Rhythm of the Imperium - eARC

by Jody Lynn Nye

  “He’ll do it,” I said. “His rates are ridiculously low for the quality of work he does, but he won’t work on cheap fabrics. You’ll have to use the best.”

  “But of course,” Nole said, with a lift of his broad shoulders. I observed that the well-cut shirt he had on was of ossifer silk in its natural deep bronze color. “Can I buy what I want here?”

  “I’d be astonished if you couldn’t,” I said, glancing about at the busy booths and shops. “This is a major intersection leading not only to the edge of Imperium space, but also toward the Wichu systems.” I went into my device’s history to find Odile’s message, and forwarded a portion of it to him. “Here are the merchants you want to visit. They import top-grade textiles. Now I have two things to look forward to: your ship and your suit.”

  Nole grasped my outstretched hand. “Thanks, cousin. I’ll send a flitter-cab to pick Hugh up at once. Now, remember, you haven’t seen me!”

  “Not a trace,” I promised, assuming an innocent face. Deirdre and Anstruther nodded agreement. “In fact, I’m still wondering where you are.”

  With a sly wink, Nole slipped away into the clamoring crowd.

  CHAPTER 5

  “Lady Nestorina’s images of Nole and Nalney are sorely outdated,” Madame Deirdre said, as we resumed our trek into the depths of the market. “The digitavids she has playing in her sitting room are of a couple of small boys.”

  “Ah, well, her late husband was more of the archivist than she is,” I said, dodging a Wichu seller of dubious comestibles whose wares were displayed on a tray slung around his neck. They smelled good, but I had been fooled by artificial ester sprays before. The Wichu held up a handful of wriggling noodles—at least, I believed that they were noodles—but I waved him away. We plunged into the crowd of shoppers. While humans were in the majority in the market, I edged past Wichu, Uctu and Croctoid visitors in plenty.

  “Their father?” Madame Deirdre asked.

  “Oddly, no,” I said, glancing back at her, amusement sparkling in my eyes. “My great aunt has been married several times. Nine, I think. Her current husband is a man closer to my age than her own, yet finds it very difficult to keep up with her. I thought they would be coming along to the spectacle. I was rather surprised to have them decline. On an alternate extremity, the many weeks of travel from the Core Worlds to the edge of Zang space would try Aunt Nestorina’s patience greatly.”

  “I would have enjoyed seeing her ladyship again,” Deirdre said.

  “And she you,” I assured her, courteously. “No, Lord Malent was a great student of genealogy. He knew his own descent, dating all the way back to Old Earth. He thought he had traced the first of the Kinagos to a humble beginning, as traders in pearls and seafood, he believed; but he died before he could make any conclusive pronouncements. I would have been interested in his findings, but, truthfully, not many of my relatives agreed with me. It is more to their taste to publicize the known family tree only from the point at which it became rich and powerful. Not that the information is unavailable on the Infogrid. All of our past foibles are readily available to the diligent scholar. It’s a pity that he never wrote an autobiography, as so many of my more recent ancestors have done. I am sure it would have made enlightening reading.”

  “And that is why your dance has the ring of truth, Lord Thomas,” Deirdre said, tapping her nose with her forefinger. “You don’t shy away from the facts. Perhaps you will take up the study of your family one day.”

  “I doubt it,” I said, cheerfully. “At the moment, I can’t consider anything more delightful than my present enthusiasm for dance. I plan to perform until I can’t move a muscle without assistance.”

  To underscore my point, I bounded forward, sprang into the air, and twirled one and a half times around. When I alit, arms outspread, I was facing my teacher. I bowed to her deeply with my right foot out before me, indicating that I wanted my fame to be during my lifetime, not afterward. Anstruther was moved to spontaneous applause. To my delight, so was Deirdre.

  “Bravo!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “You have licked the error of tangling your ankles together during your spins. Well done.”

  “Thank you,” I said. I had labored in secret for weeks to correct the spin. It was gratifying to have her acknowledge my accomplishment. Nothing could have pleased me more.

  “In movement!” she said, aiming an admonitory finger in my direction.

