Night Lamp (11 page)

“Lunch. There is enough for us both.”

“Naturally, I will pay for what I eat,” said Skirlet proudly. “Although, now that I think of it, I’m not carrying any money.”

“No matter. I will feed you free.”

Skirlet had nothing to say and accepted Jaro’s largesse without comment.

Jaro began to reminisce: “When I was little, I liked to think of this place as part of a magic realm, divided into four kingdoms, each with its own magic. This was the Kingdom of Daling, where I was a prince, very handsome and gallant.”

“Much as you are now,” said Skirlet. Jaro tried to decide whether or not she was joking. He continued. “Over yonder is the Land of Coraz, which is ruled by King Tambar the Unpredictable. Tambar owns a wardrobe where shelves support a thousand faces. Each day he goes about Coraz in a different guise, prowling the streets and listening in the market. If he hears disloyal talk, the offender loses his head on the spot. He is an amateur of magic, and knows just enough joss to make everyone’s life miserable. His court seethes with intrigue, and one day the Princess Flanjear comes to Daling. The prince finds her charming, but wonders if she has come to do him harm.”

Skirlet asked: “Is she beautiful?”

“Of course; in fact, you can be Princess Flanjear if you like.”

“Indeed! What are my duties?”

“That hasn’t been decided yet. Whatever your plans, wicked or not, you fall in love with the prince.”

“And this is Prince Jaro?”

“Sometimes it has to be me,” said Jaro modestly. “Often I am the only one available.”

“I suppose you fall in love with Princess Flanjear?”

“Only if I can break the spell which makes all maidens seem to have long red noses. It is one of Tambar’s mischiefs, of course, and goes to explain his general unpopularity.”

Skirlet thoughtfully touched her nose, but said nothing. There was silence for a period. Jaro finally asked cautiously, “Will you be at Lyceum next term?”

“Nothing is settled yet.”

“How so?”

“When my father sells Yellowbird Ranch, he wants to travel off-world for a year. If this came about he would close up Sassoon Ayry and send me back to Marmone.”

“What do you say to that?”

“I say no. I prefer to stay at home. He said that I’d be alone in the house except for the servants. It would not be considered genteel, since, as a Clam Muffin, I must uphold high standards, tasked what he thought of the standards at Marmone; he said that was different, and whatever happened there was my mother’s responsibility; also it was more economical to close up the house.” Skirlet’s voice became flat. “No matter what, I will not go back to Marmone.”

“Doesn’t your father have friends? What of the Clam Muffin Committee? Or the Academic Council? Surely there’s someone who would look after you for a time. I’d do so myself, if I could.”

Skirlet glanced at him sidelong. “Remarkable,” she murmured to herself. Then after a moment: “I thought you were anxious to leave Gallingale yourself at full speed. What then would happen to me?”

Jaro spoke as if to a child: “I can’t go anywhere or do anything until it becomes practical. That means: not soon. But, sooner or later, it must be done.”

Skirlet gave a flippant gesture. “Your mindless fervor confuses me.

Jaro spoke patiently. “Someday, when you are in a serious mood, I’ll tell you about it.”

“I’m serious; tell me now.” Jaro was not ready for another session of psychoanalysis. “It’s too nice a day.”

“Tell me this, at least. How do you know what you must do, or where to go?”

Jaro shrugged. “The knowing is there.”

“What kind of knowing? Dates and places?”

Jaro had already said more than he had intended. Still, he went on. “Sometimes I can almost hear my mother’s voice—but I can never understand the words. Sometimes I seem to see a tall gaunt man wearing a magister’s coat and a black hat. His face is pale and hard, as if it were carved from bone. The thought of him makes me shiver—I suppose with fear.”

Skirlet sat hugging her knees. “And you intend to find this man?”

Jaro gave a short laugh. “If I go looking, I will find him.”

“And then?”

“I haven’t planned that far ahead.”

Skirlet rose to her feet. She spoke not unkindly: “Do you care to hear my opinion?”

“Not particularly.”

Skirlet paid no heed. “It’s clear that you are suffering from a severe obsession, which might be close to dementia.”

“You may discard that analysis,” said Jaro. “The psychiatrists said I was sane. They admired my strength of character.”

