“Never mind. Violet was grinning fit to burst when she came out. What was that all about?”
He’d doubtless hear about it in due course, and I’d rather he had the correct story from me so I explained what had happened.
“Congratulations,” he said, “I’m sure you’ll be very happy together.”
“Happy?”
He shrugged. “It’s a relative term. If you’ve got that much red,” he added, “you’re going to be prefect.”
“Perhaps, but not here. I’ve got an Oxblood to marry and a stringworks to inherit.”
“That will all change when Violet gets weaving on her father. You’re Chromatically made for each other. Violet is way down the blue end of Purple and your Red plums are just the thing to keep the family at the pointy end of the Chromatic Hierarchy.”
He smiled and put a hand on my shoulder. “Eddie, my friend, you are in a uniquely strong bargaining position. Do you want me to negotiate your dowry? The deMauves are pretty oiled. I’ll only charge ten percent.”
“No.”
“You drive a hard bargain—five percent, then.”
“No.”
“Two?”
“I mean I’m not marrying Violet.”
“You’ll come around to it.”
I accused him of attempting to profit from my enforced marriage, but he didn’t even bat an eyelid.
“Listen,” he said, as though I were the one being unreasonable, “I need that commission if I’m to avoid Reboot on Monday. Could you have that on your conscience?”
“Easily. I thought you said Violet was ‘the most poisonous female in the village.’ ”
“I must have misspoken. And listen: It wasn’t all bad news on the playing field this morning. Lucy let me hold her ear while she waited to have it stitched. Then, rather than telling me to go youknow myself, as she usually does, she thanked me quite sweetly.”
He looked at his bloodstained hand reverentially. “It was this hand. I’m never going to wash it.”
“I didn’t think you ever did.”
“Perhaps not, but now at least I have a reason. I’ll see you at lunch.”
I went and had a bath. Although Violet’s unwelcome attentions, the loss of nearly eight years’ worth of merits and the lack of a ticket home were matters of some concern, there was still plenty of room in the Eddie Russett worry pot: There was someone in the village who could see at night, Jane was up to something regarding Ochre and Zane, my father was seeing Mrs. Ochre and, incredibly, the Gamboges had killed Travis. All, however, were eclipsed by the fact that I would be traveling to High Saffron. The survival rate was so poor, in fact, that even Tommo wasn’t willing to lay any odds. But I wasn’t that worried. If Violet had her way—and I think Violet generally got her way—she could have the trip postponed forever.
I climbed out of the bath, dried, dressed, carefully parted my hair, tied my tie in the prescribed half-Windsor, then walked downstairs, where I found Dad waiting for me in the hall.
“Let’s walk together,” he said, for it was still ten minutes until lunch. I agreed, and we stepped out the door.
“This Tommo Cinnabar fellow,” he murmured as we walked across the square, “can we trust him?”
“Not even the tiniest bit,” I replied, “but I’ll admit he’s shrewd. Why?”
“He’s offered his services to negotiate the dowry we should charge for you to marry Violet deMauve.”
It was lightning-quick work on Tommo’s part.
“I don’t want to marry Violet, Dad.”
“Perfectly understandable,” he said. “She’s frightful. More important, I’ve not yet been approached by the head prefect, so nothing’s official. I just wanted to make sure we were singing from the same song sheet. Tommo seems to think we can get ten grand for you.”
“Dad!” I said, shocked by the notion that he might decide to sell me without consultation. “I’m up on a half promise to Constance, remember?”
“And that would cost me three grand,” he said. “Children are so ungrateful. Why the puce didn’t you tell me you were potential Alpha Red?”
I shrugged. “I wasn’t sure—and I didn’t want to be a braggart.”
“Very noble of you,” he replied sarcastically, “but if I’d known, I could have offered you for less or nothing to the Oxbloods, and spent the money on a hardwood conservatory instead.”
“Roger’s potential Alpha, too,” I said a bit uselessly.
