Jenna Starborn

by Sharon Shinn

  “Nothing at all to be embarrassed about,” spoke up Mr. Fulsome. “Had a scar bleached out just last year. Best thing I ever did. Right under my hairline. Couldn’t run a comb through my hair without shuddering—never liked to be out anywhere I might encounter a strong wind, for fear my hair would rise and the scar would show.”

  I glanced at Melanie for signs of a laugh, for this sounded like a joke to me, but she looked neither amused nor distracted. “I’m going to kill her, Mother, I swear I will.”

  Her mother patted her absently on the shoulder. “Nonsense, sweetheart, she wasn’t trying to make you look ridiculous. You’re so sensitive, Melanie. You shouldn’t let things affect you so.”

  Mr. Fulsome had strolled over to the rose-girl’s side and was pulling up the fall of hair that laid a romantic blonde patch across his forehead. “See? Well, of course, can’t see a thing now because nothing to see. All gone. Man was a genius.”

  Melanie turned away, but Mr. Taff came over to inspect the site. “Really? Where’d you have it done? I’ve this little—it’s a nothing, really, this mole, there by my ear—can you see it?—I’ve thought for ages about having it removed.”

  Mr. Fulsome dutifully glanced behind the other man’s ear. “Oh! That! Yes, sort of thing you’d want to get rid of eventually.”

  “And you went where? Roberson? Hopeton?”

  “No, a new place, on Brierly. Combination spa-surgical facility-recreational place. Athletic leagues and so on. There nearly a month, liked it so much. Try it.”

  I could not help noticing that Mr. Fulsome dropped his articles and predicates from his speech with some regularity, almost as if he was too lazy to form the words “you” and “I” and “the.” But this laziness paled beside the triflingness of their very lives, that they could spend so much time discussing the merest of vanities as if there were no more important matters in the world.

  Melanie flounced over to the other side of the room, her arms crossed and her pretty face drawn into a sulky frown. “Well, I don’t want to go to any spa on Brierly,” she said. “I like the Roberson Clinic, and that’s where I shall go, and I hope Bianca gets all sorts of warts and moles and ugly things all over her face and no one thinks her pretty anymore.”

  This was a speech worthy of Ameletta, but I was astonished to hear it uttered by a grown woman, in the presence of her mother (who should have taught her better) and two eligible young men (whom I would expect her to be trying to impress, not disgust). Yet no one in the room except me seemed embarrassed for her. Except perhaps Janet Ayerson, and so many people separated us that I could not see her face.

  The next two people to arrive were Bianca Ingersoll and Mr. Ravenbeck, who must have met on the way from their not-quite-separate-enough bedrooms. Once again, she entered the room on the arm of the master, her arm linked through his so casually it was as if she did not notice she was tethered to a package of male energy. I could not imagine ever touching this man without a sense of caution and portent; I did not think I could ever overlook his combustibility.

  “Oh, are we late?” Bianca Ingersoll sang out, and her voice matched her countenance, so full was it of silver and luxury. “I was afraid I would be the last one down, as I so often am, but no, here was Everett, leaving his room just as I was.”

  “Ah, but I was delayed by business, and you were delayed by vanity,” Mr. Ravenbeck said. The light tone made it unlikely that this was an actual rebuke, though I would not have liked to have had such a thing said to me, however gaily. “Thus my behavior is excusable and yours is merely rude.”

  “Oh, you cruel man!” Bianca Ingersoll cried, but in such exaggerated tones that it was clear she was flirting, not protesting. “Mother, call for the aircar. I will not stay even for one dinner in a house where I am being insulted.”

  Mr. Ravenbeck resecured her hand, which she had snatched away from him, and planted a solemn kiss on her knuckles. “And yet the result you have achieved is so perfect that I cannot but forgive the rudeness,” he added. “I would not have had you ready one second earlier if it would have detracted by one iota from your beauty.”

  There was a general laugh from the assembled company—half laugh, I amend, and half sigh at the really quite exaggerated compliment. I did not think I would like something so patently insincere to be said to me either, but Bianca Ingersoll seemed to accept such heavy-handed gallantry as her due. And, in fact, she was quite stunning, dressed as she was in a strapless, floor-length gown of emerald silk, with that frothing blonde hair trained to run over one shoulder and down the front of her dress like a cascade of spidery lace.

