Convergence (24 page)

Clarion followed the man back out the front door of the building, to find that a coach was indeed waiting. His trunk was also stowed in the boot and secured firmly, so all Clarion had to do was climb into the coach. He did so without showing the aches the action caused him, and looked out the window once he was seated and the door had been closed behind him.

"I've just remembered that I left my hat in your
...
unusual waiting room," he told told the man who had been in the process of gesturing the driver to leave. "I have no intentions of waiting now until it's fetched, so you'll have to send it to me to wherever I'm being taken. Don't make the mistake of forgetting about it, for I certainly won't. Driver, you may now proceed."

His last sight of the man from the building was a casual nod accompanied by far too much amusement, and then the coach had begun to move away from that outrageous place. If Clarion hadn't been so tired, he might have ordered the driver to wait while he made a sharp comment or two about the building man's misplaced sense of humor. As it was he simply leaned back in the seat with a grunt, wishing local public coaches were better upholstered. It wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as the long distance coach had been, but discomfort came in too many degrees for that difference to be at all uplifting.

Clarion watched the streets as the coach moved along at a brisk pace, and wasn't at all surprised that they made no approach to the neighborhoods he was familiar with. He couldn't imagine people of his class being foolish enough to open their homes to a pack of unwashed strangers, which most of the other applicants must surely be. His time among them would be a great trial, but one he would do his utmost to shorten. There
had
to be a way out of that insanity, and he meant to find it.

After a short while the coach turned into the drive of a house, one of those that attempted to copy the regal splendor of the houses belonging to people of true quality. It was rather a smallish place, about the size of his and Mother's summer houses, but at least it wasn't the shanty he'd been half expecting. He wouldn't have put it past those people to house him somewhere impossible, just to add to his misery and humiliation.

"But one day I'll see the score evened," Clarion murmured as they approached the house, giving himself a solemn oath. "At the moment it's their turn to win, but one day the turn will be mine. And when
that
happens ,
. ."

Clarion didn't need to finish the thought for it to bring a smile to his face, not when he would certainly find enough time to decide on what the perfect revenge would be. The coach stopped, ending that train of thought for a while, and a young woman came out of the house, followed by two male servants. The servants went immediately toward the back of the coach, but the young woman stood waiting while Clarion left the vehicle. Once he stood before her, she smiled tremulously.

"Good day to you, sir," she said in a breathless, timid voice. "We've been told to expect you, and when I saw your trunk on the back of the coach, I brought two of the men out to carry it. I give you welcome in the name of my mistress, and will show you at once to your room."

"Room?"
Clarion echoed before the woman could turn away. "Surely you mean apartment. No one could seriously expect me to survive in just one single room."

"I'm sorry, sir, but the only apartment is occupied by my mistress," the girl returned, her trembling voice now no stronger than a whisper. She also wrung her hands, and her very plain face looked close to tears. Clarion had never encountered a servant like her, nor any other woman for that matter. He was accustomed to grandly confident women, and this one made him feel like a gross and hairy bully.

"Perhaps it would be best if I discussed the matter with your mistress later," he said quickly, certain he would be completely out of his depth if the girl began to cry. "For now you may show me to this . . . room, an offer I greatly appreciate the kindness of."

Clarion added a small bow to his ridiculous little speech, and was then astonished to see that it worked! The girl blinked back her tears completely, and curtsied with the return of her timid smile.

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir," she said, acting as though he'd saved her from execution. "Please come this way."

The servants with his trunk had already entered the house, and the coach was already on its way back down the drive.

That surely meant the driver had been seen to in advance, which was just as well. Clarion had meant to send the man back to that building to collect his fare, as this destination had been none of his own choice. He believed in paying for his own desires, not those of others.

The house's entrance area had been decorated with a trowel, spreading expensive items everywhere one looked. The action was typical of those commoners who happened to acquire gold, and seemed to be painful only to those with decent taste. Clarion carefully looked away from the garish display to keep
himself
from growing ill, and followed the girl up the wide staircase and to the left. She proceeded up the hall to the first door on the right, threw it open,
then
stepped aside.

"I hope you find this comfortable, sir," she said with a brief curtsy and a blush, "If you need anything, just ask one of the servants."

With that said she left rather hurriedly, as though it might be improper in some way for her to remain longer. Clarion wondered at that as he stepped aside to allow the servants to carry in his trunk,
then
followed to tip each of them for their efforts. Their thanks were unexpectedly
profuse,
as though they hadn't anticipated being tipped, and that made Clarion glad he'd done it. These servants, at least, seemed to know their place, a delightful change from those who served in Mother's house.

But as he sat down in one of the small room's only two chairs, he still found it difficult to understand the attitude of that girl. She'd acted as though she didn't dare to enter a bedchamber with him, as though he were someone she might have cause to fear. His reaction to that assessment should have been heavy insult, to have his honor questioned by a mere slip of a serving girl . . .

