by John Brunner
"Honoured!" Don Felipe said with enthusiasm, and Don Miguel echoed him as convincingly as he could.
"Don Miguel, Don Felipe," Red Bear concluded, "I charge you with the duty -- which I'm sure you'll find a pleasant one -- of escorting these beautiful young ladies for the evening."
Don Felipe bowed yet again, this time with a tremendous flourish, and grinned like a satisfied cat. The Lady Ingeborg's eyes danced. She was, Don Miguel judged, by a year or so the younger of the pair.
By comparison with Don Felipe, he himself felt like a boor as he uttered some kind of empty acknowledgment. It was not that the Lady Kristina, opposite whom he happened to find himself, was not extremely lovely. It was simply that in his present mood the last kind of company he had been looking forward to was that of an emancipated girl. He had never been in Sweden or Norroway, which formed a curious private enclave where the people followed a schismatic religion and determinedly minded their own business, refusing to ally themselves with either the Empire or the Confederacy, but he did know that under their system women were even allowed to vote for the members of the Thing, and all his friends who had trifled with girls from that part of the world had warned him that they liked -- indeed, demanded -- to be treated as at home.
And for the time being at least his recent brush with the Marquesa had soured him completely on the subject of sexual equality.
Possibly the daughters of a Duke would be a little more conventional in their behaviour . . . ? No, they wouldn't. No other girls of such rank would conceivably have arrived at a reception like this without at least a duenna apiece and probably half a dozen ladies in attendance.
Oh well . . .
"I'm sure you'll be properly looked after, my dears," the Duke said in excellent Spanish, smiling at his daughters. "Go ahead and enjoy yourselves. I've already seen several people I promised to have a word with tonight, so there's no need for anyone to look after me." He nodded at Red Bear.
Don Miguel repressed an urge to sigh.
The first steps were automatic: provision of refreshment, a few comments about how mild the weather had been, and a reference to the mock battle of the afternoon. And there Don Miguel's imagination ran dry. For some reason his mind wandered off down a side-alley dictated by his sore hands and memory of the hard rower's bench, and when he reverted to the present he found himself at the tail end of a long and discourteous silence. Don Felipe and the Lady Ingeborg were chatting with immense animation on the other side of a large pillar around which all four of them seemed to have taken station, but he was standing like a booby.
It was a great relief when the Lady Kristina decided to make good his deficiencies for him with that northern directness he had expected to find repellent. She raised a finger to touch the star hanging on the breast of his ruffled shirt.
"Navarro," she said thoughtfully. "Of course. Aren't you the Don Miguel Navarro who was responsible for sorting out that matter of the Aztec mask which could have been such a disaster?" She spoke Spanish as well as her father.
Somewhat uncomfortably, Don Miguel nodded. He said, "As a matter of fact . . . But how on earth did you know? It's not -- uh -- a matter of public record, exactly."
Lady Kristina gave a quicksilver laugh. "Oh, your hidalgo modesty, Don Miguel! Don't you sometimes carry it too far, here in the Empire? Even if it wasn't spelled out in all the newspapers, something which leads to the award of what you're wearing is bound to become a subject for gossip. And you must know that of all places an embassy is where gossip -- particularly scandalous gossip -- comes quickest home to roost."
She gave a mischievous chuckle, and Don Miguel felt a responsive smile come lopsided to his own face. He said, "In that case, my lady, I'm sure gossip must have greatly exaggerated the part I played in the affair."
She shrugged the creamy bare shoulders that rose from her plain but exquisite gown. "No doubt, no doubt! But I'm sure that if I were to ask you to tell me what actually happened, you'd underplay your own part grossly and persuade yourself that you were being honest."
Reflexively, stiff defensive words formed on Don Miguel's lips, triggered by the suspicion that she was going to ask him to give his version, oiling the request with the sort of gushing flattery he would have expected from someone like -- oh, Catalina di Jorque, for example. He was about to say, "I'm afraid I can't talk about it. It's confidential to the Society of Time."
Barely in time he realised she wasn't going to ask him to do anything of the kind, but was turning to find a place for the empty glass she held and saying, "Well, if you're not willing to converse with me, you might ask me to dance."
Somewhat disconcerted, he led her out on the floor. She was a very good dancer indeed, with an athletic grace far removed from the usual maidenly shuffle of the partners he was used to. Though unfamiliar, he found its vigour refreshing. and he was almost enjoying himself by the end of their first circuit of the hall.
And he wasn't the only one, he noticed, passing Don Felipe and Lady Ingeborg. Over her beautiful shoulder he saw his friend give a conspiratorial wink, which the girl could not have seen because they were already cheek-to-cheek. It looked as though some of the more slanderous allegations made about Scandinavian girls might be based on a grain of truth, even if the girls concerned were daughters of a --
His mind made an abrupt jump and he stopped dancing in mid-beat.
"What on earth -- ?" Lady Kristina began. She turned and followed Don Miguel's gaze. "Oh-oh!" she said under her breath. "Would you like to dodge out of sight?"