“No matter. These so-called mysteries have no urgency to them. If you rush off into space, what can you hope to find? A man wearing a hat? Face facts, Jaro! You are victim of what psychiatrists call a ‘fixed idea.’ ”

“If you please, Skirlet, I am neither unbalanced nor insane.”

“Then you should act correctly. Prepare for a degree at the Institute, as the Faths suggest! Give thought to your comporture and start striving up the ledges!”

Jaro gazed up at her in wonder. Surely she could not be serious! “All very well,” said Jaro, “but I don’t want to do any of these things. I don’t want to be a Zonker or a Sick Chicken or a Palindrome, or even a Clam Muffin.”

Skirlet spoke with disgust. “It is sad! Despite all the Faths have done, you still are at heart an off-worlder! You don’t respect anything or anyone—not the Faths, nor the Clam Muffins, nor any of the faculty, nor even me!”

Jaro scrambled to his feet, grinning. Finally it was all clear! “I know why you are angry with me.”

“Ridiculous! Why should I be angry?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“I’ll listen, certainly.”

“The answer comes in two parts. The first is that I am too complacent and don’t notice any of the really important things, such as how wonderful it is to be a Clam Muffin and at the same time so marvelously pretty and so intelligent! But I do notice! I am startled by the person of Skirlet Hutsenreiter and her accomplishments! Her vanity is justified!”

“What nonsense!” scoffed Skirlet. “I am not at all vain. What is the second part?”

Jaro hesitated. “It’s so secret I can only whisper it into your ear.”

“That is not reasonable! Why must it be?”

“Those are the rules.”

“Oh very well.” Skirlet tilted her head; Jaro bent toward her ear. Skirlet cried out: “Ooh! You bit my ear! That’s not what you were supposed to do.”

“No,” said Jaro. “You are right. I made a mistake and it was wrong of me. Let’s try again.”

Skirlet looked at him skeptically. “I’m not sure that I trust you.”

“Of course you can! Your ear is safe. I won’t blow, pant, or nip.”

Skirlet came to a decision. She shook her head. “It’s quite absurd! You should be brave enough to tell me to my face.”

“Very well, if you think that’s the best way. Close your eyes.”

“Whyever for?”

“So that I won’t be embarrassed.”

“I can’t imagine why you need such preparations.” Skirlet closed her eyes and Jaro kissed her. On the second time she kissed him back. “Now! You’ve got that out of your system! So tell me.”

“I’d rather kiss you.”

“No,” said Skirlet breathlessly. “Once is enough.”

“It was twice.”

“Still it makes me feel funny, and I don’t think I’m up to it. Not yet.”

The call-button at Skirlet’s shoulder sounded a small tinkling chime. A voice uttered peremptory instructions. Skirlet responded, hesitated, looked toward Jaro, but quickly turned away. She studied the slope, picked out an expeditious route, gave Jaro a wave of farewell, then was gone.

Jaro watched until she had disappeared over the ridge, then gathered his belongings and returned to Merriehew House.

Skirlet was absent from school the first three days of the week. When she returned, she seemed moody and conducted herself with none of the old gallant derring-do which had provided the thrust for so many unpredictable exploits. She ignored Jaro, and looked away when he approached. Jaro was not pleased with her manner and conducted himself with lofty indifference, while watching her from the corner of his eye. She seemed not to notice and went her way at her usual half trot, her nondescript catch-as-catch-can garments magically transformed into raiment of dramatic flair, because it was she, Skirlet Hutsenreiter, with her taut little body which animated them.

Jaro was troubled on other accounts. His old easy relationship with the Faths had clouded over with a trace of reserve, induced principally by their refusal to inform him of his past. They were not about to encourage any reckless forays into space; when he had taken his degree they would tell him everything they knew. Jaro tried his best to put aside hurt feelings, but a residue remained.

Hilyer and Althea were aware of the changes. Rather hollowly they told themselves that Jaro was growing up and no longer could be considered a little boy. “He is defining autonomy for himself,” was Hilyer’s rather ponderous comment. “Such are the facts of life.”

Althea was less objective. “I don’t like such facts! They come too fast, just when I’m getting used to the old ones!”

“Ah well,” said Hilyer. “There’s nothing we can do about it, except encourage him in the right direction.”

“But he is so single-minded! He told me he wants to work at the space terminal this summer!”

Hilyer shrugged. “He’s still very young. Give him time to grow up and learn the ways of the world; he’ll see reason after a bit.”

