Master of Formalities

by Scott Meyer

  I’ve observed Rayzo, and I know his weakness, Hennik thought. It’s that he, like everyone else on this ridiculous planet, is weak.

  Hennik stood opposite Rayzo, an equal distance from the center of the mat, and assumed Rayzo’s stance—hunched forward, weight on the balls of the feet, hands in front, ready to slap. Hartchar stood nearby, acting as a referee. Lord Jakabitus leaned in, not wanting to miss a second of the action.

  “Advantage round,” Hartchar said. “Fifteen seconds.”

  The palace’s practice mat was, of course, a full, regulation competitive mat, and the floor pulsated as a cue that the advantage round was about to start. Then the mat turned bright red, indicating that the round had begun.

  Rayzo slapped Hennik once hard across the face. Hennik had anticipated many fast, weak slaps. The one, immediate, stinging blow stunned him for an instant. His sudden blush of anger was replaced with contempt when he saw Rayzo immediately transition to a cowardly defensive posture, raising both forearms to cover his face. Obviously he had taken his best shot, and was now fearing the inevitable reprisal. Hennik laughed in spite of himself as he leaned in, whipping both of his hands toward the sides of Rayzo’s head.

  Rayzo pushed his forearms forward and out to shoulder width. Hennik’s wrists hit the uprights of Rayzo’s arms and stopped, his hands never making contact with Rayzo’s face. Rayzo kept his arms bent and rained the sides of Hennik’s face with a flurry of fast, light slaps, each of which raised Rayzo’s score while blocking Hennik’s graceless attempts to retaliate. Hennik’s arms were trapped outside the protective bubble of Rayzo’s arms, and were of no use.

  Hennik had just enough time to realize that he was losing, then time was up, and he had lost. The advantage round went to Rayzo. Hennik hadn’t scored a single point.

  Lord Jakabitus clapped loudly. “Well done, Rayzo, Well done! And don’t worry, Hennik. You’re still new to this. Leave it to me, Hartchar, and Rayzo. We’ll teach you, in time.”

  “Yeah, Hennik,” Rayzo said. “We’ll teach you. So, what’s your dominant hand?”

  Hennik thought for a moment, squinted at Rayzo, and said, “The left.”

  Rayzo smirked at this, knowing that it was a lie. “I think I’ll take your right hand anyway.”

  Hennik put out his right arm, which Rayzo grasped with his own right hand. The mat pulsated. As soon as the challenge round began, Rayzo started circling quickly to Hennik’s right. This forced Hennik to spin in place to keep Rayzo from ending up behind him. Of course, Hennik could have done the same thing, but Rayzo was in the driver’s seat.

  They spun around several revolutions, Rayzo walking in a circle while Hennik pivoted, becoming slightly dizzy. Hennik decided he needed to make a big move to break them out of this stalemate before he lost his balance. He launched himself hard to his right, toward the space just behind Rayzo, hoping to force his competitor to pivot, thus providing himself with an opening to wrest control of the situation.

  As Hennik lunged, Rayzo unexpectedly let go of Hennik’s wrist, which would have been most welcome if Hennik hadn’t been expecting Rayzo’s resistance. Hennik lurched forward and rotated clumsily, off balance. Rayzo used all his force to shove Hennik’s right shoulder with both hands, adding to Hennik’s rotational momentum.

  Hennik spun like a top, but fell to the mat in exactly the way a top wouldn’t. He rolled onto the mat, felt his face make contact, and heard the chime signifying a point for Rayzo. Lord Jakabitus shouted something, but Hennik didn’t hear it. He was too occupied with rolling onto his back and fending off Rayzo, who had dived with both hands for the waistband of Hennik’s shorts.

  Somehow Hennik managed to fend off Rayzo’s attack and get a grip on both of the younger boy’s wrists, but Rayzo swiftly moved past Hennik’s head and started twisting, forcing Hennik to either let go or roll facedown again. Hennik chose to let go and clambered to his feet just in time for Rayzo to get a firm grip on his right wrist and start circling to his right once more.

