”

“Zamindar Krishna asks that you give one of our House an official position, with an appropriate title reflecting the duties and responsibilities.” Rama licks his lips – he seems very slightly nervous and Sorashi guesses that he’s hoping the title will be his. “Such an office will enhance House Indra’s standing and prestige within the Courts while establishing a connection between Indra and Amber of a more subtle nature than a conventional alliance. Of course, formal announcement of the appointment would have to wait on the appropriate political timing…”

Sorashi considers whilst finishing off a pastry. There is potential for betrayal – but isn’t there always, she thinks – I cannot maintain this place on my own, not even with Margrath’s help, and if the embassy idea comes off it will need maintaining, especially if I am not here. Such recognition boosts Indra’s status, it may give them a claim to the House but in honesty, they could take it now and I could not stop them. And a position costs me nothing, as long as I am sensible.

“I would be happy to agree to that as well, subject to mutual agreement on the duties, responsibilities and title of the position. You know the Courts better than myself, Lord Rama, perhaps you could provide a suitable synopsis for my consideration?”

I wonder what Mother will say when I tell her, she thinks.

Rama smiles expansively, gesturing with his goblet. “The duties shall be as I have already outlined: to maintain the fabric of the Alhambra to reflect upon your glory and to keep it at a state of readiness should you or an ambassador make an appearance. Also to defend it should this be necessary… even unto death!” This seems to be a matter of pride for Rama, evidently defending it until your fear makes you turn tail and run is not an option.

“As for the title, this is entirely at your pleasure: constable, steward, janitor…” Sorashi has seen enough of the Courts to know that flattering, bombastic titles are meat and drink to all its denizens.

“Steward would seem appropriate.”

Rama seems faintly pleased. “We will, of course, demur to your judgement as to when and how to make the formal announcement.”

Sorashi nods sagely – she, in turn, would best demur to Mother’s judgement on that. “If you are ready, Lord Rama, do you wish to collect the first part of the agreement?”

“You are most gracious, Lady,” smiles Rama, handing his goblet to Asfar. “Pray lead on.”

Sorashi looks at Asfar as they move off, still not quite confident in her ability to traverse her own House. Actually it seems easier than she fears as she’s now followed the same path several times in the last hour. In just a few minutes they enter the Chamber of the Ancestors. Asfar again brings up the rear, allowing his mistress and her guest a respectful distance while remaining ready to respond to a call in a moment.

Sorashi is struck by the difference in reaction from the portraits on the wall. The first is of the Calipha whom Sorashi knifed. Her usual stance is one of sullen defiance but her expression now is one of yearning hurt as her eyes follow Rama – still more than a little sullen, though. Rama bows his head respectfully as he passes but neither says a word. Sorashi is sure there’s a history there.

“Ah!” Rama stops before the fourth portrait of a woman with a gaze as steely as her hair. “‘She Who Must Be Obeyed’!”

“Oh… Ram! How you have grown…” She pronounces the name without the final vowel and the first is shorter, sounding more like ‘Rum’ – it sounds like a fond endearment given to a child.

“Indeed, Ma’am – and much of my stature and accomplishments were gained at your feet.”

Sorashi tries to remember who the woman was – but all the names and circumstances blur together like powder left in the rain. She doesn’t remember anyone mentioning links between Indra and Abal, but Sorashi has heard that many houses send their progeny to be educated in other houses. Presumably Rama was educated in Abal. Interesting. She waits to see how the conversation progresses.

“You never did marry Zilaph did you?”

“Alas, Ma’am, politics intervened.”

“Nonetheless, I trust the current mistress of the Alhambra has made you welcome. I will have words with her if not.”

“I assure you that the new mistress maintains the Alhambra’s reputation for hospitality, Ma’am.”

“Hmph!” The woman in the portrait doesn’t sound convinced. “All this could have been yours, Ram; perhaps it still could, if you play your cards right.”

“I would not wish to contradict you, Ma’am, but it seems unlikely, however I thank you for the notion. This has been a bittersweet pleasure, Ma’am, but for now, business calls. Farewell!”

“Farewell, Ram! Don’t be a stranger!”

Rama bows deeply and respectfully. As he turns away from the portrait, Sorashi is sure he’s blushing, but there’s also deep sadness in his expression.

