A hot cup of tea drunk in the family sitting room cured her of the shivers. She reviewed Martinus’s data but his processors had not identified the scent that had alerted him. Even so she sent a message to Dr. Sanchez about the tracks and the alert. The only thing biologists agreed on about Shikhari was that they had not identified and catalogued all the large species, and there might well be something like a hunter-lizard in the area. She did not, however, mention this to her mother. “She’s ill, and I don’t need to worry her,” she told Martinus as she cleaned his paws.
“Woo.”
“I’m glad you agree. Good dog.”
3
Socializing and Siblings
A week later, Rigi wondered if perhaps going hunting for the track-making-thing would be a good reason to flee the house. The rain made even a large residence feel small after too many wet days, and a mother who firmly believed that wet heads and feet caused illness shrank the house even more. Add in a recently-arrived older brother, and Rigi started to understand why so many boys talked about climbing out of windows at night and going exploring or just sneaking off to somewhere else. She wouldn’t do it, especially not on a rain-slick roof, but the voice of temptation had stopped whispering and had begun shouting.
Rigi loved Cyril Arktur Bernardi, she really did, but she’d grown up without his presence, and young men took up so much space! When he sat, he filled the chair and overflowed, or so it seemed, because of his constant motion. Even when he was just reading, he moved. Otherwise, looking at him felt as if she were looking in a mirror. They shared the same black, wavy hair, brown skin, dark eyes, sturdy form, and even similar noses. He stood twenty centimeters taller, and had a stronger face, not quite so round as hers. He sang tenor to her low alto, and he ate twice as much, but that was only because she wasn’t working in the field.
Now he stood in the center of the upstairs work area, arms folded, watching her unpack the dresses her mother had ordered for her. “Mother really let you purchase that?”
“She ordered it, Cy, not me. I don’t love bright red.” The dress’s trim rivalled the most brilliant birds of the Bataria Archipelago. Rigi had some doubts about the colors, but she had not been consulted, much.
“Not the colors, Rigi, the top.” He waved his hand at the space below his chin. “That’s low for a girl not on the market.”
“Please don’t let Mother hear you calling it a market. She’s fussed at Father several times over that already.”
“It doesn’t change the neckline. I don’t want the boys thinking that you might be free with your attentions.”
She counted to four, and then held up a second item, this one in pale blue. “They won’t. You wear this. Standing collar, closes in back, covers everything so you don’t catch a chill.”
“Oh. Still.” He frowned more deeply. “Father told me about the man who accosted you, and I don’t like it.”
Lonka had not cared for it either, once he found out, but unlike her brother he at least had the manners to mention his concerns once and then stop. “Cy, please stop. I am not going to be without an escort and chaperone for the next two years. Father has told everyone that I am not free, and will not be in the near future.” If he didn’t desist, she would tell Martinus to go leak oil on his trouser legs, or something. “I appreciate your concern, truly I do, but I know to be careful.”
Cy came over, ruffled her hair, and smiled. “I’m your older brother. It’s my job to keep an eye on you. You don’t know what boys can get into. I do.” He left her in peace, walking down the stairs with steady, slow steps. He’d tried running once and almost broke his arm in the process. Someday, someone was going to fall, Rigi sighed. Or be pushed.
“I do know what boys can get into, Cy. Believe me I do.” She still disliked Benin Shang Petrason and kept watch for him, even though his mother had taken him off-world as fast as possible once he finished his sentence for assaulting Tomás and trespassing on the Bernardi property with intent to harm. Rigi never asked what became of him after that. The Guardian always said that once justice had been served, all should forgive and ignore past slights and insults. Rigi didn’t trust Benin to learn. Although Pahl had, to her surprise. Tarkio, well, he’d managed to get eaten by a hunter-lizard after being warned twice by his guide not to go into the brush. The hunting trip had been a present from his grandparents, despite his parents protests, which Rigi’s father had declared explained a great deal about Tarkio’s problems. Rigi thought Tarkio’s problem was Tarkio, but no one asked her, and she was sorry he’d been eaten.