  “Well, she can have dawdled as long as she likes beautifying herself, but she’s still not the last one down,” Mr. Taff commented. “Luxton hasn’t made his appearance, so we still can’t sit down to eat.”

  A quick frown pulled down Miss Ingersoll’s faint, delicate brows; I supposed she had planned to make the final appearance of the evening and did not like to be beaten out for that honor.

  “And as he has neither business nor beauty to delay him, we must ascribe his sole motivation to discourtesy,” Mr. Ravenbeck said. “So let us vilify him one and all when he makes his way into our presence.”

  They had not long to wait before falling in with this admirable plan, for almost as the words left Mr. Ravenbeck’s mouth, the handsome Mr. Luxton slouched in. If possible, he looked even more attractive than he had on the security monitor that afternoon, for he exuded an almost feral charisma that was both mesmerizing and seductive. He was dressed all in black, which emphasized both his extraordinary green eyes and his dark complexion, and his arrogant cheekbones tilted back in surprise when his entrance was greeted with howls of derision and disapproval.

  “That’s a strange reception. I thought I was welcome here,” he said in a sleepy, drawling speech whose rhythms were infinitely attractive. “Shall I go away again?”

  I thought it strange that fully one third of Mr. Ravenbeck’s guests had, in a few short minutes, offered to leave before their first meal was ever served; but he, like Bianca, was not serious.

  “Our disapproval stems from our hunger, and not your existence,” Mr. Ravenbeck explained. “You have kept us waiting and we cannot love you for that.”

  “Surely Bianca is still behind me,” Luxton said in that lazy voice. “I can’t have held you up at all.” A movement of that blonde head caught his attention, and he let loose a low, irresistible laugh. “Oho, I see she has arrived on the scene already! Why so eager, Bianca? You must find the company extraordinarily agreeable.”

  He was smiling, though rather unpleasantly, and she was frowning, and I had to wonder what sort of ill will existed between the Ingersoll heiress and this gorgeous man. A little jealousy, perhaps? For Mrs. Farraday had distinctly told us that the Ingersolls had already been entertaining guests when they decided to journey to Thorrastone Park. Perhaps Mr. Luxton had come wooing and his suit had appeared to prosper until Mr. Ravenbeck made his reappearance on the scene.

  Not that I would ever know any of it.

  Miss Ingersoll did not bother to reply to Mr. Luxton’s comment, but merely turned her back on him. “I believe we are all assembled,” she said. “Shall we go in to dinner?”

  “Certainly, but first let me make you known to a few of the members of my household who will be joining us tonight,” Mr. Ravenbeck said. “Mrs. Farraday I believe is already in the dining room, making sure the china does not slide to the floor while we are engaged in conversation elsewhere. And you have all met her on many occasions. Also, I believe some of you are familiar with my ward, Ameletta.”

  At that, Ameletta skipped forward out of the shadows, a little dancing moonbeam of a girl. She was too cowed by her company to indulge in her usual chatter, but she was smiling like summer itself as she held out her hand to Bianca Ingersoll.

  “But of course! The charming child I spent such a delightful day with the last time you were on Fieldstar!” Bianca exclaimed. She bent down to give Amel
etta an airy kiss on the cheek. “Don’t you look beautiful tonight, Ameletta! How lovely to see you again.”

  Ameletta pirouetted to give the whole company a chance to glimpse her face, and the others nodded or smiled or waved as the mood took them. “And Miss Ayerson, her tutor,” Mr. Ravenbeck continued, motioning Janet to step forward.

  She did so, laying her hand unobtrusively on Ameletta’s shoulder, as if to contain the child by the weight of her own presence. But I knew better; I knew she was using Ameletta as an anchor, and I wished I was standing close enough to grasp even such a frail savior myself. The women gave her the most cursory of looks, then dismissed her, but the men all smiled more enthusiastically than they had at Ameletta. Even the indifferent Mr. Luxton let his emerald gaze linger for a moment or two on the tall, crimsonrobed figure standing so quietly in the center of the room.

