It almost seemed as though Onan never remembered anything he had ever said before. The stories he would tell, the observations he would make, were all things he had said to Silent Her many times before.

Over the years he had grown so thin he looked gaunt and starved. His nose was thin and large, and he had big gray eyes that peered from beneath bushy black eyebrows like the stare of some predatory bird. Still he ruled the kitchen with a sharp cleaver, and no one challenged his authority there.

Before his bank of ranges, Onan issued his pronouncements, moved pots, tasted this, flicked a pinch of magic spice into that, all of the time creating a cloud of delicious smells. At the oddest moments he would curse the Imahnti and damn them for being infidels, pagans, aliens, and things without taste buds.

Once as he stirred a soup, Silent Her watched him from a corner. They were alone together.

"By the Jesus and Bab, smell this awful mess, girl. Do you smell it?"

She nodded gravely. Onan was displeased with the soup. There were modern kitchen ranges that completely eliminated smells of any kind, but when approached by a seller, Onan passed it off with a disgusted wave of his hand. "I am a chef, not a space pilot." With another stir, he smacked the wooden spoon on the lip of the silver pot, and placed it in a drip boat. He leaned back against one of his cold ranges and folded his arms.

"I suppose you like the smell."

She nodded, and it was the truth. She loved Onan's soldier melon and brush pod soup.

The cook shook his head, held his hands up toward God, and said in explanation, "She has never tasted anything other than these hideous things and spices brought to us by the fuzzywriggles." The cook turned and went to where Silent Her was standing against the wall. He grabbed her shoulder.

"Come with me, girl."

He turned her and steered her down the servant's corridor beneath the female wing until they came to his room. He opened the door and pushed her inside. He closed the door and locked it. Picking her up, he placed her on his bed.

"Now, little Si, do you know what I'm going to show you?"

She shook her head as a sour taste came into the back of her throat.

She knew that it was wrong for her to be there. Shahar, one of the kitchen scrub woman, had warned her never to be alone with a man. When Silent Her had asked why, Shahar had signed that when she was little a man had gotten her alone and had done terrible things to her. Silent Her had thought that the scrub woman was only trying to frighten her, but as she sat upon the cook's bed, the fear made her heart beat rapidly.

"First I'm going to show you a very special book. Close your eyes."

She reached beneath her veil and placed her hands over her eyes. When she heard the cook open a closet, she peeked through her fingers. Onan returned carrying a book in his hands. It was a very old book. The cook sat on the bed next to her.

"You can look now."

As she lowered her hands to her lap, Onan pointed at the book. "You can't read, but there are many beautiful pictures in here. Look." He opened the book and leafed through the pages until he found a colored picture of a spindly plant with sparse leaves and clumps of pink blossoms.

"You can make a spice from this plant called marjoram." He flipped past a hundred or more pages. "Look at all of the dishes I cannot prepare because the world has no marjoram."

He turned back to the inside front cover and pointed at an inked scribble. "There is the fool woman's name: Bethany Yiskah. She brought this cookbook to Haram. That was what they called Angerona when the Enlightener's followers settled here over four hundred years ago. She brought this cookbook and every recipe in here calls for certain specific spices."

He again held his outstretched hands up to the face of God that He might witness the absurdity of the female. "Did she think to bring seeds to grow these spices?" He lowered his hands and shook his head. "No, she did not."

He flipped through the pages, his eyes aching after the multitude of recipes he could not execute.

"I do not even have an idea how these things are supposed to taste." His eyes became sly as he remembered something. "I do have a bit of an idea about one spice." Onan faced her suddenly. "How old are you?"

She held up six fingers.

"Do you want to smell some magic?"

She nodded eagerly. Onan reached across her to a tiny shelf built into the wall next to his bed. He picked up a clear bottle that was stoppered with blue glass. He held it in his hand and pointed at the brownish fragments inside the bottle.

"Girl, this is a bay leaf. If I had but one or two to throw into that soup in the kitchen, it would fill the estate with glory. Listen to me now. When I open the bottle, sniff quickly and you will smell a glorious taste from Father Earth that the soup could have had if Bethany Yiskah had been smart enough to bring seeds for her spices."

He held the bottle before her and she stuck out her nose. He pulled out the stopper, and as soon as she sniffed, he replaced the stopper. "Well?"

Her nose wrinkled up as the acrid odor reminded her of something. The leaf in the bottle had smelled like Toi after the gardener had spent the morning working under a hot sun. It smelled like man sweat. It smelled like dirty laundry and Toi's armpits. Her face had a sour look as she looked up at the cook and frowned.

