by Scott Meyer
“I see your point, Milady.”
“And the distraction you’ve offered to keep my mind off the war is an event you already know I detest.”
“It is the most popular spectator event on Apios, Milady.”
“One, I might point out, where young men fight.”
“I . . . I am sorry, Mila—”
“You’re dismissed,” Lady Jakabitus said, turning her chair to face away from the door.
30.
The morning sports practice was proceeding without incident. Rayzo and Hennik were standing opposite each other on the mat, knees bent, shoulders hunched, each holding his dominant right hand forward to simulate having that hand held immobile by an opponent’s grip. In this position, Hennik seemed only slightly taller than Rayzo, and Hartchar seemed almost twice as tall as either of them. “Right!” she shouted. “Left! Left! Right! Left! Right! Right!” With each order, Hennik and Rayzo did a shoulder roll in the indicated direction, maintaining their positions opposite each other, curving their trajectories so as not to go off the mat.
“Roll, boys!” Lord Jakabitus shouted. “Roll! No, not like that! Like a ball! A ball!”
The roll was an advanced maneuver, designed to either twist an opponent’s arm or make him release his grip. If executed well against an unprepared opponent, the roll could position a competitor behind his opponent, holding his opponent’s arm in a painful position.
Shly entered quietly, hoping to evade detection, but Hartchar saw her and decided not to risk any disruption of what had been a successful practice. She told Hennik and Rayzo to take a break. She and Lord Jakabitus discussed the upcoming meet while the boys made conversation with Shly, who dutifully offered them cool drinks.
“So, Shly, sneaking in again to watch me practice,” Hennik said.
Sadly for Shly, ignoring him was simply not an option. “No, Master Hennik. I’ve come to offer His Lordship his daily training beverage.”
“Sure, of course, and I suppose the reason you creep in here so quietly and loiter in the shadows is because you hate coming in here so much, not because you enjoy watching me practice?”
“I have no interest in sports, Master Hennik.”
“I didn’t say you did. No, what I’m doing isn’t important, as long as I’m the one doing it, preferably while wearing shorts, eh, Shly?”
“Master Hennik, my duty is to dispense beverages to those who want them, regardless of their attire.”
“Ooh,” Hennik said. “Did you hear that, Rayzo? Sounded like an offer to me.”
Rayzo squinted at him. “That makes no sense.”
“You’ll understand someday, little brother.” Hennik turned back to Shly. “Please ignore the boy. He doesn’t understand these things. Do go on about how you’ll serve whether I’m dressed or not.”
Shly said, “Master Hennik, I assure you, I meant that I am duty bound to dispense beverages, nothing more.”
“Sure, that’s what you meant,” Hennik said through a quease-inducing smile. “Look how upset she is, Rayzo. Obviously I touched a nerve.”
“What you said upset her, but that doesn’t mean it’s true,” Rayzo said.
“Right,” Hennik said. “And that’s why you’re upset too, because what I said was wrong.”
“Yes,” Rayzo said.
Hennik smiled. “See, what you just said there Rayzo? It didn’t upset me at all. That’s because I know it’s not true.”
Lord Jakabitus called Shly over, cutting off Rayzo’s response. She graced the boys with a perfunctory bow and took off like a shot. Hennik started to amble after her, but stopped when Rayzo grabbed his upper arm.
“Don’t bother her,” Rayzo said.
“Why not?” Hennik asked. “You’re not going to.”
The tension was partially defused by Hartchar, who suddenly loomed over them and said, “Master Hennik, His Lordship feels that I should warn you about what to expect at the sports meet today.”
“I already know what to expect. I attended the last one, remember?”
It was true. Lord Jakabitus had brought Hennik along as a spectator to Rayzo’s last meet. Rayzo had done well, but Hennik had been very vocal about the many ways in which he hadn’t done quite well enough.
“That’s not what I mean, Master Hennik,” Hartchar said. “You’ll be starting at an artificially high level, because you’ve only fought one actual match, in which you defeated a skilled opponent who’s ranked quite highly for his age.”