She deems it best to refrain from commenting on the conversation, as a courtesy. In a way, the portrait could be right – assuming the post of steward is awarded to him, he could be de-facto head of House Abal. From a personal point of view, she wasn’t concerned – just if Tajal were to come back, would she get a warm and continuing welcome? I suppose there is also the Zuby approach, she thinks. No sense in picking next month’s fruit, though. She will need to talk to Mother.

Asfar is standing quietly next to the door to the Treasury. Sorashi walks towards him and waits for Rama to catch up. Sorashi senses Rama recovering and falling into step behind her. As they approach, Asfar bows respectfully and steps back, leaving his mistress to open the door with her key. She nods to Asfar, almost without thinking, then turns the key in the lock and opens the door. Rama follows her into the Treasury, Asfar silently bringing up the rear. A faint gasp betrays Rama’s astonishment on seeing the glories of the chamber.

“My lady, I am awed! Familiar as I am with the Alhambra, never before have I seen within here. I had heard stories of the Treasure of Abal – rumours and tall tales – but had thought them the confabulations of story-tellers. Now I see with my own eyes and the tales do not do it justice. The artistry here is of a high order…”

“Thank you, Lord Rama – your reaction is not far removed from my own on seeing it.”

He looks around, even admiring the aesthetics of the burst barrels of coin and gems, before he sighs and pulls his gaze back to his hostess. She senses her words have only just sunk in. “Lady, truly it is fitting that you be mistress of this place. Unless I am mistaken, your tenure opens a new chapter for the Alhambra and it can only bring further glory.” He bows low.

She acknowledges his bow with an inclination of her head and smiles. Pausing a little to allow him to take in his fill of the Treasure Room, she moves to where the glove is displayed and waits for him to join her.

Rama moves with her, a step behind, but it is only a few steps to the niche.

“Ah, the Gauntlet of Glory – do you know ought of its history, Lady?”

“Not much,” Sorashi replies. “Do you?”

“A little: the stories say it was crafted by House Barimen, believe it or not, in the Time of Legends, reputedly as a gift for the King in Yellow himself, but he met his demise before it could be given. Instead it was granted to House Gurney by High King Daghda Barimen as a reward for a service of some note. This was all before the treachery of your august ancestor, of course.

“Then in the turmoil caused by the treacheries of the arch-heretic, Dworkin, and his spawn born of the Unicorn…” Rama’s tone of voice belies his choice of words; he sounds respectful, even awed, by these names, “…House Barimen was toppled from the Rim and several houses were extinguished in the furore, Gurney among them. The Gauntlet was then inherited through a complex of marriage treaties, ultimately falling to House Ku’urkil, who achieved Rim status thanks to their adherence to High Queen Morwenna of Protean. Ku’urkil remained loyal and Sufret Hinkon never drew blade against Morwenna; he thereby survived into the reign of Juan of House Peron.”

Rama laughs wryly, “Hinkon was very much a survivor because he lived to see our current monarch crowned – may his reign never end. But at the time Ku’urkil’s position was deemed precarious and Caliph Yusuf challenged Ku’urkil to a duel of honour over some sleight – real, perceived or manufactured. Ku’urkil put forward a champion – I believe his name was Lomar… he lost, obviously, and so the Gauntlet came to Abal. Yusuf and his successors frequently wore it, but alas it did nothing to restore their glory.”

The gauntlet enhances Logrus manipulation, Sorashi remembers – a very useful acquisition in the right hands if one excused the unintentional pun. “I am sure House Indra will make profitable use of the gauntlet, and I am happy that it will be used rather than stuck as a display in my Treasury.”

Rama smiles, “May I…?” He takes the iridescent glove and pulls it on. Sorashi notices the glove in the niche was left-handed with two thumbs but somehow it fits Rama’s right hand perfectly. He holds it up to the light, turning his hand to examine it from all sides. It catches the light strangely, transforming as much as reflecting. Sorashi guesses it has a very high refractive index; almost as if the glove were made of liquid diamond.

“Regretfully I lack the talent for using the Gauntlet effectively. Of course I must assay my heritage before long, at which point it will become more than a mere adornment. However I admit I am not looking forward to that. For now it must go to Krishna.”

“Assaying one’s heritage seems a daunting process – Lady Zae seems much altered by it,” Sorashi muses aloud.

Rama lowers the glove but his gaze stays where it is, focused to infinity. “Yes…” Something about Sorashi’s words seem to have unsettled him. “I know the lady slightly, though we have not talked since her return. I understand she suffered some… impairment.” He sighs deeply. “It is ever thus with the Logrus: you gain much power, but something is lost, and that something is different for each supplicant – You are never the same again.” His eyes refocus on his hostess. “I imagine it is much the same for you…?”

