by Grass(Lit)
"I didn't know anyone could get into the swamp forest."
"Oh, we don't go in. There's a hundred miles of forest edge, and these are trees that grow at the edge. Even so, we don't take many. I'm using some native woods in the panels for your room." He had spent hours designing the panels for her study. He longed for her to praise them.
"Are you, now," she mused. Outside, on the balustraded terrace, a slender figure passed restlessly to and fro: Eugenie. Forlorn. Childlike. Head drooping like a wilted flower. Marjorie fingered her prayer book and reminded herself of certain virtues. "Will you excuse me a moment, Persun?"
He bowed wordlessly, and she left him there while he tried to give the appearance of not staring after her.
"Eugenie," Marjorie greeted her with self-conscious kindness. "I've seen very little of you since we arrived." She had seen nothing of her at home, but this was a different world and all comparisons were odious.
The other woman flushed. Rigo had told her to stay away from the big house. "I shouldn't be here now. I thought I might catch a ride into town with the merchant, that's all."
"Something you need?"
Eugenie flushed again. "No. Nothing I need. I just thought I'd spend a day looking at the shops. Maybe stay at the Port Hotel overnight and see the entertainment...."
"It must be dull for you here."
"It is bloody dull," the woman blurted, speaking before she thought. She flushed a deep, embarrassed red, and her eyes filled with tears.
This time Marjorie flushed. "That was tactless of me, Eugenie. Listen. I know you're not one for horses or things like that, but why don't you see if they have some kind of pets for sale in Commons?"
"Pets?"
"I don't know what they might have. Dogs, maybe. Or kittens. Birds of some kind, or something exotic. Little animals are very amusing. They take up a lot of time."
"Oh, I have so much of that," Eugenie cried, almost angrily. "Rigo... well, Rigo's been very busy." Marjorie looked out across the balustrade of the terrace toward the multiple horizons of that part of the grass garden called the Fading Vista. Each ridge partly hid the one behind, each one was a paler color than the one before, until the horizon hill faded into the sky almost indistinguishably. She was amused to make a mental connection: In such fashion had her original animosity toward Eugenie faded, retreated, become merely a hazy tolerance almost indistinguishable from tentative acceptance, "We'll be having our first official party soon. Perhaps you'll meet some people...." her voice faded away like the horizon line before her. Who could Eugenie meet, after all? The children despised her. The servants thought her a joke. No one among the bons would associate with her. Or would they?
"There are particular people I want you to meet," Marjorie said thoughtfully. "A man named Eric bon Haunser. And Shevlok, the eldest son of the bon Damfels."
"Trying to get rid of me?" Eugenie said with childish spite. "Introducing me to men."
"Trying to assure that you have some company," Marjorie said mildly. "Trying to assure that we all do. If some of the men find you fascinating, you and Stella and maybe me-though that wouldn't do to admit officially-perhaps they'll frequent the place. We're here to find something out, after all."
"Don't talk as though I knew anything about it. I don't. Rigo didn't tell me anything!"
"Oh, my dear," said Marjorie, more shocked than she could admit even to herself. "But he must have! Why would you have come, otherwise?"
To which Eugenie merely stared at her, eyes wide and wondering. This woman married to Roderigo Yrarier, this woman, his wife, mother of his children, this woman... She didn't know? "Because I love him," she said at last, almost whispering "I thought you knew."
"Well so do I," Marjorie replied shortly, believing that she did. "But even so, I would not have come to Grass had I not known why."
Though Eugenie had not particularly appreciated Marjorie's advice about pets, she had heard it. Normally she would have ignored it as a matter of principle because it came from Rigo's wife and Rigo would be unlikely to appreciate his mistress taking his wife's advice about anything. As it was, however, Eugenie could not afford to ignore anything that would alleviate the blanketing boredom which afflicted her. At home there had been restaurants and parties and amusing places to go to. There had been shopping and clothes and hairdressers to talk with. There had been gossip and laughter. And running through all that, like a thread of gold through the floating chiffon of her life, there had been Rigo. Not that he'd been around a lot. He hadn't been. But for a long time he had been there, in the background, providing whatever she needed, making her feel treasured and important. Men such as he, Rigo had explained, with all his important work on committees and clubs and such, needed women such as she as a necessary relief from the tiresome but urgent works they were called upon to do. This made women such as she especially important. Eugenie thought of this often. Men had told her many sweet things about herself, but never before that she was important. It was the nicest compliment she had ever received.
And so she was here, and so was Rigo, and for all they saw of one another she might as well have stayed on Terra with some other protector-which she had, quite truthfully, considered. Had there been another man immediately available, she would probably have chosen to stay. Weighing the relative inconvenience, however, of finding a new man or submitting to packing and coldsleep, she had decided that finding the new man would be more trouble. Not so much finding him but learning about him. His little ways. His favorite foods and smells and colors and little magics in bed. All men believed they had their own magics in bed.
