Hope and Red

by Jon Skovron

  “Naturally.”

  “I suppose I wasn’t expecting to see something so…”

  “Honest?” Red gave her a smirk.

  She ignored him. She suspected he was making these little jabs at his cousin to relieve his own discomfort at being in this place. But if he wasn’t careful, he might alienate Alash too much.

  “Oh yes.” Alash chuckled good-naturedly. “My family tolerates my passion, but only just. It is, as Rixidenteron suggests, a bit too much like honest labor for their tastes. I must confine it to this room, and I am never to bring guests…” He trailed off, looking suddenly first at Hope, then Red. “Oh drown it all! What a terrible host I am! I rarely have guests. Well, never, actually. So I haven’t had any practice at this. But of course you’d much prefer to see the nice parts of the house!”

  “Actually, I think it’s likely that this will be my favorite room,” said Hope. “Southerners appreciate rooms—or anything, really—that have a purpose.”

  “You are too kind.” Alash turned away, his face reddening.

  “Right, well, shall we get on with it?” said Red brusquely.

  “Even so!” said Alash, and went back to rooting through his piles of junk.

  “Do you have any other guests here right now?” asked Hope in what she hoped was a casual tone.

  “Oh yes.” Alash nodded absently. “People come in and out all the time. My grandfather knows a lot of people. It’s nothing to do with me, though, so I pay it little mind. Ah!” He held up a pair of odd-looking flat-nosed pliers and a few thin strips of leather. “This should do nicely.” He walked over to Hope. “Would you kindly lift your arms?”

  She watched as he wove the thin leather straps into a long, narrow web, attaching it to a longer strip of leather that encircled her waist.

  “There we are.” Alash stepped back and examined his handiwork. “Let me know how it feels.”

  Hope slid the sheath through the leather weave and let it hang at her side. “It distributes the weight nicely. It keeps it at my side and out of the way without confining my movements.”

  “If I had better materials, I could make it more ornate.”

  “No, I prefer this.” She gave him a full smile. “You are just as clever as you said.”

  “Do you think so?” asked Alash, his face lighting up. “Take a look at this, then! I’ve been longing to show it to someone who might appreciate it.” He picked up a leather sleeve with a metal tube attached to the bottom of it. “This is something I recently completed. You strap it on like so.” He slid it over his hand so that it covered his arm up to the elbow. The metal tube ran along the bottom of his forearm. Hope examined it closely and saw that there were small springs attached to the sides and little wires and pulleys.

  Alash held out his arm. “Now watch. When I twist my wrist just so…” He rotated his hand at an angle. A small pole popped out of the tube, extending a foot past his fingertips.

  “Very interesting,” said Hope.

  “But wait!” said Alash, looking absolutely giddy now. He pulled a tiny lever on the side of the sleeve, and the pole retracted back into the tube. “It resets itself so that it can pop in and out as often as you like.”

  “Remarkable,” said Hope.

  “Yes, indeed!” said Red, his enthusiasm sounding a bit sarcastic to Hope. “But what is it actually for?”

  “For?” asked Alash, blinking.

  “Yes, as Miss Hope said, Southerners do like things to have a purpose,” he said lightly.

  “Well…I hadn’t really…The pole comes out with quite a bit of force. So I suppose you could use it to…poke holes in things? While building…things? Perhaps?” He smiled weakly.

  “Regardless, I’m sure someone will find a use for it.” Hope gave Red an angry look. She was doing everything to make Alash feel inclined to help them, and Red seemed to be doing the opposite.

  He winced, his eyes fixed guiltily on the floor. “Right you are, Miss Hope. Such a clever design like that, I’m sure better minds than mine will have thought of ten different uses for it.”

  “Do you think so?” asked Alash earnestly. “I tinker around all day, never sure if anything I do will ever truly amount to anything. Mr. Kan says I should stop wasting my time and learn a practical skill.”

  “Mr. Kan?” asked Hope, unable to prevent an edge coming to her voice.

  “Do you know him?” asked Alash.

  “Yes.” Her voice was as dark and thick as tar.

