“Our chief medical officer, Commander Dr. Lord Trayvon Exeteur.” That was the man with the net of scars. Physician heal thyself, Tracy thought and gave a mental head shake over O-Trell’s officer class’s love of the duel. “Lieutenant-Commander Baron Kyle Golden, head of Weapons division. Lieutenant-Commander Marquis Xiang-Loredo, head of Navigation. Commander Conde Gustav Eichenbrenner, who leads our contingent of fusileros and our Infierno fighter pilots, and finally, last but not least, our chaplains, Father Kenneth Russell,” the captain laid a hand on the small man’s shoulder, “Elder Joshua Brown, Rabbi Rabinowitz and Imam Christopher Sulieman.”
De Vilbiss turned to them, elevated his glass and said, “To our new lieutenants. Welcome aboard.” Murmurs of welcome and they all took sips of their champagne. Yamamoto began to softly play. Since it was background music it was classical and soothing.
Tracy stood dithering, trying to figure out how to approach Sukarno. Turned out he didn’t have to, as Sukarno approached him.
“Lieutenant Belmanor.”
“Sir.”
“Very happy to have you aboard.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You have an impressive record from the High Ground.” The green eyes drifted down to the Distinguido Servicio Cruzar.
Tracy realized he probably wasn’t impressing with his monosyllabic answers so he tried to elaborate. “Thank you, sir, but as Lieutenant-Commander Golden pointed out, the grades don’t matter when the situation is real.”
“Don’t assume that everyone here has been under enemy fire. Most of them haven’t, Lieutenant. We’ve had a long stretch without a shooting war. The aliens are fully pacified and we haven’t found a new Hidden World for almost twenty-five years. It’s hard to stay frosty when there’s no one to fight.”
“Uh, I suppose that’s true, sir.”
Sukarno reached out and lightly touched the medal with a forefinger. “The fact you and the young lady are both wearing that tells me more than your companion Talion’s scars or letters of recommendation from previous captains. I’d say you probably have more experience with real combat than Lieutenant-Commander Golden.”
The flush rose up his neck and into his face. Tracy ducked his head and stared down at his toes. “Ummm, thank you?” He couldn’t keep his voice from rising on the final word, making it an almost-question.
The XO clapped him on the shoulder and leaned in. “We have a lot in common, Lieutenant. I’m a ‘Knife and Fork’ officer.”
The phrase was unfamiliar and Tracy overcame his shyness to meet Sukarno’s gaze. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know what that means.”
“That I didn’t go to the High Ground. I was an enlisted man, pulled out and sent to Officer Candidate School. The knife and fork thing refers to the fact I had to be taught how to behave. We’re neither one of us members of the FFH, Lieutenant.” The blunt fingers gave his shoulder one more squeeze and Sukarno moved on to talk with the others.
Tracy stood contemplating that for a few moments. He remembered the welcoming banquet at the High Ground when he’d been faced with an array of cutlery and no idea what to do with it all. He’d watched his table mates and imitated them. His father might have drilled him on proper etiquette and deportment from an early age, but that had been so he knew how to behave toward the FFH as a decorous servant. He had no idea of the proper cues between noble equals, nor was he likely to learn since none of them considered him their equal.
As was his wont he retreated to a wall to stand and observe. It didn’t last for long. Cipriana crossed to him and pulled him away to meet Dr. Exeteur, who despite the web of scars turned out to be friendly to the point of seeming jolly. He was delighted to see Tracy’s scar and immediately invited him to join the fencing club.
Talion broke off from his conversation with Eichenbrenner to say, “He doesn’t actually know how to fence. He knows how to get cut.”
“Well, we should fix that,” Exeteur said cheerfully.
Tracy stood frozen with indecision. His initial reaction was to refuse. The voice of Mercedes that seemed to be constantly in the back of his mind counseled him to accept. He had a sudden satisfying image of parrying and slapping the saber out of Boho’s hand and then holding the point of his saber against Boho’s throat.
“Excellent! We’ll see you on Sunday after mass then.” Exeteur winked broadly. “Give a little nod toward God then a little wink at the devil, eh?” Tracy received another buffet on the shoulder. As was so often the case in the military it seemed that Tracy had accepted without actually accepting.