The thought that he might be hurting the Faths caused Jaro frequent twinges of conscience. Hilyer, despite his occasional crustiness, was gentle, patient and generous; Althea overflowed with love. Still, Jaro’s intentions were fixed and the estrangement would persist until Jaro had accomplished what needed to be done. Jaro wondered how many years would pass, what adventures would befall him, how many dangers he must overcome, before he achieved his goal. The idea was daunting. Somewhere along the way, he was likely to meet the man in the black hat, with the glitter of four-pointed stars in his eyes. What of Skirlet? The darling, reckless, proud, fascinating, tart and pungent, sweet and sulky Skirlet! Marvel of marvels! He had kissed her and she had kissed him! Would they ever come together again? And then there was Tawn Maihac, who might return as abruptly as he had gone. Jaro hoped so. He needed a friend.

Two days before the end of the school term Skirlet once more absented herself from school, nor did she appear at the matriculation ceremonies. She had been designated the class spokesman, both by reason of her status and her near-perfect scholarship ratings. Her absence caused distress and confusion, and the authorities decided that a substitute must be selected. Jaro Fath was considered one of the possibilities, since his ratings were also of a high order and his so-called ‘citizenship record’ was unblemished. However, he was a nimp and could not be considered a suitable exemplar for a class of strivers, and in the end a youth named Dylan Underwood, who had already been accepted into the Bad Gang, was selected. Jaro could not have cared less. During the evening he was approached by Dame Wirtz, who first shook his hand, then hugged him. “I’ll miss you, Jaro, very much! You’re a pleasure to have in the class—even though you are a wrongheaded young renegade, and I can only hope that you don’t come to a bad end.”

“I hope so, too. By the way, what happened to Skirlet? Why isn’t she here?”

Dame Wirtz gave a rueful laugh. “Her father is Dean Hutsenreiter; he’s a Clam Muffin, but still he is as wild as the wind. He never approved of Skirlet’s association with Langolen School, since it brought her into contact with the most vulgar and importunate striving. He definitely did not want her representing the class; such an office diminished her dignity, and there you have it.”

“Hmf. What of next term? Is she going on to Lyceum?”

Dame Wirtz gave her head a dubious shake. “Who knows what will happen to her? There was talk of a private school, Aeolian Academy at Glist, on Axelbarren: a very fine school, but very expensive.”

Jaro stoically attended graduation ceremonies, and stood by in embarrassment as both Dame Wirtz and Althea wept tears of sentiment. Never again, Jaro told himself, if I can possibly avoid it.

The summer recess began. Before a week had passed, Jaro received a rather mysterious call from Skirlet. He spoke cautiously, wondering what would be required of him. “Jaro here.”

Skirlet’s voice came back crisp and edgy, as if she were nervous. “What are you doing?”

“At the moment nothing much. What about you?”

“The same.”

“Where were you during graduation?”

Skirlet’s tone became even more crisp. “I stayed home, naturally. For once I agreed with my father. He told me that as a Clam Muffin, my excellence was taken for granted; that if I accepted honors at commencement, I would seem ostentatious and not at all dignified. He was, of course, right.”

“Wrong. Dignity is when you do not care, or even notice, one way or the other.”

“No matter!” snapped Skirlet. “It is quite irrelevant. I want you to come here at once, while my father is gone.”

“Where is here?”

“At Sassoon Ayry, of course! Come to the garden entrance, beside the south lawn. Be discreet.”

Jaro obeyed instructions, and with some trepidation made his way through the gardens which surrounded Sassoon Ayry to the door Skirlet had designated. She was waiting, and took him to a room which she identified as her father’s private study. Cases lined the walls, displaying curios, objects of virtu, including a fine collection of ritual dolls. A desk beside the window supported a Utter of pamphlets, documents, brochures, proposals, smartly bound in blue paper.

“This is where my father achieves his financial successes,” said Skirlet sardonically. “His ledger is yonder.” She picked it up and showed Jaro the last page. He saw a massive block of numbers printed in red. Skirlet tossed the ledger back on the desk. “Very sad. It is the reason for this meeting of the Mediators.”

“ ‘Mediators’? Mediating what?”

“Injustice, avarice, inequity. For the moment, these details need not concern you.”

Jaro moved toward the door. “In that case I’ll leave, and you can sort out the details by yourself. If the truth be known, I’m not all that comfortable here.”