  “Is he a…friend of yours?” asked Alash.

  “No.” After Hope said it, she realized that if Alash liked Kan, everything she’d been trying to do up until now would have been for nothing. But there were some lies she simply could not bring herself to tell.

  Alash smiled with obvious relief. “Well found! Feels like spiders are crawling up my back every time I see him. He’s forever trying to convince me to join the imperial administration in Stonepeak.”

  “But you refused?” asked Hope.

  “My father joined when I was ten years old. At Mr. Kan’s suggestion.” He paused and began fiddling with the contraption still attached to his arm. “We buried him a year later.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” said Hope.

  A bitter smile played across Alash’s lips. All of his lacy frivolity had evaporated. “They say it is a great honor to die in the emperor’s service. But I saw nothing except the tears my mother and I shed for his loss. And when a man dies before he has served out his sworn tenure to the emperor, he has a debt, which must be paid in the money and property he leaves behind. We lost my father’s fortune and estate. If Grandfather had not taken us in, I don’t know what would have happened to us.”

  It had never occurred to Hope that the rich could suffer from the cruelty of the emperor just like everyone else.

  “I don’t know why I told you all that,” Alash said quietly. “I just…have so few friends. And you seem kind.”

  Hope’s heart went out to him. A beggar in a house of plenty, living in fear of the day his angry old grandfather tired of keeping him around. It seemed a lonely life, stuck in here with nothing but machines to keep him company. It made her feel even worse that they were lying to him. She found a strong urge to tell him everything. Perhaps she wasn’t cut out for deception like this after all.

  But then it was Red who put his hand on Alash’s shoulder and said in his own voice, “I misjudged you, my wag. That’s a terrible sad story.”

  Alash looked at him in surprise. He opened his mouth to say something, but then an older female voice came from a nearby room. “Alash Havolon, what is that pile of rubbish doing out on the lawn?”

  Alash winced. “Coming, Mother!” He looked at them. “Who are you people, really?”

  “Why don’t we go see your mother?” said Red. “I’ll bet she can tell you.”

  26

  When Red saw his aunt, it took his breath away. She looked so much like his mother. Older, of course. Neat and fine in her elegant lacy gown compared to his mother’s flowing dresses and paint-stained smocks. And instead of his mother’s mischievous grin, his aunt had a hard set to her face. But in a thousand little ways and mannerisms, she was exactly the same.

  Alash had led them into a formal sitting room with plush sofas and tables made of gold and frosted glass. His aunt Minara sat in a chair, gazing disapprovingly out a window while she sipped her tea. He remembered when he was very young, she would sneak down to visit his mother, even though her father had forbidden it. She was the one who had brought the expensive medicine that had helped save his life.

  “Uh, Mother.” Alash glanced nervously at Red and Hope. “I have some guests I’d like you to meet.”

  “Guests? You?” she asked, still staring out the window. “I really wish you wouldn’t leave your contraptions strewn across the lawn like that.”

  “Their names are Hope and Rixidenteron.”

  “Did you say—” She turned to face them. The teacup slipped from her hands and land
ed on the rug with a muted clatter. “Those eyes…” She slowly stood up, her gaze never leaving him.

  “Mother?” asked Alash. “Are you okay?”

  “It can’t be…after so long.”

  “Hello, Aunt Minara,” Red said quietly.

  “Aunt?” asked Alash.

  Red hadn’t been sure how she would react. After all, he hadn’t seen her since he was six years old. He’d considered outright rejection, of course. Ignorance, feigned or real. He’d even fantasized a restrained pleasure at seeing him. But the one scenario he honestly had never considered was a hysterical, sobbing, smothering embrace.

  “You poor, cursed boy, where have you been, how have you survived, how did you find us, why have you come?” It came out in one long burst that he couldn’t answer even if he wanted to because his face was mashed into her silk-covered shoulder. Finally she released him. “You’ve gotten so big.”

  “It’s been a long time,” he said.

