The Rowan

The Rowan's startlement was apparent in her rigid posture as she peered through the door panel Siglen opened. Interior and Lusena hurried up and were equally stunned.

The entrance hall was grand - that was the only word for it, with hidden lighting to emphasize its opulence, the formal, rigid chairs made of exquisite woods, the equally fragile tables set with either statuary or arrangements of static flowers, picked at the moment of bloom perfection and held eternally at their peak. Walking carefully across the intricately mosaic floor, the amazed trio entered the reception room, its walls adorned by the sort of gaudy, big floral print that Siglen preferred. The room, which would have been spacious if it had not been so cluttered, was crammed with twisted-ware stools, two- and three-seat couches, arranged in conversational groupings: tables set everywhere, squatting in corners, nestled against the couches, their surfaces and shelves filled with what looked like Interstellar Bazaar items, some undoubtedly valuable enough, Interior thought, but none of it the sort of furnishing or adornment suitable to a young girl. The walls were hung with artwork from every star system, judging by the variety of styles and mediums, but crowded frame to frame so that the eye could not fasten on anything. Down one corridor was a small kitchen, an ornately claustrophobic dining area, and two guest bedrooms en suite. Down the other was an almost barren "library" with shelves and worktops, and a swimming pool, plasgrassed, far too shallow for an active and accomplished swimmer like the Rowan.

With a final flourish and in anticipation of effusive praise, Siglen waved her large hand across the admit-panel of the bedroom she had created for the Rowan: a yellow and peach confection box of frills, doodads, and so many embellishments the necessary pieces of furniture were disguised.

"Well?" Siglen demanded of the Rowan, having taken the silence for amazement but needing some verbal gratification.

"It is the most incredible apartment, Prime Siglen," the Rowan said, turning slowly around and clutching Purza to her breast. Her eyes were wide, glittering with an emotion that Lusena hoped the child could contain. The Rowan swallowed noticeably but managed to say clearly, "I appreciate all your efforts. This is worth waiting for. Really, you have been extremely generous. It is all too much!" Lusena shot the Rowan an alarmed shaft of appeal, hoping the girl would stop there. Twelve-year-olds are not the most tactful creatures. The Rowan was avoiding Lusena's eyes. Indeed she kept looking around her, as one item after another caught her attention. Lusena was counting heavily on the Rowan's empathy.

"You have been exceedingly thoughtful and kind," the Rowan went on and approached a low bed, smothered in bright satin pillows, some of which colors clashed with the yellow and peach of wall, carpet, and furnishings. She rearranged one pillow and planted Purza on it. "We shall be immensely comfortable here, won't we, Purza?" Thus addressed, the pukha whirled and made a sound that was certainly not a purr, definitely a comment. Eyes dancing with mischief and suppressed laughter, the Rowan swiveled to Lusena. "I think the power strands need replacing. That's no purr!" At once Lusena and the Secretary of the Interior distracted Siglen, who looked about to say more on the subject of dispensing with the pukha, by effusively complimenting her on the magnificence of these quarters, so much time spent on thoughtful details, and where did Siglen manage to find so many unusual things.

Just then, a porter brought in the trolley containing the Rowan's effects, two carryalls, and five cartons of books and educational disks.

"Ah, are these all you have?" Siglen asked in a disparaging tone, glancing accusingly first at Lusena and then at Secretary Camella.

"The Rowan was awarded an adequate stipend above and beyond her living expenses but she doesn't make use of it," Camella said defensively.

"She isn't an acquisitive child," Lusena said at the same time.

Siglen made a noncommittal noise. "I shall leave you to get settled." She patted the Rowan on the head and turned, so she did not see the expression on the girl's face although both Lusena and Interior did. Lusena moved to the girl and Interior thought she'd better make certain that Siglen left before the Rowan exploded. Hastily, she closed the bedroom door behind her.

When Interior got back, the Rowan was bowling with laughter, rolling on the bed, clutching a now purring Purza in her arms. Most of the satin pillows had fallen to the floor. Lusena was collapsed on a chair, tears of laughter streaming down her face. Secretary Camella, who had expected rather a different scene, sank to another chair, grinning with relief "I simply don't believe that woman," Lusena finally managed to gasp. "This… this bordello ambience… is suitable for a twelve-year-old girl?" "Don't worry, Rowan," Interior promised, "you can sleep in the library until we clear out this… this… bazaarity."

Waving one hand in agreement, the Rowan continued to burble.

"Well, at least you can see the amusing side of it," Interior added and could not resist chuckling, too.