by Steven Gould
“It’s the grand circuit,” said Phillip. “Even the guides who live in the High City spend at least thirty minutes riding around the city. It’s a pageant. The point is to show off to each other and to the settled.”
Leland found himself being nodded at or waved to from the other carriages. He did his best to return the greetings as Phillip pointed out the more notable guardianship. “I suppose jumping up and down on the seat and waving wildly is frowned upon?”
Phillip chuckled.
“Well, there at least is someone I know. Who’s that with the chancellor?”
Guide Cornelius de Moran was approaching from the opposite direction in a plain carriage with a middle-aged couple across from him.
“Ah, yes,” said Phillip. “That’s his daughter and son-in-law. They hold the de Moran family lands, I believe, north of here.”
As the two carriages neared each other, Guide Cornelius smiled quietly and bowed slightly from his seated position. Leland rose to his feet and bowed from the waist. He saw Cornelius’s daughter straighten in her seat when he did this, then the two carriages were past each other.
Phillip saw people in other carriages whispering to each other and pointing. He frowned.
Leland said, “What’s wrong, Phillip? I didn’t jump up and down on the seat.” Phillip shook his head distractedly. “I don’t think you’ve done any harm. The chancellor was greatly respected here in Noram but has lately fallen out of favor with Arthur. You would have started as much gossip if you’d just nodded to him, but a warden standing and bowing to a mere landed guide is going to keep the tongues wagging for weeks.”
“If he’s so out of favor, why was he invited to the ball?”
“Most likely because he’s definitely not out of favor with the high steward’s sister and daughters.”
Leland leaned back. “Should I have ignored the man?”
Phillip shrugged. “You’ve got to answer that sort of question for yourself. It might have been more politic to keep your response down to a mere nod. Who knows what the high steward will think?”
Under his breath, Leland muttered, “And who cares?”
Finally, after the palace had been circled at least twice, the carriage joined the queue of vehicles and horses waiting to unload at the steps of Noram House. When their turn came, they found themselves joining another line inside the mansion, just outside the ballroom.
“Is there a reception line?” Leland asked.
Phillip shook his head. “No. These people are waiting to be announced.”
“Well, then,” Leland said. “Why don’t we sneak around to the side and go straight to the punch bowl? If I’d known we were going to ride around for three-quarters of an hour I would have brought a canteen.”
Phillip shook his head. “You agreed to do it my way, Warden. Your father would have arrived an hour late so there’d be more people to watch him walk down the grand staircase. We’re practically on time so there will only be a small crowd to watch you trip on the stairs.”
Finally Phillip handed their invitations to the majordomo and Leland had to hear his title read in heraldic tones to the ballroom at large.
“Guide Leland de Laal of Laal, Warden of the Needle and Captain of the Eight Hundred.” He started to wait for Phillip but the factor made abbreviated shooing motions, so Leland walked down the center of the stairway alone. He concentrated on the far end of the hall, where four chairs had been set on a dais, and ignored the faces looking up at him.
Only when he reached the floor was Phillip announced. Leland walked to one side and waited for him.
The hall was the largest room Leland had ever been in, dwarfing the Great Hall at Laal Station. The ceiling rose three stories and balconies and windows opened onto the hall from the floors above. Biogenerated methane flowed through nearly a hundred white-hot mantles in crystal-chimneyed lanterns, casting a warm yellow light throughout the hall. Fifty or so early arrivals barely made a dent in its expanse. Tables set up to one side offered beverages and small foods.
Leland looked up at Phillip descending the stairs and thought, Why isn’t he captain of the Eight Hundred? He has the bearing, the experience. Like Leland’s brothers, Phillip had served in Captain Koss’s Falcons and had seen action against Cotswold border raiders.
Leland glanced around and saw more than a few people watching Phillip descend. It disturbed him, however, to find that even more of them were watching him.
He turned and walked briskly over to the refreshment tables, where he asked for two glasses of the punch. When Phillip joined him, he gave him one and drained half of his own glass.
“Why are they staring at me?”
