by Allen Wold
Rikard wanted to watch a bit, but not play, and since it was far quieter here he took the opportunity to ask, "What's the reason for this party? There's so much going on there's no way our grandparents can enjoy people's company."
"They don't," Gwineth said, "but that's not the point. Four times a year they have to do this and invite anybody to whom they have social obligations, especially those they won't invite on a more intimate basis."
"They owe all these people a party?"
"About half of them. The others are come-alongs."
"But how in the world can two people incur so many social obligations?"
"I have no idea. That's just the way it's always been."
They left the physical sport room and went toward the far back of the casino. Then Gwineth turned aside and spoke to a short, dark man of middle age. "Msr. Tomisonne," she said, "have you seen my uncle Gawin?"
"Why, hello, Gwineth, how are you doing." He smiled up at her in quite an avuncular way.
"Just fine, Msr. Tomisonne. I've been looking for Uncle Gawin all evening. Someone said he was with you."
"Oh, he was, certainly. You know, I've been trying my best to get him turned around, but he just doesn't seem interested. Maybe you could put in a word now and then."
"It wouldn't do any good, Msr. Tomisonne, everybody has tried."
"But have you, my dear? If he's not careful, you know, he'll be out in the cold."
"I think Uncle Gawin can take care of himself pretty well. Do you know where he is?"
"Stubborn, just like he is, aren't you." Rafe Tomisonne smiled condescendingly up at her. "That's really a shame, I hope you make better choices than he did."
"I have you to guide me, Msr. Tomisonne. Where is my uncle, please?"
"I left him in the war room, just half an hour ago. You don't want to go in there, do you?"
"Not really, but Uncle Gawin doesn't usually go in for that kind of thing either."
"Of course not," Tomisonne said. "He's with Lupe don Virin and Samanta Joness." He didn't seem pleased. "They're the ones who want to play."
"Thank you," Gwineth said, and without introducing Rikard, much to his relief, they changed course and went up a short hall to a room even farther back.
This was quite large, quite dark around the walls though brightly lit over the one huge table, which was surrounded by people. The lower edge of the table was composed of comscreens, and there were more screens along the walls. As they delicately and politely pushed their way through the crowd Rikard could see that the table was a very sophisticated computer-controlled and -aided military miniatures simulation. He was utterly fascinated for a short while, as the figures, each only two and a half centimeters high, went through what was nearly real-time maneuvers, over carefully constructed terrain. Then he felt a tug on his arm and looked up. Gwineth was pointing across the table. There was Gawin, with a long, thin man on one side, and a short, thin woman on the other.
"Come on," Gwineth said, and they worked their way around the table.
Gawin saw Rikard coming and greeted him warmly, and Gwineth too. "It's been a while," he said to her.
"It has, Uncle Gawin, not since the last of these to-dos."
"I wish we could get together more often."
He gestured to the two people he was with, and introduced Lupe don Virin and Samanta Joness. They exchanged pleasantries and minor conversation of a trivial nature. Rikard got to practice being polite and discreet.
Then Gawin excused himself from his guests for a moment and went with Rikard and Gwineth over to the side of the room where it was quiet and where they could sit down.
"How's your father?" Gawin asked Gwineth.
"He's just fine," she told him, "but right now he's furious," and she recounted the encounter with Rikard.
Gawin was both amused and concerned. "Braice can really be a bastard at times," he said to Rikard, "and it sounds like he deserves what you gave him, but he can cause you trouble."
"I'm sorry I said anything to him," Rikard said. "But my God, he's never met me, and here he is with this self-righteous hatred.... What is wrong with this family, Gawin? Why do they have to blame me for something my father did thirty-five years ago? And why do they blame him, for what anyone else would call an act of heroism?"
"Because your father didn't play by their rules," Gawin said, "and you don't either. You're not like them, and for them there is only one way to be, and if you aren't that way, then you're wrong. They have no idea what it means to be different, no comprehension of what it's like."
"It's true," Gwineth said. "You've only met a few of us, Rikard, and except for Gawin and me, we're all like that. It hasn't been easy for me, though since I've never left Malvrone I've learned the Malvrone way perfectly."
"So how have you been?" Gawin asked Rikard.
"Just fine," Rikard said, then saw his uncle's eyes flicker. He glanced at Gwineth. She was calmly expectant. "I followed up on the data I got from you the last time we met," he went on.
Gwineth said, "I understand you discovered a previously unknown starfaring people."
Gawin raised an eyebrow but did not try to change the subject.
Rikard turned to her and said, "Yes," and told her briefly about it, though he did not mention his visit to DRG-17.iv. Gwineth was as excited and interested as Gawin had been.
"We're going to have to talk about those cyclopeans," Gawin said when Rikard was finished. "And about some other matters too."
"Such as?" Rikard prodded.
"Such as a certain person who's been interfering with your explorations."
Gwineth looked at Gawin. "Are you keeping something from me?"
"Sometimes one must be discreet," Gawin said. "Please forgive me."