Tracy had a brief conversation with Xiang-Loredo who told him, “I let Golden have the first crack at you since he seems to have a team of mathematical dunces down there, but I’ll get you on the bridge in due course. Math skills shouldn’t be wasted on weapons drills.”
Tracy would have taken it as a compliment but for the fact Xiang-Loredo’s eyes never actually looked at him, and Tracy had the decided impression that this was more about a power struggle between Golden and Xiang-Loredo than it was about him and his skills.
The smell of aftershave, Cipriana’s perfume and alcohol was replaced by the smell of roast meat, the yeasty warmth of freshly baked bread and ginger carrots. A bell was rung and Captain de Vilbiss clapped his hands together. “That’s the call to supper.”
Tracy moved to the foot of the table. Given his status as a Lieutenant J.G. and an intitulado he assumed he wasn’t going to be seated near the captain. The chair to de Vilbiss’s right was given to Cipriana. Eichenbrenner was on his left. Sukarno was seated several chairs down from the head of the table. Apparently rank could not trump low birth. Tracy stalled so all the titled officers could take their chairs then headed for the one remaining open chair. De Vilbiss looked startled when he started to sit down.
“Oh, Lieutenant Belmanor, I thought we were to be treated to your singing.”
A knot comprised of ice and acid formed in the pit of Tracy’s stomach. He couldn’t even have one night before he became the captain’s trained seal. He examined and discarded a dozen responses while the silence stretched between them. Cipriana was staring at her plate, clearly embarrassed for him. Heat washed through Tracy’s body. It felt like everyone was staring at him.
Yamamoto set aside his guitar and moved to de Vilbiss’s side. He bent down and whispered into the captain’s ear. Two red spots bloomed on the captain’s cheeks. “Oh, yes, quite, I see your point,” he murmured. “Forgive me, Lieutenant. Of course you and Akihiko haven’t had a chance to put your heads together about a repertoire. Blame it on my eagerness to hear you sing. Please, be seated. Of course you shouldn’t have to sing for your supper.”
Tracy, his appetite gone, sank down into his chair. Sukarno gave him a look that might have been sympathy. Everyone else studiously avoided looking at him. He passed the rest of the evening in silence.
9
GOODBYES AND GRIEVANCES
“This is your fault!” Julieta shrieked. A bottle smashed into the door next to Mercedes’ ear. Perfume dripped down the wall and she was enveloped in a choking miasma of attar of roses.
“Well, the academy will certainly improve your aim,” Mercedes said calmly.
“I hate you!” Julieta screamed.
“Really? You avoid me completely after the wedding and this is how we’re going to say goodbye? And I didn’t do anything. You want to pitch a fit and fling things? Fine, then throw things at Daddy or at Rohan. They’re the ones sending you to the High Ground.”
“I love Sanjay and now it’s going to be three whole years before we can get married,” Julieta wailed. “Maybe more! What if he meets someone else?” The words emerged in little hiccups interspersed with sobs.
Irritation ripped through Mercedes. “Oh don’t be an idiot. No one’s fool enough to walk away from a royal marriage.”
“You make it sound like he doesn’t love me,” Julieta sniveled.
“He doesn’t.” Mercedes wasn’t fool enough to add and you do
n’t love him, not really. Her sister’s sobs filled the room. Mercedes softened her tone, and added, “I mean really, how could he? He doesn’t know you.”
“And now we’ll never have the chance. We’re going to be separated for years and years and years.”
Mercedes found herself remembering her own heart burning when she’d cried herself to sleep over Riccardo when she was sixteen. He was a hazy memory now, but at the time she’d thought her heart would break. Pity replaced irritation. Mercedes crossed to her youngest sister.
“Julieta, you’re just seventeen. There’s so much more world for you to explore. You don’t want to be like Sumiko, do you? And as for Sanjay, it might be only ambition now, but once you two have a chance to spend time together he will fall in love with you.” She gave the smaller woman a hug. “How could he not? You’re wonderful and beautiful.” Mercedes hesitated then added, “And, sweetheart, don’t discount the idea that your feelings might change. You might meet somebody else.”
“Never! And even if I did the marriage has been announced, Daddy would never let—”
“Daddy isn’t the only factor here. I’m the Infanta. I’m going to have some say in what happens to my sisters.”
