by Grass(Lit)
Sanctity was not Terra. Terra was home, and this was not. Though Marjorie wanted to say this loudly, with emotion, she restrained herself.
"Will you show me the stables?" she inquired. "I assume our horses have been revived and delivered?"
Until this moment she had seen nothing approaching real discomfort on the aristocrat's face. He had met them in the reception area of the revivatory at the port, seen to the collection of their belongings, provided them with two aircars to bring them to the estancia which they were to occupy-aircars they were to retain during their "visit," he had said. He had remained to guide her through the summer domestic quarters while her husband, Roderigo Yrarier, toured the winter quarters and the offices of the new embassy with Eric bon Haunser, a younger but no less dutiful member of the Grassian aristocracy. Throughout this not inconsiderable itinerary, Obermun bon Haunser had been smooth and proper to a fault, but the question of the horses made him uncomfortable. If he did not precisely lose countenance, something at the corners of his mouth let composure slip, though subtly and only momentarily.
Marjorie, whose Olympic gold medals had been in dressage, puissance jumping, and endurance events, was accustomed to reading such twitches of the skin. Horses communicated in this way. "Is something wrong?" she inquired gently, keeping herself strictly under control.
"We had not been..." He paused, searching for a way to say it. "We had not been advised in advance about the animals."
Animals? Since when were horses "animals"?
"Does it create a problem? Someone from Semling said the estancia has stables."
"No, not stables," he said. 'There are some shelters nearby which were used by Hippae. Before this place was built, needless to say."
Why needless to say? And Hippae? That would be the horselike animal native to this planet. "Are they so different that our mounts can't occupy their stalls?"
"Hippae would not occupy stalls," he replied, seeming less than candid as he did so. He lost composure sufficiently to gnaw a thumbnail before continuing. "The shelter near Opal Hill is not being used by Hippae now. and it might serve to house your horses well enough, I suppose. However, at the time of your arrival we did not have available to us any suitable conveyance for large animals." Again, he attempted a smile. "Please excuse us, Lady Marjorie. We were set at a small contretemps that confused us for the moment. I am sure we will have solved the problem within a day or two."
"The horses have not been revived, then." Her voice was sharper than she had intended, edgy with outrage. Poor things! Left lying about in that cold, nightmarish nothingness.
"Not yet. Within the next few days."
She took control of herself once more. It would not do to lose her temper and appear at a disadvantage. "Would you like me to come to the port? Or to send one of the children? If you have no one accustomed to handling horses, Stella would be glad to go, or Anthony." Or I, she thought. Or Rigo. Any of us, man. For the love of heaven...
"Your son?"
He sounded so immediately relieved that she knew this had been part of the problem. Some diplomatic nicety, no doubt. It was possibly thought inappropriate for the ambassador or his wife to have to attend to such matters, and yet who else could? Well, let it pass. Show no anxiety. Don't risk eventual acceptance of the embassy over the matter of a day or two-this embassy that might almost have been an answer to her prayers, this opportunity to do something of significance. Don Quixote and El Dia Octavo could sleep that much longer, along with Her Majesty. Irish Lass, Millefiori, and Blue Star. "We are looking forward to riding to our first Hunt," she said; then, seeing his dismay, "Only as followers, of course."
Seemingly, even this was not appropriate. An expression of outright panic showed on the man's face. Good Lord, what had she said now?
"We have made arrangements," he said. "A balloon-car. Perhaps this first time, until you are more familiar."
"Whatever you think best," she said firmly, disabusing him of any notion he might have that she would make difficulties. "We are completely in your hands."
His face cleared. "Your cooperation is much appreciated, Lady Marjorie."
She forced herself to smile over the screaming impatience inside her. She had been testy ever since they had arrived. Testy and hungry. No matter how much she ate, it did not seem to quell the sick emptiness inside her. "Let us take up the matter of titles, Obermun bon Haunser."
He frowned. "I don't understand."
She decided to make the point she had been wanting to make about the difference between Sanctity and Terra. "At home, on planet Terra, among those who once called themselves Saints and now identify themselves as the Sanctified, I would be addressed simply as Matron Yrarier. Men are either Boy or Husband. Women are either Girl, or (briefly) Bride, or Matron. Both sexes are at some pains to marry early and lose the titles of childhood. We-that is, our family-are not among the Sanctified. I do not regard any of Sanctity's female titles as pertaining to myself.
"I am, however, Terran. In my childhood home, the area called Lesser Britain, I am Marjorie, Lady Westriding, my widower father's eldest child. 'Lady Marjorie' would only be correct if I were a younger daughter. Also, I have the honor of being the Master of the Westriding Hunt. The position was offered me, I believe, because of my good fortune at the Olympics"
He looked interested but without comprehension. "Olympics?"
