Triss was in a hotel robe when I returned. She’d done her hair and makeup but hadn’t put on her costume. I wasn’t sure if I liked the effect. She’d painted her face, hands and arms with various shades of green with irregular stripes of brown. It looked like camouflage to me. Her hair was tied in an elaborate knot to one side of her head with green ribbons wound through it. Diplomatically, I didn’t comment. Dinner was subdued. Barbita’s assistant, whose name I didn’t know and couldn’t be bothered to ask, seemed to be uncomfortable and that set the tone for Triss and me. After dinner I was graciously allowed to get ready. My razor was getting very blunt. I really had to remember to ask for some magic cream. My costume was fine. It wasn't quite as I’d pictured it in my mind’s eye but I thought the dark blue jerkin and trousers were nicely set off by the loose white shirt whose sleeves were exactly as I’d envisaged; long and loose with tight lacy cuffs. The brown of the boots and hat almost matched and the plume at least resembled a feather. The sword belt was a pain to fasten but, eventually, I got it sorted. In the mirror, I practised a sardonic smile and doffing the hat with flourish and a bow. What the hell, no-one would know who Errol Flynn was or the Three Musketeers.
As I stepped out the ladies turned to look.
“Sir Crawford MacAdam at your service,” I said in the suavest voice I could muster as I whipped off the hat and bowed low.
They spoiled it by giggling.
“Do people on your planet really do that?” Triss asked.
“They used to. Manners were once much more formal than they are now.”
They disappeared into the bedroom to get Triss dressed. I fixed myself a drink. I’d made a resolution that I was going to drink nothing but water tonight.
I had been right about the camouflage. Triss’s costume was green. It consisted of trousers that started just below her bust and fitted neatly to the waist where they flared out in complicated pleats but were caught tightly at the knees and ankles. The jacket was fitted and confirmed she did, indeed, have nice breasts. The collar rose high on one side but was low on the other, hence the off-set hair style, and the sleeves, which stopped just above her elbows, were more elaborate pleats. The jacket was fastened with a complex array of brown and red ribbon and the same ribbons were fashioned into intricate loops and knots all over the jacket and upper part of the trousers. Two straps passed diagonally from shoulder to waist, each consisting of brown and gold stripes. On her feet were a pair of soft green boots. As an outfit, it didn’t match Cherevine’s dress but as a costume it was striking. I said so.
“This is the decorous version,” she said with a feral grin. “I don’t think Bartimarm society is ready for the full version.” I raised an enquiring eyebrow. “If I wore the proper costume I’d have several daggers at my waist and a pistol. I’d have a shield strapped to my back and gloves with knives in the fingers.”
“I think you’re right. Bartimarm society isn’t ready for that. Besides, it would be a bit difficult to dance with all that hardware.”
She laughed. “If I’d thought about it I could have had toy daggers like your sword.”
“I suspect we’re going to raise a few eyebrows as it is. Knowing the people here, the costumes are likely to be colourful and outrageous. In fact you’ll be classed as a barbarian along with me.”
“I can live with that.”
It was then I discovered the flaw in my costume. I’d forgotten to specify pockets so had nowhere to put my communicator, ID card and whatnot. Barbita’s assistant came to my rescue by producing as small bag from her mobile box which I managed to fasten to my belt. The assistant’s communicator chimed. Taragis and Barbita were waiting downstairs. I doffed my hat and waved it at her.
“Farewell, fair maid, we go to meet our doom with our grateful thanks for your assistance in our hour of need.”
The assistant blushed and giggled. Triss lightly punched my arm.
“Idiot,” she said.
“Just getting into character.”