Speaking of eating, she realized as her stomach growled. She’d not eaten any dinner because of the shopping excursion. First, though, she would put up the Staré made dresses that she’d bought with her own funds. Her mother insisted that she have “proper dresses” for social functions, but Rigi preferred Staré-made for every-day and worship. The same tailor who’d made her first dresses still made them for her, and she purchased fabric from the little shop where she and Mar had found the lovely brown material. The tailor, a fifth Stamm who ranked as high third/low second because of his gift for needlework and design, also made her blouses and skirts, and the loose trousers she wore under shorter dresses. She’d missed having a Staré tailor when she’d been on Home and other inner worlds.
Another stomach growl sent Rigi down to the small room beside the kitchen that had become a sort of nibbling room. Shona had definite ideas about meals and people in his kitchen helping themselves to his raw materials. Cyril ate constantly despite the risk of incurring a firm whack with Shona’s largest spoon. Thus a compromise appeared—the pass-through between the kitchen and dining room now included a small table with food that stayed good without heating or chilling, and that one could sample without disturbing the cook. Rigi liked it because she did not have to bother Shona. Cy liked it because it had food. Their mother approved for the sake of house peace, although Rigi had caught her loading a small plate more than once. She’d stopped eating more than toast and tea for breakfast, blaming the weather. Rigi opened the nibble-room door and to her great delight found a new, heated tray with warm cheese rusks on it. She loved cheese rusks! She took a plate and two of the thick, cheese-covered pressed grain rounds to the dining table. The cheese had a bit of bite, and had softened the hard rusk just enough without making it mushy. Rigi ate, looked at the time-marker on the wall, and had a third cheese rusk. She set the plate on the tray provided for used dishes, and went to wash her hands before doing some work.
“Do not forget, Auriga, Cyril, that tomorrow evening there will be a dance at Brown’s,” her mother cautioned at supper. “Mrs. DiNatali is hosting.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Rigi ate more wombow stew. The beast had been, well, the polite term was “mature and full–bodied,” and even stewing could only do so much. If she’d been Shona, she would give the meat-seller a piece of her mind along with a chunk of the elderly beast. And perhaps the Staré liked older meat, since they had to chew everything so much anyway. Rigi did not, but wasting food was a sin, so she chewed instead of grumbling and felt rather like a wombow herself. The stew did have a nice, meaty flavor to it despite the texture.
“Does Rigi have a dance card for the evening?” Rigi blinked, confused as Cy continued, “Or is she sitting the evening out, since she is so young?”
Their mother’s eyebrows rose a centimeter at most. “Auriga will dance or not as she chooses, Cyril. And this is not a carded dance, but a free evening.”
Oh good, Rigi thought. She wouldn’t have to dance with all and sundry. Good manners required that a young lady allow any suitable gentleman to sign her dance card unless her chaperone intervened. Several of the young men had been more enthusiastic than coordinated at her last dances, and her toes had needed several days to recover. Tomorrow she’d be able to politely decline without offending anyone.
“And there will be military present,” her mother continued, “although I do not know which units are rotating through.”
Maybe Tomás would be there and she could tell him about the expedition offer! She hoped so. He’d sent her messages twice, but he was dreadfully busy, and she’d been working on the illustration plates, trying to get exact shade matches. The work left her cranky and impatient, and she’d not spoken to anyone or sent messages because snapping at people was rude. The day she’d finished the wombow cart image, she and Martinus had played pull-the-rope in the back garden for half an hour afterwards, just so she wouldn’t snarl at all and sundry. Trying to drag a hundred kilos of m-dog by a chew-rope did wonders for “curing a humpf,” as her father put it. Cy, newly arrived and unfamiliar with her work, had fussed at her for acting like a child, until her mother intervened and set him to rights. Well, she decided, Tomás or no, the dance would be a pleasant change, and she could see what the other girls were wearing.
“You dance very well,” the young man, Will, said.
“Thank you, sir.”
“I mean, I had no idea. I thought neo-Trads didn’t dance.” They turned with the music and she counted beats, one-two-three, one-two-three, four times before replying.