Dad shook his head and lowered his voice. “I’ve seen his parents’ charts, and they don’t make exciting viewing. Josiah Oxblood is a strictly dynastic man. He’d have Constance marry a can of paint if it would enRedden the line.”
“That’s not a very good idiom, Dad.”
“It was the best I could come up with at short notice.” He glared at me and I fell silent.
To be honest, I hadn’t really considered the consequences of keeping my bestowal a secret. Usually a Chromatically arranged marriage was simply a source of gossip and a cheap laugh at someone else’s expense. When it happened to you, it suddenly seemed, well, a bit crummy. The higher-hued you became, the less choice of life partner there was. This kind of garbage never happened to the Greys.
“If this Tommo fellow is correct and the deMauves are both stinking rich and hue-desperate, we can probably get a preemptive bid or go to auction. Plus,” he added, as though to try to soften the deal, “I’d be happy to split the dowry with you. We’d walk away from the deal with both our pockets comfortably full.”
“That’s the difference,” I said. “I don’t get to walk away. I get to stay right here. And be married to Violet.”
“Is she really so different from Constance?”
“Not at all,” I replied. “But at least Constance was my decision.”
“Choice is overrated,” said Dad, quoting Munsell, something he rarely did. “I’m sure you’ll warm to her, given time. You’ll be Red prefect as soon as you’ve taken your Ishihara, and with deMauve as father-in-law, you’ll eventually run the linoleum factory.”
“Dad, we always agreed to talk this through before a decision was made.”
“We’re talking it through now, aren’t we? Besides, you’ve only yourself to blame, blurting out your bestowal—you see what happens to those who shamelessly boast? Like that Carrot fellow. What was his name again?”
“Dwayne.”
“Right. Dwayne Carrot. Exactly.”
We stood on the steps in silence as the other residents streamed into the town hall. They were chattering volubly, and paid us little attention.
“How did the hearing go?” he asked at length.
I told him about the eight hundred demerits, which he didn’t seem so annoyed about—presumably because it increased the likelihood of my going the deMauve route. He asked me why so many, and I explained about the rabbit. He shook his head sadly, and said that he always knew the rabbit would be trouble. I then took a deep breath and told him I’d offered to go to High Saffron to earn the merits back.
“You did what?”
“High Saffron. For six hundred merits.”
“What if you don’t make it back? What if night falls?”
“Night always falls, Dad.”
“With you inside it, I mean.”
“Dad,” I said more forcefully, “I’ll be fine, really. All the missing were feckless Rebootees who took the opportunity to leg it and are now probably running around in a loincloth with uncombed hair and poor table manners. I’ll be fine.”
“You might have consulted me before you took this rash decision. I have a twenty-year stake in you, too, you know.”
“In volunteering for tosh squads,” I replied, “the Rules do not require me to seek your permission.”
But he knew this.
“I suppose it might improve your leadership skills,” he grumbled, “useful if you do become a prefect. When is this to be?”
“If the deMauves have their way, not until we’re wed and their gra
ndchild is in the bag. Who knows, if Violet gets to like me, she could postpone the trip indefinitely.”
“That would suit all concerned.”
He was partly right. Dad would get his ten grand, Tommo would get his commission, Violet would get a Purple child and deMauve would secure his dynasty. The only beneficiary missing from the list was me.
But Dad was nothing if not fair, and after thinking for a moment, he relented. He sighed, patted my shoulder and said, “Listen, I can’t force you to marry Violet with a half promise to Constance on the table, but as the sole supplier of your dowry, I think my arguments might at least count for something.”
Once inside, I sat at the usual Red table and pondered the situation. At least I still had a way out. I could telegraph my Ishihara results to Constance on Sunday afternoon, and she’d agree to our marriage. I could get her to wire me a ticket authorization by return and be gone by Tuesday. Simple . . . except for the ticklish problem of not having enough merits to get married. Still, that was a problem I could deal with back home. It was now Friday, and all I had to do was to keep my nose clean until Sunday, the day of my Ishihara. And avoid Courtland. And Jane. And the Colorman. And Violet. I was just wondering how long I could barricade myself in the broom cupboard with a stack of cheese sandwiches and some water when the prefects walked in.
