8
Before Rigo had a chance to meet the Green Brothers, a morning came when the tell-me shrilled news of the lapse. The bon Damfels had assembled for the Hunt, but no hounds or mounts had appeared. Salla. one of Roald Few’s informants, had sent word to Commons and Roald had messaged Opal Hill.
Long-set plans moved into action. The embassy swarmed with cleaners and cooks, readying for the evening three days distant when the awaited reception would occur.
In the little house, Eugenie bit through a thread and bid her docile pet turn a quarter turn to the left- No one else at Opal Hill had seen Pet yet. And no one anywhere would have ever seen her like this.
At the bon Damfels’, Stavenger ticked off the list of those who would attend. Shevlok, yes. Sylvan, yes. No one younger than Sylvan. None of the young cousins. Shevlok would be ordered to pay putative court to the
In Commons the musicians went over their music and instruments, the wine merchant checked his stores, the extra cooks rolled their knives in their aprons. Aircars began to dart toward Opal Hill.
At bon Smaerlok’s estancia. and at bon Tanlig’s, at all the estancias, the grown women went through their ball gowns, deciding what to wear, while their daughters sulked. None of the young women were going, it had been decided. Too dangerous. Only older women, women with good sense, women with a number of liaisons behind them. Several of them had been picked to flirt with the Yrarier son, several good-looking, experienced ones. Whatever else might occur as the result of Sanctity’s embassy reception on Grass, an inappropriate liaison with a young Yrarier was not going to be allowed. So said the elder bons.
And at Opal Hill Roderigo Yrarier went over the list of those who would attend, noting the absence of young people and simmering at the insult offered to his family and his name.
Obermun bon Haunser had remembered his promise to Marjorie when he had recommended Admit Maukerden as her “secretary.” When she first got around to interviewing the tall, self-important individual, he told her that he knew every bon in every family and who the parents were and what the liaisons had been and who was in sympathy with and who out of sorts with whom. He expected, so he said, a private suite and a salary which made Rigo blink in surprise.
“I don’t trust him,” Marjorie told Rigo.
“Nor do I,” Rigo confessed. “But hire him anyhow. Assign him something to do and let’s see what he comes up with.”
After a little thought, Marjorie asked Admit to compile a file on those who would attend the reception, giving family connections and such personal information as might be helpful to new acquaintances in conducting conversation. He spent a great deal of time at it for one who supposedly knew them all. presenting the final work with a flourish.
Marjorie thanked him with a smile which conveyed nothing but ignorance and appreciation. She and Rigo then gave the file to Persun Pollut.
“Oh, my lame left leg.” Persun muttered. “That fool doesn’t know a cousin from an aunt or a bon Maukerden from a bon Bindersen.”
“Not accurate?” she queried sweetly.
“Except for the Obermums and Obermuns, there’s hardly a thing here that’s not plain wrong. He’d of done better guessing. If you’d done any introductions on the basis of this, the bons would have had your bones for supper.”
“Which would indicate either monumental stupidity or purposeful misinformation.” Rigo grinned through clenched teeth.
“He’s intelligent enough in his own interest,” Marjorie responded. “Then he was instructed to be useless,” Rigo said. “More than useless. Destructive. Which, I think, tells us all we need to know about him and a good bit more about them.”
Thereafter, Marjorie pretended to consult Admit Maukerden from time to time and Rigo amused himself by giving the man false information about the purpose of the embassy, waiting to see which parts of it would come back to him, in whatever guise, via the bons. Meantime, Persun corrected the file on the guests and went over it with Rigo’s trusted assistant, Andrea Chapelside. It was Persun who set down accurate details about the bons. “This one is more important than he looks,” he said. “This one is malicious and will misquote you.”
And it was Persun, dressed in servant’s livery, who was assigned to circulate among the guests to hear what he could hear. Admit Maukerden, splendidly costumed to fit his idea of his own importance, would be relegated to a post near the first surface from which he could announce the arrivals with a fine and completely spurious air of authority, separated by a thwarting distance from anything that might transpire in the rooms above him. Though Marjorie doubted that anything of consequence would happen, Rigo had faith that something of great importance would follow his enormous investment of time and attention.
The evening arrived. Aircars dropped swiftly to the gravel court to disgorge their bejeweled and ornamented riders, rising as swiftly to make room for those that followed. Marjorie and Stella, gowned as extravagantly as any of the bons — the dresses had been stitched by a whole family of Commons’ seamsters nominated by Roald Few — waited at the top of the stairs that the bons would have to ascend, Marjorie on Rigo’s arm, Stella on Tony’s.
Rigo had foreseen problems and had communicated them fully to the children. “They are not bringing anyone your age. They will not be so undiplomatic or ungracious as to exclude you from their attention, however. You may expect charm and flattery from some of them. Stella, some man or men. Tony, some woman or women. Be charming in return. Seem flattered. But do not be fooled! Do not lose your heads.”
Seeing Tony pale and Stella flush angrily, Marjorie had nodded agreement and said soothing words. She had been warned by Persun Pollut as well, who had heard it from a villager who had heard it from a cousin at bon Maukerden’s. “They want no real contact, Lady. They want no involvement. They have told off some of their family members to pay court to you and yours, but they will do it merely to keep you pleased with yourselves.”
“Why?” she asked. “Why do they reject honesty?”
“Some of them would reject nothing. Some might say welcome if they thought about it. Eric bon Haunser, maybe. Figor bon Damfels, maybe. Some like that. But the Obermuns, the hunters, they say no. They say they came to Grass to get away from others, foreigners. They call you
Asked why the bons should feel fear, he didn’t know. It was only a feeling he had, he said, and he couldn’t say why.
“Why do they fear us?” she had asked Rigo.
“Fear us? Nonsense,” he said angrily. “It is pure pride with them, pride in their fabulous ancestries — fabulous in every sense, for their nobility is more fable than reality. Sender O’Neil told me about their origins. The fool may not have had much right about Grass, but he did know where the bons came from. Their ancestors were minor nobility at best, and not much of that. They can’t go on pretending to be important unless they’ve got something to be important about. When they came here, they brought along plenty of common folk to lord it over, you’ll notice, and they’ve spent the generations since they arrived feeding one another puffery about their histories.”
Marjorie, who had seen among the aristocrats certain twitches of skin, wrinklings around eyes, and pursings of lips, all unconscious, believed that Persun was right. What the bons felt was fear, though the bons might not understand what it was they feared.
Still, whether it was pride or fear that moved them made no difference in their behavior. They arrived as Persun had said they would, in order of their importance, a lot of small fry first: fourth and fifth leaders with their ladies, cousins, and aunts mincing up the stairs as though the treads were hot, old singletons like aged bulls, swinging their heads from side to side to feel their horns. As Admit Maukerden bellowed their names; Andrea, hidden in an alcove, looked each one up and recited the commentary into her whisperphone. “
Primed by Andrea’s voice, which buzzed in their ears with an insect hum, the Yrariers responded