Julieta stared up at her, lips parted in an “ooo” of amazement. “You’d argue with Daddy?”
“I’ve done it a few times,” Mercedes said. And lost every time, her inner, honest voice added. But we’re talking several years. I’ll be much more grown up then. He’ll listen. I hope.
* * *
There was going to be a farewell dinner, but Mercedes wanted a chance to see her sisters in a less formal setting. The long table, the army of servants, and the presence of parents rather discouraged private moments. Mercedes found Tanis and Izzara in Tanis’s room and locked in one of their ferocious and all too frequent fights. A pink and gold dress hung between them, each of them clutching at the material.
“It’s my dress! You had no right to take it!” Izzara screamed.
“It suits me better. With your hair you’ll look like a carrot wearing cotton candy,” Tanis yelled back.
Their Hajin maids were flapping their hands and making miserable noises as they stood shoulder to shoulder. Unlike their mistresses they were united in their distress.
“It makes your skin look like suet. In fact you’re too fat to wear it now anyway,” Tanis gleefully threw out the most horrible taunt a woman can give.
Izzara let out a shriek and slapped Tanis. The dress, forgotten, fell to the floor between them. Before the slap fight could really get underway Mercedes intervened. Interposing herself between the younger girls she used her capoeira training to take Tanis to the floor with a leg sweep. Leaping to her feet Mercedes grabbed Izzara by the wrist. A quick twist had her sister screaming in pain. Izzara dropped to her knees in front of Mercedes. Mercedes sensed Tanis coming up behind her. She lashed out with her free hand, and bopped Tanis in the nose. Her shrieks blended with her sister’s.
“That’s better. Now you’re both singing the same tune.”
“You punta!” Tanis spat. Mercedes glanced over her shoulder. Blood was gushing from Tanis’s nose, spattering on the abused and now forgotten dress.
“I was going to say you’re an emperor’s daughters not fish wives screaming in the market, but clearly I was wrong.” Mercedes released Izzara who nursed her abused wrist. Her screams subsided into sniffles. “I came here to tell you goodbye.” Mercedes pulled a handkerchief out of her skirt pocket and thrust it into Tanis’s hands. “I’m going to be gone for a long time, years, and I hope to hell when I come home I’ll find you better behaved.”
“Am I going to learn… that?” Izzara made a vague gesture. “When I go to the High Ground?”
“You’ll study unarmed combat, yes.” Mercedes didn’t like the speculative look Izzara gave her younger sister. She turned to the maids. “Please get rid of this dress. It’s quite ruined now.”
The aliens exchanged quick glances. The one with the buckskin-colored mane darted forward and snatched up the abused dress. Mercedes had a feeling it wouldn’t end up in the trash but instead be cleaned and then sold second-hand to some intitulado woman down in Pony Town.
Mercedes opened her arms to her half-sisters. “Well, tell me goodbye.”
“I hope you get killed out there,” Tanis said nasally from behind the handkerchief pressed tightly against her nose. She stormed out of the room.
Izzara reacted to Mercedes’ expression. “She didn’t mean it. She’s just mad. She says things when she’s mad.”
“Well, she better learn not to the first time she backtalks a drill instructor.”
“Will they beat her up?” Izzara asked hopefully. Mercedes sighed.
* * *
She moved on to the twins’ room and found more chaos. Only a year separated Delia and Dulcinea from Carisa so all three girls often played together and today was no exception. Unfortunately Mercedes walked in when the twins were being roundly scolded by Constanza.
“How dare you bring that ragged stray into the palace! Carisa is highly allergic.”
“Mummy please, I like the kitten,” Carisa whimpered. As usual she was a neurotic mess, shaking and crying.
Delia, clutching the unprepossessing kitten to her chest, looked defiant. Her twin was giving her worried, warning glances. The kitten, yellow eyes locked on Constanza, was emitting a low warning growl that occasionally crescendoed into a yowl.
“It’s our cat and our rooms. You can’t take him away,” Delia yelled.
“Fine, then Carisa will no longer be playing with you.”
“Mummy, noooo!”
“Carisa, come along!”
