Read Times Without Number Online
Authors: John Brunner
Times Without Number (9 page)
It crossed his mind that if he had played his cards right he might have
used this new honour as a means of escaping duty on the rower's bench. But
it was not in his nature to think of things like that at times when they
might be helpful.
Don Arturo had a reputation for resenting any younger member of the
Society who achieved too notable a success. The allegations were being
borne out by the way he had treated Don Miguel lately. Simply for his
own comfort Don Miguel reasoned, he would be well advised to play up a
bit to Don Arturo.
But he wasn't going to start doing so this evening. Not after Don Arturo's
performance aboard the barge.
"Are you going to sit here all night, Miguel?" Don Felipe said, clapping
his friend on the shoulder. "Have you suddenly conceived a liking for that
badly padded seat?"
Don Miguel sighed and roused himself, giving a rueful glance at his hands.
"Why did I not think to bring leather-palmed gloves instead of my best
white silk pair which the oar would have rubbed to shreds? Ah well,
it's over, and I'm thankful. How long do you imagine it will be before
we can find a drink?"
Companionably arm-in-arm with Felipe he made his way towards the gangplank.
The Prince was ashore by now. The wharf had been carpeted with purple,
and a pathway of the same material led up over the rolling green lawn
towards the main portico of the palace. Either side of the carpet,
huge immobile Guinea-men stood with flaring torches to light the way;
candles in coloured glass balls had been hung like fairy fruit on the
branches of the trees and glowed red, yellow, blue, white among artificial
leaves. Every window of the palace was ablaze with light except for
the upper two floors where the servants and slaves were quartered under
the eaves, and the higher windows of the great central tower where the
Commander's own time apparatus was housed. Don Miguel had a sinking
feeling that before the night was out at least one person would have
been persuaded to take a royal or noble visitor up that tower and show
off the gadgetry, involving the miserable technicians in a day's frantic
work tomorrow re-adiusting the delicate settings.
The strains of a band playing the currently fashionable dance-music
drifted down from the palace. There was at present a fad for the chanted
melodic lines and intense drumming of the Mohawks, and as Prince of
New Castile, of course, the Commander could have the finest American
musicians at call.
Distantly visible through the huge windows flanking the entrance door of
the main hall Don Miguel made out the General Officers of the Society
waiting to greet the King who by now was almost at the threshold. Red
Bear, inevitably, was the most readily identifiable, with his heavy
black braids of hair -- and, also inevitably, one of the officers was
absent. Father Ramón would not be here until later.
Surrounded by a gaggle of courtiers, the two royal brothers and the
Princess Imperial followed the King towards the house. Their faces
eloquent of their suspicion that these high-ranking amateurs might
have done the valuable barges some harm, the Society's watermen were
taking over the pot-bellied craft again to paddle them back to the
boat-houses. Most of the temporary crew had already set off in the wake
of the Princes.
"Move, you two!" Sharper than ever, Don Arturo came bustling across the
wharf waving his wand. "Don't you see the mooring must be cleared? There
on the river is the barge of the Ambassador of the Confederacy --
we dare not keep him waiting!"
Don Miguel might have answered back this time, now the Commander
was out of earshot, but Don Felipe sensibly warned him against it by
closing fingers hard on his upper arm. Together they obeyed Don Arturo's
instructions, while the watermen hastily shoved off to make room for
the next arrivais.
"Come on, Miguel!" Don Felipe urged. "We don't want to get fouled up in
the Ambassador's train, do we?"
"No, we don't -- I'm already fouled up enough." Don Miguel tore his dull
gaze away from the looming, lantern-outlined shape moving with plashing
oars down the river towards them, and turned in the direction of the
lawn. "Expecting to enjoy yourself this evening, are you, Felipe?"
"Me? I can enjoy myself anywhere. But you look as though the hand of doom's
been laid on you."
"If so, I know exactly where," sighed Don Miguel ruefully, rubbing the seat
of his breeches.
Don Felipe laughed, linked arms with his friend again, and hurried him
up the slope towards the lights of the palace.
II
The main hall of the palace, the focus of the grand reception, was
gorgeously decorated and remarkably warm -- a major advantage, in the
opinion of most of the younger Licentiates, not because they appreciated
the heat themselves but because the pretty girls who'd been invited
could show off in their lightest and filmiest gowns. Already over-warm
from rowing in his own uncomfortable formal attire, Don Miguel was not
impressed. Moreover, his first glance inside informed him that the throng
assembled was milling like a disturbed ants' nest. The chaotic comings
and goings stemmed from the fact that guests were arriving from both
sides of the house: from the roadway as well as from the wharf facing the
river. Consequently every few moments a spearhead of Guinea-men would
lead a surge of notables one way or the other across the floor so that
they could greet newcomers at the door in accordance with the dictates
of protocol.
Paradoxically, the sight of this swirl and bustle raised Don Miguel's
spirits a trifle. With such a confusion of people it was conceivable
that he might contrive to be overlooked, might slip away to a quiet
anteroom and savour his mood of gloom in private with a jug of wine.
He made a meaningless response to some comment of Don Felipe's concerning
the quality of the women here, his eyes roving around in search of a
way to escape.
And then he heard his name called.
