"Flew in from Manhattan via New Jersey, didn't get to sleep last night. On the way my girl Satine was on my knee--man, that was a long long flight! I'm back in Genovia. Don't know how lucky you are, uh-huh!"
Queenie tapped me on the shoulder. "Rachelle, please observe the city. There are some lessons to be learned."
I watched. Tobeins is a beautiful and scenic city, full of classic architecture and picturesque people. Or, rather, Tobeins is a decaying pit, full of crumbling buildings and and shambling derelicts. Take your pick. I guess it depends on whether you take your descriptive style from the Travel section of the New York Times or from P.J. O'Rourke.
Frankly, it looked like any big city. We passed through fields of waving alien herbs, then through sprawling suburbs filled with Gaudi mansions and Frank Lloyd Wright tract houses, through blocks filled with brightly colored shops squeezed in between fading walk-up apartments.
Most of the people in the city were small and round, with mouse-brown skin and dark brown hair. They were bustling around busily, good citizens going about their daily business. Queenie told me that they were Esnuda.
"Are there any Rhaije down here?" I asked.
"They generally don't like to live down here, but the few that do don't live very well at all. They're mostly drunks and homeless." Queenie sniffed disdainfully.
"So then what are we?"
"A mixture of both. The royal family actually stems from the sixteenth century, when the High Priestess of the Esnuda and the Warlord of the Rhaije combined families."
"In response to the proto-Mafia families of the city-states of Italy," I finished the passage from the history book. "How could I have forgotten."
Queenie nodded. "Very good. You've been studying your history. Ah, here we are!"
"Finally," Mia yawned. "I wanna go to sleep."
"You've been sleeping for the last twelve hours," Queenie snapped.
"In little bits!" Mia protested. "This is the palace, right?"
My God, was it ever a palace. No stately castle with flying buttresses and gargoyles for the ever-tasteful Genovian royalty. It was a huge stone wedding cake, with curly gold bits and horrible statues.
"An ostentious display of bourgeouise excess if I ever saw one," I muttered.
"You've also been studying your Marx, I see." Queenie sighed and waited for Joseph to open the door.
I'm not going to waste a lot of time with describing the palace. Yes, it was big. Yes, it was gaudy and had a lot of red velvet and sweeping spiral staircases. Yes, there was a great deal of mahogany and old paintings. I was not favorably impressed.
Satine knew her way around the place. She showed me the inner workings of the palace, the hidden bits that only the only the workers ever get to see. She showed me around the kitchens and the laundry rooms, the side corridors and hidden passages that to safe chambers where a deposed monarch could hide from the ravaging hodes that want the royal head on a pike.
I was pleased. "Satine, do you have a map of these, or did you just memorize them?"
Satine smiled. We were sitting in my room, which was several hundred times larger than my mom's apartment. "They are all up here." She tapped her head. "I have had much time to explore."
"No maps, then? You'll just have to remind me every so often."
"We can go on expeditions into the hidden depths of the palace," suggested Satine.
I nodded. "A very good idea."
Satine looked at the floor and shyly swung her feet. "My lady. We have spent quite a lot of time together, and yet..."
"And yet?" I prompted.
"And yet we have never..."
"Never what?"
"You have heard of the droit de seignur, have you not?"
Oh no. Where was this leading? "Are you getting married or something?"
Satine snuggled up to me. "In some villages in Florin, it is the custom for the young women to be betrothed to a suitable young man as soon as they are old enough to learn a trade--usually at nine or ten. Then they go out to make their way in the world and earn some money for their families."
"And the men?"
"The men stay home to tend the farm, milady. The girls come back when they are old enough to marry, at eighteen years of age. The day they return, they are welcomed with a huge feast and a wedding party. Then they give their money to the village and settle down and use their talents to serve the entire community."
"That sounds like a good way to do things," I said. "Does it work?"
"Very well, usually. I may be doing that very thing."
I sat up. "You're going back tomorrow?"
"Well...Technically, I have no plans. But for the sake of argument, say that I am going back to my village tomorrow to be married." She twined her slim arms around my neck. "This is the last day that my lady and I shall ever spend together, for tomorrow I shall belong to the village." She looked into my eyes. "Does my lady not wish to exercise her right, as a noblewoman, to claim me for her own?"
My legs were starting to tingle. Role-playing. I had to keep my head. She was playing the most cliched scenario in the book and yet she knew exactly how to turn me on.