"A Terran contest of various athletic skills, including horsemanship," she said gently. If there was much the Yrariers did not know about Grass, there were many things the Grassians did not know about the Yrariers, as well. "I rode in what is called puissance jumping, in which the horse cannot see what is beyond the barrier, and that barrier is well over his head." He showed no comprehension. "You do not have that here, I see. Well, I did that, and dressage riding, which is a very gentle sport, and endurance riding, which is not. I was what is called a gold medalist. Roderigo was a medalist also. It is how we met." She smiled, making a deprecatory gesture. Obviously the poor man knew nothing about all this. "So, I might be called Lady Westriding or Madam Yrarier or Master, though the latter is appropriate only on the hunting field. Perhaps there is some title given to ambassadors or their wives here on Grass? It would be convenient for me to know what title would be considered acceptable."
Despite his initial ignorance, he had followed all of this closely. "Not, I think, Madam Yrarier," he mused. "Marital titles are not customary except between family leaders, that is in 'bon' families. Each family has one Obermun and one Obermum, almost always husband and wife, though it might be mother and son. There are seven aristocratic families currently, quite large families by now: Haunser, Damfels, Maukerden, Laupmon, Smaerlok, Bindersen, and Tanlig; and these families use the prefatory 'bon,' before their names. When a child results from a liaison between members of these families, it is given a surname by either the father or the mother, depending upon what family the child will be part of, and thereafter continues in that name whether later married or not."
"Ah," she mused "So, in meeting a woman or child, I will not know-"
"You will not know the relationship. Not by the name, Lady Westriding. We are a country people, sparsely scattered upon a small part of our world. Long ago we fled the oppression of Sanctity and the crowding of Terra"-his raised brows told her he had taken her point-"and have had no wish to allow either upon Grass. Though some estancias have been lost, we have never added another estancia to the initial number-except for Opal Hill, of course, but we did not build that. We know one another and one another's grandfathers and grandmothers back to the time of settlement. We know who liaised with whom, and what child is the child of whom. It seems to me appropriate you should be called Marjorie Westriding or Lady Westriding. This places you upon the proper level in your own right. As for learning who everyone else is... you will need someone who knows. Perhaps I could recommend someone to you as secretary, some lateral family member, perhaps.,.."
"Lateral?" She raised a quizzical eyebrow, shiveri
ng a little at the chill in the room.
He was instantly solicitous. "You are cold. Shall we return to the winter quarters? Though spring is imminent, it will still be more comfortable below for the next few weeks."
They left the high, cold room and the long, chill corridors to go down a long flight of stairs into the winter house, the cold weather house, into other rooms where the walls were warm with grass-cloth, cozy with firelight and lamps and soft, bright couches. Marjorie sank into one of these with a sigh of relief. "You were speaking of my hiring as secretary a 'lateral family member'?"
"Someone parented by a bon, but on one side only. Perhaps with the name, but without the bon."
"Ah. Does this represent a great handicap? This lack of a bon?" She smiled to show she meant it teasingly. Still, when he answered, it was with such a stiffness as to tell her it was no laughing matter.
"It means one has a commoner parent. Such a person would not live on an estancia except in a service capacity and would not attend the summer balls. One without the bon would not Hunt."
"Aha," she said to herself, wondering whether the Honorable Lord Roderigo Yrarier and his wife would be considered sufficiently bon to hunt or attend the summer balls. Perhaps this had been the reason for that business about the Hunt and the delay with the horses. Perhaps the status of the whole mission was somewhat in question.
Poor horses, lying there all cold and dead, no warm stable, no oats, dreaming, if horses dreamed, of a fence too high to jump and green grass always out of reach, unable even to twitch.
Aloud she said, "Obermun bon Haunser, I am extremely grateful for all your kindness. I shall send Anthony down to the port tomorrow in one of the fliers you have so thoughtfully provided. Perhaps you will have someone meet him there to assist him with the horses. Perhaps some kind of trailer or provisions truck can be obtained?"
"This was our dilemma, Lady Westriding. Our culture does not allow vehicle tracks across the grasses. Your animals must be airlifted here. One does not drive here and there on Grass. One flies. As quietly as possible. Except in the port area and Commoner Town, of course. Surrounded as it is by forest, roads are quite appropriate there."
"How interesting," she murmured. "However it is done, I am sure you will attend to it impeccably. Then, if you will be so gracious as to recommend one or two people who know the way things are done on Grass, perhaps I can begin furnishing the residence and making the acquaintance of some of our neighbors."
He bowed. "Certainly, Lady Westriding, certainly. We will requisition a cargo vehicle from the commoners. And in one week's time we have arranged for you to observe the Hunt at the bon Damfels estancia. It will give you the opportunity to meet many of your hosts." He bowed again, taking himself away, out the door and up the stairs to exit through that empty house. She heard his voice echoing there as he greeted the other bon and departed with him. "Hosts," he had said. Not neighbors. She, wondering if he had meant what the distinction implied, was very much aware of the difference.
"What was all that?" His voice came from behind her, from the corridor leading to the offices. Rigo.