His spirits sank again as he turned and saw Red Bear gesturing at him
imperiously en route from the riverside entrance -- where the Ambassador
of the Confederacy had just come in -- towards the landward door. A summons
like that could hardly be ignored. He moved in Red Bear's wake, and Don
Felipe, who had also been signalled to, accompanied him.
"I think we're going to enjoy this," Don Felipe said softly. "Do you see
who that is who just turned up?"
The major-domo at the land entrance had a fine voice, but the babble of
conversation and the noise of the band made it hard to recognise the names
he called out. Don Felipe presumably was referring to the group of three
-- an elderly man and two young girls -- who were pausing in the centre
of the wide double doorway, but Don Miguel did not recognise any of them.
He was about to say so, when Red Bear, having greeted the trio, turned
and again beckoned to them. They strode forward and bowed.
"Your Grace!" One had the feeling that this formality and routine appealed
to Red Bear, with his Mohawk background. "I have much pleasure in presenting
Don Felipe Basso, Licentiate in Ordinary of the Society of Time, and
Don Miguel Navarro, Licentiate in Ordinary, Companion of the Order of
the Scythe and Hourglass. Don Miguel, Don Felipe: His Grace the Duke
of Scania, Ambassador of the United Kingdoms of Sweden and Norroway --
the Lady Ingeborg, the Lady Kristina."
His daughters, presumably. Bowing again, Don Miguel took a second look
at them. They were very much alike, and also very much like the Duke
-- tall, slender, with the shining fair hair which on their father's
leonine head was turning to snow-white. Their eyes were large and blue,
their complexions were like milk, and their gowns were clearly designed
by a master. Without ornament or embroidery they managed to look dazzling
and put the baroque finery of most of the other women to shame.
"Honoured!" Don Felipe said with enthusiasm, and Don Miguel echoed him
as convincingly as he could.
"Don Miguel, Don Felipe," Red Bear concluded, "I charge you with the duty
-- which I'm sure you'll find a pleasant one -- of escorting these
beautiful young ladies for the evening."
Don Felipe bowed yet again, this time with a tremendous flourish, and
grinned like a satisfied cat. The Lady Ingeborg's eyes danced. She was,
Don Miguel judged, by a year or so the younger of the pair.
By comparison with Don Felipe, he himself felt like a boor as he uttered
some kind of empty acknowledgment. It was not that the Lady Kristina,
opposite whom he happened to find himself, was not extremely lovely. It
was simply that in his present mood the last kind of company he had
been looking forward to was that of an emancipated girl. He had never
been in Sweden or Norroway, which formed a curious private enclave where
the people followed a schismatic religion and determinedly minded their
own business, refusing to ally themselves with either the Empire or the
Confederacy, but he did know that under their system women were even
allowed to vote for the members of the Thing, and all his friends who
had trifled with girls from that part of the world had warned him that
they liked -- indeed, demanded -- to be treated as at home.
And for the time being at least his recent brush with the Marquesa had
soured him completely on the subject of sexual equality.
Possibly the daughters of a Duke would be a little more conventional in
their behaviour . . . ? No, they wouldn't. No other girls of such rank
would conceivably have arrived at a reception like this without at least
a duenna apiece and probably half a dozen ladies in attendance.
Oh well . . .
"I'm sure you'll be properly looked after, my dears," the Duke said
in excellent Spanish, smiling at his daughters. "Go ahead and enjoy
yourselves. I've already seen several people I promised to have a word
with tonight, so there's no need for anyone to look after me." He nodded
at Red Bear.
Don Miguel repressed an urge to sigh.
The first steps were automatic: provision of refreshment, a few comments
about how mild the weather had been, and a reference to the mock battle
of the afternoon. And there Don Miguel's imagination ran dry. For some
reason his mind wandered off down a side-alley dictated by his sore hands
and memory of the hard rower's bench, and when he reverted to the present
he found himself at the tail end of a long and discourteous silence. Don
Felipe and the Lady Ingeborg were chatting with immense animation on the
other side of a large pillar around which all four of them seemed to have
taken station, but he was standing like a booby.
It was a great relief when the Lady Kristina decided to make good his
deficiencies for him with that northern directness he had expected to
find repellent. She raised a finger to touch the star hanging on the
breast of his ruffled shirt.
"Navarro," she said thoughtfully. "Of course. Aren't you the Don Miguel
Navarro who was responsible for sorting out that matter of the Aztec mask
which could have been such a disaster?" She spoke Spanish as well as
her father.
Somewhat uncomfortably, Don Miguel nodded. He said, "As a matter of fact
. . . But how on earth did you know? It's not -- uh -- a matter of public
record, exactly."
Lady Kristina gave a quicksilver laugh. "Oh, your hidalgo modesty, Don
Miguel! Don't you sometimes carry it too far, here in the Empire? Even
if it wasn't spelled out in all the newspapers, something which leads
to the award of what you're wearing is bound to become a subject for
gossip. And you must know that of all places an embassy is where gossip --
particularly scandalous gossip -- comes quickest home to roost."
She gave a mischievous chuckle, and Don Miguel felt a responsive smile
come lopsided to his own face. He said, "In that case, my lady, I'm sure
gossip must have greatly exaggerated the part I played in the affair."