"For the sake of argument," I said, "let us say that if I claim you, I shall be able to keep you as my own."
Satine smiled. "My lady," she whispered, "claim me."
Queenie tapped me on the shoulder. "Rachelle, please observe the city. There are some lessons to be learned."
I watched. Tobeins is a beautiful and scenic city, full of classic architecture and picturesque people. Or, rather, Tobeins is a decaying pit, full of crumbling buildings and and shambling derelicts. Take your pick. I guess it depends on whether you take your descriptive style from the Travel section of the New York Times or from P.J. O'Rourke.
Frankly, it looked like any big city. We passed through fields of waving alien herbs, then through sprawling suburbs filled with Gaudi mansions and Frank Lloyd Wright tract houses, through blocks filled with brightly colored shops squeezed in between fading walk-up apartments.
Most of the people in the city were small and round, with mouse-brown skin and dark brown hair. They were bustling around busily, good citizens going about their daily business. Queenie told me that they were Esnuda.
"Are there any Rhaije down here?" I asked.
"They generally don't like to live down here, but the few that do don't live very well at all. They're mostly drunks and homeless." Queenie sniffed disdainfully.
"So then what are we?"
"A mixture of both. The royal family actually stems from the sixteenth century, when the High Priestess of the Esnuda and the Warlord of the Rhaije combined families."
"In response to the proto-Mafia families of the city-states of Italy," I finished the passage from the history book. "How could I have forgotten."
Queenie nodded. "Very good. You've been studying your history. Ah, here we are!"
"Finally," Mia yawned. "I wanna go to sleep."
"You've been sleeping for the last twelve hours," Queenie snapped.
"In little bits!" Mia protested. "This is the palace, right?"
My God, was it ever a palace. No stately castle with flying buttresses and gargoyles for the ever-tasteful Genovian royalty. It was a huge stone wedding cake, with curly gold bits and horrible statues.
"An ostentious display of bourgeouise excess if I ever saw one," I muttered.
"You've also been studying your Marx, I see." Queenie sighed and waited for Joseph to open the door.
I'm not going to waste a lot of time with describing the palace. Yes, it was big. Yes, it was gaudy and had a lot of red velvet and sweeping spiral staircases. Yes, there was a great deal of mahogany and old paintings. I was not favorably impressed.
Satine knew her way around the place. She showed me the inner workings of the palace, the hidden bits that only the only the workers ever get to see. She showed me around the kitchens and the laundry rooms, the side corridors and hidden passages that to safe chambers where a deposed monarch could hide from the ravaging hodes that want the royal head on a pike.
I was pleased. "Satine, do you have a map of these, or did you just memorize them?"
Satine smiled. We were sitting in my room, which was several hundred times larger than my mom's apartment. "They are all up here." She tapped her head. "I have had much time to explore."
"No maps, then? You'll just have to remind me every so often."
"We can go on expeditions into the hidden depths of the palace," suggested Satine.
I nodded. "A very good idea."
Satine looked at the floor and shyly swung her feet. "My lady. We have spent quite a lot of time together, and yet..."
"And yet?" I prompted.
"And yet we have never..."
"Never what?"
"You have heard of the droit de seignur, have you not?"
Oh no. Where was this leading? "Are you getting married or something?"
Satine snuggled up to me. "In some villages in Florin, it is the custom for the young women to be betrothed to a suitable young man as soon as they are old enough to learn a trade--usually at nine or ten. Then they go out to make their way in the world and earn some money for their families."
"And the men?"
"The men stay home to tend the farm, milady. The girls come back when they are old enough to marry, at eighteen years of age. The day they return, they are welcomed with a huge feast and a wedding party. Then they give their money to the village and settle down and use their talents to serve the entire community."
"That sounds like a good way to do things," I said. "Does it work?"
"Very well, usually. I may be doing that very thing."
I sat up. "You're going back tomorrow?"
"Well...Technically, I have no plans. But for the sake of argument, say that I am going back to my village tomorrow to be married." She twined her slim arms around my neck. "This is the last day that my lady and I shall ever spend together, for tomorrow I shall belong to the village." She looked into my eyes. "Does my lady not wish to exercise her right, as a noblewoman, to claim me for her own?"
My legs were starting to tingle. Role-playing. I had to keep my head. She was playing the most cliched scenario in the book and yet she knew exactly how to turn me on.
"For the sake of argument," I said, "let us say that if I claim you, I shall be able to keep you as my own."
Satine smiled. "My lady," she whispered, "claim me."