“Go out therrre,” she ordered, pointing with her spoon toward the doorway. “Why are you here? We do not need help from such as you. The Masters of the Hunt should mingle with guests, not serve like cubs and youths.”
“But, Mrrva ...” Todd began, his voice wheedling as he edged toward some of her famous pastries.
She slapped his hand with her spoon and immediately threw him a cloth to clean off the sticky liquid.
“You will be served in due courssse,” Mrrva said in a tone which brooked no further discussion. She made a sound between a hiss and a growl. “When will we ever put the manners of a man and Master on you, Zodd!” Then she turned on Hrriss. “I know you have been taught. Go now and exercise the teaching.”
Abashed, the two returned to the Hall. Leading the Hunt had been a pleasure. Hosting the party was a chore they would gladly have missed. The throng had swelled to hundreds in the great room. Todd passed among them, shaking hands and returning kisses. While on the one hand he was glad to see the friends that reappeared year after year, on the other, there was never any time to catch up on any details—of their success in the Hunt let alone what they’d been doing the past year—before someone else claimed attention.
He and Hrriss finally made their way to the dais and stood in front of the main table. Before the feast could officially begin, the long-awaited blooding ceremony for the successful Hunters must proceed. As Master of the Hunt and master of ceremonies, Todd was required to make a short speech of welcome to the sea of guests. He would speak in Terran, with Hrriss repeating it after him in Middle Hrruban. He had a feeling of déjà vu. It had been only a few weeks before that he stood and listened to the governor of Hrretha offer similar greetings to his guests. There had been many like events in the last few years. They were beginning to blur into one another. He began by offering his gratitude to all the people who had aided in organizing and running the Hunt, and went on from there.
“To old friends and family, I welcome you home, and to new friends and first-time visitors, I hope you’ll enjoy your stay, and that you’ll return to us again in the future,” Todd said, winding up the necessary remarks. “I won’t hold up dinner long. The cooks would throw me into the stew with the snakes!” There was a small murmur of appreciative laughter, and Todd held up a hand. “However, there are some people I’m happy to call to your attention. They’ve earned this moment. As I call your name, will you come up on this dais, please?”
The Hunters who had passed their initiation rite that day by capturing a brace of adolescent snakes were called up one by one, to stand shoulder-to-shoulder before the audience. Some of them were shy and directed their smiles down at their feet as Todd congratulated them on their successful passage. One among them—a young woman from the mining colony of Ellerell IV—had chosen instead to bring in eggs. She had saved all her extra pay for five years to be able to make it to Doona for Snake Hunt. When first laid, snake eggs were almost too soft to move. By the time they had hardened enough to transport, there was a real danger that they might hatch on the way in. She had brought in twelve of the soft and leathery head-sized eggs in a specially designed fluff-lined sack brought all the way from Ellerell. Her thoroughness and care impressed even the Doonan judges, who had seen a lot of inventive approaches to the problem over the last two decades. She was invested with the small gold medal from which depended two wiggly streamers. Some of the children squealed when they saw the ribbons, which looked amazingly like the tails of miniature snakes. She and the other Hunters wore their awards proudly as they were given a standing ovation.
Jilamey Landreau was called forward with the rest of the almost-successful who had captured a single snake. He shook hands with Todd and Hrriss to the accompaniment of encouraging applause from the audience.
“Thank you, Todd,” the young Landreau said, clutching his medal with the single streamer. “I wish there had been a chance to take the second snake. I was so close!”
“Next year,” Todd suggested. “Your first was a good capture. We can hold that snake ‘on credit,’ so to speak.”
“Hey, you could?” the youth exclaimed, his eyes shining. Todd recognized that the Hunt craze had claimed another adherent. “Can I get the hide to take back with me? I want to use the stripe as a fashion accessory! That’ll really make ’em look twice at me!”
“I’ll see to it,” Todd said, slightly amused at the young Landreau’s naive delight. He clapped Jilamey on the shoulder encouragingly before moving on to congratulate the next participant.
