Rebekah spread her fabrics on the Esfahan carpet and began chanting their merits.

Pearl Hall came alive. Women swarmed around Rebekah. The hours when peddlers visited the harem were the highlight of the week. Taken by the vibrant colors of the threads, the sultanas fought for the best pieces, snatching them from each other, and hiding them in the pockets of their swelling pants. After the initial haggling, the purchase of fabrics, and the absorption of gossip from the peddlers, the sultanas would spend many more hours with their dressmakers, designing cloaks for the evenings of storytelling, for the afternoons of napping, and for the few mornings they strolled the gardens. Their most magnificent attire lay folded in chests, awaiting the Shah’s invitation. Three hundred and sixty-five sultanas prayed for his summons; most never received it.

Ecstatic at the reception she received, and aware of the hawkish eyes of the Bibi Sultana, Rebekah went from one woman to another, draping a shoulder with velvet, a waist with satin, and a neck with lace. She measured the fabrics by holding one end to her nose and the other in her outstretched hand, then cut the edge of the fabric with her teeth and ripped it in a straight line. She stepped over lounging bodies, too deep in opium dreams to care for worldly goods, around plump girls playing with porcelain dolls, and found her way to the center of the room and to the Bibi Sultana. She prostrated herself and kissed the edge of the dais at the sultana’s feet. “My Khanom, has none of my merchandise pleased your sacred being?” She dug into her bundle and fished out her masterpiece.

The black eyes of the Bibi Sultana narrowed. She wiped sweat off the dark mustache she treasured because of the masculine air it gave her. Reaching out a bare, lumpy arm, she snatched the material. In her forty long years in the palace as the most important woman and with access to the best available goods, she had not encountered such fine work. The vermilion-colored embroidery depicted a hunt. The Shah in full battle regalia and with a haughty expression speared a dragon. Fantastic plants with curled arms and tangled roots adorned the edges.

She folded the piece, turned to the tall, lanky sultana, and with a gravelly voice coughed, “Moon Face, pay this woman.”

Moon Face’s knees and shoulders jutted out through the sheer fabric of her floor-length veil, giving her the air of an awkward animal with no command over its extremities. Rebekah placed her palm on her bony chest to hold her back. “My Khanom, accept this as my modest gift.”