Six Moon Dance Part 43

"An eternity?"

He bit his lip. He hadn't been going to mention that just yet. "So it seems. We've been through the Fauxidizalonz, Questy. We could still perish, far from here and unable to return, but if no accident catches up with us, and if we get back here to Newholme every few hundred years or so, we're in for a very long haul. It might be nice for you to have some friends who remember when you were only a youngster, two or three hundred years old."

She stared, open-mouthed, as he placed the king beside the queen.

"Besides," he said, "Kaorugi wants the four of us to go with you, for then, at intervals, when we return to the Fauxi-dizalonz, Kaorugi will experience the whole galaxy, or as much of it as we have seen in the interim."

"So you have it all figured out," she said helplessly.

"All four or five of us have figured it out. You offer me and Ornery and Ellin and Bao adventure and exploration, we, including Flowing Green, offer you comradeship-and another point of view, which is always valuable."

"I'm not sure my life is that adventurous. You may get the short end of the deal."

"Well then, even the score. Give us something we all want. Approve of Newholme, as it is. Let our friends and families alone. No sterilization."

"You're trying to suborn me."

He swallowed a sigh. Kaorugi preferred the presence of independent, alien creatures, but if Kaorugi could not have that, Kaorugi would have something else. Kaorugi did not like what it had learned of the sterilization order. Kaorugi felt, as had been foreseen, that justice was simply the last straw, but the Timmy part of Mouche would not let him speak of that. The Timmy part of him would not allow Kaorugi's contingency plans to be forestalled.

Well, if Questioner were to be moved, it had to be with eloquence. Or ...

"I'm trying to convince you, Questioner. Why not just agree?"

"Because," she said angrily, "I was created for a purpose, and I feel my purpose is being undermined here."

Or ...

He fingered the last card in his hand. The ace of love. "Is that really what you feel?"

She fumed. She wasn't sure what she felt. Sadness, certainly. And anger. She muttered, "You're probably right about my feelings, coming from what I know about the three children. The buffers were there for a reason, and I shouldn't have gone around them."

"It's not only the three children," Mouche murmured. "The council loads you down with work, then saddles you with incompetent people and still expects you to work miracles."

"While constantly cutting my budget," she said furiously. "They even interfere with my technical support. That's why I couldn't get in touch with the ship when I needed to! Parts failure! That idiot! Can you believe that?"

He did not believe it. Flowing Green knew there had been no failure of parts, only Bofusdiaga, determined to give them no alternative to solving the Quaggian dilemma. Not even Flowing Green knew the extent of what Bofusdiaga could do.

Focus, Mouche told himself. As Madame had always said, Focus!

"Part of it is that you work very hard, and no one really appreciates what you do," he said softly, moving his chair a bit closer to hers.

"I was designed for it," she sniffed. "But it is hard, yes. I'm human enough to feel that."

"Of course you feel it. You must get terribly annoyed."

"It's what I was created for," she said less forcefully. "But none of us like to feel our efforts are wasted...."

"True. And even when we know our efforts aren't wasted, we like to be appreciated."

"Yes," she admitted, almost in a murmur. "It would be nice."

"I admire you so greatly," he said. "We all do."

"Really?" She laughed, rather sadly. "That's something new."

"You aren't admired by the members of the council?"

"By and large they treat me like a computer. It's understandable, I suppose."

"They disregard your humanity, because it makes them feel uncomfortable, I imagine." He put his hand on top of her own. "It probably surpa.s.ses their own. But we ... I think of you as a friend. And I'm honoring myself when I give you that t.i.tle."

"Oh, Mouche. Really." She felt herself flushing.

He shook out his mane of emerald hair and looked at her from under lowered lashes. "It's time that someone took care of you, Questioner. After all the care you take of humanity, it's only right that humanity do something for you in return."

"For me?"

He gave her a dangerous look as he reached out to run his hand along her neck, where several of her sensation circuits were placed near the skin.

"Ahhh," she said unwillingly. "Ahhh."

"I've researched you in these recent days, Questy," he whispered. "Flowing Green and I." He lowered his fingers, recently returned to their Consortly softness, stroking the line of her shoulder. Stroke. Stroke. Tweak.

"Mouche. For heaven's sake...." She quivered with unfamiliar pleasure. "For heaven's sake...."