“Thank you,” Rayzo said.
Hennik scowled at him. “You’re welcome. It was my pleasure to beat you.”
“No, I’m thanking Hartchar. She paid me a compliment.”
“She paid me a compliment. Saying that you got beaten shouldn’t make you feel good, little brother.”
Hartchar took a moment to remember her place, then said, “Master Hennik, Master Rayzo is right to be proud. He has worked very hard to achieve his current ranking.”
“But I just started to play sports, and I already outrank him,” Hennik said. “So what does that tell you?”
“You tricked me,” Rayzo said.
“Yes, easily,” Hennik agreed.
“With all due respect,” Hartchar said, “up until the moment Master Rayzo became distracted, he was dominating you, Master Hennik.”
“Or so it would appear to the unsophisticated eye. I had him right where I wanted him the entire time.”
“That’s not how I remember it, Master Hennik.”
“I’m not responsible for your faulty memory.”
Rayzo chose that moment to leave the conversation. His only option was to go talk to his father, who was enjoying his beverage as Shly took her leave. Before she had quite made her escape, Rayzo said, “Shly, I’m sorry about him.”
Shly curtsied and said, “It’s not your fault, Master Rayzo.”
“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. Either way, I’m sorry.”
She curtsied again before leaving the room. Rayzo watched her leave. He didn’t see Lord Jakabitus smile, and the smile was gone by the time he turned back to face his father.
“Son,” Lord Jakabitus said, “I know this has been a difficult time for you.”
“Yes, Father. My performance has not been as good as you would like, but I know I can do better.”
“That’s not what I meant, son. I mean, of course, you could do better.”
“As you always say.”
“Yes,” Lord Jakabitus said. “Look. You’re right. You can always improve. I do say that.”
“I am trying.”
“I know you are, son.”
“So you’re saying I should try harder?”
“Rayzo,” Lord Jakabitus said, “I’m not talking about sports.”
Rayzo looked perplexed. “Father, I’m sorry. Have I displeased you outside of sports as well?”
Lord Jakabitus didn’t know what to say, so he stuck to what he knew. “No, not at all. We’ll talk later. I shouldn’t be distracting you from sports on the day of a meet. Go back and listen to Hartchar. Whatever she’s telling Hennik might be of use to you as well.”
Rayzo reluctantly wandered back to Hartchar and Hennik and tried to pick up the thread of the conversation. It seemed they had decided to stop debating the quality of Hennik’s performance and Hartchar’s memory, and had moved on to a discussion of the rules.
“Yes,” Hennik said. “I understand that feet are out, but what if I hit them with my hands?”
Hartchar said, “No, Master Hennik. You aren’t allowed to strike an opponent in the genitalia with your hands either.”
“Knees?”
“No, Master Hennik.”
“Elbows?”
“No, Master Hennik.”
“Head?”
“No, Master Hennik. It is strictly forbidden to
strike your opponent in the genitals with any part of your body. To do so results in a very large points deduction. It’s one of the first rules that was added, and Dilly Glifton himself came up with it. If not for that rule, sports would be little more than an exercise in battering the opponent’s reproductive organs.”
“We can’t have that. It might make Apiosan sports fun to watch. Okay, tell me this: If I were to punch myself in the crotch during a match, would my opponent be docked points?”
Hartchar thought about it. “I don’t know, Master Hennik, but I would very much like to see you try it.”
31.
Wollard walked around the palace, looking for anything that might be out of place. Phee followed him, feeling out of place, but she was the one thing Wollard was not looking at.
Not long ago, they would have left the briefing with a list of things that Her Ladyship felt needed Wollard’s attention. Lately her Ladyship was finding fewer and fewer things for which Wollard was needed, which meant he had more time to tell Phee about the job. Unfortunately, the job was getting smaller every day, and Wollard increasingly didn’t feel like talking about it.
