The Malacia Tapestry Read Free Page A

still-warm bread roll garnered from its nest in a wicker basket. I tucked this snack inside my shirt for safety.
    La Singla began to expand her voice. She looked every inch a queen, she was a queen, as Kemperer conducted with prompt book in hand. He was a thin man, often gawky in his movements, yet in rapport with his wife so graceful and involved that it would be difficult to determine which inspired the other.
    Now her regal mouth cried of damnation. She was dressed still in deshabillé, with flimsy slippers on her feet and her golden hair trailing about her neck, knotted carelessly with a white ribbon. Good and ample though her figure was, it held something of the stockiness of the generations of Malacian peasants from which she had sprung (at least according to one account of her origins). Yet it also radiated majesty as she ranted to a dying lover on a battlefield long ago.
    â€˜â€œOh, I will be revenged for your lost life, Padraic, never fear! Far worse than enemies, friends it was who brought your downfall. This is not war but treachery, and I will root it out – for am I not come of a great line of warriors, of generals, admirals, high-mettled princes? My remotest forebears lived in the old stone towns of Sasqui-Halaa, and from them rode out to vanquish those half-human armies of Shain and Thraist, a million years ago –”’
    â€˜No, my thrush. “A million years ago …”’
    â€˜That’s what I said. “A million years ago, from out –”’
    â€˜No, no, my dear, confound it, listen: “a mill-i-on years ago …”, or else you break the rhythm.’ He offered her some yellow teeth which achieved at one glint both wolfishness and supplication.
    â€˜â€œA million years ago, from out the tepid prehistoric jungles swarming. So shall the armies of my hate –”’
    She noticed me by the curtain and became La Singla again. The transformation was sudden. Her face broadened as she smiled in sheer good nature. Maria, La Singla, was about my age. She had good teeth, good eyes, and a good brow; but it was her good nature I most loved. Kemperer, furious at the interruption, snarled at me.
    â€˜How dare you sneak into a gentleman’s house, you puppy, without being announced? Why is my privacy always invaded by rogues, relations, and renegade mummers? I’ve but to call one of my men –’
    â€˜Darling Pozzi-wozzy,’ remonstrated La Singla.
    â€˜Hold your tongue, you minx, or you’ll get a cudgelling too!’ Such abrupt turns of mood caused us to fear him and ape him behind his back.
    â€˜How could I not be drawn in at the sound of that divine tragedy of Padraic and Heda?’ I asked, assuming the role of diplomat.
    â€˜There’s no work for you today, as you well know. You flounce in here –’
    â€˜I don’t flounce. You mistake me for Gersaint.’
    â€˜You sneak in here –’
    â€˜Maestro, allow me to hear more of the Padraic tragedy. I never weary of it.’
    â€˜I weary of you. My little thrush Maria is to give a recitation before the joust at the Festival of the Buglewing, that’s all. I merely coax her, coax, as fox coaxes fowl, to smooth the ragged edges of her diction.’
    â€˜I’d never dare to make an appearance without your coaxing, my good spouse,’ piped the fox’s wife, coming so near the fox that she could peep over his dandruffy shoulder at me.
    Mollified, he tickled her chin.
    â€˜Well, well, well, I must powder my wig and get down to the jousting field to see that our box is properly constructed. Do it yourself or it’ll never get done … Attention to detail, the mark of a man of genius … True artist never spurns the practical … Reality the common clay of fantasy … “A million years ago, from the tepid prehistoric jungles swarming …” A bold line, if not mouthed to death.’
    As he chattered in a way