She shrugged the creamy bare shoulders that rose from her plain but
exquisite gown. "No doubt, no doubt! But I'm sure that if I were to ask
you to tell me what actually happened, you'd underplay your own part
grossly and persuade yourself that you were being honest."
Reflexively, stiff defensive words formed on Don Miguel's lips, triggered
by the suspicion that she was going to ask him to give his version,
oiling the request with the sort of gushing flattery he would have
expected from someone like -- oh, Catalina di Jorque, for example. He
was about to say, "I'm afraid I can't talk about it. It's confidential
to the Society of Time."
Barely in time he realised she wasn't going to ask him to do anything
of the kind, but was turning to find a place for the empty glass she
held and saying, "Well, if you're not willing to converse with me,
you might ask me to dance."
Somewhat disconcerted, he led her out on the floor. She was a very
good dancer indeed, with an athletic grace far removed from the usual
maidenly shuffle of the partners he was used to. Though unfamiliar,
he found its vigour refreshing. and he was almost enjoying himself by
the end of their first circuit of the hall.
And he wasn't the only one, he noticed, passing Don Felipe and
Lady Ingeborg. Over her beautiful shoulder he saw his friend give a
conspiratorial wink, which the girl could not have seen because they were
already cheek-to-cheek. It looked as though some of the more slanderous
allegations made about Scandinavian girls might be based on a grain of
truth, even if the girls concerned
were
daughters of a --
His mind made an abrupt jump and he stopped dancing in mid-beat.
"What on earth -- ?" Lady Kristina began. She turned and followed Don
Miguel's gaze. "Oh-oh!" she said under her breath. "Would you like to
dodge out of sight?"
He did in fact want to disappear much too much to wonder why she should
suggest it; automatically giving her his arm to lead her off the floor,
he allowed himself to be guided down one of the nearer side-passages
leading away from the hall. It was not until they were safely around a
corner that he completed his double-take and looked at her, startled.
"Uh -- I'm dreadfully sorry!" he exclaimed.
"Why?"
"Well -- to snatch you away like that. It was unforgivably rude. You
must think I'm an absolute boor."
She gave her quicksilver laugh again, this time throwing back her head and
making the most of it. "My dear Don Miguel, let's work this out! Wasn't that
the Marquesa di Jorque you just saw arriving?"
He nodded.
"And, gossip or not, isn't it true that you were recently involved in
something which made her look like a fool in public?"
He nodded again.
"And weren't you shaken to the core to find her suddenly materialising
at a function you didn't think she'd get invited to in a million years?"
He found his voice again. "Yes, my lady," he admitted ruefully. "I can
only assume that some friend or relative of hers -- ah wangled her an
invitation to make up for the way the Society recently snubbed her."
"So you very naturally want to keep out of her way. Well, I've no
objection. What little I know about you suggests that you might be quite
an interesting person inside your shell, and what I know about Catalina
di Jorque suggests she's worth going out of your way to avoid. Let's
find somewhere to sit down and chat, shall we? I presume these rooms
are open for us. And, by the way, stop calling me 'my lady' -- no one
ever calls me that at home except peasants and tradesmen. My name's
Kristina." She was opening the nearest door and peeping through it.
"Yes, this'll do. And let's have some drinks to keep us going."
Don Miguel, slightly dazed, caught up with her at that point. He glanced
around, spotted a Guinea-girl carrying a tray of wine across the next
junction of the passage, and called to her. Obediently she followed them
into the room and served them with a curtsey.
Kristina took six glasses off the tray and ranged them on a handy table,
somewhat to the Guinea-girl's surprise. When the slave moved to go, she
gazed after her. As the door closed, she said, "Hmmm! Lovely! I wish I
looked like her. Guinea-girls are so sexy, don't you think? Don Miguel,
I like you. You shock beautifully. It lights your face from inside like
the candles in those glass globes they've hung all over the trees."
She sat down on the end of a heavily-padded sofa with gilt-tooled leather
upholstery and helped herself to the nearest glass of wine from the
table. Don Miguel hastily copied her so he could respond to her cry of
"Skol!"
Wiping her lip, she went on, "Tell me something, though. It was obvious
even before the Marquesa di Jorque turned up that you aren't enjoying
yourself. I hope it isn't my fault -- though if it is you only have to say
so, because I won't be offended. I hate this stuffy business of foisting
off people on one another just so as to keep an even count of couples,
and I certainly won't object to being abandoned -- "
"Not at all, not at all!" Don Miguel broke in. "It's nothing to do with
my being asked to escort you."
"In that case, presumably it's the prospect of sweating your way through
the rest of the evening which makes you so gloomy. Tell me, what's most
likely to happen?"
Don Miguel's defences suddenly crumbled. It was impossible not to be
taken with this engagingly frank young woman. He chuckled, and the mirth
lifted clouds from his mind.