As I’d suspected, Taragis’s and Barbita’s costumes were a trifle more colourful than ours. Taragis was in red and yellow stripes. His baggy pants stopped half way down his calf with yellow stocking and red and yellow shoes. The jacket was more like a dress for it come to well below his crotch and was decorated with ruffs and furls. It had large shoulder pads. On his head was perched an elaborate headdress which, for some reason, was in red and blue. Barbita was in lilac; a frothy concoction that seemed to be composed of layer upon layer of gauzy fabric in fanciful folds and tucks. She wore a matching jewelled mask which covered her eyes and the top of her nose. Sticking out from the back of the wide band that kept it on were three multicoloured plumes. A few beings had gathered at the sight of the outlandish costumes. I decided to ham it up so I stepped forward, removed my hat with a grand flourish and made an elaborate bow.
“Greetings, gentle Sir and Madam. I have the honour to be Sir Crawford MacAdam, cavalier and gentleman of this parish. My companion goes by the name of Paragonimffet; a valorous lady whose courage and feats of arms saved her people from a dreadful fate and whose kindness and compassion won their hearts.”
Taragis and Barbita were openly laughing. Triss was pretending she didn’t know me.
“When you do something, Crawford, you don’t hold back, do you?” Taragis said. “In the same spirit, then, I am a Bartimarm grandee from the Age of the Spirits, about two centuries ago, and Barbita is a dancer from the court of King Buggershowe, the last king of Mraaskiint.”
While wearing a sword might look dashing, it’s hardly practical, especially in a motor car. I struggled to find a position for it where the hilt wouldn’t poke me in the side and the other end wouldn’t entangle itself with the others’ ankles and wondered how Prince Philip managed.
“Are you going to behave like this all night?” Triss asked when I’d finally got settled.
“Like what? Fighting with this bloody sword?”
“I mean waving your hat around and bowing and speaking drivel.”
“Well, I could stop the hat waving and the bowing but the drivel I resent.”
“My translator can’t cope with it.”
“Then the fault lies with your translator, not my speech.”
“If I can’t understand you it doesn’t matter if it’s you or the translator. It’s still meaningless.”
“Very well. In deference to your inferior technology, I’ll speak in simple words. Will words of two syllables be acceptable or should I stick to one?”
“Crawford,” she said crossly.
“Sorry. Only teasing. The serious answer to your question is that, if there’s a crowd, I’ll probably ham it up a bit for them but, inside, once I’ll just be normal.”
“Good idea,” Taragis said with a nod. “A bit of media attention wouldn’t do any harm.”
“So long as it’s the right sort of attention.”
“It will be. Don’t worry.” Triss was looking puzzled. “Crawford’s a natural showman. He has an instinct for what the public wants and is superb with the media,” he explained.
“Will there be interviews?” I asked.
“There’s no formal ones arranged.”
Triss was still looking puzzled so I explained that, as the Lottery Winner, I was expected to be a bit larger than life and I tried to be that in public.
“You’re not going to do anything silly?”
“Such as?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Something that would put you in danger.”
“I’ve no intention of doing anything dangerous. I’m simply going to be a bit extravagant.”
The ball was being held in the Gathering of Righteous Brethren Assembly Rooms. It wasn't a yellow carpet affair but the car drew up in the street rather than down in the car park. A sizeable crowd had gathered to ogle the celebrities in their finery. It has always puzzled me why people will travel miles and stand in a packed crowd for hours being jostled and pushed just for a glimpse of other people who they’
ve seen on the TV or trivee or wherever. I shouldn’t knock it, though. If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t be here. Triss seemed amazed at the crowd.
“Not as many as the concert, “I said. “Oh, oh, my fan club’s here.”
I had spotted the group of green-clad anti-MacAdam demonstrators. There were even more of them and they’d managed to push their way to the front of the crowd.
“It’s okay,” Taragis said. “The police will take care of them.”
“What’s going on?” Triss demanded.
I explained about the group of beings who had either taken a dislike to me, personally, or objected to the Lottery in general.
“So far they’ve done nothing but wave banners and hurl abuse,” I said.
“That’s all they’ll do,” Taragis said confidently. “There have always been beings who object to the Lottery on various grounds; religious, political, personal. They make a bit of a nuisance of themselves from time to time but that’s all.”