The feast was then officially begun. As the Hunters, both successful and unsuccessful, sat down, Byron played a roll on the snare drum to get everyone’s attention. It segued into a compelling, irregular beat on tom-tom. Clad only in their knife belts and ornamental necklaces, several young Hrrubans ran in and began a stomping, swirling dance: obviously a Snake Hunt. Two lithe female dancers, acting in tandem as if they were part of the same body, portrayed the snake. They snapped imaginary coils toward the Hunters or recoiled fearfully from their spears. It was a compelling sight, as the rear half of the snake curled herself on the floor behind the body of the other and switched her tail fitfully as the front half swayed, striking at this dancer or that with her fangs. The Hunters catapulted past the reptile to attack, missing and hitting the floor beyond. With great energy, they rolled upright to their feet like kittens and renewed their attacks on their foe.
The upright dancer was so skillful that she didn’t appear to have a solid bone in her body. Her undulations had a hypnotic quality. It was a shock to the watchers when one spearman sprang forward, past the snapping jaws, and plunged the weapon into the snake’s breast. The serpent gave one tremendous convulsion and subsided to the floor gracefully to quiver into stillness. When the snake had “died,” a complimentary silence held the audience. Then a burst of thunderous applause awarded the dancers. They sprang up, acknowledging the praise, and then gathered to either side of the doors leading to the kitchen.
The band stayed on its dais long enough to play a fanfare to announce the arrival of a massive cauldron borne aloft on a tray by eight young men and women clad to the ears in heatproof towelling. The huge kettle of savory snake stew was presented to Todd as the Master of the Hunt. With intricately decorated ladles, Todd and Hrriss served the special guests on the dais, after which the cauldron was brought to the long sideboard. From then on, buffet style was the order and everyone served themselves from the seemingly inexhaustible supply of stew and the other viands brought out from the kitchen. Todd caught sight of Mrrva sitting down at the end of the table near Hrrestan: she had shed her apron to display gorgeous filmy robes spangled with jewels.
As the party began in earnest, toasts were offered to the Hunters and the prey. For many of the guests, the feast was a double reason for celebration. For some this would be the first time they had eaten “real,” unprocessed or nonsynthetic food. For others, this was a high point of gastronomic enjoyment. It was true that every year, more real fruit, vegetables, grain, and meat were being made available to the people of Earth from its farming colonies, but the majority of homeworld meals still came from synthesizers. Hrriss nudged Todd in the ribs and indicated a child at one of the front tables. He was suspiciously and most reluctantly taking a tiny bite of fruit from a spoon. The tot sniffed it first, not in the least willing to trust the curious substance in front of him. With much coaxing and much gesturing to others tucking into their food, the child’s mother got him to accept the morsel. After a very tentative chew, the boy grabbed the spoon out of his mother’s hand, finished the bowl in front of him, and reached for his mother’s as well.
When all had eaten sufficiently, the party went on to its next, and inevitable, stage. The Ad Hoc Band resumed its place on the dais and started to play dancing music. A few took advantage of the music, but most sat contentedly, letting the meal settle. Gradually, drinks in hand, diners began to circulate the Hall, pausing to ch
at with old friends or welcome newcomers, or congratulate the new Hunters.
Todd and Hrriss excused themselves from the dais and began more protocol rounds just as the Ad Hoc Band started to play a perky song, based on an ancient Earth chantey. It was a joke among Doona/Rralans, but it had never been played at a New Home Week before. Todd guessed that Sally Lawrence, who had written the new lyrics, wanted a broader audience. He hoped that the listeners would accept it for the facetious tweak it was, and not take it seriously. Sally’s eyes were twinkling as she struck a chord on her guitar and began to sing.
“My mother was a human girl from Doona Village Four
She loved a handsome Hrruban boy who lived just next door
Their love bore offspring, one, two, three
A kitten and a werecat and the third was me.