Phillip laughed. “Surely they wouldn’t be so rude.”
“Well, they are. Especially those older women.” Leland finished his punch and asked for another.
Phillip frowned. “The punch is alcoholic, Warden.”
Leland looked at him, surprised. “It is?” Then he felt it hit his stomach. “I didn’t realize. I’ll be sure and take the next one more slowly.” He accepted the new glass from the servant and turned back to Phillip. “So what’s with these women?”
Phillip grinned. “All those women have daughters, Leland. I hate to say it, but you’re the son of a Principal of the Council of Noramland. This makes you one of the more eligible bachelors in the city. Do you get my point?”
Leland felt his face go numb. He nodded stiffly. “How soon before we can leave?”
Phillip’s sudden and loud laughter caused several people to look around. Leland glared at him. “It’s not funny.”
“Of course not,” said Phillip, still laughing. “Not even the slightest bit.”
Leland glared at him. “How would you like to wear my hat? You wouldn’t find it so funny, I’ll bet.” He took another swallow of the punch. “Look at them. It’s like I was a prize goose.”
“No, Leland. It’s more like you’re the biggest fish in the stock pond and there’s a fishing contest about to start. And if you drink much more of that punch, you’re going to swallow the first hook that comes your way.”
Leland vividly imagined a large fishhook piercing his cheek and shivered. He put the half-full glass back on the refreshments table, where a servant scooped it up.
“More punch, Guide?”
“Something with less punch.”
After some deliberation he accepted a glass of pear nectar in a wineglass. The servant seemed surprised when Leland thanked him.
“Look, there’s Cornelius and his daughter. What are they doing off by themselves? Where’s her husband?”
Phillip shrugged. “It’s as I said in the carriage. Cornelius is out of favor so he doesn’t embarrass old friends and students by approaching them. Even his son-in-law roams the hall rather than be seen with him. I like the man, and your father respects him, but even I’ve been circumspect in my association. Arthur has not been exactly respectful of Laal lately. I didn’t want to muddy things more than they were.”
Leland frowned. “When we can’t see who our friends are, the waters are muddy indeed. I’m very young, Phillip, and susceptible to the attention of great men. I’m ashamed to say it, but if Arthur had been the least bit kind to me in our trip from Laal, I would probably feel different. As it is, I don’t care who is in or out of his favor.” He paused. “Maybe it’s the punch.”
Phillip wasn’t smiling anymore. He regarded Leland seriously. “Maybe it’s a fresh viewpoint. I’ve been watching these stupid status games for so long, maybe I’ve lost sight of what has value and what’s dross.”
Leland shrugged. “I don’t know, Phillip. Your job is to represent Laal’s interests here in Noram. You can hardly do that by offending his nibs.”
“Is it in Laal’s interests to involve myself in Arthur’s petty likes and dislikes? To let all of Noram think that old friendships are subject to childish whims?”
Leland smiled. “I don’t know. Tonight I don’t care. Would you take my arm, sir?”
“Honored, sir.”
They walked across the floor to the chancellor.
The high steward and his sister sat in a shadowed balcony, high above the hall, eating a late supper while they watched the arrivals.
“What is that de Falon woman wearing?” Arthur said. “Makes her look like a piece of rotten fruit.”
“I rather like it,” Margaret said. “It’s the perspective. From this angle, any gown looks different. You’re just upset because it’s high necked.”
Arthur ignored her. “There’s the Laal boy. His tailor should be whipped. That cut is ridiculous. Looks like a bloody servant. I thought Phillip had better taste.”
Margaret smiled. “You really think so? I rather like it. And in this crowd he stands out like a hawk among peacocks.”
“Really, Margaret. I thought you had some taste. I’ve known it from the moment I set eyes on him. The boy has no class, no style.”
“Whatever you say, Arthur. When are Sylvan and Marilyn going to make their entrance? I wish they’d hurry. Everybody seems to have arrived.”
He shrugged. “Soon, I should think. After all—I don’t believe it. Those stupid clods!”
“What? Oh, it’s Cornelius and his girl. Why are you so angry?”