"To be completely honest," he said, "what will most probably happen
is this. Red Bear, who has the Mohawk weakness for firewater,
will decide around nine or ten o'clock that he's a better drummer
than the professional musicians. He will embarrass everybody. The
Ambassador of the Confederacy will make slighting remarks about our
celebrations, comparing them unfavourably with the winter carnival on
the Neva. Everyone Will drink furiously because the conversation keeps
falling flat in mid-run. Around midnight Father Ramón will arrive to
celebrate Mass in the Society's chapel, and we'll be rid of the royals
after that. Whereupon we shall be able to get down off our dignity and
maybe have some fun with the younger Licentiates and Probationers --
those who are here. Most of them aren't. They've had enough sense to
stay out in the city and enjoy themselves, except for whichever poor
fellow is on duty at the Headquarters Office."
"It sounds daunting," Kristina murmured thoughtfully. "I'd rather be
with people who are genuinely enjoying themselves . . . You have to be
at this midnight Mass, I suppose?"
Don Miguel nodded vigorously. "Every member of the Society who's sober
-- and that means you'd damned well better at least look sober! --
is obliged to attend. It's one of the great events of our year."
He refrained from adding details of what made it such a special occasion.
There were certain matters which one simply could not mention to outsiders.
Kristina reached a sudden decision. Rising to her feet, she said with
determination, "Miguel, let's go and be with people who are having fun!
There's plenty of time to get into Londres and still be back for your
services at midnight, isn't there? How about seeing if you can find us
a carriage?"
Astonished almost beyond description, Don Miguel felt his jaw drop.
Painfully raising it again, he said, "You know -- that's an absolutely
wonderful idea!"
III
There was no doubt about it, Don Miguel thought contentedly, this was
a far, far better way to spend New Year's Eve than at the Commander's
palace: wandering among the crowds of merrymakers with a beautiful girl
on his arm, doing idiotic things for no particular purpose behind the
customary anonymity of half-masks bought from a pedlar, and laughing more
and more often than he could remember laughing in his life before. He
was naturally a serious person. It occurred to him that perhaps he was
habitually too serious.
They had left their carriage shortly after reaching the north side
of the river. They had sampled hot chestnuts and hot spiced wine from
stalls on wheels, paused to watch a tumbler and juggler for a while,
looked in at a display of animals from Africa on Queen Isabela Avenue,
joined in the rowdy singing of a troupe of street comedians. Now at
last they had come to the hub of the city, to Empire Circle where five
wide boulevards met. Here a bonfire was spitting and snarling as people
threw fireworks into it; a band was playing traditional tunes, and people
danced in the roadway by the light of the flames.
It had turned much colder in the past hour or so, and Kristina, with only
a light carriage-cloak covering her flimsy gown, ran forward to warm her
hands at the fire. She tossed her long hair back and looked round at him,
her eyes sparkling behind her black mask.
"Ah, Miguel! I hadn't thought the people of these damp and misty islands
knew so well how to amuse themselves!"
"Oh, we Spanish brought some sunlight from the south when we conquered
England, and a trace of it still lingers in our bones," Don Miguel
returned with a grin. "It's true you'll find people, here and there, who
inveigh against festivities like these as though there were something
sinful about having a good time, but thank goodness the mass of the
public are too sensible to listen to their arguments. Is what you've
seen much different from what you find in your own country?"
"Oh, only on the surface. Of course it's far colder at home, so we go
skiing, or sleighing, for months on end while the snow lasts. But the
principle's the same." She rubbed her hands together one last time at
the fire and turned away, her cheeks reddened by the warmth. "Why Miguel,
you look sad all of a sudden! What's wrong?"
"I was thinking . . ." He hesitated. Normally he would not have spoken
of what was in his mind to a girl, whether or not she was of noble birth.
However, Kristina was considerably different from any other girl of twenty
that he'd met.
"I was thinking," he continued slowly, "of other festivals I've seen,
at other places and times. The Aztec feast, for instance, in honour of
Xipe the Flayed God, where the officiating priests were dressed in human
skins and there was ritual cannibalism after the victims had their hearts
torn out."
"You've seen that?"
"Yes, I've seen that. And the Ludi in the Circus Maximus at Rome,
where men died for no better reason than to glut the blood-lust of the
crowd. And . . ." He ended the remark with a shrug.
"No wonder you're such a grim person," Kristina said after a pause. "I'm
sorry that I mocked you for it earlier. It must be a terrible burden to
carry in the memory."
"No, not so much as one might think. For one comes back, you see, to
innocent merriment such as this. The prudish and puritanical who so
roundly condemn the gaiety of New Year's Eve ought to be ashamed of
themselves,
I
think. This is certainly one way in which the world has
altered for the better. How would they feel if we still murdered people
publicly, just to provide a spectacle?"
Kristina gave a sober nod of agreement, and there was a pause. Then,
uttering a quick light laugh, she took his arm and began to move away
from the fire.
"Ah, that chance to warm myself was very welcome. Strange, when it's
far less cold here than at home, how I feel the chill go clear to my
marrow. It must be the dampness, I suppose, which I'm simply not used
to. How do you suppose she endures it, for example?" She shook a hand
free of her cloak and raised it to point across the roadway.
For a moment, Don Miguel did not see what she meant, but a couple of
youths nearby also caught the movement and glanced up, and one of them
whistled in amazement. "Look!" he urged his companion. "Look there,
I say. What do you make of that?"
His friend's eyes bulged. "Drunk, or mad, to behave like that!" he
exclaimed. "Probably mad!"