  I stood straight, put my heels together, and inclined my head, hunching my shoulders to indicate humility. Deirdre smiled, showing long, narrow, almost rodentlike teeth.

  “Very nice, indeed. Now we will work on your arm gestures. You have begun to acquire grace, but are still failing in meaning.”

  She moved an arm; I copied the motion. She repeated the movement again and again as we walked. I did my best to follow each nuance, squinting to follow her subtleties through the glaring neon forest of advertisements that broadcast in three dimensions from every surface, including the bodies of some vendors. It was only when my viewpad, that had been programmed to indicate when we arrived at one of Odile’s shopping choices, chimed loudly that the lesson halted momentarily.

  Anstruther laid her hand on the butt of her holstered laser pistol. Madame Deirdre glanced at me to determine the meaning of the sound. I sprinted lightly and halted before them both, stopping them in her tracks. Instead of performing an obvious pantomime of donning and doffing garments, I put on a show of looking over, then plucking flowers from an invisible garden. One imaginary bloom met with my greatest approval. I admired it from every angle. I held it to my nose and inhaled, with a look toward heaven as though the sweet essence raised my consciousness to another level.

  “How interesting,” she said, approvingly, then glanced to her right. The masonry building, a large one for the bazaar, had a large oval window behind which was a rotating display of handsome tailored garments. Elaborate animations on the walls surrounding the window proclaimed this to be the establishment of Volstang Bennett Icari XXIII, Clothier to the Rich and Famous. As if to reassure me of its clientele, it displayed becoming portraits of numerous guiding lights in politics, the military and the arts. I observed an image of my mother’s secretary, Admiral Leven Draco, a man of prosperous figure and overwhelming eyebrows, in a suit I had in fact seen him wear. Yes, it was possible Uncle Leven had traveled in this direction and purchased something from Icari. “I didn’t realize how deeply interested you were in clothing.”

  “Oh, yes,” I said, fervently. “I live for fashion. I like to think that I always have the dernier cri at my fingertips. My cousins and I never like to be left behind the curve. We of the Imperium house have a reputation to uphold, on the Emperor’s behalf, of course. My imperial cousin is a serious man, but he likes to look his finest. We can but seek to follow his example. At the very least, we prefer not to shame him.”

  “You could never do that,” Deirdre said. Anstruther coughed, then looked sheepish.

  “You would be surprised,” I said. “In our efforts to indulge our whims, we sail rather close to the galactic wind, though we do seek not to find ourselves foundering in shame.” A very dignified-looking man, of pigeon-like figure, in his fourth decade or so, must have been alerted to our presence by his advertising wall, and appeared in the doorway to beckon us in. “Shall we see what Odile thought was worth investigating?”

  Madame Deirdre preceded me over the threshold.

  “You grace my humble establishment!” the man exclaimed, clapping his large hands together with unfeigned delight. “I recognized you at once, Lord Thomas Kinago! Welcome to Icari! I am Volstang XXV, grandson of our founder.”

  “I am honored to make your acquaintance.” I lowered my eyes in a gesture of modesty. “I presume that your databases learned the names of all of the noblemen and noblewomen traveling through this sector?”

  “Oh, no, my lord,” Icari said, leaning back on his heels with a broad smile. “Not you! You came to my attention some m
onths back, when you demolished that ill-thought-out statue of the late Empress.”

  “Oh,” I said, feeling my cheeks stain crimson. That was one of the moments of shame to which I had lately referred. Sadly, it would not have been a disgrace if I had managed to avoid the statue in question with my racing flitter, only a catastrophe.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, my lord,” Icari said, leaning close and nodding confidingly “Every one of us watching the vids thought that you improved on it, crashing into it like that.”

  “Well, when you put it that way,” I said, brightening somewhat. “To add insult to injury, the amount of money it cost to repair the terrible monument put a crimp in my expenditures for quite a while. It emptied my pockets so thoroughly I was nearly forced to wear the same suit of clothes to two official functions in the same month!”

