“Not long,” answered Star. She looked drawn and tired.
“But time enough to get this straightened out,” added Rufo, “so that you can make up your own mind and not be carried around like a cat in a sack. She should have told you long since. She–”
“Positions!” snapped Star. “Count down coming up. Rufo, if you don’t shut up, I’ll leave you here and let you walk out again–in deep snow barefooted to your chin.”
“Go ahead,” he said. “Threats make me as stubborn as you are. Which is surprising. Oscar, She is–”
“SILENCE!”
“–Empress of the Twenty Universes–”
Chapter 17
We were in a large octagonal room, with lavishly beautiful silvery walls.
“–and my grandmother,” Rufo finished.
“Not ‘Empress,’ ” Star protested. “That’s a silly word for it.”
“Near enough.”
“And as for the other, that’s my misfortune, not my fault.” Star jumped to her feet, no longer looking tired, and put one arm around my waist as I got up, while she held the Egg of the Phoenix with the other. “Oh, darling I’m so happy! We made it! Welcome home, my Hero!”
“Where?” I was sluggy–too many time zones, too many ideas, too fast.
“Home. My home. Your home now–if you’ll have it. Our home.”
“Uh, I see . . . my Empress.” She stomped her foot. “Don’t call me that!”
“The proper form of address,” said Rufo, “is ‘Your Wisdom.’ Isn’t it, Your Wisdom?”
“Oh, Rufo, shut up. Go fetch clothes for us.”
He shook his head. “War’s over and I just got paid off. Fetch ’em yourself. Granny.”
“Rufo, you’re impossible.”
“Sore at me, Granny?”
“I will be if you don’t stop calling me ‘Granny.’ ” Suddenly she handed the Egg to me, put her arms around Rufo and kissed him. “No, Granny’s not sore at you,” she said softly. “You always were a naughty child and I’ll never quite forget the time you put oysters in my bed. But I guess you came by it honestly–from your grandmother.” She kissed him again and mussed his fringe of white hair. “Granny loves you. Granny always will. Next to Oscar, I think you are about perfect–aside from being an unbearable, untruthful, spoiled, disobedient, disrespectful brat.”
“That’s better,” he said. “Come to think of it, I feel the same way about you. What do you want to wear?”
“Mmm . . . get out a lot of things. It’s been so long since I had a decent wardrobe.” She turned back to me. “What would you like to wear, my Hero?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything. Whatever you think is appropriate–Your Wisdom.”
“Oh, darling, please don’t call me that. Not ever.” She seemed suddenly about to cry.
“All right. What shall I call you?”
“Star is the name you gave me. If you must call me something else, you could call me your ‘princess.’ I’m not a princess–and I’m not an ’empress’ either; that’s a poor translation. But I like being ‘your princess’–the way you say it. Or it can be ‘lively wench’ or any of lots of things you’ve been calling me.” She looked up at me very soberly. “Just like before. Forever.”
“I’ll try . . . my princess.”
“My Hero.”
“But there seems to be a lot I don’t know.”
She shifted from English to Nevian. “Milord husband, I wished to tell all. I sighed to tell you. And milord will be told everything. But I held mortal fear that milord, if told too soon, would refuse to come with me. Not to the Black Tower, but to here. Our home.”
“Perhaps you chanced wisely,” I answered in the same language. “But I am here, milady wife–my princess. So tell me. I wish it.”
She shifted back to English. “I’ll talk, I’ll talk. But it will take time. Darling, will you hold your horses just a bit longer? Having been patient with me–so very patient, my love! –for so long?”
“Okay,” I agreed. “I’ll string along. But, look, I don’t know the streets in this neighborhood, I’ll need some hints. Remember the mistake I made with old Jocko just from not knowing local customs.”
“Yes, dear, I will. But don’t worry, customs are simple here. Primitive societies are always more complex than civilized ones–and this one isn’t primitive.” Rufo dumped then a great heap of clothing at her feet. She turned away, a hand still on my arm, put a finger to her mouth with a very intent, almost worried look. “Now let me see. What shall I wear?”
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