“Now my brother Hrrn and I, we were raised up quite all right
But my sister Mrrna Joan, she was different day and night
Smooth-skinned at night, by day her fur grew
She was a true Doonan through and through.
“Yo ho ho! A Rralan true
Takes the best of both as all should do.”
It was a familiar tune to the locals. Some joined in the chorus, roaring a lusty “Yo ho ho!” Nearly everyone else seemed to get the joke, to judge by the shouts of approval and calls for an encore. Todd noticed that some of the Human diplomats looked annoyed, and a few of the Hrruban homeworlders looked positively ill at the thought of Hrrubans and Humans interbreeding. Todd couldn’t think how to explain that the thought had never seriously crossed the mind of the songwriter.
“Maybe this is the moment to start the dancing?” Kelly said, coming up behind Todd and poking him in the side with a finger.
“I’m not very good at it,” Todd said apologetically, but he gestured to the bandleader, who immediately struck a fast step.
Immediately the floor was full of couples, whirling and jigging about in circles.
“Neither am I!” Kelly seized his hand. “Let’s go anyway!”
Jaw dropped in amusement, Hrriss leaned toward him. “If she promises not to step on my tail, I get the nexxxt dansss.”
“It’s a deal,” Kelly called as she dragged Todd into the crowd.
Kelly had told a fib when she said she was a poor dancer. With her hands bunched in the folds of her skirts, she swayed and stepped with grace to the lively melody. Todd knew the steps, but he felt as awkward as a wooden mda trying to keep up with her. He was relieved when that music stopped and a slow dance began. Kelly melted into his arms, stretching up one hand to his neck. That was oddly delightful. They had grown up together, but he had never realized before that she was so much smaller than he, so delicately built—or, to be more honest, that she was a girl at all. She had just been one of the capable people he depended on, until she went away. Kelly had never balked at fences, and she could wrangle snakes or horses with the best. He could barely connect the tomboy who had grown up literally next door with the sparkling vision in his arms. Unconsciously he tightened his hold a trifle, and she rubbed her cheek against his chest. The music drifted to a halt, and Kelly turned her face up to give him a brilliant smile, her golden eyes aflame in the festival lamplight.
“Thank you,” she said. “That was lovely.”
Todd didn’t know how to reply suitably. “Um, thank you. Isn’t it Hrriss’s turn now?”
“Only if I promise not to step on his tail,” and Kelly’s look was enigmatic but she allowed him to lead her from the floor and find Hrriss.
He stood watching for a moment as Hrriss, rather too expertly, Todd thought, spun Kelly out into the dancers, his tail wrapped around one leg, well out of the way. Not that Kelly would put a foot wrong, Todd realized.
“Hey, young Reeve,” called out Captain Buckman, a former Spacedep marine. He had joined the colony on Binar 3B-IV and was now its governor. “Where can I get some mlada?”
“Allow me,” and Todd located the case of mlada bottles stashed under one end of the dais draperies. As he served Buckman, he thought the man’s eyes were already a little red. His breath smelled so strongly of alcohol it might ignite spontaneously. “You’d better watch your intake, sir. Too much of this stuff results in potent hangovers.”
“Hmmph,” said the old man, watching Todd refill his glass. “But you pour generously, boy. So this is how you impress the diplomats, hey? Is yours the last face they see before they pass out? Where’s Pollux?”
“Who, sir?”
“Where’s Pollux, Castor?” Buckman asked, prodding Todd in the middle. “Your twin, your inseparable pal, your other half, boy.”
“Hrriss is on the dance floor,” Todd replied a little stiffly. “Did you want to speak to him?”
“No, no. So the two of you aren’t joined at the hip? I’ll be danged. Come back and refill this in about, oh, a quarter hour, won’t you?”
