7.

They arrived before sunset, a couple of hours earlier than Lazar had anticipated, so he decided to give Ana a brief tour of Percheron, knowing she might never be permitted to see the beautiful city again. By tomorrow morning Ana would know she was a prisoner, with all those qualities that made her such an intriguing free spirit stamped out of her until she performed in the remote, rehearsed manner of all the harem women. He had heard tales of their personalities surfacing in the bathing rooms and behind closed doors, and he could believe it. Wanted to believe it. But for all intents and purposes, the women of the harem lost their right to free expression. Perhaps even Herezah had been a carefree young thing once.

Herezah! The very thought of the woman made him want to linger as long as possible outside the palace itself.

"Jumo, perhaps you could take the horses and our things back to the palace barracks?"

"Are you not coming, Master?"

"I thought I'd show our guest a little of Percheron's sights before I deliver her to Salmeo."

"Very good," Jumo replied, but his warning glance said far more. "Good-bye, Ana." He helped the youngster from the horse they had shared.

She surprised him with a hug. "Good-bye, friend Jumo. You won't forget me, will you?"

"Never. You will make us proud. One day I suspect Spur Lazar and I will have to bow before you."

"I would never make you do that." She smiled softly.

Jumo straightened and took the reins of Lazar's horse. "Be careful, Master" was all he would risk.

"I shall be back within a couple of hours at the most," Lazar assured him. "Come, Ana, let me show you some of this beautiful city." He turned his back on both of them and strode off.

"You'd better hurry, child," Jumo urged. "He waits for no one."

Ana spared a final glance for the tawny man and then she was lost amid the crowd of people pushing toward the main gates. It was not hard to spot Lazar towering over the shorter Percherese population. He had taken off his head covering and his dark hair had fallen loose to just above his shoulders. It could do with a good wash and brushing. Ana imagined how it might feel if she was attending to it, and a warmth passed through her body. It felt good to be near Lazar, yet, if asked to explain why, she was not sure she could do so, particularly as he was so distant and grumpy. Her young mind could not wrap itself fully around it but she wondered if he was someone who could be badly hurt. A person who covered his weakness with his gruff manner. Despite that vulnerability, Ana sensed only intense power in the man. Although he might follow orders, she guessed that no one told Lazar what to do; she knew in her heart that she had a similar trait. Life was obviously going to be difficult for her now that she had an "owner" to answer to. Ana decided that she and Lazar were souls who were destined to meet, and as this notion gelled in her mind, she realized she had caught up with the man who claimed her thoughts. Startling both herself and him, Ana reached for his hand.

"I might lose you," she said in answer to his surprised glare.

He frowned but let his hand remain in hers. "Look at these creatures, will you?" He marveled as they approached the city walls. "Aren't they spectacular sculptures?"

"They are beautiful," she agreed, her eyes sparkling with equal wonder. "But they are not sculptures, Lazar."

"Oh?"

"They look alive because they were alive a long time ago."

He snorted. "They lived? What, that gryphon over there?"

She nodded seriously.

"How do you know? Are you so old that you have seen them?" he challenged, with amusement in his tone.

"I think perhaps I am what they call an old soul."

The huge gates of Percheron were supported by two monstrously large lions with jagged manes and huge wings that folded down their strong backs.

"Aren't they magnificent?" Lazar said, pausing and bending to touch one. He felt compelled to do so every time he passed.

"They are Crendel and Darso."

"Oh, they have names too?" he said, disbelief lacing his tone now.

"Just like you and me," she said, unaffected by the jest in his voice.

"I'm not even going to ask how you know," he said, "because I too can make up things, Ana, and I'm glad of your imagination." He surprised himself by bending to pull her close and stare at her. "Because it's your imagination that will save you. You will always have it to escape to."

"Don't be sad, Lazar," she said, impulsively stroking his dark hair.

Her touch was so innocent and yet so intimate it took his breath away. As he stared at her large trusting eyes, he considered her bleak future as a plaything to a man, and for a fleeting moment considered running away with her, taking her back to the foothills, or better, trying to find her true mother. Or he could just take her into his own home; he didn't actually live at the palace or in its barracks, so it could be done discreetly. Perhaps he could say he bought her at the slave market to help keep house for him. Then she would be safe. He would see to her education and he would help her make a good marriage. But even as his mind raged, Lazar knew in his heart he could do nothing of the sort. Herezah had demanded six girls of him. The men he had sent ahead already knew he and Jumo were last seen heading toward one of the families in the western foothills. The Valide was too cunninga"she would learn of his new housekeeper. And Ana was far too beautiful to escape notice.

