Heart's tale

Chapter 1 Part 3

The wind picked up his words and carried them somewhere far up, to the open terrace, where they were heard by the sharp-eared dog that had thrown its muzzle over the railing atop the dome of the most unusual building between the University and the chambers of the House Amun. It crowned an elaborate architectural ensemble, and, not being the tallest in it, it remained hidden from view by an unknown architect's design. No student or maid could see it unless by chance they happened to be inside it, but none of them had such an opportunity. And only from the clock tower could one see the corner of the terrace, where a dog wagged its ear, fending off an unpleasant word.

It felt something, so it turned and ran through the garden, fragrant with the sweet smell of unseasonably blooming flowers. The neat stone paths branched among the exotic plants that bloomed year-round, and even the small trees that provided much-needed shade on the roof in the afternoon. The dog tucked its claws in to make less noise on the stone tiles and rustled through the leaves past the open space, where a foam-filled bathtub stood in the center on legs as thin as an animal's paws.

"Assol!" a voice called out to the dog.

It immediately froze and turned its muzzle toward a woman's head with tall, lush hair, crowning a composition of foamy mountains. The woman's face turned toward the dog, exquisite and refined, like a revived porcelain sculpture.

"The spyglass, Assol!" the thin red lips said calmly and insistently as if they were a deliberate contrast to the painful whiteness of the skin. The dog immediately disappeared into the foliage, and a hand with fingernails to match the lips stuck out from the foam and scratched the nose.

"There will be a pimple," her lips said, and her eyes took on that desperate expression that makes you want to cry inside, but it was the absurdity of the action or the lack of witnesses, that stopped the woman from her inevitable frustration.

At that moment the dog threw its muzzle over the edge of the tub and gently dipped the end of the golden spyglass into the woman's hand. The opposite end went far into the thicket. It would have been more accurate to say a complex assembly mechanism that served as a lookout tube, but under the circumstances, everyone understood each other well.

"Thank you, Assol," said the woman softly.

The dog looked back with devoted eyes and disappeared. A second hand with black nail polish appeared out of the foam and began to help the hand with the red polish turn the tube links so that the lushly lashed framed eye could look into it. After some struggle, in which her hands won, the woman put her left eye to the tube. Then she twisted the ribbed rings some more, squinted her right eye, and froze, staring at what she saw.

Pretty soon her eyelashes fluttered in surprise, and her lips whispered:

"Finally, they're moving."

Then the hands twisted bigger rings, and something squeaked in the garden.

"Oh, moons! How many of these black bolts!"

Her hands twisted the rings again, and her mouth twisted in a smirk:

"I see, I see you, Monsieur Chevors, the printing press never sleeps."

Satisfied, she carefully carried, turned, and clumsily, rocking the tub water, placed the end of the tube on the small glass table, tilted by the weight. But she had no time to think of a better support when she heard a courteous bark from deep in the garden.

"Who is it, Assol?" she said a little louder and more excitedly than she meant to.

"Forgive the intrusion. It's me, Grand Master," Perleglose's voice boomed from afar.