“The Pattern is more of a mental rather than a physical change, but still it does change you,” she replies.

“Really?” Rama seems genuinely interested. “How was the experience for you?”

Sorashi pauses to remember, and to consider how much to reveal. “The Pattern is a test of will and stamina, more than anything,” she muses. “It was like walking against a fast-flowing river, and you can’t stop or go back. And when you win through, it’s like you have been tempered.”

“Does it drive you mad or impair your faculties in any other way?”

“Not as far as I know. You either succeed or fail – if you fail, you die.”

Rama nods slowly, his expression one of apprehension for his future. “Yes, and all too often the thing the Logrus takes away is your life. I have been schooled in its history and something like one in three or four fail completely – Keeper Suhuy likes to display the remains in his chapel, you know. How many have died on the Pattern?”

“Yes, I’ve been in the Chapel.” Sorashi successfully quashes all-too-vivid memories. “As to the Pattern, I really don’t know – it’s not the type of question one asks before undergoing the test. There have definitely been fatalities, but not that many, I would guess.”

“Mmm!” Rama mulls over things for a minute, then shrugs, “Of course it must be expected that the two are polar opposites.” He tucks the glove away inside his tunic. “Well, I must be away – demons don’t bind themselves.”

“Of course,” Sorashi replies, mentally comparing him to Zuby – to the latter’s disadvantage – as she exits the Treasury after him, locking the door behind them. She walks with him to the front entrance and says in farewell. “I am glad that you visited my House, it has been a pleasure.”

“Likewise, Lady,” Rama salutes with a curt bow and a click of the heels, kissing her hand. “And I hope to return soon with that promised demon and with another of my House to survey the work that needs doing. Farewell, Lady Sorashi of Amber.”

She bids him farewell, then, as the door closes, wonders what to do next. Repair to the Throne Room to await the third visitor? No, she decides, let’s see what this coronet does. With that decision made, she walks back to Asfar. “Asfar, I have decided to try the coronet. Do you know if there is anything I need to do first?”

The demon falls into step beside her as they make their way toward Sorashi’s suite. He thinks for a minute before replying thoughtfully, “This one does not believe so, Mistress. My Lady has already bested Todaformas so the Alhambra is yours, as is the coronet. However, a formal display to all the demons of the household gathered together, for them to see and formally acknowledge you, wearing the Coronet of Nasr, might be wise. It is not immediately necessary but my Lady may wish to consider doing so fairly soon. However all you need do is simply wear it, to this one’s knowledge.”

“I am expecting another visitor,” Sorashi says (mentally correcting it from ‘visitation’ just in time), “but, after that, I will do so.”

“Very good, my lady.” If Asfar is surprised to learn another visitation is imminent, he hides it well. “Is it your intention to wear the coronet for your third visitor?”

“No,” replies Sorashi, “I think not.”

Asfar nods acquiescence. “Will you be requiring refreshment for your third visitor, Mistress? This one does realise that your own appetite has been assuaged two-fold but this one knows not if you wish to feed your guest.”

‘Depends on who it is,’ Sorashi thinks to herself, but Asfar needs an answer so she says, “Drinks only, I think. It may seem amiss if I do not share the food with them.”

“Very good, mistress.”

They arrive in the pillar chamber and Asfar steps back away from the door to the Calipha’s suite – evidently he has no intention of entering without an invitation.

She enters her room and, checking that the coronet is still where it should be, she draws some water into a bowl and washes her hands and face. As there is no immediate announcement of a visitor, she stretches to remove the kinks from her limbs and shoulders. The coronet is still in the drawer where she left it. Something makes Sorashi leave the drawer half open as she refreshes herself. Somehow it keeps drawing her gaze – it’s almost as if it’s looking at her, but it’s not a creepy sensation. As she dries herself it dawns on her that she and the coronet are meant for each other.

There’s a half-length ‘mirror’ on one wall, apparently made of a single sheet of dark crystal but when she stands before it for more than a few seconds her image swims into focus. She straightens the skirt of her olive and cream sari and checks her hair is not trying to escape from its plait again. A part of her wonders if it would be worth trying the coronet on now, and the longer she thinks it, the more logical it seems. It has to be done sooner or later, and something tells Sorashi that the coronet is hers in a very real sense. It wants to be worn… There is no rational reason why not, thinks Sorashi, only fear of the unknown.