He looked away, resigned to her fate and hating that he had personally chosen her destiny. "Let me show you some more," he said, hoping his voice did not reflect the anguish within. Silently he berated himself for his strange attitude these past couple of days. Suddenly he was an emotional liability: eyes misting without warning, feeling introspective, questioning his life and its meaning. And worst of all, allowing a young girl to add fuel to the fire of those insecurities.

Once again holding Ana's hand, he weaved her through the streets of Percheron as dusk descended, lamps were lit, and the city clothed itself in its more sensual mantle.

"You must be hungry?" he asked. She nodded. "How about a sharva?"

"What's that?"

"I'll show you," he said, his own mouth watering at the thought. "I trust you eat meat?"

"I do. Just not birds," and she smiled her apology. They wended a slow path into the markets, a warren of alleyways. People meandered around them, going about their business of buying everything from fresh meat to silver bracelets.

"I love it here," Lazar admitted. "Each narrow lane is known for a specific craft. Now this one that we're in specializes in the flat triangular sort of hats that the ordinary Percherese favor. The hats for our esteemed citizens are made in another street. See that woman over there?" Ana nodded. "She uses twelve needles to knit the yarn."

"Ah yes, they do this in the foothills too."

"Of course, you would have seen it."

Ana smiled. "It's knitted very wide and then they dye the hats and shrink them in the huge boiling bowls."

"That's right. They call them the cauldrons. After drying them, they use a dry thistle to tease up the fibers, like this." He pointed to another woman hard at her toil. "And you end up with one of these beauties." He put a red coriz, as it was known, on his head, its tassel dangling in his face.

She laughed. "Another street?"

The next alleyway was devoted to rugs, and the one after that to fabulous cushions fashioned in velvet and silk, wool and skins, in every size and shape imaginable. They made their way through the torch-lit alleys past shops selling fabrics and beautiful hanging lanterns, then exquisitely painted tiles, and finally into the maze of lanes given over to the art of cooking.

Ana was drawn to the spice sellers, whose sacks of brightly colored powders and seeds, beans and pods, were displayed. She stood quietly and watched as women pointed to what they wanted and paid for their purchases. A man who sat cross-legged near a set of scales called to his helpera"a tiny boya"who scampered around scooping up the wares and placing them in squares of fabric. The man would weigh them; almost always the boy's estimate was right, and he rarely had to return to the designated sack to fetch more of the spice or return some. Satisfied, man and customer would exchange money while the child expertly tied the bought produce into the square of fabric with a piece of silk.

"Tamara, caracan, alpse, vergun, zarakor," Lazar listed, pointing to the various sacks. "Smell this," he said, picking up a small pod and crushing it in his palm.

"Gezil?" she asked.

Lazar grinned. "You're very clever, Ana. Do you know what it is used for?"

Ana shook her head. "I know its fragrance because my father showed it to me once, growing on the long-leafed trees in the foothills. As the berry hardens, it turns from red to this shiny black."

Lazar nodded. "They flavor custards with it, but if it is crushed before it hardens and rubbed on raw, I'm told it's very good for toe sores," and he pulled a face, making her laugh.

A man roasting nuts over a small open fire beckoned to them. Ana looked up at Lazar hopefully, but he was looking away. She followed his gaze and saw another man in a tiny hole in the wall, slicing roasted meat from a spit.

"Sharva," Lazar said theatrically, leading Ana to the tiny booth. He put two fingers in the air and dug into his pockets for coins.

The man handed them each a folded flat bread, from which emanated a heavenly smell. Inside the folded bread Ana could see thin slivers of the flame-cooked meat, green leaves she had never seen before, rounds of something else green that looked like a fruit but not one she knew. She did recognize the fat chickpeas and translucent slices of onion, though. Everything was drenched with a thick, tangy white sauce that was soon running down their chins and her slim arms.

They sat down around a central stone fountain.

"Good?" he asked in between bites.

Ana's muffled response through her bulging mouthful made him laugha"it was obvious she was enjoying her meal. When they had finished, he bought her a small sherbet made from pulped fruit.

"This finishes it perfectly. It takes away the spiciness from your tongue and adds a cleansing tang. This sherbet is not as scrumptious as you'll eat in the palace, of course, and I'll let you discover why," he said with a wink, handing her one half of a purple berren fruit, whose flesh had been scooped out and replaced with the cool sherbet.

She used the wafer he gave her to ladle the fruit pulp into her mouth and groaned her pleasure. "I've never tasted anything like this before. I shall never forget it," she said, laying a small hand on his wrist. Again she felt a pulse of warmth move through her as their skin touched. Lazar didn't say anything but she knew she had pleased him, adding, "And I don't think even the palace sherbet could taste this good."

