“What are those?” bellowed Sharyar, the sultan.

“My lord,” Sheherazade replied calmly, soothingly, “these are knitting needles. Although tomorrow I will no longer be with her to teach her these womanly arts, please allow me to begin teaching my sister this night. Since our mother is dead, it is my responsibility. Surely, as your queen, you would not want me to shirk my responsibility?”

“I thought you were going to tell her one last story.”

Sheherazade smiled. “The joy and beauty of knitting is that it can be done while talking. Thus the pleasure of conversation and the productivity of providing clothing for one's family can be combined.”

“Hmph. Go on, then.”

Most people know part of what happened next. Sheherazade told stories with such skill, ending them such suspenseful points, that Sharyar put off killing her for one night, then another, then another. What is not so widely known is that Sheherazade's stories were not the only thing that fascinated Sharyar. Each night's knitting lesson would end with Sheherazade saying, “Well done, Dunyazad, you have mastered this form of knitting. It is indeed sad that I will not be able to teach you the next form, for it is both more difficult and more interesting.” Overcome with curiosity, Sharyar watched closely each night as the knitting of Sheherazade and Dunyazad took form.

At the end of the thousand and one nights, Sheherazade and Dunyazad had each made one half of a large blanket. The final lesson was combining the halves in such a way that no one would ever know they were knit separately. Afterwards Sheherazade sat back, slightly apprehensive. After three years and two sons, she did not think that Sharyar would have her murdered in the morning, but...

“Well,” Sharyar boomed, “we have finally come to the end of those lessons. Little Dunyazad is finally fully prepared for womanhood. Now... now you will teach me!”