She takes it from the drawer and her fingers seem to tingle, as if touching static electricity. Sorashi doesn’t recall it feeling that way an hour ago when she deposited it here. Looking at her ‘reflection’ in the mirror, slowly she lifts the coronet to her head. It drops lightly into place and seems to mould itself to her as a shiver runs down her spine. That electric feeling seems to strike through her being like iced water.

Suddenly she feels inches taller, as if she’s stepped into high-heels. She feels… regnant… queenly… She almost wishes her nose were slightly longer so she could look down it at those beneath her. In the mirror she sees herself as never before – now she recalls the portrait Rama spoke with; the woman was also wearing the coronet – ‘She Who Must Be Obeyed!’

Ever cautious, she reaches up to take the coronet off – to prove to herself that she can. She can feel her own reluctance; among other things the coronet makes Sorashi feel more… ‘capable’, she knows that removing it will leave her feeling diminished to the same degree that donning it made her feel augmented. But she is a daughter of Amber, and of Deirdre, what’s more, and she is not lacking in willpower. The coronet lifts off as easily as it went on and, as expected, Sorashi feels slightly deflated. But she has proved to herself that she can take it off and that, after all, was the point. The old swami’s voice seems to echo in her memory ‘In the end, you only have yourself – so make sure you can cope with only yourself’.

She leaves it on a convenient surface as she finishes her toilet, almost as though it is a puppy being trained to wait. Sorashi is soon finished – there’s nothing actually to repair, after all. During this short time she is aware of the coronet. She wants to put it on again, and it wants to be worn, but it is an urge she can easily ignore. Putting it back in the drawer, she leaves her rooms. Still no sign of her third visitor. Maybe she should see the harem? Sorashi is both intrigued and apprehensive about what a harem in a Chaos house would actually be like.

Back in the Chamber of Pillars, Asfar is still patiently waiting. Sorashi can tell that he has something on his mind. “Mistress…?”

“Yes, Asfar, what is it?”

“This one must offer apologies, mistress, but there has not been a moment in which to advise my lady and this one was uncertain how important the observation might be. My lady will recall that she asked this one to show Sir Zuby to the door while she was in conference with Kirgiz in the Treasury? Yes, well, on emerging from the door to the Hall of the Ancestors, this one discovered Sir Zuby apparently engaged in conversation with the portrait of Caliph Hacén. This one was unable to overhear their discourse and Sir Zuby turned away as this one approached but this one gained the distinct impression that your guest had shown the Whip to the portrait in order to gloat. Caliph Hacén was most incensed…”

Sorashi sighs inwardly. “I suppose I had better speak to the Caliph,” she says.

“This one believes my lady may gain profit from speaking to all the portraits... or at least entertainment.” To Sorashi’s ears, this last sounds almost as if Asfar is making a joke, though his voice conveys his usual earnest tone. “However this one would hesitate to ascribe any urgency to such discourse – they are only portraits, after all. But my lady should also be aware that your guests did pass each other outside the gate and some words were exchanged. Again this one could not overhear their precise discourse but it seemed to this one that they were both very… polite.”

I can imagine, thinks Sorashi wryly, mentally filing it away under ‘things to politely enquire about later’. And at that moment Sorashi spies that strange shimmering that signals either an imminent migraine or another visitation from Kirgiz…

“Sssz… Missztressz…? Threessz timessz… charm issz… another nassztie… comessz!”

Sorashi considers briefly the wisdom of asking for further information, and then decides not to. “Thank you, Kirgiz,” she replies, “Asfar, we will shortly have another visitor.”

“This one shall attend at the door, my lady.” And Asfar vanishes through the nearest archway.

On a sudden impulse, Sorashi decides the coronet would be a good idea, and returns to her rooms to put it on. She finds the coronet where she left it just a minute ago. Again she feels the tingle as she raises it to her brow and again she gets that sensation of increased stature. She also realises that Kirgiz, or at least his manifestation, has followed her into her chambers. Evidently he doesn’t share Asfar’s sense of propriety. Or more logically, doesn't actually recognise boundaries in the space we mortals inhabit, she thinks.

“Yessz! Mosszt becoming issz… Now all szhall knowssz… the Alhambra… a missztressz… new hassz.”