And then, too, she did love Rigo, When she had said that to Marjorie, it hadn't been a lie. Of all the men she had loved, she probably loved Rigo most. He had been most fun.
But Rigo was hardly fun at all in this place. When love wasn't fun, it was just boring and dull and achy. People had to have things that were fun for them. What Marjorie had said about pets was probably the best advice anyone was going to give her, even though it had come from Rigo's wife.
Eugenie begged a ride from Roald Few to Commoner Town, enjoying the trip because of all the sweet things he and the other men said to her. It was Roald himself who told her to look up Jandra Jellico. "If you're looking for something little and petful and fun to have, Jandra may have it or she'll know who has. She's got most everything in fur and feathers and pretty skin, Jandra does." He warned her, too, that Jandra would be in a half-person, as though Eugenie was the kind of person to make unkind remarks or stare.
And Jandra, after Eugenie had been with her for half an hour, knew everything about her just as Roald had. Knew and appreciated and felt a bit sorry for, while at the same time blessing her guardian spirits that Eugenie had come along just now to solve her dilemma. "I've got just the thing for you," she said. "Something I got from Ducky Johns, down in Portside. Wasn't right Ducky should keep it down there among the sensees and the profligates, so I had her bring it here to me. I keep it in the spare bedroom."
She brought it out, the slender prettiness of it, the long-haired sweetness of it, the sidling, goose-eyed gaze of it, all done up in girl skin and girl smell and dressed in a pretty smock which it had learned to keep down. "I call her the Goosegirl," said Jandra, not saying why. Eugenie wasn't an awl-eyed one like Jandra's own dear Jelly, to see what others hadn't noticed, that almost mindless, birdish stare turned on each and every one as though to ask the world what there was to be afraid of out there, knowing already in its little bird mind that there was something.
"It's a girl," said Eugenie, uncomplaining, but definite. "Not an animal."
"Well there's one opinion and another about that," said Jandra, squeezing the end of her nose between her fingers as she did sometimes while puzzling out the ethics of a situation. "It doesn't know its name. It can't dress itself. It is potty trained, for which I'm more than grateful, so there's one small thing making it better than a puppy, which I haven't one of nor nobody else I know, so no matter. It'll sit br
ushing at its hair for the better part of a day, and it has a good appetite for most anything you'd eat yourself and I've halfway taught it to eat with a spoon. Sometimes it makes a noise as if it was about to say something. Not often, mind you, and it surprises itself when it does."
"You should say 'she,'" corrected Eugenie. The pretty thing was as female as she herself was, and very much of her own size.
"Well, there's one opinion and another about that, too. Still, I'd be inclined to agree with you, and I call her 'she' to myself, don't you know. It's a playful bit of a thing, too. Likes to roll a ball back and forth or play with a bobble on the end of a string."
"Like a kitten," purred Eugenie. "Do you suppose they'll let me keep her?"
Well, and if they wouldn't, it would be their problem, Jandra thought, not her own, which the Goosegirl had been up until now, her or it of the pretty hair and lovely little body and sweet face without two notions to jostle one another in her head. Last evening she'd seen Jelly looking at the girl in that certain way, and no time would be too quick to get rid of her, ethics or no. Still, if Eugenie had been someone else-Marjorie Westriding, say-Jandra would have felt uncomfortable giving her the Goosegirl as a pet. Someone like the Lady Westriding-Jandra had heard all about her from Roald Few, as had every other person with normal hearing-would dig and dig, puzzle and puzzle, making the poor creature's life a misery. And one couldn't give it to some man to use, though one would, rather than have Jelly doing the using.
Eugenie, though. Well, she wasn't a debauchee and she didn't look the type to go seeking causes or laying blame. She would not abuse the creature, nor wonder where the girl had come from or what brought her to Portside to be found under Ducky Johns' clothesline. She would see only a girl-sized walking doll, something with pretty hair to arrange, something to clothe and play with. As for Jandra Jellico, it looked the best thing she would be able to do for the Goosegirl and far better than she had recently feared.
One of Roald Few's workmen took Eugenie and her new pet back to Opal Hill, dropping them behind the Fading Vista from which Eugenie was able to reach her own little house without being observed. Eugenie already had a dozen plans for Goosegirl. One of them had to do with teaching her to dance, but first and second on the list had to do with the sewing of astonishing gowns and the selection of a new and utterly elegant name.
Marjorie tapped at the door of Rigo's study and entered at the sound of his voice. "Am I too early?"
"Come on in," he said, his voice fuzzy with fatigue. "Asmir's not here yet, but I expect him momentarily." He stacked some papers together, thrust them into a lockbox, keyed the box to hold, and turned off his node. In the corner of the room the tell-me swam with wavering bands of color, silent. "You look as weary as I feel."
She laughed, unconvincingly. "I'm all right. Stella is on one of her usual tears. Some time ago I asked Persun to take her down to the village, thinking she could find someone there to share her time with. She's been there once or twice and refuses to go back. She says they're all provincials, ignorant as cabbages."
