Master of Formalities

by Scott Meyer

  Most people had the good taste not to look, but if guests were to let their eyes drift to the side of the room where the wall and floor met, they would see an alarming parade of unnoticed crumbs, dropped morsels, dollops of spilled sauce, discarded napkins, and smudged glassware. Anything food-related that made its way to the floor or was left unattended for too long was claimed by the utilitics, and joined the great refuse migration along the walls and out the nearest door. The durable goods were cleaned and sanitized automatically by the time they arrived back in the kitchen to be stacked, redistributed, and used again.

  The non-durable goods formed a steady stream that flowed into a cleverly concealed room where specialized utilitics in a large hopper broke down the waste into its constituent parts, which were then reformed into bulk, which could be used for further fabrications. Sadly, it was not a perfect system, and some matter was lost, thus keeping the bulk farmers in business.

  The auxiliary staff was doing most of the actual work, but the permanent staff was managing the event, and that meant managing a tremendous amount of stress. After answering questions, directing staff, and putting out fires for what felt like both several hours and no time at all, Shly snuck back to the servants’ hall to catch her breath. There she found Glaz, who seemed to have had the same idea.

  “I’m so glad it’s not like this every day,” Shly said as she almost fell down into the chair next to Glaz. “I know I shouldn’t tell you that, but it’s the truth.”

  Glaz laughed. “Mentioning to your supervisor that you don’t want to be busy isn’t usually a great idea, but in this case I think you can be excused. I wouldn’t want this every day either, but a little more often might be nice.”

  “I can see that,” Shly agreed. “Maybe once a year.”

  “I was thinking more like once a month,” Glaz said.

  “No way,” Shly said. “That would be way too much work!”

  “Again, not a great thing to say to your supervisor, Shly. Don’t worry. I understand. I wasn’t speaking for everybody, just for myself. I wouldn’t mind the extra work.”

  “I guess that’s why you’re the palace expediter and I’m not.”

  Glaz shook her head, then said, “No, Shly, it’s not why I’m the expediter, it’s because I’m the expediter. I hired a great staff, did my best to get them well trained, and now I watch as they do all the work. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but aside from sharing the occasional opinion and making the occasional informative statement, there really isn’t very much for me to do.”

  65.

  The guests were ushered into the banquet hall. There were two sets of immense carved stone doors at the far end of the room. Each door was a priceless work of art in its own right; the hinges alone were exquisite enough that on a lesser world an entire museum might be erected simply to display one of them. The set of doors on the left swung open silently, and Lord and Lady Jakabitus walked into the room with Hennik. They were wearing their second most-formal uniforms, and they could hardly move for all the brass and braiding. Lord and Lady Jakabitus bowed to the guests; Hennik barely nodded; then after a moment’s confusion, they sat at a table to the left while the assembled multitudes applauded. The doors on the right opened, and Lord Hahn’s chair operator entered, followed by Lord and Lady Hahn. Lady Hahn bowed slowly and deeply, with exaggerated hand motions and a facial expression that said I hope you’re satisfied. Lord Hahn did not move, but his chair tipped forward, then back. While the guests emitted a polite amount of applause, Hennik watched his parents’ every move with undisguised admiration. Lord and Lady Hahn sat at a table to the right. A staff member had to scramble to remove a chair that Lord Hahn clearly would not need.

  Both sets of doors remained open, and at the exact same moment, Rayzo Jakabitus and Shimlish Hahn emerged, each from opposite sides, to thunderous applause. They bowed stiffly, walked toward each other, and sat alone at a table that was placed in the absolute focal point of the room. Like his mother, his father, and his adopted brother, Rayzo was wearing his second-finest formal uniform. Like her father and mother, Shimlish was wearing the same clothes she had arrived in, though she had adjusted the color of her adaptive armor to a reasonably bridal shade of white.