“Indeed, Kirgiz. What did you wish to tell me?”

“Kirgiz… tellssz?... Nossingssz… Exzzept now Kirgiz… Missztressz knowssz issz!”

It takes Sorashi a few moments to translate Kirgiz’ response, and even then she is not absolutely sure she was correct. Hoping that it was approval of her symbolically accepting ownership of the Alhambra, she inclines her head towards him and smiles. Kirgiz doesn’t exactly smile, and if he did it would be near impossible to distinguish expressions through the crazed interface that seems habitual with him. But Sorashi does sense some aura of approval.

“Nosszingssz eatssz Missztressz now.” Yes, there’s definitely a chuckle there.

Reassuring, thinks Sorashi, I just hope he's right. “No, Kirgiz, nothing will eat me now.”

The comes a knock at the door, not the triple Knock of Doom that heralds a visitor, but the discrete knock on her chamber door from someone who is genuinely distraught to be troubling anyone inside.

The crazed serpent shifts indeterminately. “Asfar returnssz…”

I could probably have worked that out myself, thinks Sorashi, as she tells Asfar to enter. Asfar enters gnomically. Sorashi is beginning to get the feel of reading his mental state. She doesn’t quite know how an utterly featureless face can show emotion but her steward is clearly embarrassed.

“Please forgive this one, Mistress, but your caller remains without the gate and refuses to enter. He asks to speak to ‘The Tiger Woman’ but says it is not permitted for him to cross the threshold.”

“Did he say who or what he was, Asfar?” Sorashi is intrigued but paranoia is an Amberite survival trait.

“Merely that it was imperative that he speak to the ‘Tiger Woman’. He was quite insistent. ‘For the sake of both our houses’, he said. If this one might venture an opinion, Ma’am, he feels ‘dangerous’ to this one without being ‘threatening’. He gave his name as ‘Saturday’ but from the time he took to say as much this one suspects it is a cognomen – he wears the body of House Barimen, lady.”

“Kirgiz seessz… nassztie breathing… firessz! Sssz! Kirgiz over Mistress watchessz…?”

“Yes, Kirgiz, I would like you to do so.”

Kirgiz writhes, hurting the eyes, but then there’s a sensation of movement and he’s gone.

And so Sorashi goes to meet the visitor who will not enter the Alhambra. Asfar walks close to but one step behind Sorashi until nearly at the main door, at which point he quickens his pace to reach the door just before her. She has time to place herself in the middle of the doors but a few paces back, before Asfar opens the doors. Then he announces to whoever is outside, “Behold the Lady Sorashi, Dame Gorgant of the Seasoned and Crapulous Order of the Undulating Thing, Calipha Slayer, Mistress of the Alhambra by right of conquest and daughter of Princess Deirdre of the most Pagan and Heretic cadet House of Barimen.”

Then he steps to one side and says, “My lady, your visitor without, who shall be called…”

“…Saturday…” A man wearing a top hat, a python and smoking an enormous cigar, bows low, but without removing his hat.

He rises and smiles broadly, revealing gleaming white teeth in a negro face. He has strange white tattoos or skin-painting over what is visible of his body, depicting his skeleton in a stylised form.

“…You are Tiger-Woman.” It is not a question, but could be treated as such, if she was so inclined. It’s clearly an ice-breaker.

“I am,” she replies. “And you are... Saturday.” He reminds her faintly of fakirs, street magicians back home. She waits to hear what he has to say, ready to be sceptical, and wonders whether the python is a pet or part of his body.

“I have many names but ‘Saturday’ will do.” The big grin vanishes but he smiles around his cigar, seemingly appraising his host. His dialect is strange, a melange of accents, none of them familiar, both cultured and rough at the same time.

Asfar coughs politely, though with what is a conundrum, “Does my lady wish for this one to serve refreshments?”

Sorashi considers her visitor. “I think not, Asfar.”

Asfar seems slightly uncertain at this but the visitor removes the cigar and grins again. “No indeed!” agrees Saturday in his basso profundo voice, “One such as I am not deserving of hospitality.”

To her visitor, she says “I understand you will not enter my House. What is it you have come here to discuss with me?”

“It is not that I will not enter – I would like nothing better than to enter this maison and sup rum with the Tiger Woman. But I may not – it is not permitted for one such as I to do this ting. And it is of this I would talk with you.”