But somehow he felt pleased rather than insulted. No female had ever seemed to fear him as a man before, most especially not the serving girls of his and Mother's household. Some of them had actually flaunted themselves before him when Mother hadn't been able to see them do it, their belief in their safety always perfectly correct. One of the first times it had happened, when he was still rather young, he'd caught the girl and pulled her into his arms. That, of course, had been when Mother had walked in, and the resulting scene was a memory which still caused him to flinch.

"For shame, Clarion, for shame!" she'd cried, nearly swooning where she stood.
"That my own flesh and blood should act so!
Oh, the humiliation of it, and after all I've sacrificed for you! Perhaps the fates will smile on me, and I'll fall dead this very moment!"

Clarion had rushed to her side and helped her to a couch, begging her all the while not to say that she would die. He would never be able to bear losing her, and would do anything if only she would return to her usual self. She'd rallied then and had made him swear that he would never look at or touch one of the serving girls again, and he'd been more than eager to give his word. Anything to keep from losing her . . . !

Well, he hadn't lost her, but he also hadn't been able to approach one of the serving girls ever again. Even if he'd wanted to break his word, Mother had always been right there to help him keep it. She'd also been right there the first and only time one of the girls of his own class had agreed to go driving with him, an excursion that had turned stiff and awkward. Mother had been the only one with anything to say, except for when the girl had asked to be taken home early. After that
all
the girls of his age group had avoided him, at the same time giving him the impression that they were laughing at him . . .

Mother had assured him that that was only his imagination, and then had gone on to explain why the girls avoided his company. She'd said the girls had quickly come to understand how high above them he stood, and didn't dare aspire to such exalted heights. Perhaps one day he would find a woman worthy of him, but until that day arrived he could rest untroubled, secure in the knowledge that he still had his mother.

"But at the moment I
don't
have Mother, and that girl feared being alone with me," Clarion murmured, experiencing the oddest feelings. "I am a man and by myself in Gan Garee, and suddenly the possibilities
are
endless. I think I'll bathe while I ponder my options."

He chuckled as he rose from the chair, and wasn't even more than mildly annoyed when he realized that without a personal manservant, he would have to unpack clean clothes for himself. He opened the trunk and took the first outfit to come to hand, each motion making him more and more aware of how badly he needed that bath. This would be another day he'd never forget, and certainly wasn't any less unpleasant than the rest of those days.

After retracing his steps downstairs, Clarion got directions to the bath house from one of the servants. Stepping outside he saw a modestly pleasant garden ahead, with a side path to the left that led to his destination. His stroll hurried itself a bit as he neared the bath house, the prospect of submerging himself in soothing water even more attractive than the thought of food. He was certainly hungry enough, he decided as he entered the bath house, but that could wait until—

His thoughts broke off sharply and he came to a halt when he realized the bath house was occupied. He was completely unused to that circumstance, of course, since Mother had only bathed in the morning after breakfast, and the servants had all used their own, smaller, bath house. The man in the water started, as though Clarion's entrance had awakened him from sleep, and then he frowned.

"Common courtesy suggests that you knock before comin' into a bath house that's occupied," the stranger growled, his accent marking him as one of those who weren't native to Gan Garee. "Or don't you know what that sign on the door means?"

"There
was
no sign on the door, but common is certainly the proper word," Clarion retorted, more than annoyed that the lout would speak to him so. "Your courtesy is very common, my man, but I haven't the strength to argue with you. Nor do I intend to share that bath. I'm accustomed to bathing alone as a gentleman should, so you will take yourself out of there at once."

"What if I decide I don't
want
to get out of this bath," the stranger returned almost immediately, looking Clarion over in a most insulting way. "You'd then have to decide between throwin' me out and waitin' until I was ready to go. I really wonder which one you'd choose."

Clarion was enraged that this creature would dare to question his manhood, but rage didn't carry him far enough back toward his usual store of strength. He'd simply expended too much of himself today, and there was no getting around it.

"A real gentleman makes his choices without being influenced by the lower classes," Clarion rejoined stiffly, determined to make his position perfectly clear. "If I had the strength I'd make an issue of your crudity, but at the moment I'm too badly in need of that bathwater. Tomorrow, after I've had the opportunity to rest, we can discuss this matter again."

Clarion saw startlement cover the stranger's features before he turned and walked toward the towel cabinet, a reaction which was grimly satisfying. Bullies had thought to take amusement from him before, but the strength of his talent had always let him teach them a sharp lesson. They all knew better than to try themselves against someone they weren't acquainted with, since it was always possible that a stranger might prove to be stronger than them. Clarion had shown that even the familiar face could be dangerous to antagonize, and had earned
himself
peace from harassment without having to appeal to Mother.

"I think I've been blind as well as insensitive," the stranger's voice came suddenly, no longer sounding mocking. "You're an applicant just the way I am, and you're too tired because you just passed your test. What did they do to force
you
to participate?"

"The Blending refused to listen to my mother's very reasonable request," Clarion answered, anger at the memory making him slam shut the cabinet door. He wasn't sure why he'd responded to the fellow, unless it was because the man had actually apologized. And also sounded as unhappy about being there as Clarion felt. . . "Now they dare to threaten me with the unthinkable, but I refuse to be intimidated. I
will
find a way out of this insanity, and return to where I belong."