He did in fact want to disappear much too much to wonder why she should suggest it; automatically giving her his arm to lead her off the floor, he allowed himself to be guided down one of the nearer side-passages leading away from the hall. It was not until they were safely around a corner that he completed his double-take and looked at her, startled.
"Uh -- I'm dreadfully sorry!" he exclaimed.
"Why?"
"Well -- to snatch you away like that. It was unforgivably rude. You must think I'm an absolute boor."
She gave her quicksilver laugh again, this time throwing back her head and making the most of it. "My dear Don Miguel, let's work this out! Wasn't that the Marquesa di Jorque you just saw arriving?"
He nodded.
"And, gossip or not, isn't it true that you were recently involved in something which made her look like a fool in public?"
He nodded again.
"And weren't you shaken to the core to find her suddenly materialising at a function you didn't think she'd get invited to in a million years?"
He found his voice again. "Yes, my lady," he admitted ruefully. "I can only assume that some friend or relative of hers -- ah wangled her an invitation to make up for the way the Society recently snubbed her."
"So you very naturally want to keep out of her way. Well, I've no objection. What little I know about you suggests that you might be quite an interesting person inside your shell, and what I know about Catalina di Jorque suggests she's worth going out of your way to avoid. Let's find somewhere to sit down and chat, shall we? I presume these rooms are open for us. And, by the way, stop calling me 'my lady' -- no one ever calls me that at home except peasants and tradesmen. My name's Kristina." She was opening the nearest door and peeping through it. "Yes, this'll do. And let's have some drinks to keep us going."
Don Miguel, slightly dazed, caught up with her at that point. He glanced around, spotted a Guinea-girl carrying a tray of wine across the next junction of the passage, and called to her. Obediently she followed them into the room and served them with a curtsey.
Kristina took six glasses off the tray and ranged them on a handy table, somewhat to the Guinea-girl's surprise. When the slave moved to go, she gazed after her. As the door closed, she said, "Hmmm! Lovely! I wish I looked like her. Guinea-girls are so sexy, don't you think? Don Miguel, I like you. You shock beautifully. It lights your face from inside like the candles in those glass globes they've hung all over the trees."
Wiping her lip, she went on, "Tell me something, though. It was obvious even before the Marquesa di Jorque turned up that you aren't enjoying yourself. I hope it isn't my fault -- though if it is you only have to say so, because I won't be offended. I hate this stuffy business of foisting off people on one another just so as to keep an even count of couples, and I certainly won't object to being abandoned -- "
"Not at all, not at all!" Don Miguel broke in. "It's nothing to do with my being asked to escort you."
"In that case, presumably it's the prospect of sweating your way through the rest of the evening which makes you so gloomy. Tell me, what's most likely to happen?"
Don Miguel's defences suddenly crumbled. It was impossible not to be taken with this engagingly frank young woman. He chuckled, and the mirth lifted clouds from his mind.
"To be completely honest," he said, "what will most probably happen is this. Red Bear, who has the Mohawk weakness for firewater, will decide around nine or ten o'clock that he's a better drummer than the professional musicians. He will embarrass everybody. The Ambassador of the Confederacy will make slighting remarks about our celebrations, comparing them unfavourably with the winter carnival on the Neva. Everyone Will drink furiously because the conversation keeps falling flat in mid-run. Around midnight Father Ramón will arrive to celebrate Mass in the Society's chapel, and we'll be rid of the royals after that. Whereupon we shall be able to get down off our dignity and maybe have some fun with the younger Licentiates and Probationers -- those who are here. Most of them aren't. They've had enough sense to stay out in the city and enjoy themselves, except for whichever poor fellow is on duty at the Headquarters Office."
"It sounds daunting," Kristina murmured thoughtfully. "I'd rather be with people who are genuinely enjoying themselves . . . You have to be at this midnight Mass, I suppose?"
Don Miguel nodded vigorously. "Every member of the Society who's sober -- and that means you'd damned well better at least look sober! -- is obliged to attend. It's one of the great events of our year."
He refrained from adding details of what made it such a special occasion. There were certain matters which one simply could not mention to outsiders.
Kristina reached a sudden decision. Rising to her feet, she said with determination, "Miguel, let's go and be with people who are having fun! There's plenty of time to get into Londres and still be back for your services at midnight, isn't there? How about seeing if you can find us a carriage?"
Astonished almost beyond description, Don Miguel felt his jaw drop. Painfully raising it again, he said, "You know -- that's an absolutely wonderful idea!"
III
There was no doubt about it, Don Miguel thought contentedly, this was a far, far better way to spend New Year's Eve than at the Commander's palace: wandering among the crowds of merrymakers with a beautiful girl on his arm, doing idiotic things for no particular purpose behind the customary anonymity of half-masks bought from a pedlar, and laughing more and more often than he could remember laughing in his life before. He was naturally a serious person. It occurred to him that perhaps he was habitually too serious.
