The Summer Palace by Lawrence Watt-Evans Page A

objection to acting on that interest, but there were no obvious opportunities. His living quarters, sleeping on the floor of a shared tent, did not provide any privacy at night. By day, he was under the constant supervision of the old women. In the evenings, his practice sessions, attempts at sewing, and meals took up much of his time. Back in Barokan he might have managed something,perhaps arranging a rendezvous and slipping out at night, but here he was not sufficiently sure of the customs to attempt it.
    He did meet the eyes of a lovely young woman during one practice session and smiled at her, but she did not smile back; she blushed and turned away.
    After the session, Whistler mentioned, out of earshot of the others and without preamble, “We do most of our courting in the winter.”
    â€œThank you,” Sword said.
    That explained why he had heard no mention of dances or other entertainments. Sword thought it unlikely that those young people who had no partners really waited all through the three seasons atop the cliffs without exploring a few possibilities, but apparently he had been a little too open and obvious.
    He was mulling that over on his ninth night in camp as he tried to thread the
ara
-bone needle to start sewing his new pants together. He suspected that wearing the same stained and worn black clothing day after day did not make him any more appealing to the Uplander women; he had rinsed the Hostman garments out a couple of times, but hadn’t really gotten them clean, since clan custom did not allow him to go naked anywhere except inside his own tent, and it wasn’t possible to wash them properly with nothing but his hands, a borrowed basin, and a jug of water, especially not in the poor light in the tent.
    Attempts to borrow clothing, so he could go wash his in the stream, had been met with first confusion, then disgust; apparently Uplanders did not share clothing under any circumstances.
    Therefore, he needed to make himself a new outfit. It wasn’t just a matter of making himself more comfortable, or fitting in better; a change of clothing was a necessity. His present garb would not last forever. He didn’t think it would even last until winter.
    Cutting the pieces hadn’t been too difficult, but assembling them was a challenge. He had learned to use a needle and thread as a boy, so as to repair his own clothing when necessary, but he had never made an entire garment from scratch before, let alone with a bone needle rather than steel.
    A shadow fell across his fingers, and he looked up to find Whistler crouching beside him, with Fist and Dancer standing by, blocking the lanternlight.
    â€œWe were wondering,” Whistler said, “whether you might want a break from Stepmother and her friends.”
    Puzzled, Sword looked around, but didn’t see the old women.
    â€œTomorrow, I mean,” Whistler said.
    â€œOh,” Sword said. “What did you have in mind?”
    â€œCome hunting with us,” Fist replied.
    â€œYou won’t be allowed to actually kill anything,” Dancer warned. “But we could use a hand.”
    â€œBent Ear hurt his foot,” Fist explained.
    â€œWe want you to help carry things,” Whistler added with a wry smile.
    â€œDead birds are heavy,” Dancer agreed.
    â€œWe’ll give you a share of the feathers,” Fist said, grinning.
    Whistler cast him a disgusted look. “Feathers aren’t worth much of anything here,” he said. “That’s why we’ve always considered you Lowlanders to be fools, because you’ll pay so much for them. We’ll give you a share of the meat and bone—say, a leg.”
    â€œNot all of one!” Dancer protested. “Just for carrying?”
    â€œCome on, Whistler, don’t make him any gifts!” Fist agreed. “We’ll give him a fair share, but not an entire leg.”
    Sword looked up at them, then glanced down at his unfinished