  “That will never do, my lord!” Mr. Icari said, indignant on my behalf. “I have seen from my perusal of your Infogrid file that you enjoy the unique. Well, we pride ourselves on exclusives in design that you will never have seen anywhere. Please, take a look around. I can assign you a clerk, show you around myself, or leave you to explore on your own. Teesh!” Icari clapped his hands.

  A slim Wichu with close-clipped white fur, a style I had never seen before as the Wichu were jealous of the lushness of their coats, slipped out of a curtained enclosure. He brandished a hand-sized device at us.

  “May I scan your measurements?” he asked.

  “I assume you already have,” I said, with amusement. “You are asking if we would like you to reveal them to us.”

  “Yup,” Teesh said, abandoning pretense. He held out the small screen. “Do you want to look at the readings? Some people don’t want to know. They just want stuff to fit.”

  “Teesh!” Icari chided him. “We do not sell ‘stuff.’”

  Teesh was scarcely abashed.

  “Right, right. Well, what do you lack, gentlepeoples? I guess you must be gentlepeoples, with lots of money, because he,” the Wichu aimed a hairy thumb over his shoulder, “doesn’t usually come out to talk to customers himself.”

  “You may so assume,” I said. There was no use in denying it. I struck a pose, chin up, back straight. “I am Lord Thomas Kinago, cousin to the Emperor Shojan XII. This is Madame Deirdre, a galaxy-famous dancer and choreographer. Neither of us are lacking in funds to indulge. And this lady is Lieutenant Anstruther, whom you will find it difficult to impress.” Anstruther looked a bit discomfited. I suppose I shouldn’t have teased her, but it was irresistible. She wound up more easily than my little sister.

  Teesh beamed, showing sharp yellow-white teeth. “This’ll be fun, then. Come on, let me show you the top-of-the-range stuff . . . er, our finest garments and accessories.”

  Whereas in a Taino boutique, I might be surrounded either by holographic images of myself wearing the clothing on show or animatronic dummies wearing the costumes to show their fit and flair, such was not the manner in the House of Icari. Teesh hauled us before a triptych mirror, an actual silvered-glass contraption, and held up one hanger’s worth at a time under my chin. Pinpoint lights, around the edges of the mirror and shining down from the ceiling shed flattering illumination on my person. It was delightfully old-fashioned, and I enjoyed it.

  “Midnight blue’s not your color, my lord,” he said, whisking away a long, silky body suit and replacing it with a puffy, ochre costume with bell-like sleeves. “You need a bit of life in your hues. The madam here, she could wear that with style. I’ll show you a gown in a minute, my lady, that’ll bring out your shape and hair color really nice. It’s got rollers in the skirts that hike them up and down as you choose. Or you could just thumb through the racks. No extra charge for looking.”

  To my very slight disappointment, the oval racks were motorized. Madame Deirdre felt delicately at the fabric of first one, then another of the choices displayed thereon. I peered at myself in the peeling reflection. Teesh noticed my disappointment and replaced the costume for another one.

  Truth be told, I had enough clothing for both the outward and the return journey. I did not want to think too far ahead in my wardrobe, considering how swiftly trends came and went among the fashionable cognoscenti. I should be horrified to return to Taino with last week’s designs as yet unworn. The one thing I did lack was a costume to perform in front of the Zang. In spite of Parsons’s objections, I needed to plan.

  I began to observe Teesh’s offerings with fresh eyes. Skill there was in abundance; that was not in doubt. The outfits were cleverly made, but any one of them could have been duplicated, and even improved upon by the skills of Hugh, my tailor—then I recalled with a start that I had just lent his services to cousin Nole. Apart from having the computerized tailoring program—not an AI, and therefore devoid of personality—on board the Jaunter put something together for me, this seemed my best alternative. At least I would find originality and soul in these creations.

  “Do you know anything about Zang, Teesh?” I asked.

  “Big gray fellahs,” Teesh replied. “Stone bodies. They don’t wear clothes, or what passes for clothes looks just like the rest of them.”

  “Have they ever shopped here?”

  Teesh rocked back on his pink heels and thought deeply.