"Oh Corojumi, grant deliverance ..." he sang softly, with a purposeful stroke, laying the ace upon the table.

"Last card ..." she gasped.

"... grant Questy in this dance ..."

"You stacked the deck," she whispered.

"... compensatory joys," he sang, the green hair swirling high above his head as he and his Hagion smiled into her eyes.

The following is a selection from Sheri S. Tepper's new novel of speculative fiction SINGER FROM THE SEA.

available in hardcover from Avon Eos

"For the soiree, I think the mahogany satin," said Gertrude, the Wardrobe Mistress. "You look marvelous in it."

Genevieve demurred. "It's what I wore last time. I really look like a Nose in it."

"You know," said Gertrude, head c.o.c.ked to one side, "you're growing into your nose. Last year, it seemed large, true, but this year, no. This year, it seems a proper part of your face. The art instructor, Master Vorbold, said you would be striking. He was positive it would happen, and I believe it has!"

The mirror agreed, but only if Genevieve stood tall, head carried imperially poised on her long neck, shoulders relaxed, face quiet. Then the face was fine, nose and all, just as it was in the family portraits. Her dark skin was unusual in Haven, but acceptable since it was inherited from Queen Stephanie.

"I'll bet your father's bringing the colonel back," whispered Carlotta, as they were having their hair done. "I'll bet the colonel has asked for your hand."

"No," said Genevieve, with a pang of regret. "Father wouldn't consider the colonel for me." Not in this play or any other.

"Why not?" demanded Barbara. "He's young, he's handsome, he looks healthy!"

Genevieve worked it out. "In the first place, he's a commoner, which means he's uncovenantal. And then, Father is looking for a son. He did not get one by birth, so he will try to get one by marriage. It is much more important that Father get on with the person than that I do, and the Colonel is not the kind of person Father would ever be comfortable with." She said it calmly, but heard it with a pang. What she had said was absolutely true. Now why was that? Why wasn't Father perfectly comfortable with his own equerry?

What was it about Aufors Leys that Father was not not comfortable with? Not merely his being a commoner, for Father was quite comfortable with some commoners. It wasn't his appearance, which was heavenly, or his manners, which were impeccable. It had to be something, but she couldn't think what. Just something about him. His att.i.tude perhaps. Yes. That was likely it, his att.i.tude of being comfortable with? Not merely his being a commoner, for Father was quite comfortable with some commoners. It wasn't his appearance, which was heavenly, or his manners, which were impeccable. It had to be something, but she couldn't think what. Just something about him. His att.i.tude perhaps. Yes. That was likely it, his att.i.tude of being real real Aufors was more Aufors was more real real than Father was. This idea was difficult to think out, but once having thought it, Genevieve could not unthink it. Aufors Leys was real, but like her father, Genevieve was probably not. than Father was. This idea was difficult to think out, but once having thought it, Genevieve could not unthink it. Aufors Leys was real, but like her father, Genevieve was probably not.

Everyone was ready for the soiree early. Father arrived early, also. He bowed, took her hand, and led her out through the open doors of the ballroom onto the terrace.

"Genevieve, Prince Yugh Delganor will be attending the soiree tonight, as my guest."

Yugh Delganor. She cast out a net of memory, seining for Delganor. A guest at Langmarsh House, not long before school started this year. A tall, thin man with dead eyes, hollow cheeks, and no conversation. As she had been taught, she had given him opportunities for conversation, but each had been a stone dropped into a bottomless well: no splash, no echo. He had been very well dressed. Middle aged. Perhaps older. Not bad looking, but vaguely repellant and utterly without animation. Genevieve had a.s.signed him a walk-on role and had been glad when he had departed.

"I remember the name ..." she murmured.

His lips thinned. "You should remember more than the name, girl! Yugh Delganor is the Lord Paramount's nephew, son of his younger brother."

"Ah," she murmured. "Prince Thumsort, is it?"

"No, no. Thumsort is the youngest of the three. Delganor's father and His Majesty, Marwell, Lord Paramount were twins. Since the untimely death of the Lord Para-mount's son, Delganor is the heir presumptive. Thumsort comes third, since Delganor's sons have also perished."

"Couldn't the Lord Paramount have another son?"