“So it is said.” She really did not want to talk about faith while on the dance floor. Two couples had collided on the second dance, leading to raised voices and the rapid appearance of the hostess and supporting matrons, who sorted matters out before the music ended. Rigi preferred not to be the next collision.
Will seemed to take the hint, and they finished the dance without further discussion. He saw her to her seat and went in search of a new partner. She recognized the opening notes of a gallop and decided that sitting out a dance might be wise. After a moment her mother came and sat beside her, fanning a little. It was warm with so many people in the room, Rigi noticed. Then she forgot to notice anything but Mrs. Debenadetto as she danced past in the arms of a young man in the dress uniform of Company planetary security. The older woman wore crimson and black. The top half of her dress looked rather nice, with a moderate V neckline and fluttery elbow-length sleeves, but the skirt, oh dear. Rigi glanced away. Beside her, her mother observed in a cool tone, “Perhaps she did not have access to a three-side mirror or projection.”
“No doubt, Mother. Or perhaps the fabrication associate valued a commission over customer assistance.”
“An unfortunate possibility, Auriga, but a likely one. She dances quite well.”
“Yes, ma’am.” And she did. The gallop as done on Shikhari included turns and some tricky footwork that Rigi still found daunting despite several years of lessons. Mrs. Debenadetto handled them beautifully, looking so light on her feet that Rigi almost expected her to float off the floor. “She has a true natural grace.”
“Quite so.” Her mother started to say something else, then stopped as a young man approached, hesitated, and then marched up and stopped directly in front of Rigi, staring at her. His uneven eyebrows told Rigi who he was, and she stiffened. “Is there something the matter, sir?”
He looked from Rigi to her mother and back. “Mistress Borgolov?”
“I am not she.”
“Then who are you?”
Mrs. deStella-Bernardi frowned and tapped her fan on her palm. “We do not have the pleasure of your acquaintance, sir.”
And he was not likely to ever have it if he continued to be so forward and rude, Rigi thought. He was not unattractive, but his manners left a great deal to be desired, at least what she’d seen thus far.
Mrs. DiNatali fluttered up to them. “Acherna, it is so good to see you! Are you enjoying the evening, Miss Auriga?”
“Yes, ma’am. It is lovely. Thank you so much for your hospitality.”
“You are quite welcome. Mr. Patel, have you made the acquaintance of Mrs. deStella-Bernardi?”
He blinked, looking increasingly confused. “I’m sorry, I believe I have made a serious error. The young lady is not Mistress Iv’nova Borgolov, daughter of Madame Alexandria Borgolov?”
Mrs. DiNatali fluttered a little more and rested a graceful, delicate hand on his arm. “No. The young lady is Miss Auriga Bernardi, the youngest child of Mister Timothy Bernardi and Mrs. Acherna deStella-Bernardi. Miss Auriga is in society but not accepting suitors at this time. Acherna, Mr. Sanjay Patel has recently come from LimWorld on Crown business.”
As Mrs. DiNatali introduced them, Rigi watched Mr. Patel darken with a flush she took to be surprise and embarrassment. He bowed to her mother. “Mrs. deStella-Bernardi, I apologize profusely. I am terribly sorry. I mistook your daughter for a woman of my professional acquaintance, and did not understand why she failed to acknowledge my greetings. Please forgive me.”
“I believe Miss Auriga is the one to whom you should apologize, Mr. Patel, since she is the offended party.” Rigi appreciated her mother’s cool tone of warning.
Pure puzzlement all but radiated from the young man, and Rigi decided to take pity on him, since he had admitted fault. “Mr. Patel, I accept your apology. It is a large galaxy, and mistakes do happen.” He acted more confused, then worried, all but wringing his hands as he looked from her to her mother and their hostess, and she guessed what the problem might be. “Shikhari custom allows a young woman who has finished school but is not of full age to participate in society, with the understanding that she does not accept invitations to courtship. I am in society, sir, but my hand is not available for marriage at this time.”