  As the applause faded away, it was replaced with music, provided by a live orchestra that was strategically positioned on a terrace at the back of the room so few would see it, but its music filled every corner of the cavernous banquet hall.

  Lady Jakabitus looked at her son, sitting alone at a table with a total stranger. She caught Migg’s attention and called her over.

  Migg was, of course, wearing her customary formal blacks. There was no more formal garment in existence, and as such, it was appropriate for every event. Migg leaned down and said, “Yes, Milady?”

  Lady Jakabitus said, “I was not told that we would be sitting at separate tables.”

  “No, Milady?”

  “No. In fact, I was told that we would not be sitting at separate tables.”

  “There is ample precedent for the betrothed to sit at their own table, as the focal point of the party celebrating their wedding,” Migg said.

  “Perhaps,” Lady Jakabitus allowed, “but there’s no precedent for such a fundamental change in plan occurring without my knowledge. How did this happen, Migg?”

  “May I be blunt, Milady?”

  “Yes, but you should also be careful.”

  “Always, Milady. I take full responsibility for the change. I only got the idea late this afternoon, and the seating arrangement hardly seemed like the kind of issue that was urgent enough to warrant bothering Your Ladyship.”

  “It’s my son’s wedding, Migg.”

  “And that is the point, Milady. Master Rayzo is marrying a young woman he has met once, whom he will not see tomorrow until the actual ceremony. This dinner is the only chance he and his bride to be will have to actually converse with each other, and I thought that said conversation might go smoother if her parents weren’t involved. Sadly, form dictated that you could not be involved either.”

  Lady Jakabitus’s expression darkened. She looked off into the distance and took several protracted breaths before finally saying, “I would have approved it if you had put it to me that way.”

  “Yes Milady, and I would never have made the change if I hadn’t been absolutely certain of that fact.”

  “If you ever pull anything like this again . . .” Lady Jakabitus deliberately allowed her voice to trail off.

  “I’m absolutely certain of how that sentence ends,” Migg said, “and I’m equally certain that you mean it.”

  Lady Jakabitus looked at her son, sitting silently, avoiding all eye contact with Shimlish, who was avoiding him with equal concentration.

  “What if it doesn’t go well, the conversation between them?”

  Migg said, “Then Master Rayzo will at least know what he’s in for.”

  Before dinner there was a program of light entertainment. The orchestra was joined by a singer, then the large empty space at the center of the room was used to stage a demonstration by a group of former sports champions and crowd favorites who toured the globe performing under the less-than-subtle name, The Apiosan Superstar Sports Squads.

  The four Superstars varied in age from their early twenties to their late forties, but all were in excellent physical condition, which was obvious given that their uniforms consisted solely of sports shorts, emblazoned with the highest rank they’d achieved and the year in which they’d achieved it. Three of the men’s shorts had a number one on them. The shorts of the man who did all the talking bore a number eight. He acted as a sort of narrator. When the other Superstars were preparing for a demonstration, he told the audience what they were about to see. While the Superstars were engaged in their demonstrations, he explained to the audience what they were seeing. When the demonstration was complete, he cued the audience to ap
plaud by reminding them, with great volume and intensity, of what they had just seen.

  Lady Jakabitus had been against having the Apiosan Superstar Sports Squad as the predinner entertainment, but Frederain had been equally adamant. She argued that their act was far too undignified for such an important occasion. He counterargued that the occasion itself would lend more dignity to the Superstars’ performance. She said that it wouldn’t be nearly enough. He claimed that it was an opportunity to show dignitaries from across the galaxy what Apiosan sports was really all about. She took issue with his use of the word opportunity.

  In the end, she let Frederain have his way, because she loved him, and if having grown men in short shorts cavort around before dinner made Rayzo’s marriage any more palatable for him, it was a small price to pay.

  The Apiosan Superstar Sports Squad warmed up with some synchronized tumbling, then moved on to demonstrations of their specialized skills.