"That was Obermun bon Haunser explaining that the horses have not yet been revived," she said, turning to confront her husband. He, lean and no less aristocratic than the man who had just left, was clad all in black except for the high red-and-purple-striped collar which identified him as an ambassador, sacrosanct, a person whose body and belongings were immune to seizure or prosecution, on penalty of retaliation from Sanctity-an organization both too far away and too distracted by recent internal events and current horror to do any retaliating at all. His face was set in what she called- though only to herself-his ugly mode, sullen at the mouth, the wide lips unenlivened by amusement, the black eyes overshadowed by heavy brows and wearied by too little sleep. When he was like this, darkness seemed to follow him, half hiding him from her. He, too, had confessed to feeling testy, and he looked irritated now. She sought something to interest him, something to blow the shadows away-- "Do you know, Rigo, I'd be interested in finding out whether the children and I have diplomatic immunity on this planet."
"Why would you not?" His eyes blazed with anger at the idea. Roderigo had a great capacity for anger.
"Women do not take their husband's names here, and from something the Obermun said, I question whether they take status, either." Not that Roderigo's status was higher than her own. If it came to bloodlines, perhaps--her own pedigree was a little better, not that she would ever mention it. "I'm not sure a diplomat's wife is anybody." Not that she had ever planned or wanted to be a diplomat's wife. Not that Rigo had ever been a diplomat before! So many things were not, she reflected--Not the way she would have had them, if she'd had the choice, though there was still the chance this whole business might turn out to be significant and worthwhile.
He smiled humorlessly. "Mark down one more thing we weren't informed of."
"I'm not sure I'm right."
"Your impressions are often the equal of others' certainties, Marjorie," he said in his gallant voice, the one he most often used with women, her no less than any other. "I'll put Asmir Tanlig to checking it."
"Asmir?"
"One of my Grassian men. I hired two this morning after I managed to shake off the Haunser." He scraped an extended finger down his palm, flicking it, ridding himself of something sticky, in mime.
"Is the Tanlig man you hired a bon?"
"Lord no. I shouldn't think so. A bastard son of a bon two generations back, perhaps."
"Lateral," she exclaimed, pleased with herself for knowing. "The Tanlig must be what they call a lateral."
"I hired a Mechanic, also."
This puzzled her. "You hired a mechanic?"
"His name is Mechanic--Philological successor to the ancient Smiths or Wrights. His name is Sebastian Mechanic, and he holds no blood with the aristos, as he was at some pains to tell me." He sank into a chair and rubbed the back of his neck. "Coldsleep makes me feel as though I'd been ill for weeks."
"It makes me feel dreamy and remote."
"My dear-" he began in the gallant voice, with only an undertone of hostility.
"I know. You think I'm always remote." She tried to laugh, tried not to show how that hurt. If Roderigo hadn't thought his wife remote, he wouldn't have needed Eugenie Le Fevre. If he hadn't had Eugenie, Marjorie might not be remote. Circle, and around once more, like a horse quadrille, change reins, pirouette, and on to the next figure.
Rigo, point made, changed the subject. "Make note, my dear. Asmir Tanlig. Sebastian Mechanic."
"What are they to be to you?" She inquired. "Representatives of the middle classes?"
"Little enough of that, except perhaps at Commoner Town. No, representatives of the peasantry, I'd say, who will circulate among the villagers and find out if anything is known. I may need others to find out about Commoner Town, though Tanlig would fit in well enough there, if he cared to. Mechanic, now, he's peasant through and through, and resentfully prideful about it."
"Hardly the type of servant to improve our reputation among the bon."
"The bons aren't to know anything about it. If we are to complete our mission here, we'll need access to all levels of society. Sebastian is my link to the people of the soil. He knows enough not to call himself to the aristocrats' attention. And if you want to know how I got on to the men without bon Haunser knowing, the Sanctity charge from Semling told me about them. I've already asked them the question."
"Ah." She waited, holding her breath.
"They say no."
"Ah," she said again, breathing. So there was hope. "No plague here."
"There is no unexplained illness that they know of. As we agreed. I told them we're making a survey."
"They might not have heard...."
"Both of them have kin in Commoner Town. I think they would have heard of any strange sickness. But, it's early days. The aristocrats have putative control of ninety-nine percent of the planet's surface-There could be things
going on here the commoners simply don't know of."
"It pounds as though you have things well in hand." She sighed, her weariness and hunger suddenly heavier than she could gracefully bear. "Would you have any idea where Anthony might be?"
"If he's where I told him to be, he's with Stella up in the summer quarters, making a rough floor plan of the place for me. We'll have to furnish it rather quickly, I'm afraid. Asmir tells me there's a craftsmen's area in Commoner Town. A place called, unimaginatively enough, Newroad. Lord knows where the old road was."
"Terra, maybe."
"Or any of half a hundred other places. Well, it doesn't matter where it was, so long as we know where this one is. According to Asmir, we can get very acceptable stuff built there within two or three weeks-long Grassian weeks-and he's already sent word on what he calls the tell-me for some kind of craftsmen's delegation to come call on us."
