"All the business of choosing a bride from among three sisters,” Throe said. “This had no meaning?"
Jamais smiled. He could do this, though it would have been hard to imagine the Black Glamor smiling. “It had meaning. I was required to guard you during your mission, and this was the convenient way to keep your company."
"But it is the king who needs protecting,” Throe protested. “I am his bodyguard, in that instance doing his bidding, to facilitate his mission."
"Red guards Havoc. Others guard the others."
"Other Glamors?” Ennui asked, her continuing amazement paralleling Throe's.
"All are protected,” Jamais agreed. “We concluded it was necessary, after perceiving the prior threats, and considering the difficulties of the assignments."
"But the three sisters,” Throe said. “I—I interacted with each, trying to determine which you should marry. But you're a Glamor!"
"Glamors can marry,” Jamais said. “But usually we free our partners after the four children have been raised, so that our longevity does not become apparent."
"How long do you live?” Ennui asked.
"We seem to be immortal. I am approximately two centuries old, and my body remains the age it was at my accession as Glamor. It gets dull alone, so we do seek companionship, albeit masked."
"That is, as mortal folk,” Throe said.
"Affirmation. We normally conceal our nature. But in this circumstance we are revealing it. Sometimes we have revealed it to our partners, if we have reason, though this has complications."
"So you did mean to marry one of the sisters?"
"My intended was Ine. But you did too good a job, and found me a better one. I will marry Ino."
"I did not know! I would not have done that to Ine, if I had realized."
"Ine will survive. She already had what she wanted of me."
"She knew?"
"Affirmation. She was my covert mistress."
"She sold her soul!” Ennui exclaimed.
"Negation. She sold her loyalty. She served me in exchange for instruction in sorcery. She insisted that a sexual relationship be part of it."
"Understanding,” Throe said ruefully. “She has provocative tastes, and must have considered sex with a Glamor to have been the ultimate thrill."
"Agreement. She was learning to handle it directly rather than masked."
"But what will she do now that she won't marry you?"
"Our association remains. She continues to serve me, and will continue as my mistress if she chooses."
"But she's traveling with Havoc!"
"I had other business, so could not accompany you on that aspect of the mission. So she was to go instead, keeping me informed. When you lost your feet, it became convenient for me to protect you directly."
"So I messed you up a second time,” Throe said ruefully.
"Negation. We do not know the future, and must adapt at need. Your presence here enables earlier achievement of this mission."
"Are we allowed to know its nature?” Ennui asked.
"To fetch the loom."
"Confusion."
"Havoc and his minions are collecting threads. Once assembled, they must be woven into a pattern. This pattern will suggest the nature of the continuation. But they are not easy to weave."
"Threads? Havoc turned them over to me for safekeeping, and they are small enchanted objects."
"Ikons are threads in other forms. They require the loom for emergence."
"I have done weaving,” Ennui said. “Perhaps I will be able to make myself useful."
"Affirmation. Now the answer to your prior question: the changeling stronghold is masked from ordinary or magical view. Therefore it must be located by its absence of appearance. Consider the location of a dark cloud at night. How is it done?"
"I don't get to look at clouds at night,” Ennui said.
"I do,” Throe said. “I have spent many nights on guard outside the king's traveling tent, verifying the sky, among other things. You spot a cloud by the way it obscures the stars. They are bright elsewhere, but if there is a patch where they don't show, it is because their light is being blocked by a cloud. You can define that cloud by the pattern of the absence of stars."
"But the changeling stronghold surely isn't a cloud,” she protested. “It must be somewhere on the planet, perhaps buried underground or underwater."
"So if you search for ordinary ground or water, and discover a region where it doesn't seem to be, there must be something blocking it. That could be the stronghold."
"Oh, I see, as it were!” she exclaimed. “Absence of appearance! Swale was looking for what didn't show.” She looked at Jamais. “Where is it?"
"We are not yet sure. The succubus has located several potential sites."
"We can't just look at each, narrowing it down?"
"Negation. The changeling authority would be alerted by the first such effort of discovery, and would oppose further efforts."
"Oppose a Glamor?"
"All Glamors derive from changelings. Therefore the stronghold may be proof against Glamors, and in fact may have the means to destroy us. This encourages caution."
Ennui made a silent whistle. “We are dealing with powerful forces! But this loom—and the threads—can show the way?"
"We believe so."
"Why didn't you fetch the threads long ago, then?"
"Glamors are unable to touch the threads. They are related to our substance, and are apart from us."
"And that's why mortal folk have to fetch them!” she exclaimed.
"Affirmation. We have been hesitant to involve mortals in our business."
"But since Havoc's doing it anyway, you're helping."
"Affirmation."
"I wondered what kept Swale so busy! She was supposed to be liaison to the several parties, but she checked each only once or twice. She wasn't with Spanky much either, or Gale. What's she doing now?"
"Locating the loom."
"You don't know where it is?"
"We know now. But she needs to fathom the barriers to its acquisition."
Ennui pondered that a moment. “Meaning that we aren't going to be able just to go and pick it up? There are dangers along the way?"