Onan pushed her off the bed, unlocked his door and opened it. "Stupid girl! Get out of here, stupid girl!"

Behind the door there was mostly silence. Once she heard footsteps and once she heard an eating utensil as it fell to the floor. The sound she heard the most often was a constant scratching that sounded like an insect or pest in the wall.

One morning she tried the latch and the door was not locked. Suddenly she was very confused. Up until that moment she had known what her goal was. Her goal had been to find the door unlocked. On the other side of the door had been something that belonged to her: her name.

With the achievement of her goal, old fears stole into her heart. The person who held her name was mad. Everyone said so. She was violent, and the only person Duman's second wife had ever been violent with was her daughter.

Very slowly she pushed open the door, no more than a thickness of a dust hair at a time. There was a table before a window, and there was a black-shrouded figure hunched over the table. The dark figure was her mother, and her mother was writing.

Silent Her had done no more writing since the important priest had slapped her hands and had spoken sharply to Rihana in the garden. Her father had been very angry and he had instructed the family priest doctor, Father Yadin, to instruct all of the females in "The Shaytan."

The knuckles of Silent Her's left hand accidentally rapped against the door. Without looking toward her, the woman at the table suddenly fell to the floor behind the table.

It seemed like such an insane thing to do, the girl became frightened and pulled shut the door with a bang. The door was still not locked and she held her breath as she heard footsteps running across the floor. The latch moved and she grabbed it and held onto it as she tried to keep the madwoman inside.

The door handle was pulled from her grasp as the door swung open throwing her to her knees inside the room. She looked up at the figure and her eyes filled with the image of Hard Mouth from her nightmares.

Hard Mouth reached down, but the girl scurried to her feet and ran from the room, through the corridor to the back staircase, down the stairs to the kitchen, and into her safe place behind the ranges.

As she huddled in her safe place, she heard Nabil and Onan screaming at each other from the floor above. The madwoman was loose in the female wing, and each one was blaming the other. The voice of the guard sergeant, Jamil, drowned out the others and soon it was quiet once more. As she hid in the dark she felt her eyes burn with tears. She knew she would never have a quiet name. She would never have anything but her pet name, and she hated nothing more than being called Silent Her.

Her father, of course, never wore black. Often he would wear pale gray with a maroon sash, or pale green with golden sash. On special occasions he would wear a white satin suit with a maroon sash set with blue gems.

Rahman, her brother, seemed to wear whatever he wanted. Each of the rare times she had seen him he had been wearing something different. His clothes were of bright reds, oranges, and yellows. She wanted so much to wear a jacket the same color of yellow as Rahman's.

One evening in the garden she signed to Rihana, "I want a yellow coat."

Rihana frowned as her fingers answered, "I do not understand you."

"I want a yellow coat like Rahman's."

"You know females wear only black. You know females own nothing."

"I know I hate black. I know I want a yellow coat."

"Don't be foolish, child. Own your yellow coat in the back of your mind, but never let your fingers speak of such a thing again."

There was no way to argue, no one with whom to plead. It was written in "The Shaytan." Females may own nothing. Silent Her did not even own the starcross Rihana had given her, for it had not been Rihana's to give. It had belonged to Duman Amin, and it had come into Rihana's possession by the grace of her husband's favor. Possessions were forbidden to her.

She looked from the windows of the female wing at all of the places that were forbidden to her. She was forbidden to enter the rest of the house. Only Rihana could go there, and only when Duman invited her.

The mansion was surrounded by a wall, and beyond the wall were many beautiful gardens. Beyond the gardens were more walls and the vastness of Duman Amin's estates. Beyond the limits of the estates was a land about which she could only imagine. Above it all was a sky crossed with wealth-laden ships headed for the same stars Si could see at night.

Once when she had disobeyed the guards and had slipped out of the female wing, she had climbed to the top of the north wing and had seen her brother in a large room at the end of the corridor. Her eyes were dazzled. The room was filled with toys, stuffed animals, and games. Built into the wall was a screen with moving pictures of small fuzzy animals with long ears and tiny pink noses. Songs came from the screen. Rahman was sitting with his back toward her, his attention absorbed by the television. She stared at him and at his wonderful room, ignoring the sound of footsteps behind her.

"Now I've got you!"

Strong hands grabbed her, trapped her arms, and picked her up. "This time, girl, I will certainly teach you to remain where you are supposed to remain," growled Sergeant Jamil.

Rahman turned to see the cause of all of the noise. "What are you doing?" demanded her brother.

"My apologies, little master," said the guard sergeant, "I must bring this one back to the female wing."

"You wouldn't have this trouble if you guarded her properly. See that you don't disturb me again."