He hadn’t at all mentioned the unpleasantness during the morning briefing. Phee wished he would. It was not going to be a pleasant conversation, but it couldn’t be more unpleasant than the silence.
Phee said, “I’m so sorry, Wollard.”
“I don’t want to discuss it.”
“I just want you to know how bad I—”
Wollard stopped walking. “I don’t want you to discuss it either. I want there to be no discussion of the subject we’re referring to as it.”
Wollard stared down at Phee, who said nothing. After a moment, he began walking again, muttering, “It’s your predilection for discussion that gave us this problem in the first place.”
“Us?” Phee asked, regretting it instantly.
Again, Wollard stopped. “Yes, Phee. Us. We both have a problem. It’s a bigger problem for you than it is for me, but we still have it together. You are going to be punished, Phee. That’s your problem, and you can’t avoid it. My problem is that I have a gifted and promising protégée, and I must punish her. I have no choice. If I don’t punish you, I’m just as negligent as you’ve been.”
“I understand,” Phee said. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” Wollard said, resuming his pace, partly to avoid looking at Phee’s face. “Something that is proportional to your offense, but won’t permanently do damage to your career. I honestly don’t have any idea what that would be, Phee. I should probably rebuke you.”
“Would you do that?” Phee asked.
“After you’ve repeatedly ignored me? I don’t want to rebuke you, I really don’t, but I have to pick an appropriate penalty, or else I could be rebuked. The Formalities allow me a limited amount of time to think of an alternative. If I don’t assign a suitable punishment by tomorrow night, I myself will likely be punished for indecisiveness. Stalling, after all, is never good form.”
“Maybe I can help you think of something.”
“Yes, splendid idea. And later, when I am accused of being too lenient, I can just say that the leniency was your idea.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Me, or yourself?” Wollard asked. Before she could answer, he added, “Never mind. You can help us both by not bringing it up again. Let me think. Bothering me is not going to leave me predisposed to kindness. Am I understood, Phee?”
“Yes, Wollard.”
“Good. I’ll tell you when I’ve decided. Until then, we will not speak of it again.”
Wollard stalked through the servants’ hall and the kitchen. Everything seemed in order, and he had no messages from Her Ladyship to impart, so he maintained a steady stride, offering tight-lipped greetings to anyone he passed, which was most of the staff, since lunch service was about to begin. Phee followed in his wake, nodding to anyone who made eye contact and silently cringing otherwise.
When Wollard and Phee had left, Shly said, “Brrrr.”
“Yeah,” Umily said. “Poor Wollard. He doesn’t seem happy lately.”
“Poor Phee,” Shly replied. “She has to follow him around, watching him be unhappy.”
“It’s probably an important part of her training,” Ebbler said, chopping some large, woody, stemmed vegetables with a sharp knife. “One needs to know how to mope about without exhibiting poor form,” he added, in a pretty good impression of Wollard’s voice. Ebbler’s sense of humor always ratcheted up when he was tired and his inhibitions were low. Today he was practically asleep on his feet, so he was in rare form. Shly and Umily laughed openly. Barsparse kept her back turned, fussing with an alarming number of occupied burners, but she smirked as she did so. Kreet, as was his wont, remained silent.
Ebbler looked at Shly and Umily, his two best friends in the palace, laughing at his joke. He smiled, then yelped with alarm when he looked back down to his chopping. Among the sliced vegetables, he saw a severed half-inch of his left index finger. Even more alarmingly, there was a thin slice of finger next to it, like a coin made of meat and bone.
Shly and Umily shouted. Kreet snorted. Barsparse looked over Ebbler’s shoulder and said, “I’ll need to bulkfab more vegetables. That lot’s ruined. Okay, how do we treat a cut?”
“A cut?” Shly said. “His finger’s off!”
“Yes,” Barsparse agreed. “He cut it off. How do we treat it, Ebbler?”
Ebbler, who was suddenly wide-awake and in no mood for jokes said, “For a minor cut, we clean the wound and stop the bleeding. For a serious cut, we clean the wound, stop the bleeding, and seek medical attention.”