  Again, Hennik attempted to lunge behind Rayzo and take the upper hand. Again, Rayzo let go of his wrist and shoved his shoulder. Again, Hennik spun and fell, resulting in a point scored for Rayzo and another attempted pantsing attack.

  Soon they were back on their feet, again, spinning as before.

  “You can’t win,” Hennik grunted. “I know your tricks.”

  “I’ve done the same move twice,” Rayzo said.

  “Those are your tricks. The move, and then doing it twice,” Hennik said. “Say, do you hear anything?”

  In spite of himself, Rayzo noticed a sound coming from beyond the mat. Specifically, he heard a voice. More specifically, he heard Shly’s voice.

  “I apologize, Milord,” Shly said. “I was told that you wanted your beverage early today.”

  Shly’s here! Rayzo thought. I’m winning the match, and Shly’s here to see it! How long has she been here? Just then, Rayzo felt a strong shove, and the next moment he was in the gutter.

  “Well done, Hennik,” Lord Jakabitus said. “Good effort, Rayzo. Don’t feel too bad. He is older and stronger than you. You’ll just have to learn to outwit him.”

  “Hey, look,” Hennik said. “My shorts have updated. That’s a number one, isn’t it?” Rayzo kept his eyes closed, but he could hear the smile in Hennik’s voice. “And Rayzo’s have a two on them now. That’s not so bad. Second place. Good for you, Rayzo.”

  “Perhaps a second round is in order, or a rematch tomorrow,” Hartchar suggested, straining the words through her teeth.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Hartchar,” Hennik said. “We should both spend some time training. We must let Rayzo improve, so he’ll have a fighting chance.”

  23.

  In the kitchen, lunch preparation was reaching a fever pitch. Items too numerous to count were being baked, cooled, stirred, rested, boiled, chilled, and checked by Ebbler. The fact that lunch was being served in three shifts and two separate locations had not done anything to simplify matters.

  Barsparse was whisking a single pot at just the right speed, for the perfect amount of time, while keeping it from rising above a specific temperature, which was requiring so much of her attention and skill she barely had enough mental bandwidth left to supervise Ebbler.

  He lacks Pitt’s training, but I knew that when I promoted him, Barsparse thought. His enthusiasm helps make up for it, and he handles stress more gracefully than Pitt ever did. Of course, Ebbler doesn’t have to deal with the added distraction of the food deliverer constantly offering to help. I can’t imagine Kreet willingly volunteering his assistance for anything.

  She looked at Kreet, standing motionless by the door with his grav-platter in hand, waiting for his moment to slowly shuffle into action. He was like one of the pieces by a student sculptor she’d dated; he had mastered anatomy, texture, and proportion, but hadn’t quite figured out posture or expression. The end result had been beautifully rendered statues of what appeared to be awkwardly mounted corpses.

  Shly walked in, looking dispirited. Kreet’s eyelids lifted from half open to three-quarters open.

  “Hello, Shly,” Kreet said in his bland monotone. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Why’s that?” Shly asked, worried something was wrong.

  “No reason,” Kreet said. “It just is.”

  “Oh. Thanks,” Shly said. She did not look grateful.

  Ebbler hadn’t looked up from his work, but was obviously listening. “You don’t sound good,” he said, shaking a pan to make sure its contents didn’t stick.

  “I just came from Master Rayzo’s sports practice.”

  Ebbler chuckled slightly. “I guess he noticed you.”

  “Yes, while he was fighting a match against Master Hennik.”

  Ebbler groaned. Kreet shook his head. Barsparse’s whisking slowed almost perceptibly.

  �
�And?” Ebbler asked, just wanting to confirm what they all feared.

  “Master Rayzo’s shorts have a number two on them now.”

  “He can’t be happy about that.”

  “Are any of us?” Shly asked.

  Ebbler said, “Poor Master Rayzo.”

  Shly frowned. “I feel terrible. It’s not my fault that he was beaten, but I hate that I had any part in it.”

  “You like Master Rayzo, don’t you?” Kreet asked Shly.