Jamil tucked Silent Her beneath his left arm and bowed very deeply. "As you wish, little master."

"Who is she? One of the scrub girls?"

Sergeant Jamil stood and said, "By the Jesus, you do not know?"

Rahman put his fists upon his hips. "You do not use profanity in my father's presence. Do not use it in mine."

"My apologies, little master. I was only surprised that you did not know your own sister. She is the one your father pet-named Silent Her."

"Oh?" Rahman walked closer. His eyes narrowed as he approached her. "Are you certain?"

"Quite certain, little master."

He placed his fists upon his hips and studied her down the length of his nose. "She's not very pretty."

"Well, she is a twin."

The boy glowered at the guard. "That wasn't very funny, Jamil."

"A thousand pardons, little master."

Rahman turned his back and picked up his book. "Do not disturb me again, Jamil, or else I will tell my father."

"Yes, little master. I am most grateful."

Silent Her saw her brother glance at her as Sergeant Jamil took her away. Once they were going down the stairs and were thus out of Rahman's hearing, Jamil hissed, "By the Jesus, Muhammad, Abraham, Buddha, and the Bab! Don't use profanity in his presence! How was that fathered by Duman Amin? It's having that madwoman for a mother, is what's done it. That's what made such a piss-dripping out of Duman's son and made such a disobedient salt out of you, girl. But, by the Buddha's benevolent balls and the Bab's crabs, this time I'll beat Magda's salt out of your tail feathers!"

Once in the female wing, Jamil took her to the room next to the guard's station. As she struggled in his arms, he sat down, put her across his knee, lifted the hem of her dress, and began spanking her. As she struggled, her veil fell to the floor.

"Sergeant Jamil!" shouted her brother's voice.

The guard sergeant froze as his name was spoken. Silent Her lifted her head and saw Rahman standing in the doorway. "You should not be here, little master."

"I'll say where I am supposed to be in my own house, sergeant!"

"Forgive me, little master, but this is your father's house. What's more, I am your father's guard placed here to keep the females in the female wing."

Rahman stepped into the room and pointed at Silent Her. "My father would never approve of you beating my sister."

"You must forgive me once more, little master, but I am not beating her, I am spanking her."

"It's all the same whatever you choose to call it, sergeant. My father could never approve of such brutality."

"Little master, not only do I have permission to spank this female when she is disobedient, I have Duman Amin's permission to punish his wives if they misbehave."

She watched as Rahman reached out a hand and pulled down the hem of her dress, covering her. He said, "Never strike my sister again. If you ever do I will make up a terrible lie about you and tell it to my father."

The guard sergeant laughed. "I am more than your father's servant, boy. I am his friend. I was his sergeant during the War of the Prophets, and I saved his life. He attended my wedding and my eldest son is named for him. Now, what kind of lie could cast that in a shadow?"

The boy frowned at Jamil. "I mean it. I'll do it."

"Go back to your toys, little boy."

Her brother reached to his sash and withdrew a small folding knife. Opening the blade, he held it at his own throat with his right hand and said, "Father, I know this is hard to believe, but Jamil did something to me." He placed his left hand upon his crotch as a tremble crept into his voice. "He touched me here."

"What filth!" exclaimed Jamil, his eyebrows climbing. "Duman would never believe such a—"

"I cried out but he held a knife at my throat! See the scratch where the edge cut the skin! Jamil swore he would kill me if I told anyone!" Rahman increased the pressure of the blade upon his neck.

"You haven't the courage," taunted the guard.

A drop of blood dribbled down Rahman's neck and Jamil stood the girl on her feet and jerked Rahman's blade and hand away from his neck in one swift movement. He got to his feet, his hands trembling.

"By the ice, boy, you're as mad as your bloody damned mother!" He shoved Silent Her toward Rahman. "There! Take her! And when Duman Amin wants to know why there's no discipline in the female wing, I'll send him to you!"

The guard sergeant marched toward the door, but before reaching it he paused and looked back at the girl. He pointed a finger at her, his face now quite red. "Don't think you've found a rescue at the hands of some knight, girl. He'll tire of you the way he tires of all of his toys. I'm like the Enlightener in his ice: I'll always be there." Jamil left the room, closing the door behind him.

Rahman picked up Silent Her's veil and draped it over her head. Reaching beneath her veil he wiped away her tears with his thumbs. "We can play together. It'll be fun."

She looked toward the door and back at Rahman.

"Jamil is an old fool," the boy declared. "You are my sister and I am going to be your patron from now on. You are the twin sister of Rahman, and I shall protect you."

She saw the tiny dribble of blood on her brother's neck and knew she had at last found her protector.