"Well, that's probably true."
"Even so-" she started to say, intending to make some comment about pride, realizing just in time that it would annoy Rigo, "Tony says not. He finds companionship there."
"Stella may find some kindred spirit at the reception,"
Marjorie shook her head. "No one Stella's age is coming."
"We invited families."
"No one Stella's age is coming," she repeated. "It's almost as though they'd decided not to allow any... any fraternization."
He flushed angrily. "Damned hidebound..." His voice became a wordless snarl to which the knock at the door was a welcome interruption.
A servant announced the arrival of Asmir Tanlig, who had spent the time since his hiring inquiring here and there about illness on Grass. Who had died, and of what? Who was suffering, and from what? Who had gone to the doctors at Commons, and for what. Now he plumped his small square body down across from Roderigo and Marjorie, his round face puzzled, his mouth pursed, his precise little hands shuffling his papers, preparing to tell them what he had found
"I'm not finding much, sir, madam, to tell you the truth. With the bons it's pregnancy and hunting accidents and liver renewals because of all the drinking they do" He wiped his lips on a clean handkerchief and lowered his already confidential voice as he leaned across Rigo's desk where the lamplight pooled in the dusk. "I've told my family in Commons to ask around, has anyone disappeared-"
"Vanished," murmured Marjorie. "We know they have."
"Yes, ma'am, except if you're talking about hunting, the vanished ones are mostly young. The ambassador told me..."
"I know." she murmured. "I just wanted to keep it in mind."
"As we shall," said Rigo. "What about the non-bons, Asmir?"
"Oh, it's everything. Accidents and allergies and in Portside there are always a few killings. Everyone accounted for, though; no disappearances except for those who've gone into the grass or the swamp forest."
"Ah?" asked Rigo.
"Of course that's always gone on," said the man, suddenly doubtful. "For as long as I can remember. People going into the swamp forest and not coming out. People getting lost in the grass."
"Who?" asked Marjorie. "Who, lately?"
"The last one was some big braggart of a fellow from off-planet." Asmir referred to his notes, written neatly in a tiny, meticulous hand on various scraps of paper, which he arranged and rearranged as they spoke. "Bontigor. Hundry Bontigor. Loud mouth, people said. Swagger. Full of dares and boasts. Someone dared him to go into the swamp forest, and he went. Didn't come out. He was only here on a weeklong permit, between ships. Nobody missed him much."
"Has there been a case in which someone disappeared and it was... merely assumed that the person had gone into the forest?" Marjorie ran pinching fingers up the bridge of her nose and across her forehead, trying to evict the headache that had settled there.
Asmir shuffled his notes once again. "Last ones, before Bontigor, were kids. Nobody saw them go in there, if that's what you mean. Time before that... well. Time before that was an old woman. Kind of gone, if you take my meaning. People couldn't find her, so they thought-"
"Ah," said Marjorie.
"Then there was that couple over at Maukerden village. And the carpenter from Smaerlok. And here's somebody from Laupmon-"
"Lost in the grasses?"
He nodded. "But that's always happened."
"How many?" asked Rigo. "How many do you have listed, within the past collect? No, that would have been winter. Say last fall. How many assumed lost in the swamp forest or the grass last fall?"
"Fifly," estimated Asmir. ''Fifty or so."
"Not many." murmured Marjorie. "It could be what they think it is. Or it could be... illness."
Rigo sighed. "Go on, Asmir. Keep gathering. Get everything you can about disappearances-who disappeared, how old they were. whether they seemed healthy before they went, things like that. Is Sebastian helping you?"
"Yes, sir. I gave you his information along with mine."
"Keep at it, then, both of you."
"If you could tell me-"
"I told you what I could when I hired you, Asmir."
"I thought... I thought perhaps you didn't trust me then."
"I trusted you then and now." Rigo smiled, one of his rare and charming smiles. "I told you I'm taking a special census for Sanctity. It has to do with human mortality. I've told you quite lot about Sanctity and how it tries to keep track of the human race, so you can understand why Sanctity would be concerned with what people die of. But the aristos won't allow Sanctity to have a mission on Grass, so Marjorie and I agreed to find out what we can. However, we're not going to offend the bons, so we'll do it quietly. All we want to know is if there is any unexplained mortality on Grass."
"If anybody mortals in the swamp forest, you'll never explain it," Asmir said firmly. "If they mortal in the grasses at night, it's pro
bably foxen. You've seen foxen?"
Marjorie nodded. She had seen foxen. Not close enough to describe, but quite as close as she cared to come.
"You've seen more'n me, then," he said, lapsing into a less portentous style. "But I've seen pictures."
"I take it you don't go out into the grass?"
"Oh, sir, no! What kind of flick bird do you take me for? Oh, daytimes, yes, a little way, for a picnic or a romantic walk, say. Or to get away by yourself for a bit. But that's what village walls are for, and estancia walls too. To keep them out."
"Them?" queried Marjorie, gently.
