Chapter 54
Peter: “I see crowds of people”
Music drifted from across lake Austin. The early winter Cotillion was in full swing, with the debs and swains of various Houses strutting their stuff under the watchful eyes of senior Empire aristocrats. The Honcho leaned on the rail of his veranda and remembered a simpler time in his life, when his main worries revolved around the cut of his jacket, the proper form for acknowledging the interest of a débutante without seeming too eager, and the best way to filch half-consumed (yet many times refilled) glasses when their possessors were distracted by the nubility around them. Yes, there was a time when I believed that as the younger son, not even the Runt, that I'd be free to enjoy the idle life of an aristo: riding, drinking, dancing my life away until I joined the ghost riders. And then Frank rode rode off to reason with the Queen of Angeles.
Katerina's hand touched his arm, rousing him from his reverie. “Remembering the good old days, before you met me?” she asked, smiling.
He smiled back. “The 'good old days' began when I met you,” he said, reaching out to pull her against him. They'd both put on weight over the years, but she was still a fine figure of a woman. “I was thinking about Frank. His optimism is the real reason that I became Honcho, you know.”
“Ah, poor Frank. My sister had high hopes for him, all dashed when that horrible woman sent back his head. A perfect example why women shouldn't be rulers.”
He pretended surprise. “My dear, I'm, shocked. I remember a time when you used to point to her as an example that women can rule. You used to be quite a scandal in your family, with all your youthful insistence that women can be more than just mothers and wives. There were some in my father's circle who were glad I was only the second son, and not the heir apparent. They feared you'd make Texas a matriarchy.”
She drew back her head, and laughed. “Small chance of that! Complaints about one's own country are common in the young, but they often fade in the illuminating discoveries about conditions in other regions. The Dixie Emirates, for example. Their women are even less free socially than we are here, I'm told. I'm glad not to have been born into one of those places.”
“Not as glad that I am you weren't,” he said. “Your legs would be a lot harder to see in what they make their women wear. And your veil would get in the way,” he added, leaning forward to kiss her.
“I don't see how they bear it,” she remarked when her lips were free again. “All that flowing linen must make them swelter terribly in Atlanta. I hear it gets beastly hot there.”
“Oh, I don't know,” he said. “I've heard the robes wick away perspiration and use evaporation to cool the wearer.”
“While they dry up like raisins. No thank you.” She shaded her eyes with one hand and peered across the lake. “Is Jeffrey there?”
He frowned. “No. Perhaps he ought to be, but I asked him to join us for dinner.”
“Oh, Peter,” she chided. “Not more talk about your war? He needs a wife.”
“There'll be time enough for that,” he grunted. “But the needs of the Empire come first.”
“Your needs, you mean.” She abandoned her peering and glanced at him sideways. “Do we have to fight Rado now? Why this need to expand? Why can't we be content with what we have?”
He gazed out across the lake, but his eyes were turned inward, seeing only Frank's head in a box. “Because we can't,” he said. “We have a lot of territory, but most of it is practically desert, except for East Texas. We shouldn't have to be so dependent on trade for foodstuffs.”
“You can blame that on your grandfather,” she said. “Inviting the Pope to move his Vatican here was a mistake, if you ask me. North Texas was a lot greener before his loyalists began confiscating all the swizzle pumps. Irrigation is a joke now, except for areas near rivers.”
“I didn't ask you,” he said, his jaw tightening. Then he sighed. “But you're right. The grass extended much farther out from the lake when I was a boy. Sometimes I miss the sight of the whirligig sprinklers spinning out their water over the lawn, making rainbows in the sun. But of course grandfather had to set an example for the people. Without the pressure from the swizzles, they never spun again.”
The door behind them opened. She turned. “Jeffrey! How dashing you look in your new leathers, and how cruel it is of your father to keep such a sight from all the girls across the lake.”
“It's not always pleasant to feel like an earthworm among a flock of chickens,” he said. “I can always sense their mothers pointing me out to them, urging them to snap me up.”
“So you think all mothers are terrible,” she noted. “You'd rather make war than love?”
“Not all mothers,” he said. “Don't worry, you'll get your grandchildren soon enough.”
“I'm glad you're here,” she said, “but you should really ride around the lake and encourage some swooning. It's a good day for getting some flagrante, and there are plenty of bushes.”
He blushed. “Mother, sometimes I think you are still the scandalous girl my father married. Aren't you supposed to be rearing me to be a proper gentleman?”
“Oh nonsense,” she said, making a dismissive gesture with her hand. “Proper is for peasants and priests. There's nothing wrong with being young and lusty. Do you think I married your father because he had power?” She shook her head. “It was because of the way he – “
“Dear,” said the Honcho, “you'll shock the lad. Has Esmeralda been too zealous in refilling your wineglass today? Let's go and investigate what the cook has waiting for us.”
She sighed at her son. “The oppression is inescapable, it seems,” she said, and glided into the house. Peter was about to follow her, but his son moved to intercept him and withdrew something from a pocket.
“I just came from the prison,” he said. “Tale a look at this.”
The metal tube was unremarkable, until he turned one end toward his face and felt the slight breeze it emitted. A swizzle! All thoughts of the cotillion, Frank, and dinner vanished. “He made this? I thought he was just an apprentice without a teacher.”
“He's making progress,” said Jeffrey. “I know it's too small and weak for your needs, but it's progress, nonetheless. With more practice, he might be able to free you from any need to make a deal with Pope Ricky.”
“Tell no one,” said the Honcho. “But bring him more material to work with. His Holiness may have to get used to disappointment, after all.”
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