"Affirmation. Now it is time to attend the dance."
"I'm not sure how I'll be at dancing,” Throe said, glancing at his small feet.
"You will not be required to do exhibition dancing. Your work will come later.” Jamais looked at Bijou. “You have the essence. Change to more provocative clothing. I will guide you.” Then, to Throe and Ennui. “Garb yourselves for conventional dancing. We will return in a moment.” He walked over to join Bijou, took her arm, and both vanished.
Ennui shook her head. “I know Glamors have strong magic, but it still amazes me to see it here in nonChroma Triumph."
"That's what makes them Glamors,” Throe said. “Their magic is similar to what Chroma folk do, but they do it anywhere. They aren't limited to their own colors."
"So I appreciate. You really traveled with that seeming young man?"
"And spent delicious nights with his girlfriends,” Throe agreed. “No fault."
"So I don't dare find fault,” she said, frowning. But she couldn't hold it. “I do marvel on occasion that you prefer to be with me, considering those alternatives."
"You have what they have, only older. My velocity."
"We need to get dressed. Again. We thought peasant; now it's dance.” She rummaged in his closet and brought out a suitable suit. Then she brought out a dress for herself.
"You have your clothing here?” he asked, surprised.
"A girl has to be prepared for emergencies. I didn't want to have to waste time apart from you, not knowing how much time I would have with you. You're always on the king's business."
"We're not married yet, you know."
"Yet.” She was buttoning up his jacket.
He kissed her. “Curiosity: did I propose?"
&
nbsp; "Not yet."
"Do I need to?"
"Affirmation."
"Consider it done."
"Negation! You will have to do it properly, on one knee, with a fancy ring, after a great night out, and I may or may not accept."
"After the dance?"
She made a moue. “That may have to do."
"It sounds pretty grim. Why don't you just be my mistress instead?"
"I'm too old and dried up for that nonsense."
He grabbed her. “Nonsense, is it? I want you right now."
"After the dance,” she said firmly.
"At least give me one feel now."
"Negation. It never stops at one."
"You are a harsh mistress."
"A harsh fiancée-to-be. There's a difference."
"Agreement,” he said with mock resignation.
"That's better,” she said, pinching his bottom.
"Hey! What was that?"
"Half a feel. That's all I can spare at the moment."
He shook his head. “Here we are, playing touch games like children. What will people think?"
"They'll think we are in love."
"And at our age!"
They clung to each other, laughing, enjoying it. They were middle aged, but their love was yet young.
Jamais and Bijou reappeared. They were now in fancy dancing outfits. Hers seemed to be made of linked handkerchiefs that threatened to expose glisteningly firm private flesh whenever she moved; his was mainly a shining white cloak. “Ready?” she called.
"Ready,” Ennui agreed. Her own outfit was far more conservative, as was Throe's.
"When I signed up to be the king's bodyguard, I never thought it would involve such sacrifice,” Throe said.
Ennui spanked him, making him jump. She glanced at him, picking up a naughty mental association. “Oh you did, did you?” she murmured.
"It was Ine's idea."
"So I see.” Unfortunately, she did.
Two cloaked figures met them at the door: Chief and the Lady Aspect, here to emulate them. Once inside the room, they would make themselves up to make it credible. “Appreciation,” Throe murmured as they passed.
"All in the line of business,” Chief said.
They walked down the hall to the ramp, and down it several stories to the main hall of the city. Other couples were walking similarly. “Why did they schedule such a big dance on such short notice?” Ennui inquired.
"There's a big storm coming,” Bijou said. “King Havoc got notice, and decided to divert the populace.” She meant Swale's brother Berm, who was emulating Havoc during his absence. Outside the palace section, they scrupulously honored the charade.
"Storm?” Throe asked. “I had not heard of this."
"Word came in the night,” Bijou explained. “It's said to be ferocious, crossing whole Chroma zones as if they don't exist, stirring up the magic something awful. It may rock the city. People might panic. So the repair crews are on alert, and the rest are encouraged to dance. There's a half-holiday declared."
Throe nodded. King Deal had done similar on occasion, anticipating civilian unrest and defusing it early. It did make sense. A big fancy dance would distract most folk, especially if there were prizes.
The Black Glamor had set up their attendance last night. How had he known? Then Throe realized that the question was foolish; Glamors could travel instantly from place to place. He had probably seen it coming, literally.
They reached the hall. People were pouring in from all three sides. The hall was shaped like the city, a pyramid within the pyramid, with a triangular floor and rising to a point above. It was a favorite place for regular folk, in part because of its spaciousness. Most residential chambers were cramped.
Musicians set up at one side, playing popular music. Decorations were being completed. Couples were taking places in the center, without dancing. They were garbed in their best. Folk liked to dress up, when they had a pretext; it made life seem less dull. Throe felt nostalgia; it had been more than twenty years since he had participated in a dance, other than in seeing his children to and from them. He had been too much on the king's business. Now, on the king's business, he was about to participate. Indeed, Ennui was leading him to a place, Bijou and Jamais following. Throe wasn't quite sure what the Black Glamor had in mind for them, but was sure Bijou did.
