Free Shadow Spinner by Susan Fletcher

send just anybody to get stories and have them do a good job.
    But if he couldn’t find the storyteller . . .
    A sick, sinking fear dragged at me. He
had
to.
    If he couldn’t. . .
    Dunyazad would think I was to blame. She would think that I had lied to protect myself from the Khatun. She would think I didn’t care what happened to Shahrazad, since the Sultan would never marry
me.
    She didn’t know me at all.
    *  *  *  
    The next morning, right after dawn prayers, I lighted my lamp and made my way toward the corridor that led from Shahrazad’s quarters to the Sultan’s bedchamber.
    For once, I was not alone. Flickering lights, all moving in the same direction, drifted through the dim courtyards and hallways—an odd, silent pilgrimage. I recognized thebeak-nosed woman who had taken me to the baths, and a woman who had bought one of Auntie Chavas brooches, and a few of the children who had listened to the story of the fishes. I followed them to a courtyard staircase that led up to the alabaster corridor I had seen that first day. A cluster of people—fifteen or twenty, I guessed—sat or stood in pools of light on the wide marble steps. There was the gazelle girl with her pet, and the copper-haired girl. There were two eunuchs: one old and bitter looking; another young, with a sad, gentle face.
    You would think that women gathered in this way would talk—to gossip or exchange confidences or simply pass the time. You would think that children would have trouble holding their tongues. But this group was strangely hushed.
    I stood at the rear, near the bottom of the steps. No one seemed to notice. But then the young eunuch with the gentle face turned round to look at me. And smiled.
    Was he Shahrazad’s ally? I wondered. The one they were sending to find the storyteller?
    But now there was a shifting in the crowd, a sigh. I looked up to see the gold-clad eunuch walking toward us, moving through the arch. With Shahrazad and her sister behind.
    She lives!
My heart gave a glad little leap.
    Shahrazad turned and smiled. A public smile. A queens smile. Her glanced skimmed over the crowd; she didn’t seem truly to
see
anyone. I was hoping that she would smile especially at me. That she would . . . what? Thank me in front of everyone? Summon me to her quarters?
    But she didn’t.
    She moved with her sister through the arched doorway and into her rooms.
    When I looked about me again, the steps were empty. Just a few people remained in the courtyard. As I watched, they disappeared through one arch or another until only the gazelle was left. He sniffed at the air, took a hesitant step, then pranced lightly across the square. When he vanished through an archway, I stood listening to the echoing clicks that his hooves made on the tiles.
    *  *  *  
    They didn’t summon me that day. And all the time I worried: Had they found the storyteller? If they had, did he know the rest of the tale? Shahrazad had said she could stretch out the part I had already told her for three more nights. Now only two were left. If she didn’t have the tale . . .
    Dread clung to me like a damp gown. I wished there were something I could
do.
    I went for a long walk through the harem to keep myself from going crazy. No one stopped me from exploring, and soon I could find my way around. The lived-in parts were scattered throughout the harem and parceled out—I guessed—according to where people stood with the Khatun. Her favorite servants—the copper-haired one and the beak-nosed one—lived in magnificent suites of rooms. Women with children seemed to have more than one room as well. But most of us lived in tiny rooms, even though many fine ones stood empty. And, aside from the Khatun and her favorites, no one lived very near to anyone else. It seemed as if the Khatun was trying to keep the rest of us apart.
    But the children didn’t want to stay apart from