They had left their carriage shortly after reaching the north side of the river. They had sampled hot chestnuts and hot spiced wine from stalls on wheels, paused to watch a tumbler and juggler for a while, looked in at a display of animals from Africa on Queen Isabela Avenue, joined in the rowdy singing of a troupe of street comedians. Now at last they had come to the hub of the city, to Empire Circle where five wide boulevards met. Here a bonfire was spitting and snarling as people threw fireworks into it; a band was playing traditional tunes, and people danced in the roadway by the light of the flames.
It had turned much colder in the past hour or so, and Kristina, with only a light carriage-cloak covering her flimsy gown, ran forward to warm her hands at the fire. She tossed her long hair back and looked round at him, her eyes sparkling behind her black mask.
"Ah, Miguel! I hadn't thought the people of these damp and misty islands knew so well how to amuse themselves!"
"Oh, we Spanish brought some sunlight from the south when we conquered England, and a trace of it still lingers in our bones," Don Miguel returned with a grin. "It's true you'll find people, here and there, who inveigh against festivities like these as though there were something sinful about having a good time, but thank goodness the mass of the public are too sensible to listen to their arguments. Is what you've seen much different from what you find in your own country?"
"Oh, only on the surface. Of course it's far colder at home, so we go skiing, or sleighing, for months on end while the snow lasts. But the principle's the same." She rubbed her hands together one last time at the fire and turned away, her cheeks reddened by the warmth. "Why Miguel, you look sad all of a sudden! What's wrong?"
"I was thinking . . ." He hesitated. Normally he would not have spoken of what was in his mind to a girl, whether or not she was of noble birth. However, Kristina was considerably different from any other girl of twenty that he'd met.
"I was thinking," he continued slowly, "of other festivals I've seen, at other places and times. The Aztec feast, for instance, in honour of Xipe the Flayed God, where the officiating priests were dressed in human skins and there was ritual cannibalism after the victims had their hearts torn out."
"You've seen that?"
"Yes, I've seen that. And the Ludi in the Circus Maximus at Rome, where men died for no better reason than to glut the blood-lust of the crowd. And . . ." He ended the remark with a shrug.
"No wonder you're such a grim person," Kristina said after a pause. "I'm sorry that I mocked you for it earlier. It must be a terrible burden to carry in the memory."
"No, not so much as one might think. For one comes back, you see, to innocent merriment such as this. The prudish and puritanical who so roundly condemn the gaiety of New Year's Eve ought to be ashamed of themselves, I think. This is certainly one way in which the world has altered for the better. How would they feel if we still murdered people publicly, just to provide a spectacle?"
Kristina gave a sober nod of agreement, and there was a pause. Then, uttering a quick light laugh, she took his arm and began to move away from the fire.
"Ah, that chance to warm myself was very welcome. Strange, when it's far less cold here than at home, how I feel the chill go clear to my marrow. It must be the dampness, I suppose, which I'm simply not used to. How do you suppose she endures it, for example?" She shook a hand free of her cloak and raised it to point across the roadway.
For a moment, Don Miguel did not see what she meant, but a couple of youths nearby also caught the movement and glanced up, and one of them whistled in amazement. "Look!" he urged his companion. "Look there, I say. What do you make of that?"
His friend's eyes bulged. "Drunk, or mad, to behave like that!" he exclaimed. "Probably mad!"
"An interesting kind of madness," the first youth said.
Don Miguel's reaction, too, at first sight of the subject of their remarks was to assume she must be out of her mind. For one thing her costume -- even for a night given over to fancy dress -- was ridiculous. It appeared to consist of blue feathers pasted directly on to her skin, on her hips and buttocks and on her belly as high as her navel. There were low red shoes on her feet; around her wrists were beaded bands of various colours, and aside from that she wore only designs in yellow paint on her face, shoulders and breasts. She seemed to have emerged from the southward-leading avenue connecting Empire Circle with the river embankment, and was standing now in the middle of the roadway staring about her. She seemed both dazzled by the sudden brightness here and dazed by her surroundings, for she glanced wildly from side to side like a trapped animal seeking a way of escape.
Ribald yells went up from the crowd and
the noise of singing died as people turned to stare. Not far from Kristina and Don Miguel were a pair of civil guards; an indignant man of middle age marched up to them and spoke in furious tone, pointing at the feathered girl. Don Miguel did not catch the actual words, but their import was clear, for a grinning youth next to him bellowed, "Speak for yourself some of us like to see 'em that way!"
It occurred to Don Miguel that the sight of someone so nearly unclothed was hardly fit for a duke's daughter, but the realisation was both belated and misplaced, for Kristina, her pretty face set in a frown of curiosity, was staring intently at the girl in blue feathers. She said, "Miguel, I've never seen a costume anything like hers before. Where do you suppose it comes from -- a tropical country? Asia, Africa . . . ?"
Something clicked in Don Miguel's mind. The word "premonition" flicked through his thoughts. But he did not try to pin the idea down. A group of drunken workmen at the edge of the crowd nearest to where the feathered girl was standing had clearly made up their minds that if she came out in public half-naked she could expect what they intended to do to her. Leering, they moved closer to her, about five or six in a group. Tiger-wise, she paused in her frightened staring and half-crouched to confront them.