"An interesting kind of madness," the first youth said.
used this new honour as a means of escaping duty on the rower's bench. But
it was not in his nature to think of things like that at times when they
might be helpful.
Don Arturo had a reputation for resenting any younger member of the
Society who achieved too notable a success. The allegations were being
borne out by the way he had treated Don Miguel lately. Simply for his
own comfort Don Miguel reasoned, he would be well advised to play up a
bit to Don Arturo.
But he wasn't going to start doing so this evening. Not after Don Arturo's
performance aboard the barge.
"Are you going to sit here all night, Miguel?" Don Felipe said, clapping
his friend on the shoulder. "Have you suddenly conceived a liking for that
badly padded seat?"
Don Miguel sighed and roused himself, giving a rueful glance at his hands.
"Why did I not think to bring leather-palmed gloves instead of my best
white silk pair which the oar would have rubbed to shreds? Ah well,
it's over, and I'm thankful. How long do you imagine it will be before
we can find a drink?"
Companionably arm-in-arm with Felipe he made his way towards the gangplank.
The Prince was ashore by now. The wharf had been carpeted with purple,
and a pathway of the same material led up over the rolling green lawn
towards the main portico of the palace. Either side of the carpet,
huge immobile Guinea-men stood with flaring torches to light the way;
candles in coloured glass balls had been hung like fairy fruit on the
branches of the trees and glowed red, yellow, blue, white among artificial
leaves. Every window of the palace was ablaze with light except for
the upper two floors where the servants and slaves were quartered under
the eaves, and the higher windows of the great central tower where the
Commander's own time apparatus was housed. Don Miguel had a sinking
feeling that before the night was out at least one person would have
been persuaded to take a royal or noble visitor up that tower and show
off the gadgetry, involving the miserable technicians in a day's frantic
work tomorrow re-adiusting the delicate settings.
The strains of a band playing the currently fashionable dance-music
drifted down from the palace. There was at present a fad for the chanted
melodic lines and intense drumming of the Mohawks, and as Prince of
New Castile, of course, the Commander could have the finest American
musicians at call.
Distantly visible through the huge windows flanking the entrance door of
the main hall Don Miguel made out the General Officers of the Society
waiting to greet the King who by now was almost at the threshold. Red
Bear, inevitably, was the most readily identifiable, with his heavy
black braids of hair -- and, also inevitably, one of the officers was
absent. Father Ramón would not be here until later.
Surrounded by a gaggle of courtiers, the two royal brothers and the
Princess Imperial followed the King towards the house. Their faces
eloquent of their suspicion that these high-ranking amateurs might
have done the valuable barges some harm, the Society's watermen were
taking over the pot-bellied craft again to paddle them back to the
boat-houses. Most of the temporary crew had already set off in the wake
of the Princes.
"Move, you two!" Sharper than ever, Don Arturo came bustling across the
wharf waving his wand. "Don't you see the mooring must be cleared? There
on the river is the barge of the Ambassador of the Confederacy --
we dare not keep him waiting!"
Don Miguel might have answered back this time, now the Commander
was out of earshot, but Don Felipe sensibly warned him against it by
closing fingers hard on his upper arm. Together they obeyed Don Arturo's
instructions, while the watermen hastily shoved off to make room for
the next arrivais.
"Come on, Miguel!" Don Felipe urged. "We don't want to get fouled up in
the Ambassador's train, do we?"
"No, we don't -- I'm already fouled up enough." Don Miguel tore his dull
gaze away from the looming, lantern-outlined shape moving with plashing
oars down the river towards them, and turned in the direction of the
lawn. "Expecting to enjoy yourself this evening, are you, Felipe?"
"Me? I can enjoy myself anywhere. But you look as though the hand of doom's
been laid on you."
"If so, I know exactly where," sighed Don Miguel ruefully, rubbing the seat
of his breeches.
Don Felipe laughed, linked arms with his friend again, and hurried him
up the slope towards the lights of the palace.
II
The main hall of the palace, the focus of the grand reception, was
gorgeously decorated and remarkably warm -- a major advantage, in the
opinion of most of the younger Licentiates, not because they appreciated
the heat themselves but because the pretty girls who'd been invited
could show off in their lightest and filmiest gowns. Already over-warm
from rowing in his own uncomfortable formal attire, Don Miguel was not
impressed. Moreover, his first glance inside informed him that the throng
assembled was milling like a disturbed ants' nest. The chaotic comings
and goings stemmed from the fact that guests were arriving from both
sides of the house: from the roadway as well as from the wharf facing the
river. Consequently every few moments a spearhead of Guinea-men would
lead a surge of notables one way or the other across the floor so that
they could greet newcomers at the door in accordance with the dictates
of protocol.
Paradoxically, the sight of this swirl and bustle raised Don Miguel's
spirits a trifle. With such a confusion of people it was conceivable
that he might contrive to be overlooked, might slip away to a quiet
anteroom and savour his mood of gloom in private with a jug of wine.
He made a meaningless response to some comment of Don Felipe's concerning
the quality of the women here, his eyes roving around in search of a
way to escape.
And then he heard his name called.