"Why did you invite me to this party?" Rikard asked. But before Gawin could answer, his company, don Virin and Joness came over to join them.
"We've missed you," Joness said. "And something spectacular has happened on the board," don Virin added. "You should really come see." He addressed this last to Rikard and Gwineth as well.
"Let's go look," Gawin said as he stood up. Rikard thought he was relieved to not have to answer his question.
He exchanged glances with Gwineth, who made a small face of resignation, then pretended to join in the guests' enthusiasm. They returned to the table, where don Virin and Joness pointed out what had happened, and the condition that now prevailed.
Gawin knew how the system worked, though he was not knowledgeable in warfare, and explained some of it to Rikard while they watched a turn or two as the situation developed.
And this time Rikard found that he had some comprehension of the strategy and tactics being employed, though he had no formal military experience, and now was more fascinated than before.
But he noted that Gwineth was merely being polite, and really didn't like the simulation at all.
Just as things were starting to get interesting a gentle but perfectly audible tone sounded, and everybody sort of broke for half a heartbeat, then went back to their game. But Gawin and Gwineth exchanged concerned glances.
"It's your grandfather, Rikard," Gawin said. "He and Mother are on their way in."
Rikard looked around and saw that while people were paying attention to the game, many of them were casting glances at the door.
"I don't think they should meet Rikard here," Gwineth said.
"I think you're right," Gawin agreed, "but I have to remain with my guests. Can you take care of him?"
"Certainly," Gwineth said, and she led Rikard toward the back of the room, opposite the door, and opened a blank panel even as an annunciator said, "Artos, Lord Malvrone, and Vikaria, Lady Malvrone."
Rikard looked over his shoulder as they went out and saw people he could not make out clearly come in. They were tall, and not young, and the entire audience began to perform an elaborate and pretendedly spontaneous courtesy. Then the panel shut.
They went down a short passage and through
a door into another hall. It was a service hall, filled with tables, each loaded with food service, drink service, other consumables and services. There were some Human servants here, but many more robots, back where the company couldn't see them. More food and drink was constantly being brought in and set out, then Human servants took it out through any of many doors to where the party was going on.
Nobody paid any attention to Gwineth and Rikard. If they were back here it was their business and the servants had their business and were answerable only to their own superiors or to Lord and Lady Malvrone, who would never think to come into the service area.
They crossed the hall. "I can't help it," Rikard said to Gwineth. "Was that my grandfather back there? My grandmother? I've never met them, and yet here I am, running from them. Why are my own grandparents so against me, just for my father's sake? And especially since it wasn't my father who did anything wrong, just what he was hired to do. If Grandfather had paid him like he'd promised, he might not have married Mother."
"I think I can understand how you feel," Gwineth said. "You and I were raised in entirely different ways, but we share a similar attitude. I understand from Uncle Gawin that Sigra was rather like that too. I've never truly understood why my father and grandfather feel the way they do. I can repeat their arguments, but I don't believe them or feel them."
They took one of the opposite doors into a relatively small parlor where a number of people were having tea and talking quietly.
Gwineth suddenly grabbed Rikard's arm. "Maybe we shouldn't go in here."
"Why not?" He looked where she was looking, at a group of people, one of whom resembled Gwineth, though she was easily thirty years older.
"That's my mother," Gwineth said. She had lowered her voice to almost a whisper. Rikard looked around but did not see Braice. Then the woman turned toward them. "Too late," Gwineth said.
The woman excused herself from her companions and came toward Rikard and Gwineth. Her expression was a bland smile, which showed a bit more warmth when she looked at her daughter.
"Gwineth, dear," she said. "I haven't seen you all evening."
"We've just been looking around, Mother. I don't believe you've met Rikard. He's Aunt Sigra's son."
The woman's face did not change as she looked at Rikard, neither warming nor cooling, just maintaining a neutral distance. "I have heard about you, Rikard. I'm your aunt Vantesse." She held out a graceful hand. Rikard took it gently, let it go. Vantesse turned back to her daughter. "Didn't I just see you come out of a service entrance?"
"Yes, Mother. We were trying to get away from Grandfather."
"Indeed, I should think so." She expressed no emotion at all. "Artos has so little patience." She looked at Rikard and presented him with a perfectly superficial smile. "Won't you come and meet some friends of mine?"
"I'd be happy to." Rikard tried to put some warmth into his response. Vantesse did not react at all, but turned and walked back to the group she had left a moment ago. Gwineth shot Rikard a glance of mixed relief, amusement, and despair, and they followed after her.
He tried his best to follow the conversation that ensued after the introductions, but it was about the proprieties of performing a certain form of social behavior while employed in the public display of ostentatious humility, and not only did it make little sense to him, but he disagreed with what he did understand, and saw no reason to worry about it in the first place. He did his best to respond with neutral murmurs. Gwineth was watching him with an amused expression and after he'd suffered a bit she spoke up and suggested that he might like to see more of the party.
"I'm sure he would," Vantesse said, "but I want you to stay with me for a while. I'm sure your cousin can find his own way around. I understand that he has quite a bit of experience in coping with strange cultures."