  One demonstrated how many times he could slap a practice dummy in fifteen seconds. His hands and forearms were a blur as he landed slap after slap on the dummy, which vibrated visibly and emitted a noise like a piece of paper stuck in a fan.

  Next, a volunteer raced one of the Superstars a short distance, but while the volunteer ran on foot, the master moved in a series of diving somersaults. The volunteer lost the race, but was graced with a round of applause for his trouble.

  The third Superstar displayed his legendary strength by ripping the shorts off a practice dummy with one hand, then slapping various objects in half.

  The fourth Superstar, the one with an eight on his shorts, rounded out the show by picking a random member of the audience and demonstrating his signature move, taunting the opponent until he became angry and made a mistake, which in this case was crying.

  The audience fell silent, feeling terrible for the crying man, except for Lord Hahn and Hennik, both of whom were giggling.

  The fourth Superstar apologized and asked the crying man to stand so everyone could give him a round of applause. When the man stood, he ripped off his fancy clothes, exposing the fact that he too was wearing sports shorts. The fourth Superstar told the crowd that this man had gone undefeated in three consecutive meets owing to his amazing ability to cry at will, which confused and demoralized his opponents, allowing him to gutter them. Of course, the crowd loved this revelation, and the rafters rang with applause.

  The fourth Superstar said, “Usually our demonstration would end here, but tonight we have a unique opportunity. There is a young man in the audience who recently swept a meet and is, I am led to understand, still undefeated in regulation play. He managed this feat on the strength of a move he invented, one so devastating that it was immediately outlawed following his first meet, and so unique it was named after its inventor. If Milady approves, could your adopted son please come show us the move that is known as a Hennik?”

  Lady Jakabitus said, “If Hennik wishes it,” but Hennik had already stood up. He stepped around the table and joined the shorts-clad men in the center of the room. He made a point of not looking at his true parents, knowing that they would likely disapprove of what appeared to be his cooperation, but Hennik was sure that once they witnessed the awful embarrassment he’d doled out to so many Apiosans, they’d be proud of him.

  The fourth Superstar thanked him, then started the demonstration by asking if Hennik preferred to have the advantage or not.

  Hennik said, “It doesn’t matter. I’ll win either way.”

  The audience oohed at this proclamation as the Superstar feigned exaggerated fear. Hennik did take the advantage, however, and he and the fourth Superstar squared off.

  The fourth master shouted, “Go,” and in less than a second, Hennik had dropped, slid through his legs, and popped up behind him, pulling the man’s own arm up into his crotch, rendering him helpless. The crowd laughed and clapped as he steered the off-balance master around the room in this undignified posture. The fourth master played his pain and embarrassment for laughs.

  Over time, the laughs quieted, and the Superstar said, “Thank you so much, Master Hennik, for this demonstration. Let’s hear it for Master Hennik!”

  The audience applauded, but Hennik maintained his grip on the man’s wrist and continued to push the man around the room.

  “Okay,” the fourth Superstar said, all mirth drained from his voice. “Thank you Master Hennik. I think you can stop now.”

  “I know I can stop now,” Hennik said. “I can keep going for as long as I’d like, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me, isn’t that right?”

  The fourth Superstar said nothing.

  Hennik pulled his wrist up a bit further and said, “Tell them. Tell them that I’m right.”

  “It’s . . . it’s true, ladies and gentlemen, once Master Hennik has his opponent in this position, he is quite helpless. That is why the move was outlawed.”

  “Yes,” Hennik said. “Because it exposed a weakness. A weakness all Apiosans shared, which only a Hahn could see and exploit.”

  Hennik stood in the thick, oppressive silence of the room, soaking it in like a sponge. He gave the man’s arm one last sharp yank upward, then released it and walked back to his seat. The silence was only broken by the sound of his shoes on the floor, and the sound of Lord and Lady Hahn, slowly clapping.

  Rayzo glanced at Shimlish, who was sitting with her hands folded in her lap.