His spirits sank again as he turned and saw Red Bear gesturing at him
imperiously en route from the riverside entrance -- where the Ambassador
of the Confederacy had just come in -- towards the landward door. A summons
like that could hardly be ignored. He moved in Red Bear's wake, and Don
Felipe, who had also been signalled to, accompanied him.
"I think we're going to enjoy this," Don Felipe said softly. "Do you see
who that is who just turned up?"
The major-domo at the land entrance had a fine voice, but the babble of
conversation and the noise of the band made it hard to recognise the names
he called out. Don Felipe presumably was referring to the group of three
-- an elderly man and two young girls -- who were pausing in the centre
of the wide double doorway, but Don Miguel did not recognise any of them.
He was about to say so, when Red Bear, having greeted the trio, turned
and again beckoned to them. They strode forward and bowed.
"Your Grace!" One had the feeling that this formality and routine appealed
to Red Bear, with his Mohawk background. "I have much pleasure in presenting
Don Felipe Basso, Licentiate in Ordinary of the Society of Time, and
Don Miguel Navarro, Licentiate in Ordinary, Companion of the Order of
the Scythe and Hourglass. Don Miguel, Don Felipe: His Grace the Duke
of Scania, Ambassador of the United Kingdoms of Sweden and Norroway --
the Lady Ingeborg, the Lady Kristina."
His daughters, presumably. Bowing again, Don Miguel took a second look
at them. They were very much alike, and also very much like the Duke
-- tall, slender, with the shining fair hair which on their father's
leonine head was turning to snow-white. Their eyes were large and blue,
their complexions were like milk, and their gowns were clearly designed
by a master. Without ornament or embroidery they managed to look dazzling
and put the baroque finery of most of the other women to shame.
"Honoured!" Don Felipe said with enthusiasm, and Don Miguel echoed him
as convincingly as he could.
"Don Miguel, Don Felipe," Red Bear concluded, "I charge you with the duty
-- which I'm sure you'll find a pleasant one -- of escorting these
beautiful young ladies for the evening."
Don Felipe bowed yet again, this time with a tremendous flourish, and
grinned like a satisfied cat. The Lady Ingeborg's eyes danced. She was,
Don Miguel judged, by a year or so the younger of the pair.
By comparison with Don Felipe, he himself felt like a boor as he uttered
some kind of empty acknowledgment. It was not that the Lady Kristina,
opposite whom he happened to find himself, was not extremely lovely. It
was simply that in his present mood the last kind of company he had
been looking forward to was that of an emancipated girl. He had never
been in Sweden or Norroway, which formed a curious private enclave where
the people followed a schismatic religion and determinedly minded their
own business, refusing to ally themselves with either the Empire or the
Confederacy, but he did know that under their system women were even
allowed to vote for the members of the Thing, and all his friends who
had trifled with girls from that part of the world had warned him that
they liked -- indeed, demanded -- to be treated as at home.
And for the time being at least his recent brush with the Marquesa had
soured him completely on the subject of sexual equality.
Possibly the daughters of a Duke would be a little more conventional in
their behaviour . . . ? No, they wouldn't. No other girls of such rank
would conceivably have arrived at a reception like this without at least
a duenna apiece and probably half a dozen ladies in attendance.
Oh well . . .
"I'm sure you'll be properly looked after, my dears," the Duke said
in excellent Spanish, smiling at his daughters. "Go ahead and enjoy
yourselves. I've already seen several people I promised to have a word
with tonight, so there's no need for anyone to look after me." He nodded
at Red Bear.
Don Miguel repressed an urge to sigh.
The first steps were automatic: provision of refreshment, a few comments
about how mild the weather had been, and a reference to the mock battle
of the afternoon. And there Don Miguel's imagination ran dry. For some
reason his mind wandered off down a side-alley dictated by his sore hands
and memory of the hard rower's bench, and when he reverted to the present
he found himself at the tail end of a long and discourteous silence. Don
Felipe and the Lady Ingeborg were chatting with immense animation on the
other side of a large pillar around which all four of them seemed to have
taken station, but he was standing like a booby.
It was a great relief when the Lady Kristina decided to make good his
deficiencies for him with that northern directness he had expected to
find repellent. She raised a finger to touch the star hanging on the
breast of his ruffled shirt.
"Navarro," she said thoughtfully. "Of course. Aren't you the Don Miguel
Navarro who was responsible for sorting out that matter of the Aztec mask
which could have been such a disaster?" She spoke Spanish as well as
her father.
Somewhat uncomfortably, Don Miguel nodded. He said, "As a matter of fact
. . . But how on earth did you know? It's not -- uh -- a matter of public
record, exactly."
Lady Kristina gave a quicksilver laugh. "Oh, your hidalgo modesty, Don
Miguel! Don't you sometimes carry it too far, here in the Empire? Even
if it wasn't spelled out in all the newspapers, something which leads
to the award of what you're wearing is bound to become a subject for
gossip. And you must know that of all places an embassy is where gossip --
particularly scandalous gossip -- comes quickest home to roost."
She gave a mischievous chuckle, and Don Miguel felt a responsive smile
come lopsided to his own face. He said, "In that case, my lady, I'm sure
gossip must have greatly exaggerated the part I played in the affair."