"Why do you say that?" he asked.

"Because right now I'm free as I eat this. The next time I taste anything as good I shall be a slavea"I'm sure that will make it taste very different."

Lazar nodded seriously. There was something unsettling about Ana's insights and yet, at the same time, they gave him a rush of pleasure. As though he'd finally found a haven in someone else's mind. They washed their hands and mouths in the small fountain.

"What's through there?" she asked, flicking water from her fingers.

"Aha, well now, beyond that bend are the lanes of gold. Would you like to see them?"

"Oh yes, I would."

He guided her through. The sky overhead had deepened to black and the stars were bright and shiny like tiny jewels flickering amid the inky cloak of night. Lazar realized he was having fun. He could not remember when he had last felt so carefree. Many people had recognized him, of coursea"the Spur was a distinctive man in Percherona"but it didn't matter tonight. Normally he hated the intrusion on his thoughts but tonight he nodded at the passersby, accepting their acknowledgment and salutations, even smiling oncea"much to the surprise of the courteous person hurrying past.

In Gold Alley, as it was known, Ana watched the shopkeepers haggle over prices with their customers. It was a hive of activity and yet it seemed unhurried as people were absorbed in their transactions. Her gaze was drawn to one dark corner where she saw a tiny old woman, her face veiled, pulling what looked like a gold chain from beneath her robes. She cupped the piece in her hand so quickly Ana couldn't be sure what the jewelry actually was. The man she spoke with loomed above her, dirty, unshaven, clearly a street seller rather than a registered shopkeeper.

Ana mentioned it to Lazar, pointing to the large man.

Lazar nodded. "Yes, they're called alley cats here. They have no set spot; you'll see them roaming all the laneways, looking for people to buy from and sell to. The shopkeepers hate them but it's not against the law, so they continue, though I imagine it will be outlawed soon as there are just too many of them suddenly. They ask no questions, need no proof that the item you're selling is yours, give you no guarantee that the coin they pay or the gold they sell is genuine."

"Then why does anyone do business with them? Surely it would make more sense to deal with someone who must trade honestly?"

"Because the alley cats ask no questions. That woman probably needs the money so badly that she will deal with this person, even though she would prefer not to."

"Can we not help her?"

"Why?"

"Because it's a good thing to do."

He smiled at the earnestness in her expression. "How, Ana?"

"You buy her gold."

"What?" He laughed. "I don't think so."

"Please, Lazar. That man will try to steal it from her. She looks desperate, so he'll not pay a fair price."

"You're perceptive, Ana. That's surely what will happen but it's not for us to interfere."

Her expression clouded, grew grave, determined. "How much did you pay for me?"

"Pardon?" he said, taken aback by her directness.

"What was I worth to my stepmother?"

Lazar could see it was pointless trying to skirt this issue. "Forty karels."

"Offer the old woman the difference. I have no sense of value, Lazar, but I think you probably took advantage of Felluj's desperation to be rid of mea"just as the alley cat is taking advantage of the old woman. You could see that our family was penniless and so you could offer what you wanted. What am I truly worth to the palaceatwice as much?"

"Probably," he admitted, compelled to be honest. Ana's harsh words hurt deeply as she held him seriously in her gaze. He felt the ache all the way to his heart.

"Then offer her the other fortya"you can tell the Valide that I cost that much," she begged.

Without giving Lazar another moment to consider, Ana rushed over to the old woman who was about to hand over her jewelry.

"Wait!" Ana cried. "How much are you selling your gold for?"

The old womana"far older than he had first thought, Lazar noteda"turned and smiled gently at Ana. "Twenty karels, my girl."

"I will give you forty for it!" Ana exclaimed.

"Hey!" the alley cat said angrily. "Stay out of it, stupid girl. You don't look as though you have a zeraf to your name!"

Ana ignored him. "Please?" she asked the old woman. "Let me buy it."

"Go!" the man yelled, shoving Ana hard. Within a blink he felt his arm enclosed in a grip so hard he squealed.

"Don't touch her, scum," Lazar said, squeezing harder, watching the man double over slowly. "You're lucky I don't throw your kind into the pit, or worse." He let go of the man.

"Spur," the merchant bowed. "Forgive me, sir. But I was doing an honest trade with a customer."

"Honest, my arse." Lazar sneered. "Go on, be glad I don't take it further."

The man glared at Ana and the old woman but turned furiously and left without another word.

"It was honest by his standards anyway," the old woman said generously from beneath her hood. Her voice was kind, with a soothing singsong quality to it.

Lazar retrieved his money pouch from his belt. "Here, forty karels is the agreed price, is that right?"