  “And Miss Starborn, our nuclear technician,” Mr. Ravenbeck said finally. I forced myself to take one step away from the wall so that the others could, by my movement, locate me. I knew otherwise they would not have been able to make out my indeterminate shape and color. Bianca and Melanie Ingersoll and their mother brushed their glances across my face and looked elsewhere; Taff and Fulsome nodded brusquely; but Luxton held my gaze for an electrifying moment that reminded me, even if briefly, that I was alive and female. It was one of the most peculiar, though shortest-lived, moments of my life.

  “Very well, now that we are all friends, let us go in for dinner,” Mr. Ravenbeck said. We all turned in one body toward the door, and I followed Mr. Fulsome’s blonde head into the other room.

  Mrs. Farraday was already fluttering about the guests, directing each of us to our seats and dropping an absentminded kiss on Ameletta’s head. Not to my surprise, I found that Mrs. Farraday, Janet, Ameletta, and I were grouped together at the foot of the table, while the more exalted guests were ranged toward the head of the table, closer to Mr. Ravenbeck. Large centerpieces of flowers and ivy had been strategically placed between those of us on the lower half of the table and those on the upper, so that it was hard to peer through the foliage. Thus the halfcitizens and less desirable residents would be present but invisible. I wondered if the arrangement had been Mrs. Farraday’s idea or Mr. Ravenbeck’s.

  Conversation was desultory as we waited for Rinda and Mary to bring out the first course. From much browsing over the StellarNet, I was familiar enough with the news of the day to have followed any conversation about current events, but most of their talk consisted of idle chatter about people and social venues that were mysteries to me. Many of the observations about absent friends were rather slyly spoken and elicited muffled or outright laughter. It occurred to me I would not want to be an acquaintance of any of these people and missing from one of their congregations, for to have my character so blithely blackened seemed disagreeable in the extreme.

  Eventually, the meal commenced as Mary and Rinda brought out platters of steaming vegetables. We always had decent meals at the manor, but for this evening, Mrs. Farraday and the cook had assembled a truly magnificent repast. Courses of salads, meats, pastas, and fruits followed the first one, and a fine array of desserts capped off our culinary adventure. I knew better, but I could not stop myself from sampling portions of every dish, and eating till I literally thought my body would explode. Everything was so good! And I was not used to indulgence. I ate, and was sorry for it, but ate again.

  The four of us situated below the greenery did not make much attempt to talk to one another, though Ameletta did crane her neck almost continually, trying to get a glimpse of the faces on the other side of the dividers. Most of Janet Ayerson’s conversation consisted of low admonitions to the young girl, telling her to be still, sit quietly, eat some more of her carrots, did she want to spill chocolate on her dress? Mrs. Farraday, though she filled her plate several times, seemed always to be straining toward the kitchen, awaiting the sounds of some disaster unfolding just beyond the door. Yet nothing untoward occurred.

  It must have taken us two hours to finish our meal in a leisurely fashion. I was relieved when Mr. Ravenbeck finally put down his fork and exclaimed, “Well! That was a splendid example of the advantages of modern civilization! An excellent dinner, Mrs. Farraday. Thank you so much for putting it together.”

  The other guests murmured vague thanks, glancing through the leaves in her direction and looking quickly away. Mrs. Farraday appeared flustered but delighted. “Oh—no trouble—well, I’m so pleased that you enjoyed it. Thank you, yes, thank you.”

  Good. Now it is time for us all to separate, my confederates and I to go up to our rooms, and Mr. Ravenbeck and his guests to indulge in some other pursuits. This was my innocent thought as the meal came to its close; imagine what dismay I felt in the next few minutes!

  Mr. Ravenbeck came to his feet and glanced down at his guests. “So! Taff, I understand you are quite a hand at SpaceShot,” he said. “Miss Ingersoll tells me you and she have played every week for six months and she has never bested you.”

  SpaceShot was an electronic game played over computer terminal screens, and many of the students at Lora Tech had been proficient at it. Not one to have much interest in games, I had never attempted to play it, but my students assured me it could be quite thrilling.

  “I’m a master of the sport!” Taff replied, smiling enough to make the immodest boast less annoying. “I’ll challenge any of you to beat me at the game.”

  “SpaceShot? That’s my best game,” Luxton said in his dreamy voice. “I’ll take you on.”