"Attention!” The announcer's amplified voice boomed across the hall. The couples applauded; the dance was about to begin. “I now present King Havoc and his consort Gale.” The announcer turned and bowed. “Sire. Lady."
The applause redoubled. It seemed that the king and consort were popular. Throe had been so busy that he had had little occasion to observe public reactions. Of course whoever established the dance would be favored. Still, it seemed genuine.
The king stepped forward. “A storm is coming. The crews are on alert. But we want you to have the best time you can in the interim.” He paused, making a subdued burp. There was more applause. Havoc had belched during his first public appearance, signifying his crude barbarian status, and it seemed it had become a trademark. The people evidently loved it.
The king reached out, and the consort took his hand. They walked to the center of the hall floor, the perfect couple. He was handsome and she was beautiful. Both were crowned—and the crowns were real. The personal emulations were nearly perfect; Throe himself could have mistaken them for the real ones, if he encountered them only passingly and without mind contact.
The announcer signaled the musicians. The music started. They danced, a slow and easy ballroom dance, graceful and grave. Then he goosed her, and she slapped him without force, and the throng went wild, loving it. The real king and consort were no longer like that, having achieved civilization in remarkably short time, but the popular image lived on.
They paused, separating. The king walked to a pretty female dance aide and took her in his arms; the consort took a handsome male aide. They danced, and again the crowd loved it; the king was mixing with commoners, symbolically. They goosed and slapped, and continued, laughing.
They paused, separated, and each of the four took new partners. They danced and did the rest. The third time they paused, the king and his consort somehow wound up with each other, while the others continued multiplying. The royals moved off the floor, waving. The dance was now in session.
"It is a nice touch,” Ennui murmured. “They personalize it so well."
"Does Havoc know?"
"Havoc thought of it."
The dance swung into full play. The triangular floor was completely filled with couples, and many of them were goosing and slapping and laughing, even the older ones. “Now you can't stop me,” Throe said, goosing her.
"You beast!” She token-slapped him. Then they hugged and kissed without breaking step. What delight!
After a suitable interval, the more unified programs commenced. The center was cleared for point dancing: individual men and women, doing styled or free-form, showing off their expertise. Then pair dancing, with couples demonstrating both simple and fancy moves. Then line dancing, with a fair number linking and stepping in unison, the women kicking high enough to show their petticoats. Next was the circle dance, with half of those present forming a giant circle comprised of two rings, one facing in, the other facing out, with their complicated steps.
Thereafter it broke up into many small triangle dances, each unit with three couples facing each other in the formation, its own separate world. Throe and Ennui were with Jamais and Bijou and another couple that happened to be closest by. They followed the announced directives, swinging their partners, do-si-doing with their corners, and promenading around the triangle. It was plain old fashioned fun.
Then came the pyramid dance. This consisted of a large triangle outside, with trisecting lines leading to the center: the apex of the pyramid, emulating the form of the city. The dancers swirled from point to point, embracing in threes at the points.
Meanwhile, the storm arrived
. The loud music drowned out the muffled thunder, but Throe felt the shaking of the floor. There was real power there; it was indeed a bad one. Because the city floated on a lake, a storm sufficient to roil the lake could make the city rise, fall, shake, and tilt, and it was doing so.
Stay close, the Black Glamor's thought came.
Now came the finale: the dance contest. Jamais and Bijou were entering; Throe and Ennui were watching. “How are your feet?” she inquired as they joined the throng at the edge.
"Standing up well enough, so to speak,” he said. “Your feet are stronger than they look."
"I should hope so.” She was pleased on different levels: that he was doing well, and that she had enabled it.
It was the Vivid and Void dance, symbolizing the stellar interactions of the two stars their planets orbited. The men were resplendent in shining capes; the women were alluring and sinister in their black dresses. They stood apart from each other, posturing, circling each other in mutual orbit. The men tried to remain clear, but the women drew them inevitably in toward their fate. Everyone knew that Vivid was doomed; the question was how long the process would take. It was not of immediate concern, since human lives were not millions of years long; as a practical day to day matter there was little distinction between one million and ten million years.
It was a dance of elimination, and appearance was as important as the motions. The dance aides went from couple to couple, winnowing them out, selecting the most impressive for the final elimination.
And among them was one startlingly different couple, with the woman in bright dress, the man in a black cape. Bijou and Jamais Vu. Vivid and Void, reversed. But they qualified, because she was beautiful and he was darkly impressive. There was after all no rule against such interpretation.
Throe watched, impressed. The Black Glamor was a surprisingly good dancer; he must have had decades or centuries to perfect it, perhaps as diversion. His every motion was precise, not only in time with the music and the beat, but appropriate to the occasion. He fairly radiated attractive menace.
Sure enough, they were one of the three finalists. Each chosen couple centered on a point of the central triangle as the music began again. This time there were spotlights, three on each couple, the reflected light of the candles filtered through colored glass to enhance the effect. One spot followed the woman, another the man, and the third illuminated the larger circle that defined their dancing space. The spectators could cluster around each without intruding on that space. The couple that garnered the largest base of spectators would be the winner.