***
When Ran-Del finally accompanied Francesca into the main hall, he saw Stefan Hayden waiting as impatiently as he had when Ran-Del prepared to leave his village. As soon as the Baron saw his daughter, his eyes opened wide in amazement.
Ran-Del considered Francesca’s blue gown very pleasing. It covered her legs down to the ankles, and although her arms were bare, it showed only a modest amount of cleavage.
“Hello, sweetie,” Stefan said. “I thought you bought that gown for a costume party? A nun, wasn’t it?”
She tisked at him. “Are we late?”
Stefan shook his head. “You just made it. Security buzzed me that the Leongs are here.”
“Leave it to that hag to be first to pick at our bones,” Francesca said.
Stefan glanced at Ran-Del’s belt and smiled. “At least you’ve put your time to good use.”
Ran-Del bristled at the man’s interest. In the forest, a betrothed couple could usually build a new house to be alone in, but here they were trapped in Stefan Hayden’s household.
Francesca didn’t seem to mind. “We all do what we have to do, Pop. You said it yourself.”
Stefan laughed and turned to greet their first guests.
A blonde woman in an elaborate and very snug-fitting gold gown stepped forward, her hands outstretched. Her ice blue eyes widened and she stopped in surprise when she saw Ran-Del.
“Hello, Elena.” Stefan's tone was friendly, but Ran-Del caught an undercurrent of wariness. “I’d like you to meet Ran-Del Jahanpur, Francesca’s fiancée.” Stefan nodded at Ran-Del. “And this is Baroness Leong, Ran-Del.”
Elena darted a suspicion-filled glance at Ran-Del, then looked back at her host. Her anger billowed so strongly that Ran-Del almost stepped back a pace.
“Congratulations, Francesca,” she said in a brittle voice, as she shook Stefan’s hand. “I wish you very happy, my dear.”
“When’s the wedding?” said a lazy voice. The man behind Baroness Leong was tall, with a handsome, pleasant face and an almost sleepy expression in his very blue eyes. His black hair was cut short except for a lock of it that drooped over his forehead in an appealing way.
“Hello, Freddie,” Francesca said, the affection in her tone matching the feeling that Ran-Del sensed from her. “The wedding will be in a few weeks.”
Ran-Del sensed a strange, fuzzy sensibility from Freddie Leong. It reminded him vaguely of the trance induced by medicine smoke, but it was somehow different, more overpowering. It didn’t manage to drown out the man’s fondness for Francesca as he bent his tall frame and kissed her cheek.
“Congratulations, my sweet,” he said. “Congratulations, Ran-Del,” he added, holding out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Ran-Del shook his hand, having learned already that this ritual was practiced among all men and some women in Shangri-La. Freddie’s bleary consciousness heightened the shock of contact.
“Congratulations for what?” said another voice. The shorter, stockier man behind Freddie managed to look vaguely like him, even with blond hair and brown eyes. He seemed older and tougher, totally lacking Freddie’s amiability or fuzziness.
“Francesca is getting married, Hans,” Baroness Leong said, her voice as cold as a stream in winter, “to this gentleman.”
Stefan made introductions again. Ran-Del felt both anger and irritation as he shook Hans Leong’s hand. Whether it was directed at himself, Stefan Hayden, or Hans’ own family, he couldn’t tell.
The Leongs moved on quickly as another group came in behind them. With every group, Stefan made introductions. Most of the time, Ran-Del could feel strong reactions to the news of his betrothal to Francesca. Usually it was merely surprise, but some people reacted with hostility. A middle-aged woman named Maeve Omalley shot him a look of malice as she took his hand. She wasn’t the only one, but she hid it less well than others.
Ran-Del found it difficult to sort the guests out. They were so numerous that their names were soon forgotten, even though the women, in particular, were often dressed provocatively enough to catch his attention. Even the men wore very tight clothes, although they never showed as much skin.
As soon as the last guest had joined the milling throng, Stefan put a hand on Ran-Del’s arm. “Well, Ran-Del, what did you think?”
Ran-Del looked out at the assembled guests who were helping themselves to food and drink. “Many of them were angry. Why?”
Stefan grinned. “Because your marrying Francesca will put a crimp in their plans.” He gave his daughter a speaking glance. “You see where a Sansoussy can be useful?”
She made a face and pulled Ran-Del away from him. “Come on, Ran-Del. Phase one is over. Now for phase two.”
“What does that mean?” Ran-Del asked, watching as an elderly matron in a low-cut gown tilted a delicate glass of pale liquid and emptied it in one swallow.
“Phase one is the receiving line, and phase two is mingling,” Francesca said, smiling warmly at a young man in a tight purple suit. He looked glum as he watched her walk away with Ran-Del. “We’ll talk to everyone for another hour or so while they nibble food and guzzle booze,” Francesca went on. “A number of people will make assignations for later in the evening, and then just when people start to get really drunk, we’ll sit down to eat dinner. That’s phase three. Halfway through the meal, Pop will get up and announce that you and I are engaged to be married, and everyone who hasn’t actually fallen out of his chair by then will drink a toast.
“Finally, we’ll all move out into the gardens for phase four—brandy in the moonlight. You’ll notice some people sneaking off to the more private nooks to have a quick tumble, and then everyone will thank Pop for a delightful evening and they’ll stagger out to their skimmers and go home.”
“It sounds terrible,” Ran-Del said, repelled.
“It is,” Francesca said cheerfully. “It’s a party.”
Shortly after that Ran-Del found himself separated from Francesca when she was pulled away by two women, dressed very much as she had been earlier, who demanded a chance to speak to her privately. Immediately afterwards, a blonde woman in a flimsy excuse for a gown came up to Ran-Del.