“Did you see the bow Phillip and Leland gave them? They have no sense of place or propriety. I don’t know what his father was thinking of when he made him a warden. He isn’t acting the part. A bow that deep is due him from a mere landed guide. What did I say—no style. And that pompous fool Cornelius is lapping it up.”
“Arthur!”
The high steward cringed suddenly at the edge in his sister’s voice. Then he straightened suddenly. “What are you snapping about!”
She stood suddenly, towering over him. “You petty little man! You have no respect for the customs, for simple decency, for learning and scholarship, for one of our father’s dearest friends, for the man who taught us to read. You make me ashamed to be your sister.”
He opened his mouth to answer, but she was gone, the curtain to the alcove swinging in her wake. He felt his ears burning furiously, felt the urge to run after her, to scream into her face, Father never showed me the smallest piece of the respect he showed that man. I’ll be damned if I’ll treat him better than the servant he is!
He drank from his wineglass, gulping convulsively. Soon it won’t matter. Things are going to change, sister—wait and see.
Leland, Cornelius, and his daughter, the Gentle Guide Amalia, were laughing at something Phillip said when the fanfare sounded. Sylvan and Marilyn, being the guests of honor, were not announced. Instead strings, flutes, guitars, and a drum heralded their descent.
Sylvan was dressed in scarlet and green, with a belt worked in gold. Marilyn wore white, with underdresses in shades of cream and ivory. They walked down the stairway slowly, Sylvan carrying his shoulders back, his chin raised quite high.
GREAT ADAM’S APPLE.
Marilyn’s eyes were on the crowd, a quiet smile on her face. She floated on the stairs, her feet invisible, hidden beneath the slips. Her skin was so pale that her dress seemed to blend with her bare shoulders.
They reached the bottom and the music stopped. From his position at the top of the stairs, the majordomo’s voice echoed through the hall. “A toast to Guide Sylvan Montrose and the Gentle Guide Marilyn de Noram. Long, clean, wise life.”
When the response from the assembly had rolled off the walls he announced the next couple. “The Gentle Guides Zanna de Noram and Charlina de Rosen.”
Charly was wearing a long, loose gown in blue—something with a complex weave that included bits of metallic gold and silver. Leland was willing to bet that she’d woven it herself.
Zanna was dressed in dark pants and a matching cutaway jacket over a blouse of scarlet silk. Her hair was tied back much like Leland’s, and the heels of her polished boots made her seem slightly taller than Charly, though Leland knew Charly was actually the taller of the two. He checked as they walked down the stairs and saw that Charly was wearing flat slippers.
As the couple neared the bottom of the stairs the majordomo spoke again. “The first dance will be ‘The Balanced Diet.’”
Sylvan and Marilyn took the head of the set. Leland turned to Cornelius’s daughter and bowed. “Guide Amalia, would you honor me?”
Her eyes grew very large. “Certainly.”
Leland led her onto the floor. They ended up the second couple down, Leland as vegetables, Amalia as fruits, to Sylvan’s legumes and Marilyn’s whole grains. The pattern repeated every third couple, down the length of the set.
“The Balanced Diet” was the one dance Leland knew well. He’d learned it as a child, as did all children in Greater Noram, to supplement instruction in the categories. He went through the steps automatically, smiling at his partner or his temporary partners, as the dance progressed. He didn’t realize that this unconscious competence lent a great deal of grace to his simple, clean movements.
Sylvan, on the other hand, did not know this dance. His expertise lay in partner dances. The instruction of the categories in Cotswold was not universal, and line dances, calling for the mixing of ranks, were not fashionable. He managed to complete the first steps without any great disasters, but he was scowling by the end of the first cycle.
Leland wove around Sylvan during one of the extended figure-eights and nodded pleasantly. Sylvan glared back and nearly collided with the next couple down. Leland suppressed a smile and returned to his partner.
Then they did the mixed stew, all four categories coming together to form a four-spoked wheel, then doing a linked-arm turn with a temporary partner. Leland ended up with Marilyn.
