by Robyn Bennis
They met again outside the ballroom, both wearing dress uniforms, which were similar to their deck uniforms, but featured a cravat around the neck and epaulettes on the shoulders. Josette’s hair, still too short for the servants to do much with it, had been brushed flat against her head with boar bristles dipped in almond oil, and the scent at least covered the faint burnt smell that still lingered around her head.
“I’m not sure I want to do this, sir,” Kember said, as they waited for the courtier attending the door to let them in.
“Then you have the advantage of me,” Josette answered. “I’m certain I don’t want to do it.”
“Only … do I look ugly?” In response to Josette’s sudden gaze, Kember added, “With the scar? The medical officer said I’d never be pretty.”
“As to that,” Josette said, “you should have thought of it before you let someone shoot you.”
Ensign Kember looked forward and said, “Yes, sir.”
The courtier nodded to the servants on either side of the ornate double doors, which were thrown open and held wide. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, quieting the room. “I present Captain Josette Dupre, of His Majesty’s Signal Airship, Mistral.”
The gathered nobility, perhaps a hundred of them clustered by the dozen throughout the gilded, candlelit room, paused in chewing on their hors d’oeuvres to politely clap. When the clapping subsided, Josette steeled herself and drew a long breath.
Of the speech she had prepared, she got as far as, “Th—” before Roland appeared at her side, quieted her with a quick shake of his head, and led her by the shoulder to a group of noblemen in the middle of the room. Bernat was among them, looking at her like she was an idiot.
“You told me I had to say a few words,” she said, leaning over and speaking in a quiet hiss.
“Yes, but obviously not the moment you enter the room,” Bernat said. “What in hell were you thinking?”
She rolled her eyes. “My apologies. Where I come from, formal dress receptions are conducted along different lines.”
“No harm done,” Roland said, leaning in to join the conspiracy. “But it might be wise to look to one of us for guidance, in the future.”
She was about to offer a biting reply, but in the candlelight Roland looked nothing like his brother, and this softened her mood considerably. His dark hair was longer, but kept neat and parted at the side. His features were softer, his expressions hardly sanctimonious at all. And he cut a fine figure in his tailed coat, woolen breeches, and obi sash—which were not quite the fashion. The loose, pleated hakama seemed more popular among Kuchin’s upper crust, but she judged Roland correct in eschewing it for breeches. The tighter woolen garment better flattered his … qualities.
“Captain?” he asked.
She shook her head, smiled, and said, “Sorry. Just gathering wool.” She looked about the ballroom. “Where’s Kember gotten to?”
Josette had been ushered away so quickly that she’d had no chance to help her young ensign become situated. She imagined the girl, lingering adrift and alone near the door, trying not to look bewildered in this sea of nobility.
Bernat quietly indicated a group of young noblemen off to the right. Kember was among them, partly hidden by their numbers, and by how closely they crowded around her. For her part, the ensign was grinning as she pointed to her scars, and through the greater buzz of conversation, could be heard to say in a cheerful tone, “No, no. The bullet only hit my neck. They cut open the face to keep me from dying of inflammation. Here, help me wipe the makeup away, so you can get a better look at it.” She laughed as her concealer came off. “It’s just hideous, isn’t it?” This was met with such an expression of admiration and denial from the young noblemen that Josette couldn’t make out anything else Kember said.
“Now, come on,” Roland said. “I’m sorry, but we must mingle.”
“God preserve me,” she said.
“Courage, Captain. Courage!”
* * *
IT WAS GOING well until Count Morishita asked, “Does your family go back very far, Captain?”
Josette stood thinking about it—not a good sign at all—and said, “To the beginning, I suppose. Same as everyone else’s.”
Bernat waited for disaster to result, but the remark drew friendly laughter from Count and Countess Morishita, and their hangers-on joined in as soon as they knew it was safe to do so.
Josette, however, reddened and went on. “Or did you think, your lordship, that—”
Bernat cut in with, “That any of our lineages could be a match for yours. Your line descends from the Ashkaitian Dynasty, does it not? And I believe the family of Countess Morishita, née Hada, goes back to the Almurab Dynasty of ancient Mauratia.” He looked up at Josette. “Did you know that, Captain?”
“I did not,” she said, and returned to clenching her jaw.
“Then you have all the more reason to admire an already admirable couple,” Roland said.
“And now we must see to Duke Prevot’s party,” Bernat said. “If you’ll excuse us.” He bowed as far as he could in his chair, and directed his servant toward another cluster of guests.
Josette and Roland followed, and as their little party made its way across the ballroom, Roland whispered instructions to her. “For God’s sake, try to be nice to these ones, they’re more important. The man in the plume is Duke Prevot and the woman next to him is his mistress. Address him as ‘Your Grace’ and her as ‘Your Ladyship.’ If she likes you, she’ll ask you to call her Evette. Do not do so the first time she asks, or they’ll think you’ve acceded too readily, but do not fail to do so the second time, or they’ll think you’re being insolent. Do not under any circumstances call her Duchess—his wife’s title—or they’ll both be mortified. Especially considering that his wife is here as well. See her flirting with the Minister of Correspondence? Oh, and there’s Lady Evette’s husband over there, pouting in the corner. It’s unlikely they’ll come over while we’re chatting, but if one of them does, the other will certainly follow. If they stand next to their respective spouses, you must address each pair as you would any other husband and wife. If either does not stand with their spouse, you must address each as if the spouse were not there at all, but be sure to give each of them equal attention, so as not to favor one spouse over the other. Understood?”