  Lady Jakabitus shot the orchestra leader a look that he could clearly interpret even from all the way across the hall, and he quickly directed the orchestra to start playing again.

  “Why didn’t you clap?” Rayzo asked.

  Shimlish said, “I wouldn’t be caught dead encouraging that awful little troll.”

  Well what do you know? Rayzo thought. We have something in common.

  66.

  “It’s just so typical of him,” Shimlish said. “He thinks of the most brutal possible approach, then he keeps using it over and over until it stops working. Let me guess, I’m betting he’s never defeated the same opponent twice.”

  “That’s true,” Rayzo said.

  “See, that’s just him. He keeps doing the same thing until he’s absolutely sure it won’t work anymore, then he sulks about it. You must have seen that for yourself. He may be undefeated now, but he would have lost eventually. He always does. Someone always thinks up a countermeasure.”

  Rayzo said, “Oh, he’s not undefeated. He’s undefeated in regulation play, but I’ve beaten him in an informal match.”

  “When?”

  “A couple days ago.”

  “How’d you beat him?”

  “I knew what his move was, so I thought up a countermeasure, like you said.”

  Shimlish said, “Good.”

  Well, there it is, Rayzo thought. My first one-on-one conversation with my future wife, and it went pretty well. Of course, we can’t spend the rest of our lives doing nothing but bad-mouthing Hennik.

  He scoured his brain, searching for a topic he could discuss with her. He was doing his best to hide it, but Rayzo found his future bride quite intimidating. She was older, taller, a seasoned commander from a famously hostile family, and to top it all off, beautiful.

  He considered bringing up the topic of how attractive she was, but dismissed the idea immediately. They were being forced to marry, and while he didn’t want to take it out on her, he didn’t want to give her the impression that he was any happier about it than she was.

  Still, he thought, there might be something to talk about there. Most people’s favorite topic is themselves.

  “Hennik did catch me off guard at first,” Rayzo said, crafting the smoothest segue he could muster. “I’m sure he found me an easy competitor since his sister’s a decorated soldier.”

  Shimlish rolled her eyes, and Rayzo braced himself for whatever sarcastic reply she’d make.

&nbs
p; Before speaking, she looked at him, and then glanced at her parents. “I’m not supposed to tell you anything about, well, anything until after the wedding,” she said, “but I figure the ceremony tomorrow is just a formality. I mean, we’re going to be married no matter what either of us does, right?”

  “Yeah,” Rayzo said. “Pretty much.”

  “Right. So, the truth is that I’m no soldier.”

  “But you’re the head of the Hahn military.”

  “Please, Rayzo. Am I pronouncing that right? Rayzo?”

  “Yes, Shimlish. I’m getting Shimlish right, I hope?”

  “Yes. It’s a hard name to say, especially if you put Miss in front of it. Miss Shimlish. My father’s idea, of course. Anyway, please, Rayzo. Think about it. I mean, would your mother yield control of her military to you?”

  “No,” Rayzo said, “but she has a general who handles most of the day-to-day business of the war and reports back to her. That’s what we always figured you did.”

  “Really?” Shimlish asked, looking thoughtfully at Lady Jakabitus. “She actually lets Kriz The Weeper make decisions?”

  “Yes, what did you think he did?”

  “The same thing I do. Stand around in a suit of armor, drawing fire and preparing to be a scapegoat if Father makes a mistake.”

  Rayzo was amazed. “So, you’re not the leader of the military, but you are a soldier?”

  “Not really. I mean, I’ve trained, but not to be a good soldier, just to make soldiering look good. I can run an obstacle course with the best of them. My punches and kicks look great, but they don’t have a lot of force, and my rifle technique looks dramatic, but I have a terrible aim.”

  “It’s all for show?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is the damage on your armor fake?”

  “I wish. No, they scavenged all the pieces from the armor of soldiers who died in combat. They said it looks more authentic.”