Lunch
2.3.03.01.006: Juggling shall not be practiced after 4:00 p.m.
“The annual boys-versus-girls hockeyball match was won this year by the boys, despite the disgraceful behavior by all concerned. The two captains have been justly punished, and Miss Ochre’s ear was saved, so no more will be said.”
DeMauve was giving his prelunch speech. We were all sitting attentively at our places, feeling hungry.
“Due to another highly regrettable but wholly unavoidable accidental death at the factory,” he continued, “the average age of the village has risen above safe parameters. Because of this, we have licensed an extra conception certificate to be taken up forthwith. All eligible parties should contact Mr. Turquoise for consideration at tomorrow’s Council meeting.”
There was a murmuring among the villagers about this, mostly from the Grey end of the room, as a hastened Grey worker usually required a Grey birth to replace it. There was even an audible “Hoorah!”
“Right,” said deMauve, consulting a sheet of printed paper. “As of this morning we have a volunteer to lead the High Saffron expedition. His name is Edward Russett, and considering that he is visitor, he has shown considerable pluck and fortitude to have stepped forward, a selfless act that I think should be an example to you all.”
He paused, expecting a flurry of voices goaded into action by his words, but there were none. If worse came to worst, I would be on my own.
“Moreover, we have decided to increase the expedition payment to two hundred merits.”
Still silence.
“Then I’ll leave it up to your own conscience,” said deMauve, faintly annoyed. “Now, against my better judgment and well-argued wishes, the High Saffron expedition will take place . . . tomorrow!”
He glared at both Gamboge and Yewberry as he said it, and my heart fell. Tomorrow was the day before my Ishihara. I should have seen it coming. Yewberry didn’t want to lose his position, and Mrs. Gamboge, no fan of Edward Russett, would fondly like to see the back of me long before I even took my seat on the Council. The sooner I was out of the picture, the better for both of them. The implication wasn’t missed on Tommo, who gave a low curse over his potential lost commission, and I saw Dad shake his head sadly. Myself, I felt a sudden sinking feeling as the full inevitability of what I had agreed to do settled in my stomach like an anvil.
“So for reasons that I won’t trouble you with,” added deMauve, “I am personally willing to add three hundred merits to the two hundred already offered—on condition that the team leader is returned safely, alive and in one piece.”
“I will add two hundred more to that!” said my father. He was breaching protocol, but no one minded.
Despite the Rules against talk, there was a lot of murmuring. DeMauve, sensing that a fair hand would be better than a firm one, let everyone chatter for a couple of minutes before waving us all to be quiet. Seven hundred merits. For a single day’s work. It was unprecedented stuff. But not, it seemed, unprecedented enough. The number of arms that shot upward was as close to zero as it could possibly be.
“Very well,” said deMauve, visibly angry. “If anyone changes his mind, he can contact me directly.”
He looked around before continuing.
“Russett, you are to present yourself for a briefing with Mr. Yewberry straight after lunch. You’ll leave with Mr. Fandango at first sight tomorrow morning. Now, today’s reading will be from Munsell’s . . .”
The talk was fortunately a lot shorter this time, and was mostly about working together in strict harmony, and respecting the Colortocracy that our bestowals had decreed, and how anyone might, through hard work and strict adherence to the Rules, ensure that his future progeny might move up the ladder by using his well-earned merits to ensure a better marriage for his children. And so on and so forth. I wasn’t paying much attention. I was thinking about going to High Saffron and cursing my own impetuousness. DeMauve finished his reading, tacked a bit onto the end about how we should be thankful that no one was permanently injured during the boys-versus-girls hockeyball match, and announced that we could all eat.
There was silence at our table, and everyone avoided looking at me.
“Well,” said Doug, finally breaking the silence, “you’ll come back, Eddie. It’ll be fine.”