She shrugged the creamy bare shoulders that rose from her plain but
exquisite gown. "No doubt, no doubt! But I'm sure that if I were to ask
you to tell me what actually happened, you'd underplay your own part
grossly and persuade yourself that you were being honest."
Reflexively, stiff defensive words formed on Don Miguel's lips, triggered
by the suspicion that she was going to ask him to give his version,
oiling the request with the sort of gushing flattery he would have
expected from someone like -- oh, Catalina di Jorque, for example. He
was about to say, "I'm afraid I can't talk about it. It's confidential
to the Society of Time."
Barely in time he realised she wasn't going to ask him to do anything
of the kind, but was turning to find a place for the empty glass she
held and saying, "Well, if you're not willing to converse with me,
you might ask me to dance."
Somewhat disconcerted, he led her out on the floor. She was a very
good dancer indeed, with an athletic grace far removed from the usual
maidenly shuffle of the partners he was used to. Though unfamiliar,
he found its vigour refreshing. and he was almost enjoying himself by
the end of their first circuit of the hall.
And he wasn't the only one, he noticed, passing Don Felipe and
Lady Ingeborg. Over her beautiful shoulder he saw his friend give a
conspiratorial wink, which the girl could not have seen because they were
already cheek-to-cheek. It looked as though some of the more slanderous
allegations made about Scandinavian girls might be based on a grain of
truth, even if the girls concerned
were
daughters of a --
His mind made an abrupt jump and he stopped dancing in mid-beat.
"What on earth -- ?" Lady Kristina began. She turned and followed Don
Miguel's gaze. "Oh-oh!" she said under her breath. "Would you like to
dodge out of sight?"
He did in fact want to disappear much too much to wonder why she should
suggest it; automatically giving her his arm to lead her off the floor,
he allowed himself to be guided down one of the nearer side-passages
leading away from the hall. It was not until they were safely around a
corner that he completed his double-take and looked at her, startled.
"Uh -- I'm dreadfully sorry!" he exclaimed.
"Why?"
"Well -- to snatch you away like that. It was unforgivably rude. You
must think I'm an absolute boor."
She gave her quicksilver laugh again, this time throwing back her head and
making the most of it. "My dear Don Miguel, let's work this out! Wasn't that
the Marquesa di Jorque you just saw arriving?"
He nodded.
"And, gossip or not, isn't it true that you were recently involved in
something which made her look like a fool in public?"
He nodded again.
"And weren't you shaken to the core to find her suddenly materialising
at a function you didn't think she'd get invited to in a million years?"
He found his voice again. "Yes, my lady," he admitted ruefully. "I can
only assume that some friend or relative of hers -- ah wangled her an
invitation to make up for the way the Society recently snubbed her."
"So you very naturally want to keep out of her way. Well, I've no
objection. What little I know about you suggests that you might be quite
an interesting person inside your shell, and what I know about Catalina
di Jorque suggests she's worth going out of your way to avoid. Let's
find somewhere to sit down and chat, shall we? I presume these rooms
are open for us. And, by the way, stop calling me 'my lady' -- no one
ever calls me that at home except peasants and tradesmen. My name's
Kristina." She was opening the nearest door and peeping through it.
"Yes, this'll do. And let's have some drinks to keep us going."
Don Miguel, slightly dazed, caught up with her at that point. He glanced
around, spotted a Guinea-girl carrying a tray of wine across the next
junction of the passage, and called to her. Obediently she followed them
into the room and served them with a curtsey.
Kristina took six glasses off the tray and ranged them on a handy table,
somewhat to the Guinea-girl's surprise. When the slave moved to go, she
gazed after her. As the door closed, she said, "Hmmm! Lovely! I wish I
looked like her. Guinea-girls are so sexy, don't you think? Don Miguel,
I like you. You shock beautifully. It lights your face from inside like
the candles in those glass globes they've hung all over the trees."
She sat down on the end of a heavily-padded sofa with gilt-tooled leather
upholstery and helped herself to the nearest glass of wine from the
table. Don Miguel hastily copied her so he could respond to her cry of
"Skol!"
Wiping her lip, she went on, "Tell me something, though. It was obvious
even before the Marquesa di Jorque turned up that you aren't enjoying
yourself. I hope it isn't my fault -- though if it is you only have to say
so, because I won't be offended. I hate this stuffy business of foisting
off people on one another just so as to keep an even count of couples,
and I certainly won't object to being abandoned -- "
"Not at all, not at all!" Don Miguel broke in. "It's nothing to do with
my being asked to escort you."
"In that case, presumably it's the prospect of sweating your way through
the rest of the evening which makes you so gloomy. Tell me, what's most
likely to happen?"
Don Miguel's defences suddenly crumbled. It was impossible not to be
taken with this engagingly frank young woman. He chuckled, and the mirth
lifted clouds from his mind.