His dark blue eyes went wide and relief suffused his face. “Ah, thank you, Miss Auriga. That clarifies things a great deal. In my familiar circles, a young woman who has been introduced to society has already accepted an offer of marriage—it is a prerequisite for joining society, in fact.”
She smiled. “In that case, confusion about local custom is to be expected and understood, sir, and forgiven as well.”
He swallowed. “Might I have the pleasure of a dance, Miss Auriga?”
She glanced to her mother, who nodded. “Yes, thank you, sir.” She offered her hand and he took it, leading her out onto the floor for a slow reel into a quad-waltz. They did not talk, and he seemed to be concentrating on the steps. It was a bit complicated, with timing changes half-way through the dance. He moved well, Rigi decided, a bit stiff but neither dragging her off her feet nor stepping on her toes. They finished the song near her earlier seat, and he bowed and saw her back to her place before moving to speak to someone else. Her mother nodded again and Rigi moved him to the approved list, at least for now. She still would not socialize with him in public without a chaperone, though.
The musicians set their instruments down and Rigi used the pause to study dresses. She saw two or three that appealed greatly, and she decided to ask her mother if she might try a lighter green, closer to emerald, like an especially becoming frock that one of the married women wore. Rigi tried to remember the lady’s name, and the picture of a rock appeared in her memory. Mrs. Steinkruger, that was it, wife of one of the corporate finance advisors. Several gowns, however, strained her charitability. A tight blouse with horizontal stripes in purple and orange offended her sense of color and did nothing to flatter the older woman wearing it. The colors clashed with her silver and green hair, and Rigi did not have to look at her mother to know how she would describe the woman’s attempt to enhance her womanly charms. Rigi considered her new wardrobe, the outfits on display, and found hers to be equal in all regards. And, unlike Miss Lea Chin, she was not guilty of false advertising and displaying that which was better suggested. Really, Rigi sniffed, watching Lea flirting with one of the Company administrators, her father should intervene. Lea was a year younger than Rigi herself! Nothing good came from being too forward, every young lady knew that. At best it led to hard feelings, at worst to threats of legal action and things Rigi had heard implied but never discussed. Restraint was the wiser part of valor, especially at a dance where alcohol was served.
A young officer appeared and bowed to her, interrupting her mental sniff. “Miss Auriga, might I have the next dance? Or would you care for a bite of refreshment first
, and you, Mrs. deStella-Bernardi?”
Her mother smiled. “Thank you Tomás, a glass of something cool would be welcome.”
He bowed again and disappeared, returning with a robo-server bearing a tray of lightly chilled juices and fruit skewers. They ate and sipped, then the robo took their empty glasses away. Tomás offered her his hand, and he and Rigi went onto the floor for a slow waltz. “Have you heard about the Indria Plateau expedition?” he asked.
“Yes. Mr. De Groet invited me to come as an illustrator and observer.”
They turned twice, dodged a less observant and far more involved couple, before he spoke again. “Ah, so you are the mystery person. I saw the permits, and one still did not have a name on it. The military are in charge of access to the Indria, and I assist with coordination with the Staré.”
“That makes perfect sense. Mother and Father are still considering things. I did get to the Stela Site a few days ago.”
“How does it look?”
“Less cluttered, as you might imagine.” They both smiled. “They now have proper lights in the temple, but they don’t call it that.”
“What do they call it?”
“The painted building.”
He shook his head and snorted a little. “Hunter forefend that a xenoarchaeologist allow imagination or poetry to interfere with his work.”
She pretended to be offended. “But sir, you cannot encourage inappropriate assumptions of function and projections of current cultural dynamics on ancient structures and artifacts.” They both chuckled. “Did I get Dr. Xian’s inflection right?”
“Exactly, even that odd lift on ‘an-ti-ent’ that she always says.”
She started to ask him about his other duties when a slap! and a yelp stopped everyone cold. The dancers pivoted as one, and several matrons began gliding toward the sound as a male voice snarled, “Take that back, sir.”
Staré: Shikari Book Two Page 5