  She put her ring-covered fingers on his cheek. “You’ve become quite handsome. Just like your father.” She looked appraisingly at his clothes. “It appears you’ve done well for yourself.” She frowned. “Although you need to get a new tailor. The fit on this jacket is atrocious.”

  “They’re, uh, not actually mine,” he admitted. “I borrowed them.”

  “Borrowed clothes?” she asked, like it was the most bizarre thing she’d ever heard of.

  “From some gaf named Thoriston.”

  “Thoriston? Oh, dear God.” She rolled her eyes. “Is he still obsessed with your mother?”

  “He’s hosting a show of her artwork at Bayview Gallery, so I suppose he is,” said Red.

  “Why on earth did you borrow clothes from him, though?” she asked.

  “Because my regular clothes wouldn’t be fine enough for a place like this.”

  She gave him a pained look. “Did you become a whore like your father?”

  “Uh, no.” Red was having a hard time keeping his composure. It was like she instinctually knew which questions were the most uncomfortable for him.

  “Well, thank God for that.” But then she gave him another worried look. “Oh, dear, you didn’t become a painter, did you?” Red couldn’t tell if that was better or worse than whoring in his aunt’s eyes.

  “Red— Rixidenteron is a well-respected and highly valued member of his community,” said Hope.

  Aunt Minara’s gray eyes focused on her. “And who is this solemn creature? Your beloved?”

  “A, uh, good friend,” said Red. It was just one sharp point after another with his aunt, though he was nearly certain she wasn’t doing it on purpose.

  Aunt Minara moved over to her. “Yes, I can see why. But there’s a great deal of potential in you, my dear. Really, brighter colors, a touch of makeup, and a more fetching hairstyle would work wonders to catch a man.”

  “I won’t need those things to catch the man I’m after,” Hope said grimly.

  “Eh, Mother dear, Hope is from the Southern Isles. I don’t think it’s customary for them to wear makeup.”

  “The Southern Isles!” Alash’s reaction to the same information had been fascination. But Minara backed quickly away instead. Red was beginning to see why Alash spent most of his time hiding in a workshop with machines.

  “She won’t infect you with barbarianism,” Red said acidly.

  “She’s quite intelligent and sweet, I can assure you, Mother,” added Alash.

  Red wasn’t sure about the sweet part, but thought it best not to argue.

  Aunt Minara didn’t look completely convinced, but she cautiously approached Hope again. “Yes, of course. The colorless hair. The pale skin. I should have known.” She looked Hope over more carefully. “Are all Southern women as thin as you? You look as underfed as Rixidenteron’s mother.” She sighed. “I suppose that’s why they call them starving artists, isn’t it? You’re not an artist, are you?”

  “No,” Hope said quietly, her hand opening and closing next to her sword as if she longed to draw it.

  “Yes, I expect they don’t really have culture down in the Southern Isles,” said Minara.

  “Mother dear,” Alash said quickly. “Perhaps we should invite my long-lost cousin and his friend to dinner?”

  She chewed worriedly on her lip. “Did your grandfather say when he would be done with his meeting?”

  “He said he didn’t expect to be done until quite late.”

  “I suppose it would be fine if they stayed for dinner, then. But they’ll need to leave after that.” She turned to Red. “I’m sorry, my darling boy. It would make your grandfather terribly cross to find you here. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must go tell the cook to set a few more places.” She swept elegantly out of the room.

  “Sorry about that,” said Alash as he settled into one of the chairs. “She’s terrified of Grandfather. Convinced he’ll throw us out at the slightest provocation.”

  “Would he?” asked Hope.

  “I don’t know,” admitted Alash. “Honestly, I didn’t even know I had a cousin until this moment.”

  “But you’re older than Red,” said Hope. “Wouldn’t you have heard of his birth at least?”

  “I confess that all I’ve ever heard about Aunt Gulia is that she was wild and reckless,” said Alash. “That she caused a lot of embarrassment for the family. Grandfather was greatly relieved when she ran away to Silverback to become an artist. And we never spoke of her again after that.”