“Some zucchini in your rice?” he asked.
“Avocado on my bread,” she answered. Sylvan reclaimed her, taking her arm with unnecessary firmness.
Later, after Leland and his partner had reached the top of the set, converting to legumes and grain, they encountered Marilyn and Sylvan, working their way back up the set as vegetables and fruits. Again, after the mixed stew, Marilyn ended up with Leland.
“Some onions with your beans?” she offered.
“Gives me gas.”
They laughed out loud.
Sylvan turned a beat early and snatched at Marilyn’s arm. She avoided it and Leland heard her whisper, “I am not a valise! You’ve already bruised me once tonight, keep your hands to yourself!” Then she pushed him away from her, to his next position in the dance.
Leland clenched his teeth together and hurried to keep from messing up the next turn. Safely in step again, he noticed Sylvan’s ears were a bright red.
Leland and his partner reached the end of the set and stood out for the necessary cycle.
“You seem troubled, Warden.”
Leland smiled briefly. “I worry about things that are not my business. It serves me right. Ah, time to reenter the set?”
“Yes, Guide.”
After the dance, Leland escorted Amalia back to her father.
Phillip did his own share of dancing, but when he and Leland weren’t, he did his best to introduce Leland to as many of the guests as he could. He was surprised when, in the midst of several introductions, Leland or the other person being introduced would say “We’ve met.” Then they would bow to each other—not the nod or casual bow of greeting, but a formal bow, from the waist.
“For someone who hasn’t been in the city in over a decade, you know a lot of people. Have they visited Laal?”
Leland smiled and said, “No. I met them at Guide Charlina’s place.”
Phillip nodded. He and Gahnfeld had discussed Leland’s morning trips to the townhouse. Gahnfeld had said, “I think he’s having an affair with the woman. I wouldn’t blame him. I’d like to have an affair with her myself.”
Phillip had been surprised. “Preposterous. He may be having an affair and using her house for the purpose, but it’s highly unlikely that it’s with the de Rosen woman. She’s Zanna de Noram
’s chosen companion.”
“Oh. She’s the one. I thought they were going to marry?”
Phillip shook his head. “The high steward’s against it. Says he’ll disinherit Zanna if they make it official. But he hasn’t been able to get her to give de Rosen up.”
Gahnfeld said, “Well, my men have told me nobody arrives after Leland. Maybe she’s bisexual?”
Phillips shook his head again. “I’m pretty sure she’s monogamous, whatever her orientation.”
Gahnfeld shrugged. “I just hope he’s careful, whoever he’s screwing.”
When Leland danced with the Gentle Guide Charlina, Phillip wondered anew about Gahnfeld’s suspicion. But when he saw Zanna watching the dancers with a smile on her face, he dismissed the notion.
Sylvan avoided the line dances after the first but tried to monopolize his betrothed for all the partner dancing. She put up with this for a while, but then, as the evening wore on and Sylvan drank more and more, she started accepting the petitions of other admirers. Sylvan accepted this with seeming good grace, using the opportunity to dance with some of the more attractive and forward women. Later, though, when Marilyn refused several supplicants and pulled Leland from a conversation with Marshall de Gant, Sylvan was clearly distracted, dancing poorly with his current partner and glaring across the room at Marilyn and Leland.
More than one onlooker’s hand was raised to cover smiles as they watched Sylvan’s reaction. Cotswold had been at conflict with Noram too long for Arthur’s recent treaty to smother accumulated ill feeling, and Sylvan had not helped things with his behavior since his arrival in the city.
Phillip didn’t know whether to be pleased or worried about the Cotswoldian’s reaction. After watching Sylvan’s expression worsen over the course of the dance, he decided.
Worried—I should be worried.
When their escort and the carriage had been fetched, Gahnfeld and two of the other soldiers were missing. The coronet left in charge said, “A man came, sir, from an inn. Some soldiers from the Seventh got in a fight with some other unit down in the Lower City and are under siege in some tavern. The halvidar said he’d meet you at the estate when he’d straightened it out.”