  “We all like Master Rayzo,” Ebbler said.

  “Well, of course,” Kreet said. “But Shly, do you like him?”

  “Yes, I like him. If you’re asking if I’m interested in him, then no, Kreet, I’m not. He’s far too young for me, and even if he weren’t, I am not about to have a brief, doomed fling with the future ruler.”

  “Oh,” Kreet said. “Good.”

  Shly and Ebbler both managed to hide most of their irritation. Barsparse didn’t even try to hide her smile; her higher status and age gave her perspective. Kreet’s inability to see that if Shly wasn’t interested in Rayzo, she probably wouldn’t be interested in the guy who brought Rayzo his food, was slightly more amusing to Barsparse than it was sad.

  “Ebbler,” Barsparse said, “Don’t forget, we’re making an extra setting for lunch. Calculate your cooking times and portions accordingly.”

  “Yes, Chef.”

  “Why are we extending extra courtesy to Lord Pavlon’s valet again?” Shly asked.

  “Because Glaz told us to,” Barsparse answered.

  “Will he be eating in the formal dining room with Her Ladyship?” Shly asked.

  “No,” Kreet said. “He’ll be taking his meals in his quarters in the guest section.”

  Shly scrunched her face. “Well then, what’s the point?”

  “I’m sorry,” Barsparse said. “What do you mean, Shly?”

  “Chef,” Ebbler said, “I think what she means—”

  “You concentrate on your cooking,” Barsparse said. She smiled pleasantly at Shly, her whisk hand never faltering, and asked, “I’m not upset. I’m just curious as to what you meant, Shly.”

  “Well, I meant no offense, Chef Barsparse. I respect you very much, but we were talking to Ebbler this morning, and we were saying that we just don’t understand how the food you two work so hard to produce can really be better than what comes out of the bulkfab. Ebbler tried to explain it to me before, but it still doesn’t make sense.”

  For a moment, the cooking sounds seemed deafening, due to the lack of anyone speaking . . . or even breathing.

  “But you respect me?” Barsparse asked, still smiling.

  “Yes ma’am . . . Chef. Very much.”

  “Just not what I do.” Barsparse said, laughing a bit, but not enough to make anyone comfortable.

  “Sorry, Chef,” Shly said.

  “Don’t be. You’re in no trouble. It’s good to get an honest picture of where things stand. Who all was included in this conversation?”

  “I’d rather not say, Chef.”

  “Shly, I give you my word, I’m not angry. There will be no repercussions.”

  “Me, Umily, and Kreet.”

  “But I didn’t say anything. I was just listening,” Kreet added.

  “I believe you,” Barsparse said.

  “I’m sorry,” Shly said.

  “Don’t be.”

  “I feel bad.”

  “You shouldn’t.”

  “You’re sure you aren’t angry?”

  “Yes,” Barsparse said. “I’m sure.”

  Shly wasn’t convinced. “Um, I should go.” She lingered uncertainly for a moment, then left as quickly as she could without running.

  Barsparse peered into her bowl, watching her whisk interact with the contents. She slowed, stopped, lifted the whisk to check the consistency, and looked pleased with the result. She turned her attention to Ebbler.

  “How’s it going, Ebbler? Have everything under control?”

  “Yes, Chef.”

  “You’d tell me if you didn’t, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes, Chef.”

  “The extra plate isn’t throwing you?”

  “No, Chef. I’m grateful for the extra practice.”

  Barsparse nodded. “Yes. Extra practice is always helpful.”

  24.

  I wish you could’ve seen the look on his face,” Hennik said, lounging on his bed, reveling in his triumph.

  “I’m sure Master Rayzo was devastated,” Migg said, standing in her corner of Hennik’s bedchamber as she watched him revel in his triumph.

  “He was,” Hennik agreed. “He really was. It’s perfect. His last memory of me will be of his humiliation and defeat in front of his father and that servant girl he’s smitten with.”

  “So we still intend to make our escape tonight?”

  “Of course we do. We just discussed it this morning.”