"The Queen is past it, girl! She hasn't had the good sense to die and let him find another wife, and a son out of any other woman would not qualify. Why don't you know all this?"

She murmured, "I don't think you have ever told me of it, Father."

He sniffed. "I keep forgetting this school does not always teach you what may be most important to you. I hope at least you have guessed something of what this evening portends."

Something tore. A bit of that membrane that made a comforting translucency between herself and the outside world ripped away, leaving a hole. Reality showed through, only a glimpse-ominously dark--and her inner parts cramped in panic. She found voice to say, "Since you had not mentioned this matter before, no, I have no idea."

He frowned, displeased.

She sought to mend the veil that protected her, pulling it together between herself and the reality of his words. "Are you perhaps engaging in some enterprise with Prince Delganor?"

He glared, not at her but at the horizon, barely visible between the trees. "I have been summoned to Havenor, to attend upon the court. It could be a lengthy term of service. When I mentioned other responsibilities, the Lord Paramount kindly thought of your needs. The Lord Paramount does not invite all and everyone to reside in Havenor. He has waited to receive others' opinion of you, of your poise, your behavior, your appearance, the purity of your soul. Prince Delganor gave him an opinion. Aufors Leys has also done so. Delganor is coming tonight to extend the Lord Paramount's invitation for you to reside at court during my posting there."

"I don't understand ..."

His face contorted in anger. "Of course you do! Do not be willfully stupid, Genevieve! You have been well reared, well educated. Your soul has been kept pure. You are suitable! And because you are suitable, the Prince has condescended to come here tonight in order to deliver the Lord Paramount's invitation. He may ask if you have any objection to leaving school. You will say no. He may ask if you have any matrimonial interest, since that might distract you from the duties of the court, and if he does, you will say you do not."

Stillness, and herself saying in a stranger's voice from a place of clarity. "I did not particularly like him, Father."

He barked, a single ha ha, unamused. "That is of no matter. There will be a good many at court you will not like, any more than I do. Nonetheless, we accommodate ourselves. Who knows? You may find a husband there."

"I am ent.i.tled to a decade more of my youth, Father. And I do not think I would like marrying a courtier."

"That, too, is of no matter. Your mother was young when we were wed, she did not much like marrying me, nor I her. It worked out well enough."

She closed her eyes against those words, remembering a face, hearing sounds of agony, smelling the metallic reek of blood. A woman's voice whispering, "Jenny, Jenny, oh, my darling girl ..." Had it worked well enough, their marriage? Not for mother, she did not say. Mother died, she did not say. You killed her, she did not say, feeling the first fluttering of something other than panic, something foreign to her, a loose thread of fury, hanging there, tempting her to grasp it, let what would unravel!

She ignored the thread, saying softly, "My education is unfinished, and I will miss my friends here at school."

"That also is of no matter. The honor you are offered outshines any such concerns, and Mrs. Blessingham can no doubt recommend tutors at High Haven if you wish to continue your education." He turned on her, face hard. "Keep this in mind! This whole matter may be in the nature of a test, to see whether we, you and I, are the kind of people who will make difficulties! Believe me, Genevieve, if you think of doing such a thing, think again. Rejecting an invitation from the Lord Paramount, brought to you by no less personage than the Prince, would not be good for me, and if you are not thoughtful of my reputation, as you have a duty to be, it will not be good for you, either. Whatever the Prince proposes comes directly from the Lord Paramount, and I am sworn to serve the Lord Paramount."

"His invitation is actually your command, then." She was surprised at the calm in her voice. "You are saying that I have no choice."

"No honorable choice, no. Later on, well ..." He barked laughter, as though at something he had just discovered. "Yugh Delganor may well marry again. It is not impossible he might find you attractive enough to consider you for ... some very exalted position."

And there she was suddenly, at center stage. The lights were on her, the attention of whoever it was, out there in the darkness, the watchers, among whom she had hoped to stay, always, always. Now the action centered upon her and the plot lines knotted and wove and all other characters faded into shadow. She drew away from him, hearing the rustle of her gown on the tiles loud in the silence, feeling the evening air clammy on her bare shoulders while a greater coldness froze the pit of her stomach.

She whispered, "Does he have family?"