  Red moved to the window, not wanting to look at anyone else. He gazed out at the meadows, watching the fireflies light up as the sky darkened. “After my mom died, a man came to visit. He was dressed in a nice suit. Like this one.” He plucked at his own clothes. Suddenly he didn’t like them as much. “The man offered my father money in exchange for signing a paper that said I was not related to the Pastinas family. That I was not the son of Lady Gulia Pastinas.”

  “Damned if you say,” said Alash. “That’s horrible.”

  “It was the only time I ever saw my father angry,” said Red. “He didn’t say a word. But his face twisted up and he punched the man in the face. The man left, clutching his unsigned papers in one hand, and his bleeding nose in the other.”

  “And your grandfather sent that man?” asked Hope. “Why would he do that?”

  “When my mom died, old man Pastinas wanted to sweep all her mistakes away so none would come back to haunt him. And top of the list in mistakes was me.”

  “You Northerners talk about being more civilized,” said Hope. “But in my home village, a grandparent would never disown a grandchild.”

  “It must be a kind place, your village,” said Alash.

  “It was,” said Hope.

  “Do you still have family there?”

  “No. They’re all dead.” Her voice was little more than a whisper.

  Red didn’t know how she was able to restrain herself from grabbing Alash and demanding to know where Teltho Kan was. He had to be somewhere in this mansion. Probably with his grandfather. Red couldn’t help but admire her control. He reached out and took her hand. She tensed up for a moment, but then nodded and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. It would be over soon. Then they could get out of this beautiful, airless house.

  * * *

  They sat down to dinner at a long table covered in a pure white cloth. Servants appeared as if out of nowhere and brought a steaming roast, platters of fresh fruits and vegetables, bread and cheese. The smell of the savory soup alone almost made Red swoon. It had been a day since he and Hope had eaten, and a lifetime since he’d had such fine cuisine. He and Hope attacked their plates with ferocity.

  After a few minutes of shoveling in food, he noticed the silence from the other side of the table. He glanced up. Aunt Minara and Alash were staring at them in something very near disgust. Red nudged Hope with his elbow. She stopped and looked over at him.

  “I think we’re, uh, not using proper table manners,” he said under his breath.

  “O
h,” said Hope. “I read a book on upper-class etiquette, but it was a long time ago. I don’t remember much. What should I be doing?”

  “You think I know?” asked Red. “Maybe if we just slow down.”

  Hope nodded and sat up a little straighter in her seat.

  “So, Rixidenteron.” Aunt Minara still looked a little put off, but was clearly trying to get past it. “What are you doing here?”

  “What, I can’t visit my lacy uptown family now and then?” he asked. He kept his tone light, but there was a real challenge in it.

  “Of course, my dear,” she said quickly. “But after all this time, I just wondered if you were in trouble. Or perhaps needed money?”

  “I don’t want your money,” he said coldly.

  “Miss Hope,” Alash said quickly. “What brought you up from the Southern Isles?”

  “I grew up in a very remote place. I’d read a great deal about the world, but that’s not the same thing as experiencing it. So I joined a ship’s crew and explored it for myself.”

  “Marvelous,” said Alash wistfully. “I would love to sail the seas. See the world.”

  “Why don’t you, then?” asked Red.

  “It’s not really possible,” he said.

  “Why not?” pressed Red.

  “Well…,” said Alash, looking doubtful.

  “What would be the point?” cut in Aunt Minara. “Everything he needs is right here. His place is at Pastinas Manor. Someday he will be the sole inheritor of the estate.”

  “I do have a responsibility to this place,” Alash said. “And of course to my poor widowed mother.”

  “I don’t know, she seems to be getting on alright,” said Red.

  “It’s bad enough he spends all his time with those damned machines instead of participating in the social events of his peers,” said Aunt Minara. “Please don’t go filling his head with adventures at sea.”

  “Furthest thing from my mind, Auntie.” Red gave her a winning smile.

  Aunt Minara’s stern countenance grudgingly melted into a smile of her own. “You are so much like your mother. Charmingly incorrigible.” She dabbed at her eyes with a fine silk handkerchief. “I’m…glad you came to visit.”