She nodded her head, but her eyes were fixed on him in a blank stare. “What in hell goes on in this place?” she asked.
“The management of the Kingdom of Garnia, of course,” Bernat said with a smile.
“That explains so very much about the state of the country.”
Roland shook his head. “That is exactly the sort of comment you must bury deep within yourself, if you’re to get through this evening. Ready?”
“No.”
“That’s a shame, because here we are. Ah, Your Grace…”
This encounter went better. Josette was, to her credit, learning to remain silent and show appreciation for the paltry wit of her betters. It helped, certainly, that everyone here wanted to be seen with her, and to be seen on friendly terms with her, as she was quite the celebrity. Bernat’s contribution to the recent victory at Canard did not go unmentioned either, least of all by himself.
Trouble only arose when one Mr. Dagan Lemerre walked into their circle and invited Josette to dinner with his family. Josette handled it in the best manner possible, by standing mute and paralyzed, while Bernat and Roland took charge of the situation.
“Captain Dupre,” Roland said, “As much as I’m certain you’d like to dine with Mr. Lemerre’s family, I believe you’ve already committed yourself to attending Baron Guisset’s ball tomorrow evening.”
Mr. Lemerre would not be dissuaded so easily, however, and went on, “Perhaps you could join us for a riverfront picnic on Wednesday?”
Josette helpfully stalled by making an uncertain, rolling trill, much as a mental defective would under similar circumstances.
“I believe,” Bernat said, leaping to her aid, “that you’ll be in the country that day.”
“Oh,” she said, finding her brains at last. “What rotten luck.”
Mr. Lemerre kept trying for some time, suggesting half a dozen events on various dates, but the brothers found a matching event that excused Josette from every single invitation, until he finally got the message and gave up.
When they had a moment’s privacy, Josette asked, “How did I manage to get such a crowded social calendar, without ever noticing?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Bernat said. “We just had to keep Lemerre at bay. You couldn’t very well go to dinner with his family. It would be the end of you.”
She frowned. “What, are they cannibals?”
“Worse yet: merchants.”
“I see,” she said. “Shall I spit on him, the next time he comes over, or is it enough to turn my back and harrumph?”
Bernat looked positively alarmed. “No, no. You mustn’t offend him! That would be the end of you.”
Josette tried to form a question, but found that she possessed so little understanding that she didn’t even know how to start. She only stood there, with her mouth popping open and closed, like a gasping fish.
Seeing her confusion, Roland said, “Half the nobles here have an interest in his enterprises, and draw much of their income from him. If he were to sour on them, he could see to it that they were utterly ruined. Likewise, if they were to sour on him, then by the very slightest adjustments to the laws governing trade, they could see to it that he was utterly ruined. And then again, he’s a merchant. If they were seen to keep friendly company with him, their standing in the court would diminish, they would no longer have sufficient influence upon the trade laws, and everyone would be ruined.”
This enlightened her only a little. “And … how do I fit into all that?”
“Good God!” Bernat said, in an annoyed whisper. “How can you be such a damn fool?”
“More easily than I’d ever imagined,” she said, staring contemplatively into space.
Roland remained patient. “You’re the man of the hour, as it were, the conduit through which their alliances and petty grievances alike will flow. You must step delicately.”
A servant came by with a drink for Josette, which she took eagerly. After some time had passed with her saying nothing, Bernat finally looked up from his chair and asked, “Is everything all right?”
“Have you ever had a dream,” she said, looking over the rim of her champagne glass and off into space, “where you’re in a play, but you can’t remember any of your lines, and everything that’s going on is a complete mystery to you?”
“Of course,” Bernat said cheerfully, “but I improvise and the audience loves me.”
“It’s only another few hours,” Roland said.
“Though I think,” Bernat said, “we should make a sally to rescue one of our stranded compatriots.” He motioned to Ensign Kember, still surrounded by a group of young noblemen, but no longer seeming to enjoy it. Indeed, as they crowded in around her no matter which way she walked, all vying for her attention, she looked rather like she was being slowly pecked to death by hens. “Good God. Have they been at her all this time?”
“It’s no wonder they’re fascinated by such an exotic creature as a battle-scarred young lady,” Roland said. “They’re all of an age to join the army, and none with duties so vital as to prevent it, and yet here they are, lounging in the palace instead of out fighting the war.”
Josette rolled her eyes, though Bernat couldn’t tell why. She asked, “Can she be saved, do you think?”
“Let us at least make the attempt,” Roland said, nodding to Bernat.
Bernat nodded back, as he showed his servant which way to push his chair.
They managed, by appealing for some bit of military trivia that only Ensign Kember would know, to finally extract her from amid the gang of nobles. But, though heady with victory, they had a nasty shock when they returned triumphant, for Josette was nowhere to be found.