  “Well, they’ve passed through now and again. Dunno that they ever stopped to look at anything. They don’t exactly have eyes, more black pits into which everything seems to fall, is the best way I can describe it. I haven’t got a clue what would get their attention, even though we specialize in show-stoppers.”

  “Ah,” said Madame Deirdre, with a light clap of her hands. “We do like a nice show-stopper.”

  I could have applauded, too. That was it! I wanted a show-stopper. The garment had to be made so I could move easily in it, but have that gravitas so it would impinge upon the consciousness of a being that saw eternity and changed it to suit itself. But did Icari have such a thing in stock?

  As the noisy metal racks rotated, I watched the garments sway by. Among them, I made note of a few outfits that might fit my purpose. One of midnight blue with close-fitting trousers and a nearly bare chest looked interesting. I could see possibilities of great symbolism in between the meshing gears decorating a brown leather coat that fell from shoulders to heels in one clattering sweep. No, the notion of wheels within wheels might be lost upon a people who had long ago left behind the need for surface conveyances. No, the one I needed to try on was almost military in flavor, but in the middle of its overshirt in a blue such as existed in between the moment between daylight and twilight it had a starburst made of twinkling lights and surrounded by a narrow band of brilliant red and gold such as might have arisen on that very moment that the universe was created. I started to raise an arm to point at it.

  “I would like . . .” I began.

  Madame Deirdre leaped toward me and pressed my hand downward with astonishing strength. She shook a finger in my face.

  “Ah, ah, ah! No, Lord Thomas! Now we will continue with the lesson I want you to learn today. You must express yourself physically and symbolically alone! Let us see if you can make yourself understood without words. It is the task of the dancer to speak with your body, not your mouth. Language takes too many shortcuts. Show what is vital through movement.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but Deirdre was adamant. I lowered my head to display capitulation. The shop clerk watched me with a quizzical expression on his broad, furry face. This would be difficult. To point directly at the tunic I wished to try on would be cheating. How could I evoke “the red tunic with twenty pockets but not the wooden buckle, in my size, please?”

  “But, madame, such a thing is not nec—” Mr. Icari started toward us. He halted in his tracks as Deirdre held the warning finger toward him. Such was the power of her command of symbolism that he didn’t question it at all.

  “He must learn!” she exclaimed. “He will tell you through pure movement and symbolism which is the garment he wants to tr
y on.”

  “Very well, madame.” Icari eyed me.

  I assumed first position, my feet arranged with heels together and my hands curved gently at my sides as I thought how to express myself. I was looking for something special. Therefore, I must move as though I was questing. It would not be sufficient to pace around the room with my eyes on the floor as though I had dropped my viewpad. Longing and need must come through my posture, though not as desperate as the search for sustenance and shelter. Nor could I merely trudge. Grace must inform my every move. I had to perform as though responding to unheard music.

  Without looking at the spinning racks, I raised my arms. Spreading my palms out before me, I grasped vainly for that which I could not hold. In my mind, I heard the tinkling of a piano, one of the pieces of music that Deirdre liked to use for sustained movement. I went into a dramatic crouch and ran around the room, dodging the numerous racks and models, seeking the object of my quest. I halted before Mr. Icari and brought my arm upward and across in a crashing salute, which extended into a sweep, describing the expanse of the sky. At least, I hoped he understood it was the sky. He followed the movement of my arm with a worried look, but one untampered by comprehension.

  I realized I had to paint with a brush broader even than I had used for my cousins. With a swift glance at my teacher to ensure that she did not disapprove, I created a landscape. I moved from here to there, imitating trees, mountains, a running brook.

  “The world, huh?” Teesh asked, beginning to catch my intimations.

  I beamed at the Wichu. Then I gathered all my creations in my hands and drew them down into a tiny globe I held tenderly. He watched as I gathered more and more “worlds,” making each tiny in turn.

  “Okay, I guess . . . the system? Taruandula?” Now Mr. Icari had become interested. He peered at me closely as I plucked tiny “systems” from all around me. “The sector?”