"To be completely honest," he said, "what will most probably happen
is this. Red Bear, who has the Mohawk weakness for firewater,
will decide around nine or ten o'clock that he's a better drummer
than the professional musicians. He will embarrass everybody. The
Ambassador of the Confederacy will make slighting remarks about our
celebrations, comparing them unfavourably with the winter carnival on
the Neva. Everyone Will drink furiously because the conversation keeps
falling flat in mid-run. Around midnight Father Ramón will arrive to
celebrate Mass in the Society's chapel, and we'll be rid of the royals
after that. Whereupon we shall be able to get down off our dignity and
maybe have some fun with the younger Licentiates and Probationers --
those who are here. Most of them aren't. They've had enough sense to
stay out in the city and enjoy themselves, except for whichever poor
fellow is on duty at the Headquarters Office."
"It sounds daunting," Kristina murmured thoughtfully. "I'd rather be
with people who are genuinely enjoying themselves . . . You have to be
at this midnight Mass, I suppose?"
Don Miguel nodded vigorously. "Every member of the Society who's sober
-- and that means you'd damned well better at least look sober! --
is obliged to attend. It's one of the great events of our year."
He refrained from adding details of what made it such a special occasion.
There were certain matters which one simply could not mention to outsiders.
Kristina reached a sudden decision. Rising to her feet, she said with
determination, "Miguel, let's go and be with people who are having fun!
There's plenty of time to get into Londres and still be back for your
services at midnight, isn't there? How about seeing if you can find us
a carriage?"
Astonished almost beyond description, Don Miguel felt his jaw drop.
Painfully raising it again, he said, "You know -- that's an absolutely
wonderful idea!"
III
There was no doubt about it, Don Miguel thought contentedly, this was
a far, far better way to spend New Year's Eve than at the Commander's
palace: wandering among the crowds of merrymakers with a beautiful girl
on his arm, doing idiotic things for no particular purpose behind the
customary anonymity of half-masks bought from a pedlar, and laughing more
and more often than he could remember laughing in his life before. He
was naturally a serious person. It occurred to him that perhaps he was
habitually too serious.
They had left their carriage shortly after reaching the north side
of the river. They had sampled hot chestnuts and hot spiced wine from
stalls on wheels, paused to watch a tumbler and juggler for a while,
looked in at a display of animals from Africa on Queen Isabela Avenue,
joined in the rowdy singing of a troupe of street comedians. Now at
last they had come to the hub of the city, to Empire Circle where five
wide boulevards met. Here a bonfire was spitting and snarling as people
threw fireworks into it; a band was playing traditional tunes, and people
danced in the roadway by the light of the flames.
It had turned much colder in the past hour or so, and Kristina, with only
a light carriage-cloak covering her flimsy gown, ran forward to warm her
hands at the fire. She tossed her long hair back and looked round at him,
her eyes sparkling behind her black mask.
"Ah, Miguel! I hadn't thought the people of these damp and misty islands
knew so well how to amuse themselves!"
"Oh, we Spanish brought some sunlight from the south when we conquered
England, and a trace of it still lingers in our bones," Don Miguel
returned with a grin. "It's true you'll find people, here and there, who
inveigh against festivities like these as though there were something
sinful about having a good time, but thank goodness the mass of the
public are too sensible to listen to their arguments. Is what you've
seen much different from what you find in your own country?"
"Oh, only on the surface. Of course it's far colder at home, so we go
skiing, or sleighing, for months on end while the snow lasts. But the
principle's the same." She rubbed her hands together one last time at
the fire and turned away, her cheeks reddened by the warmth. "Why Miguel,
you look sad all of a sudden! What's wrong?"
"I was thinking . . ." He hesitated. Normally he would not have spoken
of what was in his mind to a girl, whether or not she was of noble birth.
However, Kristina was considerably different from any other girl of twenty
that he'd met.
"I was thinking," he continued slowly, "of other festivals I've seen,
at other places and times. The Aztec feast, for instance, in honour of
Xipe the Flayed God, where the officiating priests were dressed in human
skins and there was ritual cannibalism after the victims had their hearts
torn out."
"You've seen that?"
"Yes, I've seen that. And the Ludi in the Circus Maximus at Rome,
where men died for no better reason than to glut the blood-lust of the
crowd. And . . ." He ended the remark with a shrug.
"No wonder you're such a grim person," Kristina said after a pause. "I'm
sorry that I mocked you for it earlier. It must be a terrible burden to
carry in the memory."
"No, not so much as one might think. For one comes back, you see, to
innocent merriment such as this. The prudish and puritanical who so
roundly condemn the gaiety of New Year's Eve ought to be ashamed of
themselves,
I
think. This is certainly one way in which the world has
altered for the better. How would they feel if we still murdered people
publicly, just to provide a spectacle?"
Kristina gave a sober nod of agreement, and there was a pause. Then,
uttering a quick light laugh, she took his arm and began to move away
from the fire.
"Ah, that chance to warm myself was very welcome. Strange, when it's
far less cold here than at home, how I feel the chill go clear to my
marrow. It must be the dampness, I suppose, which I'm simply not used
to. How do you suppose she endures it, for example?" She shook a hand
free of her cloak and raised it to point across the roadway.
For a moment, Don Miguel did not see what she meant, but a couple of
youths nearby also caught the movement and glanced up, and one of them
whistled in amazement. "Look!" he urged his companion. "Look there,
I say. What do you make of that?"
His friend's eyes bulged. "Drunk, or mad, to behave like that!" he
exclaimed. "Probably mad!"
"An interesting kind of madness," the first youth said.
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