Todd nodded and moved on to the next group, clustered at the farthest end of the room from the band. This was an informal roundtable discussion by the Jacks of All Trades. That much-sought-after designation meant that a colonist had enough flexibility and training in such a variety of skills that he could turn a hand to any task that needed doing or problem that had to be solved. Codep preferred that there be at least one JOAT in any colony group. Both men and women could ship on in that capacity. Ken Reeve’s own designation for the Doona colony project had been that of a JOAT. As an unofficial chair and host of the JOATs present, he was directing the discussion among those from several nascent colonies that had recently earned their Amalgamated Worlds status. Many of them had been born or raised on Doona. The billy-JOATs and nanny-JOATs, as they liked to call themselves, unofficially, of course, were now gleefully engaged in a loud argument about the best way to set up barrier screens against pests. Todd checked and refilled each guest’s glass and picked up empty dessert plates for transport back to the kitchen. Before leaving, he exchanged winks with his father.
The band was taking a much needed break, and near the kitchen doors, Sally Lawrence was having a private discussion with Varnorian of Codep. Todd bowed over her hand as he refilled her glass.
“So why do you object to my song?” Mrs. Lawrence demanded of the Codep chairman. “On artistic principles?”
“Scarcely on that score, my dear lady,” said Varnorian, loosing his not inconsiderable charm. “Your artistry is remarkable.” He wasn’t the friend to Doona that the late Chaminade had been, but he was at least a graceful guest. He had very pale blue eyes with dark lashes. There was something both attractive and cold about eyes like that. “My objection is purely contextual. I feel that such an idea should not have been voiced, let alone mocked. Totally unsuitable lyrics, if you could by any extension of poesy call them that.”
“Mr. Varnorian, Doona’s a hard world and we have developed our humor to leaven the hardships. If I care to make a joke, it’s my world, and most of us got the joke.”
“Forgive me, but the taste of the joke is but a little questionable in terms of the larger aberration, my dear Mrs. Lawrence,” said Varnorian, and he smiled again with that facile charm. “The real aberration is Doona. The cultures here are too different, too mutually exclusive. East is East, you know, and West is West. Never the twain shall meet.” He lifted his refreshed drink to her, certain he had had the last word.
“Oh, Shakespeare?” asked Mrs. Lawrence, fluttering her eyelashes at him. Todd knew as well as she that it wasn’t. Everyone on Doona was more familiar with Kipling, who seemed to “know” so much about their unusual situation. She continued to sip coyly at her glass.
“No,” said Varnorian patronizingly. “Not at all, madam. I believe it might be Strauss. Nineteenth century, not seventeenth.”
“Really? How clever you are,” Sally said, and linking arms with him, moved him out of Todd’s vicinity.
“What is Ssalllee up to no
w?” Hrriss asked, appearing at Todd’s elbow. Todd looked around for Kelly. “Oh, I left her in good hands. Is that Captain Buckman beckoning for you?”
“He’s had too much mlada already,” Todd said, not too pleased with matters.
“That is undoubtedly true,” Hrriss agreed after a moment’s consideration. “And here is someone else in even worsse condition.”
Jilamey staggered up to them with a determined expression on his face. The mlada he had begged of Kelly in the snake blind was only the start of his libations, though neither Hrriss nor Todd realized that. But he had consumed considerably more with his meal, which Todd had observed. That he was still standing spoke highly of his capacity. The young man was dressed in the most precious of modern styles. His tunic had appliqued gems arranged in a crisscross pattern at the neck to simulate lacings, and he wore frivolous boots with knee-high tops turned over to show their long fringes, which were also jeweled. “I’ve been looking for you for hours, Todd, to talk about snakes.”
“It’s a little early to talk about next year, Jilamey,” Todd said diplomatically as he touched the single ribbon on the youth’s medallion.
“Next year?” Jilamey blinked at him. “Ah, yes, next year! Of course. I’ll be back next year. I’m one snake up. Have a drink on that.”
“No mlada, I thank you,” Todd replied, smiling to defuse any insult. “I’ll stay with the punch.”
“Punch? On a night like this?”
Crisis On Doona Page 9