“I agree,” said Tommo with a more confident air, “but not from a hopelessly optimistic viewpoint, more simply because you’re too valuable for the deMauves to lose.”
This was possibly true, but I didn’t see how they could guarantee my safety. Once beyond the Outer Markers, I was on my own. The others nodded their heads, but I could see they weren’t confident of my chances. But since the matter had been raised and dealt with, the conversation was ready to move on. I was just like one of those people who dropped in on their way to Reboot. There, then not.
“So,” remarked Daisy, who was in possession of one of the biggest bruises I had ever seen, “how stuffed did you get over the match?”
I told them the punishments Violet and I had been given.
“She only got a hundred for your two hundred?” said Lucy. “That hardly seems fair.”
“She’s a deMauve,” said Tommo. “I didn’t expect her to get any. How is your ear, by the way?”
“A bit sore,” she replied, touching it gingerly. The offending article was purple and very swollen, but had a fine row of my father’s most delicate stitches around it. “Matron told me to listen through the other for a couple of days until it got better.”
“Any idea who did it?” asked Doug, who had a split lip to match his bruise.
“It all happened so fast. But we could match the tooth marks, I suppose.”
“Hardly worth the trouble, surely?” said Tommo, a little too quickly to make me certain he’d had nothing to do with it. “After all, that’s the rough-and-tumble of hockeyball, eh?”
“By the way,” said Doug, “I must thank you for getting Violet off my back.”
There was sudden silence, and they all stared at me, waiting to see what my comment would be. Gossip travels at the speed of light in any village, and there couldn’t have been many people who didn’t know of Violet’s sudden change of allegiance. My opinion of it was as likely as not the biggest question on everyone’s lips.
“It’s not going to happen,” I said with a dramatic air of finality, “even if I do come back.”
“Violet can be very persuasive,” remarked Daisy, “and she’s used to getting her own way.”
“There is a downside to the whole Russett-deMauve marriage,” said Tommo, who hadn’t spoken for a while.
“You see?” I said.
“It??
?s thrown my entire marriage fantasy league into disarray. With Doug now available for the first time in six years, I’m going to have to completely restructure the league from the bottom up.”
It wasn’t the sort of “downside” I had in mind.
“Unless,” added Tommo, snapping his fingers, “Doug, would you do me a tremendous favor and declare yourself? It would save a huge amount of paperwork.”
“I’ll second that,” said Arnold, giving Doug a wink.
“What’s with the LIAR badge?” asked Daisy, who was the first to notice. I had skillfully obscured it behind my Red Spot.
“He may have inadvertently exaggerated his viewing of the rabbit,” declared Tommo in a voice tinged with glee.
I stared at Tommo. “How did you know about the rabbit?”
“Whoops.”
“You snitched on me?”
The entire table turned to stare at Tommo. Lying was bad, but snitching on one’s own hue was far worse. He seemed somewhat less than contrite.
“I should apologize, really. But your sneaky rabbit subterfuge would have come out sooner or later, so it’s far better that a friend and colleague should cop the sixty merits of bounty rather than someone less deserving.”
“Less deserving than you?” remarked Lucy. “How is that even remotely possible?”
“There’s no need to be unpleasant. I’ll make it up to him.”
“How?”
He didn’t answer, and instead caught the eye of the dinner monitor and asked to switch tables, which he did. To be honest, his perfidy worked in my favor, for the LIAR badge was not mentioned again.
“Does anyone know anything about High Saffron?” I asked. “I’m not convinced that my briefing from Yewberry will be anything but absolutely useless.”
There was silence around the table.
“The, um, lack of eyewitness data makes facts thin on the ground,” replied Daisy diplomatically, trying not to make me any more worried than I was already, “but there are many half-truths and suppositions.”
“Which are?”
They looked at one another, then Lucy spoke. “Legend says High Saffron is where the memories of the Previous have collected. They lament upon their lost lives and vanished histories, and lurk in the shadows, waiting to feed upon the charisma of those still living.”