  “Oh, such fun for the rest of us,” Bianca said with a little pout. “Watching the two of you shoot imaginary torpedoes at each other.”

  “We’ll play teams,” Mr. Ravenbeck said. “I ordered the upgraded version the other day. Four players to a screen. I am assured the action is much faster and the kills more satisfying.”

  Everyone laughed except Janet Ayerson and me. We were staring at each other in dawning horror as a quick review of the company present, combined with the most rudimentary mathematical exercises, warned us who might be asked to play on these teams.

  “But we don’t have enough people to fill your crews,” Mr. Fulsome complained. “For you don’t have to tell me that Mrs. Ingersoll does not excel at simulation games—”

  “Oh! Don’t be ridiculous,” that lady said in rather sharp accents. “I’d rather be thrown alive into the vacuum than attempt to learn something so pointless.”

  “Well, then. Can we play three to a team?” Taff inquired. “Each lady to serve as captain and choose her men?”

  “I would be happy to take the role of captain,” Bianca Ingersoll said with purring satisfaction. “May I punish any of my crew members who do not perform to my standards?”

  “Only if you reward those crew members who exceed them,” Luxton said. “Though I have to admit, you are handier with a rebuke than a reward.”

  “One is merited so much more often than the other,” the beauty replied.

  “Well, that settles it, you two cannot play on a team,” Mr. Taff said merrily. “Melanie, will you be captain and choose your men? For it looks like we will have one girl and two boys to each side.”

  “I am perfectly willing to be captain if I am not expected to play very well,” Melanie said with a coquettish smile. “And surely I may be allowed to be decorative if I am only one of two?”

  “But we have four ladies,” Mr. Ravenbeck said. On his feet, he was tall enough to see over the greenery, and his eyes, wickedly mocking, were fixed on mine. “Miss Ayerson and Miss Starborn would both be pleased to play.”

  “Oh! Of course. Tutor and technician,” Mr. Fulsome said, looking around in some bewilderment, as if he had forgotten exactly where we had been placed. “Can’t believe you slipped my mind. Happy to play on any team they’re on.”

  Melanie looked less than pleased, and Bianca actually raised her eyebrows. “But, Everett, surely they are not interested in wasting their time on such frivolity?” she asked
. “And perhaps they are not familiar with the game and would find it embarrassing to try to play in front of strangers.”

  “They could hardly be any worse at it than you and Melanie,” Mr. Ravenbeck said cheerfully. “You forget, I’ve seen you play. Come! Miss Ayerson! Miss Starborn! On your feet, and come join us.”

  Predictably, Ameletta had jumped up before either of us had moved a muscle. “Oh, Mr. Ravenbeck! May I play too? I am ever so good at SpaceShot—Miss Ayerson and I play it all the time!”

  This was news to me, but the dread on Janet Ayerson’s face intensified to such a degree that I realized it was true, and that she would now be expected to perform with some skill on her team. Mr. Ravenbeck laughed and held his arms out in a welcoming gesture.

  “You can play on my team—you shall be my hands some of the time,” he said, as she hurried down the length of the table to hurl herself into his arms. “Will that be good enough?”

  “But, Everett,” Bianca Ingersoll said in a rather dangerous voice. “A child? Are you sure? And your friends have not said they would actually like to join us.”

  “I want them to join us, and that should be good enough for them—and for all of you,” he replied. He spoke smilingly, but there was a certain stubbornness in his delivery that made Bianca Ingersoll draw back slightly in her chair. “Come! Let us repair to the library. The games have already been set up.”

  Everyone stood, some of us more slowly than others, and in a ragged group began to make our way to the appointed room. Mrs. Farraday had bustled off to the kitchen before Janet and I had gone more than a few steps, and I turned to my fellow sufferer with a look of marveling apprehension.

  “Can this really be happening? Is there no way to refuse?” I asked.

  She shook her head. Her cheeks were pale, but the smallest smile was beginning to work its way across her face. “He believes it is a treat for us—a rare privilege—to be allowed to socialize with citizens as equals,” she said. Myself, I doubted the purity of his motives, but I didn’t like to say so. “It would hurt his feelings for you to reject this offer. You cannot disappoint him.”