“Hello,” she said. “My name is Priscilla Cho. We met earlier, but you were looking rather harassed.”
“Ran-Del Jahanpur,” Ran-Del said, offering his hand.
“I remember your name,” she said holding his hand rather than shaking it. “I just didn’t think that you’d remember mine.”
Ran-Del didn’t recall meeting her even though she was a very attractive woman and what there was of her gown left no doubt about her physical assets.
“So,” Priscilla said, “if you’ve persuaded Francesca Hayden to the altar, you must be really something in bed.”
Ran-Del thought he must have heard her wrong. “Pardon?”
“I was just wondering,” Priscilla said, giving him a warm glance that started at his feet and lingered only halfway up to his face, “whether you’re still interested in playing the field a little. Francesca’s not the only one who knows first rate tactics. I’m sure I could show you a good time, too.”
Ran-Del stood rooted in shock, unable to speak. He was groping for words when Nisa Palli came up beside him and slipped an arm around his waist.
“There you are, Ran-Del. Stefan was looking for you. Say goodbye to Priscilla and come along, will you?”
“Goodbye,” Ran-Del said, immensely relieved at having the responsibility for what to say taken off of his shoulders.
Nisa pulled him halfway across the room and then stopped.
“There,” she said with satisfaction. “She’s gone off after other game.” She looked at Ran-Del and smiled. “I hope you don’t mind. Stefan didn’t ask for you, I just thought you looked in need of rescuing.”
“Thank you very much,” Ran-Del said.
“You’re welcome.” Nisa's eyes twinkled like the sparkles in her black body suit. Unlike Francesca's friends, Nisa wor
e a loose, flowing robe over her body suit. It shimmered in subtle blue-green ripples and hid the lines of her body. Ran-Del thought she looked very nice.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” Nisa said, her eyes twinkling even more, “how did you ever persuade Francesca to wear that dress?”
Ran-Del glanced across the room at his betrothed. Francesca stood with her back to the wall while the man in the purple suit, who seemed to be having some difficulty standing up straight, leaned towards her with a drink in his hand.
“I left my dirk back in our room,” Ran-Del said. “It’s too bad, too, because I could use it right now.”
“You don’t need it,” Nisa said, laying a hand on his arm before he could move away. “In fact, you don’t need to do anything. Give her a chance to handle him on her own.”
Francesca was laughing at something the man had said. She put out a hand as if to steady herself, and somehow the man’s drink spilled down the front of his suit. He jumped back, cursing, and Francesca apologized profusely as she called a servant to help the man with his jacket. A few seconds later, Francesca moved away, smiling, while the man went off to the cloakroom to wait for his purple jacket to be cleaned.
“I told you,” Nisa said. “No one crowds Francesca unless she wants him to.”
The rest of the evening proceeded just as Francesca had laid it out. At dinner time, she sat next to Ran-Del, pointing out the leaders of the cartels to him and explaining their relationship to others in the room.
“You remember Elena Leong?” she said pointing at the blond woman who sat at another table. “She’s Baroness Leong, and also the head of Leong-Norwalk, one of the smaller cartels. She's sitting with her sons Freddie and Hans on either side of her. That man across from her, Sujit Garcia, he’s Baron Garcia, and the head of Quaiffe-Pringle, one of the largest cartels. It's so big they only use the first two names. Sujit got control just recently when old lady Pringle died. Some people say he hastened her demise by supplying her with so many virile young men, she keeled over from a heart attack.”
Horrified, Ran-Del gave her a suspicious glance, but he sensed no deceit. She was serious.
“The man he’s talking to,” Francesca went on, oblivious to his skepticism, “is Deiter Omalley, the heir to House Omalley. He’s trying to oust his mother as head of Omalley-Chang-Wah. Maeve Omalley doesn't want to actually cut him out of the succession, so she has held him at bay by having her other children committed to an asylum to keep them from supporting their brother.”
Ran-Del was as appalled at this lust for power and lack of family feeling as he had been at being accosted by Priscilla Cho. “I begin to think,” he said in disgust, “that your father wasn’t so crazy to think he could do better for you merely by abducting the first Sansoussy he met in the forest.”
Francesca gave him a warm smile. “I’ve thought so for several days now.”
Ran-Del blushed, and Francesca furthered his mortification by kissing him on the mouth. No one stared, although Ran-Del was aware of several people’s interest.
After dinner, Ran-Del was even more disgusted to see couples scurrying off together in the gardens, some of them not bothering to wait until they were alone to begin fondling each other.
“Have they no shame?” he asked Francesca.
“No,” Francesca said. “They don’t see it as something to be ashamed of.”
“Why can’t they at least go home first?”
“A lot of these couples are from Houses in rival cartels; they can’t have formal liaisons, so they settle for something a good deal less—explicit.”
Ran-Del wasn’t sorry to see the last of their company board a skimmer and depart through the gate.
“There,” Francesca said, to her father. “Ran-Del’s first party is over. Now D’Persis can relax, and we can all go to bed.”
Stefan Hayden let out a sigh of relief. “Yes, now we can all go to bed.”
Alyssa D’Persis’ voice sounded behind him. “You can all go to bed. I still have rounds to make.”
Stefan grinned. “That’s what I pay you for, Alyssa.”
Ran-Del still found the concept of a salary difficult to grasp, especially as it related to loyalty.
D’Persis smiled grimly. “Yes, that’s what you pay me for, Baron.”
The Sixth Discipline Page 53