The car drew up. I stepped out, handed Triss out then turned and made another exaggerated bow to the assembled crowd.
“Greetings, gentle folk of Bartimarm. The noble D’Artagnan greets you,” I shouted. I had decided that, with the hat I was more a Musketeer than a sea captain.
The crowd roared its approval, except for the green brigade who tried to drown out the applause with catcalls and insults. Smiling broadly and waving my hat over my head, I took Triss’s hand and marched up to the entrance. I was gratified to see the number of trivee cameras focussed on us. Triss managed to, at once, look graceful and proudly aloof, an attitude that suited her character perfectly.
We were greeted by a flunkey dressed as a blue penguin. Well he had a short bright blue jacket with long tails, baggy blue trousers, a white shirt and yellow shoes and he looked like a penguin to me. He took our names and what our costumers represented. I said I was the Chevalier D’Armand D’Artagnan. He didn’t bat an eyelid. Our costumes raised polite applause as we were announced but nothing more. In among the bedlam of colour and glitter our rather plain costumes were hardly outstanding. I grinned broadly and waved my hat around again then jammed it firmly on my head and set out in search of a quiet corner where we could observe the proceedings without being obvious. I suspected Taragis and Barbita would have preferred a more visible position but were forced to follow my lead. I was looking for a likely spot when a familiar voice hailed me. I turned to see a vision in purple satin festooned with ruffles and frills, electric blue tights and shoes with toes that curled right back upon themselves.
“Frefris,” I exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m everywhere, Crawford. You know that. I could ask you the same question but I already know the answer.”
I made the introductions. He insisted we join him and his companions. They were seated much more centrally than I liked but I couldn’t very well refuse him. At least Taragis and Barbita were pleased. Taragis already knew some of them, of course, so was in his element. There were a few raised eyebrows when I insisted on drinking bottled water and I had to explain that I’d taken a violent reaction to something I’d drunk and my doctor had suggested I should avoid alcohol. The music started and people got up to dance. The alcohol, or whatever inebriant they were imbibing, flowed freely and Frefris’s friends started to get more animated. They were party people and determined, as usual, to have a good time. Much of the chat and banter was, of course, beyond me but I was becoming adept and smiling and laughing at the right moments and pretending I was in the spirit of it all. Triss was very quiet. I noticed her eyes never stopped moving.
I leant over and asked quietly, “What’s the problem?”
“Nothing.” She attempted a smile.
“Something’s bothering you,” I insisted. “You don’t look comfortable.”
She shrugged. “I’m not. I would have preferred to sit somewhere less obtrusive.”
“I would, too, but I have my reasons. What are yours?”
“It’s too open. Too easy for someone to approach without me seeing them.”
“Oh? And why would that be a problem for you?”
“How else am I supposed to protect you?” she said in an exasperated tone.
“Protect me?”
“That’s why I’m here. Why else do you think I’m dressed up like this?” She indicated her costume.
“I see. May I give you a bit of advice? I mean no offence but you look like you don’t want to be here and that makes you conspicuous. It might be an idea to try and pretend you’re taking part and enjoying yourself like I am.”
“You’re not enjoying yourself?”
“Not hugely. Frefris is a friend and his friends are good company, but they’re all connected with the media and party hard. It’s not really my scene.” I raised my water to emphasise the point. “Also, I think you’ll find that there are protectors dotted all over the place. Taragis is thorough. He won’t want another incident like the party to happen again. So, relax, at least a bit. You can still do your job and have some fun.”
She smiled tentatively. I pulled a comically encouraging face and bobbed my head. The smile became a laugh.
“You’re an idiot.”
“Is that worse than a barbarian.” I turned to the person on my other side. “Triss, here, thinks I’m an idiot. What I want to know is… is that worse than being a barbarian?” I blinked owlishly.