“Oh dear,” Roland said, “We’ve lost the guest of honor.”
* * *
JOSETTE WAS ALREADY outside when she realized she could have brought a glass of champagne and a tray of hors d’oeuvres with her, or at least a coat to keep away the evening chill. She couldn’t risk returning, though, lest she be captured again.
She strolled over well-manicured lawns and gravel paths, with little regard for any particular route, but always moving farther away from the palace itself. Skirting the fence around the palace menagerie, which was more easily smelled than seen in the evening dusk, she looked up to see a child peering out at her from the gap in a nearby hedgerow. He was so still that she first mistook him for a statue in the gloom, and thought nothing of walking straight toward him to get a better look.
She was just close enough to doubt her initial assessment when he suddenly said, “I’m hiding from my guardians. What are you doing?” He spoke with an accent she couldn’t quite place.
Josette considered it for a moment, then said, “The same, actually.”
She could see now that he was perhaps six years old and dressed in expensive finery. “Can we hide together?” he asked.
“Certainly,” she said, not knowing how else to reply.
He beckoned her past the hedgerow. On the other side, a bench faced the bear cage, though the bears were not much entertainment. All they did was lie still, making great furry lumps in the shadows. She sat down, and he next to her.
He looked her up and down, seeming confused. “Are you married to someone in the army?” he finally asked.
She smirked. “And I got my clothes mixed up with my husband’s? No. I’m not married.”
He spent some time digesting this, then asked, “Do you want to get married?”
She smirked all the more. “Is that a proposal?”
“Not married to me!” At his exclamation, one of the bears raised its head and eyed them. “Not to me,” the boy repeated, at a whisper.
Josette put her nose in the air. “Oh,” she said, affecting resentment. “I see. I misunderstood.”
The child’s face grew mournful, and he said, “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I’m sorry.”
“Well, if you’re sorry, I suppose I can forgive you.” That’s when she saw Roland standing by the gap in the hedgerow, attempting to stifle his mirth.
Once caught at spying, he walked up to them, bowed, and said to the little boy, “I think, sir, you should return to your apartment. It’s dark out.”
The boy looked to Josette for salvation, but she only shrugged her shoulders. “You had your chance with me,” she said. Abandoned, he marched with his eyes downcast, until he’d turned the corner heading back to the palace.
Once he was out of sight, she asked Roland, “How long have you been watching?”
“Just long enough,” he said, sitting next to her.
“And who was that child?”
He looked surprised. “You didn’t know? That was His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince of Sotra. He’s being tutored here.”
When she realized at last that Roland was not playing on her credulity, but was indeed being perfectly serious, she asked, “Are the tutors here so much superior to the ones in Sotra?”
Roland laughed softly and said, “I couldn’t say. But arrangements such as this strengthen our relationship with Sotra, and may bring them into the war on our side.”
“So the people of Kuchin do know there’s a war on.” She was mildly impressed, by virtue of low expectations. “I was beginning to wonder.”
“They appreciate that their interests—most of their interests, anyway—are served somewhat better by victory than defeat.”
“Well, how can we lose, with spirit like that?”
He had no answer, but only stared at the ground.
“I didn’t mean to discomfit you,” she said. “I suppose you’ve come to bring me back?”
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He brightened a bit at that, and said, “That was my purpose, but we can certainly stay out a while longer, if you don’t mind my company.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Won’t someone come looking for us?”
In answer to that, he chuckled. “If it were only one or the other of us, yes. But as long as we’ve both gone missing, no one will think twice of it.”
“Why would that…” The words hardly left her lips before the answer occurred to her. “Ah.”
“Does that bother you?” he asked.
She hadn’t thought she’d need to consider the answer, but she did, and finally concluded, “Less than I imagined it would.”
5
“WE MIGHT HAVE won, too, if you’d made an effort,” Josette said, on a crisp morning several weeks later.
Bernat shot her a disgusted look from the other side of the enclosed carriage. “I was making every effort to not win, obviously. That’s enough of a feat against Duke Royama, without having to drag you down as well. Don’t they teach you how to take a goddamn hint, in the army? Why must you be so competitive at all times?”
“Ha!” She appealed to Roland, saying, “When your brother came aboard my airship, the first thing he did was challenge me to a test of marksmanship, and humiliated me in front of my crew. And now he calls me too competitive.”
Roland had pushed himself into the back corner of the carriage, which was as far as he could get from both of them without climbing out the window. “Indeed?” he asked, noncommittal.
“I did not humiliate you!” Bernat said. For a moment, such an intensity of wrath flashed across his face that Josette thought she had never seen him so angry outside of combat. He cooled presently, though, and added in a calmer tone, “Not as much as I could have. In any event, that was to a purpose. Losing today was also to a purpose.”
“Which was?”
“To not win.” He looked at her as he might a particularly slow child. “You’ve been immersed in palace life for over a month and you still don’t understand? These people have been coddled all their lives. They’re not like you and me.”
Josette had quite a bit to say about Bernat not being coddled, but she was too stunned by the audacity of the claim to compose a response.