  “I was wondering if the plan had been reformulated since then,” Migg said, “which is why I used the word still. You see, Master Hennik, the word still implies that there may have been a change—”

  “I know what the word still implies,” Hennik said. “It implies that you may not have procured the equipment we need, and are hoping it won’t be needed.”

  “I apologize, Master Hennik. I didn’t intend to give that impression.”

  “So, you have procured the equipment?”

  “Yes, Master Hennik.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, Master Hennik.”

  “Here?”

  “Yes, Master Hennik.”

  “Can I see it?”

  “If you wish, Master Hennik.”

  “I wish,” Hennik hissed.

  “Very good, Master Hennik,” Migg said without moving, “but first I should remind you that our resources are limited, and evading detection was of the utmost importance.”

  “And I remind you that you are my servant, and if you fail to please me, I can have you removed from that position.”

  “What do you think would happen to me then?” Migg asked, with a wide-eyed expression that Hennik mistook for fear.

  “On the Hahn Home World, you’d be killed, or given a job so bad death would be preferable. These Apiosans are soft-hearted fools, so they’d probably just ship you back to the Hahn Home World.”

  “You really think they’d do that, Master Hennik?”

  “Yes, they might, but of course, the shame of returning home without me would be worse than whatever hideous punishment my father would subject you to for deserting me. No, returning home without me might seem pleasant, but it wouldn’t be.”

  “I agree, Master Hennik.”

  “So, let’s see the equipment that’s going to take us home,” Hennik said.

  Migg walked over to the exquisitely carved antique bureau where Hennik’s clothes were stored. In any other home on Apios, it would have been the most fabulous item in the house, and probably more valuable than the house itself. Here, in the palace, it was good enough for a spare bedroom that was assigned to an adolescent boy. She opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a bundle of fabric.

  “As I’m sure you remember, Master Hennik, you requested two stealth suits, one for each of us.” Migg held up one of the stealth suits she had procured.

  “That’s not a proper stealth suit,” Hennik said.

  “Master Hennik, everything that comes into the palace is subject to scrutiny. I was forced to be creative, so I ordered things that would serve our purpose without arousing suspicion.”

  “It’s white!” Hennik cried. “Everyone knows a proper stealth suit is black.”

  “Master Hennik, a proper stealth suit may start out black, but it changes colors, depending on the background with which one is attempting to blend. I couldn’t
get an active stealth suit without arousing suspicion. We will be sneaking out of the palace, and most of the palace’s walls are made of polished Apiosan marble, which is white.”

  She held the garment up to the wall, and Hennik admitted to himself—though not, of course, to her—that the colors did match.

  Hennik felt the fabric. “This isn’t a jumpsuit. What is it?”

  “It’s Apiosan formalwear, Master Hennik. It consists of light trousers, a shirt, a vest, an undercoat, an overcoat, a midcoat, this thing—which is sort of a large, decorative belt—a sash, and a matching bag that attaches to the belt thing and hangs down in front. Also, there’s a hat. All of it is in the same shade of white. It should blend in with the walls, as well as the other pieces within the palace. If my attempt to procure it was discovered, it would simply look like you were trying to assimilate to their culture. I also got matching shoes, gloves, and scarves to wrap our heads in. When the time comes, we will be covered head to toe in Apiosan garb. When we’re en route, we’ll simply look like we’re trying to be dapper. And, should the escape attempt fail, you now have a nice set of formal attire.”

  25.

  After lunch, the man Lady Jakabitus knew as Lord Pavlon quickly slipped away to his quarters to freshen up. When he emerged, he had exchanged his voluminous orange and green robe and headdress for a loose-fitting yellow jacket topped with a set of hard shoulder pads with great, arching sculptural elements that met above his head and merged into a shape similar to that of a hat; the notable difference was that it hung several inches above his head. Also, his thick layer of white makeup had been augmented with yellow circles around his eyes and matching lipstick.

  When Lady Jakabitus commented on his change in attire, he described the new outfit as more suitable for discussing business.