Sorashi is not sure what a mayzon is, assumes he means the Alhambra. But standing at the open gate seems exposed, and she does not trust Saturday enough to go elsewhere with him. From a casual gesture and his glances up at the building, he must be referring to the Alhambra. Sorashi feels she is right not to trust him but she can see what Asfar meant about him being ‘dangerous’ but not ‘threatening’ – a little like Mandor, perhaps?

“Then please continue,” she says.

“The loa tell me this was once the maison of a mighty family, seigneurs des la bord – Mmm, Lords of the Rim, non? But maison fall, become petits seigneurs, and others replace them on the Rim. Now Tiger-Woman has slain the last of the petits seigneurs and they are no more… non?”

Sorashi resists the urge to reply ‘No’ but ‘Yes’ seems equally wrong. She settles on, “That is correct”.

Saturday twirls his cigar and blows a beautiful smoke-ring. “So it is at your door that the Thelbane now has one house too few… Tiger Woman may not know this – there are houses not in the Thelbane. Such houses are regarded as the lowest of the low, scarce better than demons. My house, Guédé, is one of these. We are always à l'extérieur – always… looking in, ignored, beneath even the contempt of the petits seigneurs.” Saturday sounds bitter. “You have extinguished an entire house. The loa say your opinion will influence the replacement. I ask that you consider Guédé… s'il vous plaît…”

‘Sivu plae’ – a phrase Sorashi has never heard, but it has a tang of an emollient social phrase of the ‘long life be upon you, sahib’ variety used by beggars and those of very low caste. Even here, there are those who walk with their eyes downcast, she thinks.

In reply, she says, “Tell me of your house, Gweday, and why I should do such a thing, and I will consider it.”

“My family is concerned with the loa, certain spirits of a specialised kind. Guédé grows them from seed.” Saturday chuckles as if that’s a joke. “The loa tell me tings, and can be useful in many ways – they can heal, and they can harm. If you were to make Guédé petits seigneurs, we would owe you a great debt. It would give us station and status – and in this place, that is everyting – in return Saturday could make the loa work for you. Is not knowledge power? That is what Guédé offers you.”

It sounds rather more Margrath’s field than mine, thinks Sorashi. "What exactly is a loa?" she asks of her visitor.

“They are ancestral spirits but served, cared for and… ‘groomed’ in particular ways.”

Nothing you are saying is endearing House Gweday to me, thinks Sorashi, but she is not inclined to extend the interview any longer than she has to. “Very well, I will consider your plea and mention your request at the appropriate time. Where is your House situated?”

“Where?” Saturday guffaws loudly, but strangely Sorashi doesn’t get the feeling of being put down. It’s more like he finds her question genuinely, if darkly, amusing. “The likes of Guédé have no home, but the loa know where to find Saturday.” He gestures upward with his cigar at something out of Sorashi’s line of sight, but which somehow she guesses is Kirgiz. “Tiger Woman ask her spirits an they find Saturday, I tink.

“Saturday asks no more of Tiger Woman than you offer, but you must believe me when I say we can help you. Since you will do as I have asked, I shall keep my word. In earnest of this please accept this boon – is there anyting Tiger Woman would have me ask of the loa now?”

Sorashi thinks – she trusts Saturday little, so questions about Mandor's Plan A are out – as Mother would say 'do not whisper in corridors anything you would not want heard in the marketplace'. Fiona. Harmless enough, she thinks, and the chance of some possible information – even if of dubious veracity.

“Please ask your loa what or who is impeding Princess Fiona from reaching the Courts.”

Saturday chuckles again as he twirls his cigar – whatever else you might say about him, he certainly has a sense of humour. “The loa already reveal this ting; Fiona of Amber is delayed by subtle sorceries aimed at another. Tis her nephew that a certain shadowy faction would keep away. But the princess wit the red hair is… resourceful…” Saturday laughs again at some private joke, “…an she understands how tings be here. She will not be kept away much longer. When Tiger Woman dances with the charioteer of thunder on the dust most yellow, Princess Fiona will enter on a white stallion.”

Sorashi had forgotten how much she hated prophesies and soothsayers - all metaphors and twisted meanings. She has no immediate idea who the charioteer of thunder is, or what the 'dust most yellow' is and only hopes that 'dances' means moving calmly and rhythmically to music. She nods and tries to look thoughtful. “Thank you for that information. Before you go, I offer food and drink for your journey, if you wish it.” The old, formal phrase takes Sorashi rather by surprise – not sure where that came from, she thinks.