"He has family, yes. He's been married two or three times, but his wives died." He said it offhandedly, as though it didn't matter. "As I recall, his first wife died in childbirth and one of the others died of batfly fever the year it swept the lowlands. Such things happen. I must say, your att.i.tude surprises me."

"Forgive me, Father," she said from that brightly lighted place where she stood, that cell in time where all seemed to converge. "It is only that I, too, am much surprised. You have never mentioned any of this to me. This invitation comes out of the blue in the hands of a man who was not even polite to me when he visited Lang-marsh House. Perhaps he is above politeness."

This time her father laughed with genuine amus.e.m.e.nt. "Well said, daughter. Perhaps he is, indeed. Whether he is above it or not, I know you will be sensible enough not to insult him. He has received good report from Colonel Leys, who has confirmed Mrs. Blessingham's opinion of you. She has said you are poised and quiet and your purity of soul has been approved by the scrutator. The Colonel has seconded this judgment."

"The Colonel ..." She shook her head, confused. She had not been quiet with the Colonel. He had not asked about her soul. Not at all!

"The Colonel will be going with us to Havenor," the Marshal said, misunderstanding. "When the Lord Paramount suggested the colonel give an opinion it was for good reason. Leys is my equerry, and he would be responsible for your safety and comfort at court. His making an a.s.sessment of your manner is appropriate." He turned away, as though finished with words.

She tried, unsuccessfully, to think of something that might delay this matter, or forestall it altogether, but before she could think of anything, he exclaimed: "Ah, there he is!"

She turned her head toward the distant door where Nemesis stood, tall and dark and dressed all in black, his eyes staring in her direction like flawed marbles, blindly.

"Remember to whom you are speaking," her father concluded, tucking her arm firmly under his own and moving off to greet his guest.

Somehow she greeted, bowed, responded to words. Somehow she got out onto the terrace with the tall man, without noticing that her father ushered them there, shutting the doors behind them. She did not come to herself until Delganor had taken her hand in his and was saying, "... the Lord Paramount wishes me to convey his pleasure at the prospect of your attendance at the court, in Havenor."

The words reached her ears, but beyond her ears she felt her brain shudder and cramp at his voice. Beneath her glove, the skin of her hand crawled. She could not bear for him to press her hand again or say anything more. To put an end to it, she a.s.sented, withdrew her hand in order to make the full, dramatic curtsey, after which she remained bent, watching his heels as he retreated from her. He exchanged a few words with her father inside the door. She barely breathed, wishing she had dreamed what just happened. This had not been a play. She had not merely watched. She had been present, hideously present, and she would have given anything she owned or ever thought of attaining if she had been elsewhere throughout it all.

Genevieve's invitation to court had come about thusly: The Marshal, who had been at Havenor on business, was bidden to an immediate audience with the Lord Paramount. Not stopping to put on court attire, he went upon the notice and was admitted into the small hearing chamber where the Lord Paramount spent part of each morning attending to the business of Haven. His Majesty sat on a low dais, in a gilded and padded chair beneath a baldachin hung behind and on either side with weighty purple velvet to shut out the draughts. The carpet around him was strewn with booklets, both talking book and view-cube, and a tottery stack of other such booklets occupied a small gilded table at his side. His crown was slightly tilted, for he habitually leaned his chin on his left hand, turning the pages with right, listening with his eyes half shut, like a dreaming tortoise. He was in this position when he received the Marshal, alone except for two members of the recently imported off-world security force-Aresians sworn to the Lord Paramount's service and protection-who stood on either side of the door, weapons at the ready and eyes scanning the room in ceaseless watchfulness.

The Marshal saw all this as he came through the door, particularly the guards-bulky men, and strong looking, as all Aresians were. The two of them traded him look for look, silently, without a hint of feeling: no animosity, no acceptance, just alertness. The taller one was dark haired with a beard so black that his smoothly shaven skin looked blue. The other resembled him, though he was lighter, a bit thinner. They were good men, both. He wouldn't mind commanding men like these.

"Your Majesty," murmured the Marshal, bending a knee.

"Marshal," said the Lord Paramount, without moving, the pages slowly turning. "You know that new minister, the one from Barfezi? Name of Gormus."

"Efiscapel Gormus, yes, your Majesty, I've met him."

"Don't like him."