“And would you consider this a serious cut?”
“Yes, Chef.”
“So would I. Get to it.”
In a home that wasn’t powered with utilitics, Ebbler would have washed the wound with antiseptic, then applied a bandage, but the utilitics could do a more thorough job of both of those tasks than any person. Of course, people weren’t constantly coated with utilitics. They found the idea unsettling. Instead, Ebbler pressed the bleeding knuckle of what was left of his finger against the nearest wall. Utilitics automatically streamed onto him, sterilizing the wound and clotting the blood. The parts of him that were still on the cutting board had been coated with the invisible machines the instant they were separated from him, and had bled very little. What little blood had managed to escape was already on the move, being shunted to the floor and out of sight like any other refuse.
Ebbler gathered up the severed fingertip and the extra finger cross-section, then walked to the kitchen entrance. Two white-suited members of the palace medical staff were already waiting. They had clearly been dispatched from their facilities in the palace’s new addition the instant the injury occurred, if not before. The palace staff knew that the utilitics and the staff in the palace’s new addition worked together, but if asked how they worked together, the best answer any of them could offer would be, “Seamlessly.”
Barsparse busied herself with cleaning up Ebbler’s abandoned station. “Sloppy,” she muttered. “Careless and sloppy.”
“I’m amazed that he kept chopping after he cut his finger off,” Umily said.
“Yeah, well, it goes to show that perseverance isn’t a virtue if what you’re doing is wrong,” Barsparse said. “I don’t know, girls. He got off to a good start, but if he’s already losing focus, maybe this isn’t the career for him. You don’t belong in the kitchen if you don’t have the passion for it.”
“Why would you think Ebbler’s losing focus?” Umily asked.
“Or that he doesn’t have passion?” Shly added.
“You don’t cut your finger off by paying too much attention,” Barsparse said, as she went back to her too-full cooktop.
Shly said, “Come on, Chef, you must have no
ticed that he was half asleep.”
“Exactly my point. He knows he needs his rest, but instead he stays up late. It’s not the first time. It shows a lack of commitment.”
“He’s studying,” Shly said. “He feels like he doesn’t know enough about cooking, so he stays up late reading up on it.”
Barsparse looked at Shly, trying to figure out if she was serious.
“It’s true,” Umily said.
Barsparse returned her attention to her pots, stirring one while smelling another. “If there are things he feels like he needs to know, why wouldn’t he tell me?”
“Maybe he’s afraid you’ll decide he doesn’t belong in the kitchen,” Shly said. “Why did you assume he was staying up late, goofing around?”
Barsparse thought for a moment, then smiled at Shly and Umily. “Because when I was a sous chef, that’s what I did.”
32.
“Here we are, boys,” Lord Jakabitus said, shouting slightly to be heard over the street noise outside the competitors’ entrance. “Remember, do well. Rayzo, keep an eye on Hennik in case he needs help.”
Great, Rayzo thought. His only goal in life is to make me miserable, and now I’m responsible for helping him do it.
Rayzo and Hennik joined the queue, got registered, had their bodies scanned, were issued their shorts, and were finally assigned their lockers. Rayzo helped guide Hennik to the lockers, which were adjacent, since they’d been next to each other in line.
All of the other competitors watched Rayzo and Hennik intently unless either of them was looking, in which case the competitors tried to act like they hadn’t noticed members of the ruling family were present. Rayzo was used to that, and knew nobody would bother him for fear of drawing the attention of the Jakabitus family’s infamous and invisible security forces.
There was a subtle change in the tenor of the others’ attention. Lady Jakabitus could officially declare Hennik a member of the family, but that didn’t alter the fact that he was a Hahn. Many of the competitors knew someone who was fighting in the war. Many would be fighting soon themselves. When Rayzo was alone, the other competitors pretended not to be interested in him. With Hennik present, they were pretending not to be hostile. Rayzo could feel the difference in his bones.