“Oh, yes. You can educate a barbarian so they stop being one but if you’re an idiot, you’re one for life.”
“What’s that?” someone else said, catching the end of the conversation.
It went round the table amidst much laughter and ribald comment as people began to think up things that were worse to be than either an idiot or a barbarian. Triss, following the conversation for the first time, looked like she might be relaxing and getting into the spirit of the evening. The Master of Ceremonies made an announcement and everybody started to make their way to the dance floor.
“You’re on, folks,” Taragis said.
I stood and held out a hand for Triss.
“Well, this is it. The moment we’ve spent all these minutes rehearsing for. Now, is it knit one, purl one or do you cast off at the end of the row?”
“Idiot,” she said. She didn’t smile.
We joined the throng, unfortunately nowhere near any of our companions. The music started and, for the first measure or two I was too busy trying to remember which foot to put where to pay much attention. Either our instructors had been good or not enough time had elapsed for their instruction to slip away but I soon had the hang of it. At the part where we jiggled our pelvises at our partners, I looked around surreptitiously. Some, mainly older people, jigged a bit on the spot and that was all while many of the younger ones were quite exuberant. I noticed that the movements weren’t particularly sexual, it was more like they were showing off their athletic ability. A glance at Triss’s amused expression told me she’d noticed, too. For safety I decided I’d better do it the way I’d been taught and not improvise.
It’s funny how sharing a dance, even such a decorous one as we’d just done, can bring people together. When we returned to our table we hitched our chairs closer together. We weren't quite touching but Triss was looking more relaxed and smiling more. I asked the company, as both an idiot and a barbarian about the sexual connotations of the dance. I was told that, this being a formal ball with the media present, it had been kept innocuous and that raunchier versions were danced at more informal occasions. That started them off on a round of ‘do you remember whens’ most of which involved one or more members of the party, too much alcohol and some embarrassment. Being good friends, the victims took it all in good spirits and promptly tried to top the story with one of their own.
Our Canadian Barn Dance thing went well, too. Triss was light on her feet and a good partner now she’d relaxed and I enjoyed dancing with her. I was looking forward to the last of our party pieces where I could hold her tightly. The t
rouble started when I went for a comfort break.
When I came out of the toilet a group of males were in the corridor. They were dressed as exotic and rather grotesque birds. They’d obviously been drinking and were talking loudly and somewhat crudely. I stood aside to let them pass. One of them noticed me and stopped.
“Well, lookee here. If it isn’t our little upstart from… where was it… Dirt?”
“Who?” Someone unfamiliar with me wanted to know.
“The heap of spruk’s dung that stole the Lottery.”
My heart sank. I had no idea what a spruk was but it was clearly an undesirable creature. Beneath the ludicrous feather headdress I recognised one of the beings from the party. My palms became sweaty. I tried think calm thoughts and maintain a neutral expression.
“Ho, so it is. I wonder he has the gall to show his face in public again.”
“Why not?” a very drunken voice asked.
“Didn’t you hear? Got himself flung out of old Adderhay’s party last week. Ran amok and tried to rape some girl.”
All eyes were turned now on me. I had to bite my tongue to prevent myself hotly denying this slander.
“No!”
“Really?”
“He didn’t. At Adderhay’s, too?”
“He’s a scumbag savage. What else would you expect?”
“Can’t take his drink then?”
“They probably drink pigswill on Dirt.”
“Or pig’s piss.”
This witticism caused great amusement. I could feel my heart pounding. For some reason these people scared me. I hoped my fear didn’t show. As happens with drunken oafs, they got in a competition to see who could make the crudest comment. They weren't particularly focussed on me so I began to sidle past.
“Well, dirtbag, did they let you out of the sty, then?”
I said nothing. It didn’t seem to require an answer.
“He asked you a question,” the first being said belligerently. “When a gentleman asks a question, scum answer it.”
“I didn’t know he was addressing me. I thought he was talking to you.”
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