***
Back in their apartment, Ran-Del waited for Francesca to speak. Instead she stood staring out at the terrace where the afternoon sun cast shadows on the flagstones. Ran-Del waited, not sure what he should do.
“Nothing will ever be the same again,” she said slowly.
Ran-Del didn’t know what to reply.
Francesca shuddered suddenly, as if the events of the day had just hit her. She took a deep breath, and then she turned to Ran-Del, her face resolute.
“All right,” she said, “I want to be sure you understand. If you marry me, you’ll not only be my husband, you’ll be part of the House of Hayden—in my dominion. Do you want to marry me or do you want to go back to your forest?”
Ran-Del opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out.
Abruptly, Francesca looked down at the ruins of her dress. “My god, I must look like hell.” She headed for the bedroom but paused in the doorway. “You think about it, Ran-Del. Once I’m changed, I need to do some things, and then you can give me your answer.”
She disappeared without another word.
Ran-Del went through the door to the terrace and stood outside. He could still see a faint haze over the compound. All at once a longing for the forest filled him. Among the Sansoussy, no one plotted murder for power or wealth. No one used hidden weapons or treachery. They needed each other to survive.
Here in the city, people had the convenience of machines that did work and made night into day, but lies were common. Ran-Del expanded his chest to fill his lungs with fresh air, but instead he choked on the smoke. He could hear the guard dogs barking in their kennel. Buster never made so much noise.
He didn’t want to live in the city. He didn’t really want to marry Francesca, either. But he knew his great-grandfather wouldn’t allow him to return to the Sansoussy, and if he had to stay here, it would be better to follow custom. He would marry the woman to whom he had already pledged faithfulness, and remain a Sansoussy.
He heard Francesca’s voice in the sitting room and stepped into the doorway. She wore a black tunic, black trousers, and boots, and sat at the machine called a terminal. “Confirm,” she said.
“Identity confirmed,” a mechanical voice said.
Ran-Del had heard machines speak many times, but it still amazed him.
“Code alpha zed,” Francesca said. “This is an emergency. I need access to the personal files of Stefan, Baron Hayden.”
“Password?”
“Pop goes the weasel.”
“Confirmed.”
Ran-Del stepped into the room. Francesca glanced at him but held a finger to her lips. He watched silently while she stared at the monitor, scanning through screen after screen of information.
Once she grunted with surprise, but she never spoke until she turned off the machine. “Well, that doesn’t tell me much.”
“What were you looking for?” Ran-Del asked.
“Something to give me a clue who paid Alyssa D’Persis.” She got up. “I didn’t find it, but I did see that Sujit Garcia, of Quaiffe-Pringle, sent Dad a takeover offer recently. It was straightforward except that he offered Pop a really good position in the cartel.”
Ran-Del didn’t know what to make of that fact.
“Well?” Francesca said. “What’s your answer on marriage?”
He hesitated one last minute. He could feel her grief, her anger, but also there was fear. Was she worried he would say no? “We will be married.”
Relief blossomed. She nodded. “I’ll go pin up my hair. What do I do about the braid?”
It seemed so prosaic for a marriage—no joy, no embracing, no happy glances. “You comb it out. I do, too. And then I need some scissors.”
She stared at his hair. “Do you have to cut it yourself or can someone else do it?”
“I have to cut it, but someone can make it look better after that.”
She nodded and pressed a switch on the desk. In a moment, a voice answered. “Yes, Baroness?”
“I need a barber in my suite in twenty minutes, Chien.”
“Yes, Baroness.” If the butler was surprised, he hid it well. Ran-Del’s psy gift didn’t work over the com, so he had so go on voice alone.
Francesca opened a drawer and handed Ran-Del a strange implement. “Here. You just press this button—and be sure to keep your fingers out of the way.”
By the time Ran-Del had managed to hack off most of his hair while preserving his fingers, Francesca had pinned up her own hair. The back of her head looked rather prickly as her hair was very short and full of hair pins, but it was definitely off her neck. And it looked neater than Ran-Del’s newly shorn head.
She looked at him in despair, but a moment later the door trilled. “That’ll be the barber,” she said with relief. “As soon as he’s done, we’ll call the registry office and get married the Shangri-La way.”
The barber was quick, and while he radiated curiosity he asked no questions.
Francesca sent him away with a polite thank you, and looked Ran-Del over. “Much better.”
He glanced in the mirror and saw a stranger. In his city clothes, his hair cropped almost to his head, he didn’t look like a Sansoussy at all.
Francesca turned on her terminal again and sat down in front of it. “Now we do it my way—just to make it stick.”
An image popped onto the screen, a fleshy-faced man who looked completely bored. “How can I help you, Citizen?”
“We want to get married,” Francesca said.
The man hit some keys on the terminal in front of him. “First party’s name?”
“Francesca Wah Hayden.”
“Second party’s name?”
“Ran-Del Jahanpur,” Francesca said.
Some writing appeared on the screen. Ran-Del had learned to recognize his own name. He assumed the other markings were for Francesca’s name.
Francesca hit a key and the screen dimmed. “Do the Sansoussy have more than just the two names, Ran-Del?”
Ran-Del shook his head. Francesca turned back to the monitor and hit the same key again.
The screen brightened and the bored man spoke again. “Either party ever been married before?”
“No.”
“Okay,” the man said. “You ready?”
“Yes,” Francesca said.
“Do you Francesca Wah Hayden,” the man said in a monotone, “willingly commit to this marriage to Ran-Del Jahanpur and agree that all the laws of Shangri-La affecting property and children shall apply to this liaison?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Next,” the man said.
Francesca moved away from the terminal, and Ran-Del took her place.
“Do you Ran-Del Jahanpur,” the man said in the same monotone, “willingly commit to this marriage to Francesca Wah Hayden and agree that all the laws of Shangri-La affecting property and children shall apply to this liaison?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Okay,” the man said with a sigh. “Place your hands on the ID panel; once it clears through Records, you’re married.”
Francesca put her hand on the panel first, and when the terminal beeped, she moved it and Ran-Del placed his hand there. After a second beep, the bored clerk glanced at his readout. His eyes opened a little wider as if he saw something of interest. Francesca sat down at the terminal again as the man began to speak.
“Right,” he said. “A marriage is hereby recorded between Francesca Wah Hayden, citizen of Shangri-La and heiress of the House of Hayden, and Ran-Del Jahanpur, a legal resident of Shangri-La. Does either party wish to record a change of name at this time?”
Francesca hit the dimmer key again. “I have to keep my name, Ran-Del, because this is the House of Hayden. Do you want to change your name to Hayden or keep it Jahanpur?”
The choice confounded Ran-Del. Among the Sansoussy, a married couple always had the same name, whether the man married into the woman’s family, or, more typically, the woman married into the man’s. In
spite of this, he reacted instinctively to keep things the same as they had always been. “Keep it Jahanpur.”
Francesca took the terminal out of pause. “No, thank you.”
“Very well,” the clerk nodded. “Whose account should I debit for the fee?”
“Mine.”
“Great,” the man said without enthusiasm. “We’re done. Congratulations, citizens.”
He cut the connection and the screen went blank.
It was, Ran-Del decided, typical of life in Shangri-La that two people could get married without family, witnesses, or any mention of faithfulness.
The Sixth Discipline Page 59