The look she gave him as she said that was so enigmatic that Rikard almost thought she might have been cracking a joke. But all he said was, "Thank you, I'll do just fine."
Vantesse smiled with perfect neutrality. "Why don't you just explore a bit?"
"I think I will." Rikard glanced at the other people one by one. "I've enjoyed meeting you." And then, to Gwineth, "I hope we'll meet again before the evening is over."
"I'm sure we will."
He left the group, and left the room by the nearest door, and found himself in the first great hall. There were as many people now as there had been before. Nothing seemed changed, though it was several hours later. He snagged a drink from a passing waiter.
He was on his own. He was really not enjoying the party, but he decided to take Vantesse at her word.
He prowled the great hall, watching not so much the people as their movements. He paid special attention to where the servants came from, and where they went, and what they carried. He found that service entrances were subtly made to be uninviting. And that there were other doors, which didn't always look like doors, through which people went only when they thought nobody was paying attention. It was these that interested him, and when he thought he knew well enough what was going on here, he went through one of these discreet doors.
Here were the back rooms. Some were just quiet parlors. Others were like the gaming rooms and gambling rooms he'd seen before. In spite of their being away from the main flow of the party, there was nothing very exciting going on in any of them. He had expected he might find some more erotic entertainments, or something political, or gambling on a scale significant to these people and their wealth, but he did not.
Sometimes people spoke to him. When they did, he responded politely and neutrally and excused himself quickly. He addressed no one himself.
After a while he began to build a map of this place in his mind. He was sure that he was seeing only the public areas, that none of this was going on in what his grandparents would consider their private rooms, but it was a start. He cycled through the rooms a second time, to confirm his knowledge, and to verify that there were large blank areas into which he had not gone, and which were probably the service areas.
Until now he had avoided going through any of the service doors, but now he decided it was time.
The staff did not try to stop him, and he paid no attention to them. The service areas were nearly half as big as the public areas, and there were people, robots, machines, tables, automatic cabinets, bars, food service, immediate laundry, everything one would need to host a party of five to six thousand people.
And still there were blanks in his mental map. He found other doors that were more discreet, less visible, and beyond them the staff's private areas. He was not welcome here, but he just grinned, and when someone spoke he mentioned that this was his first time in his grandfather's house and they let him alone.
He took a turn, and then another, and then realized that he hadn't seen anybody for the last five minutes or so. The corridors and chambers here were empty and silent, though clean and well lit. And then he went through a door into a room that had obviously been closed away for some time. It was a kind of parlor. Adjacent to it was a sitting room with subtly different furnishings and purposes. There was a waiting room, a corridor with long benches, a breakfast room, a library, a room with more artwork than the others.
All of them were empty, all of them looked as though they hadn't been cleaned for perhaps a month or so, and one little bathroom had a definite layer of dust over everything.
This part of his grandparents' house hadn't been used for a long time. It aroused his curiosity. Once he found a book, a hard-copy volume with pages and with a bookmark still in it, on a low table beside a leather chair. On a mantel over what was actually a functioning fireplace he found a set of photos, showing his grandfather, he assumed, with a much younger version of Braice and Vantesse, and Gawin off to one side. This had once been part of his family's private apartments. And it was now abandoned.
After an hour or so exploring he decided to backtrack and discovered that he was lost. The arrangement of rooms was more complicated than
he had at first thought, and he hadn't been paying attention.
He paused to get his bearings, set a course, and proceeded as if he knew where he was going. He passed through some shut-down service areas, through empty servants' living quarters, by some bedroom suites, and in one of mem paused.
It was a child's room, a little girl's room. A teenager, maybe, it was hard to tell. There were clothes in the closets, the bed was neat but unmade, there were books, toys for a much younger child, a variety of things. On the desk was a photograph, an old laserprint, showing two adults who he now knew to be his grandparents and between them a young woman, not yet twenty, whom he recognized with an ache that surprised him.
He looked away, around at the rest of the room. It was his mother's, left the way it had been when she had been kidnapped. By its neglect, this room had been preserved, this whole part of the mansion was from that time, and had been shut away.
The skin of his face felt hot and tight and prickly. Something wet dropped onto his hand. His grandfather had shut this whole place off after Sigra Malvrone had gone off with Arin Braeth. He had shut off the rooms, shut off his heart, shut her out of his life.
And had shut out Rikard too. He thought about his mother the last time he'd seen her alive, when she had still been hoping for his father's return. His long absence, to seek wealth to keep her in the style to which he believed she was accustomed, had broken her heart and she was dying even then. He had watched her die.
He had seen his father die, under the gun of a madman.
And his family wouldn't have him.
He took a breath, and another. He reached up with a hand and dried his cheek. He clenched himself, as he had been in the habit of doing since his father had gone off so long ago, and left the suite. In the corridor he turned a corner, went up another corridor, went through a discreet door, and suddenly found himself in the main hall. He could see Gawin, not that far away, talking to a small group of people, and went to him.
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