Sorashi’s words seem to catch Saturday by surprise. “Mmmm? A little rum, I tink.”

She turns to Asfar. “Do we have some rum for our visitor?”

“This one is sure we have, my lady – if your guest can wait but a moment…”

“Assuredly,” comes the laconic response – Saturday seems to have regained his poise. Asfar withdraws, presumably in the direction of wherever the liquor is stashed. Perhaps feeling the need to fill a pregnant pause, Saturday removes the cigar (which doesn’t seem to be burning down) and grins rakishly. “Tiger Woman is not impressed with the words of the loa, I tink?”

“I think the words of the loa need some reflection on my part – I forget that not all perceive the world as I do.”

Saturday rolls the cigar around his mouth as he considers Sorashi’s reply and it seems her words strike a chord with him. “Mmm! Yes… likewise. Saturday forget Tiger Woman is from far away. Forgive me, lady. Tis not… wise… to say certain tings openly, when anyting may listen, so we speak in circumlocutions. But Tiger Woman may not readily grasp the… allegories…? For now, may I observe that in this place the colour yellow has certain… connotations, and if Tiger Woman wait but a small time, she will see the loa speak true.”

Asfar glides to Sorashi’s right but out of Saturday’s line of sight. He carries a dusty octagonal bottle on a tray with two crystal goblets. He gestures at the goblets, raising a metaphysical eyebrow; the second goblet is for her if she chooses to drink with Saturday… or not.

She moves to the tray and pours a decent measure into one, and a nominal amount into the other. The first, she hands to Saturday. Asfar gives an infinitesimal start of surprise – evidently he wasn’t expecting Sorashi to pour or serve her guest herself, but recovers his composure quickly – yes, his new mistress is ‘different’. She has to cross the threshold of the doorway to hand Saturday his goblet. As she does so she hears a metallic slithering noise and a “Ssssz!” from above, which can only be Kirgiz.

Saturday must already be aware of the demon above him but does not allow himself to be distracted as he watches Sorashi’s every move. He accepts the full goblet and doubtless notices hers is less full. Saturday touches his cigar to the liquid and raises the flaming goblet in salute to his hostess. Sorashi is sure he does not expect her to drink hers aflame.

“To the ancestors…!”

Sorashi steps back over the threshold before she returns the toast, “To those who came before”.

Saturday grins and pours the flaming rum down his throat in a single swallow. He then tosses the goblet carelessly to Asfar, who deftly fields the delicate crystal.

Saturday takes an enormous pull on his cigar causing the end to incandesce brightly. Then he breathes the smoke out, which gathers about him until he is entirely invisible. “Au revoir, Tiger Woman,” comes his voice from within the cloud, then the smoke dissipates and he’s gone.

Asfar pokes his nose out and looks around, Saturday has definitely gone. Asfar is unfazed – evidently this is all in a day’s work for him. As he closes the doors Kirgiz manifests over his metal plate. “Threessz timessz… charm issz… charm done… Missztressz for Kirgiz callessz… when needssz…” And without waiting for a reply, he dissolves into the plate.

“Ahem,” Asfar is waiting patiently for Sorashi’s attention. “Lady, when do you intend to procure a portrait for the Chamber of the Ancestors? Previous caliphs and caliphas have typically had the painting done ‘in house’ but, as is doubtless clear, this is no longer possible.”

Sorashi was in fact pondering what might have happened if she hadn't stepped back over the threshold. Sorashi herself sensed no threat and neither Kirgiz nor Asfar seemed to either, so she was probably safe, but the symbolic act of venturing outside the safety of the Alhambra to serve her guest was not lost on Saturday; she is sure she has impressed him in some way.

Her thoughts distract her for a second before she registers Asfar’s question.

“I will see if one of my cousins will paint my portrait, but I cannot say when it will be done.”

“Very good, Lady.” There is a momentary pause before Asfar continues, “This one senses that perhaps my lady would prefer to rest before visiting the Harem and other parts of the Alhambra, but this one would be happy to continue the tour right now if this one’s assessment is incorrect.”

“I think I will have a quick wash before we continue, Asfar – I will let you know when I am ready to resume.”

A wash and a stretch sounds very enticing, thinks Sorashi – she can feel the knots from her encounter with Saturday.

“Very well, my lady – this one shall spend the intervening time preparing for your formal display as Mistress to all current demons.” Asfar bows his head and withdraws.