Dulcinea darted forward and clutched at Constanza’s skirt. “No, please don’t. We’ll… we’ll do what you want.”
“No we won’t!” Delia shouted and gave her twin a betrayed look.
“Constanza, wait,” Mercedes said. She stepped in close to her stepmother. “There are treatments that can deal with cat allergies.”
“For most ordinary people, but Carisa is highly sensitive.”
Mercedes, her patience all but gone, snapped back, “Because you’ve made her that way.”
Constanza glared at her. “When you’re a mother you can give me advice. Otherwise, young lady, you can keep your opinions to yourself.”
It was rather rich coming from a woman a mere six years older than herself, but Mercedes let it pass. Constanza gripped Carisa’s hand harder and tugged.
“At least let me say goodbye to my sister,” Mercedes said. She bent and hugged the nine-year-old and kissed Carisa on the cheek. “Bye, bye, sweetheart.” To her consternation Carisa cried harder. “Cari, what’s wrong?”
“You’re going to die! Tanis says so.”
“Tanis says a lot of silly things. Don’t pay any attention.”
Constanza swept them both out of the room. Dulcinea rounded on her sister. “Now you’ve done it. We’ll never get to play with Carisa again.”
“I don’t care,” Delia shot back and she kissed the kitten’s ripped ear.
“Yes you do,” Mercedes interrupted. “I’ll talk to Daddy. We’ll figure something out.”
Delia frowned toward the door where Constanza had just exited. “Constanza hates spiders. I’m gonna put a whole bunch of them in her bed.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Mercedes said, trying to sound stern. “Not if you want to keep this kitten. And are you taking lessons from Tanis on how to be naughty?”
“Tanis uses words,” Dulcinea said. “I think that’s worse.”
It showed a level of understanding and sophistication that Mercedes hadn’t expected. “It can be,” Mercedes said. “But putting spiders in Constanza’s bed would be pretty bad too.”
The twins shared a look and giggled. “But fun,” they said almost in unison.
“She never lets Cari have any fun,” Dulcinea said sadly.
“We’ll see what we can do about that too. I’m going to miss yo
u,” Mercedes added.
“Us too,” came the duet.
“Now give me a hug, but put that wild cat down first. I don’t think he likes me very much.”
“He likes you. It’s Constanza he hates,” Delia said, but she did set the cat on her bed where he began to wash himself with that sublimely superior feline attitude.
As the girls hugged her, Mercedes reflected that they would be twelve by the time she returned. The thought left her with an ache in her heart.
* * *
If she had been looking for a calm and safe haven, Estella’s bedroom turned out not to be the place. Mercedes found her usually placid sister crying over the body of Belle, her pet aria bird.
“Dinnea didn’t latch the door tight after she cleaned her cage. Belle got out and she got scared when Dinnea tried to catch her and she flew into the window and broke her neck.” The story emerged in explosive bursts interspersed with sobs.
Mercedes took the sad limp little body of the aria out of her sister’s hands and gave the feathers a brush with her forefinger. In life the creature had been almost iridescent. Now the feathers were dull, the colors muted.
“I’m sorry, sweetie.”
“I’m going to kill that pony!” Estella burst out. “Or at least make her buy me a new aria.”
Mercedes considered the cost of one of the local song birds. It probably wouldn’t set the Hajin maid back too much, maybe half a month’s salary, but it wouldn’t look good for a servant to be buying something for the very wealthy imperial daughter. Mercedes decided to find Dinnea and give her the money to replace the aria.
“You wash your face and take a lie down. I’ll take care of Belle.”
Estella nodded, gulped. “Okay.”
Mercedes brushed back her sister’s hair. “It’s my last night home for a long time. I just want to be with my sisters.”
* * *
Estella had found a pretty metal mesh box decorated with enamel flowers and twining leaves as a casket for the late lamented Belle. Mercedes had slipped money to Dinnea, and now was walking through the park looking for a place to bury the dead bird. A place where the ground was soft enough for her to dig with a stick. After the afternoon spent dealing with emotional outbursts, Mercedes’ mood had soured and she was considering just chucking the corpse into a bush for the scavengers. But she knew Estella would probably ask about the avian funeral at dinner and they knew each other too well for Mercedes to successfully pull off a lie.
In Evil Times Page 9