Making Peace, page 14
We both mumbled that we did. I had to force myself not to scuff my foot. Silence fell, and we shuffled forward again in silence.
Captain spoke up. “Ugly and Shield, remember to stick close to the dance floor. Circulate, keep active. Belkan, you’re up by the nobles. Use your fame to engage them in conversation. Stay up there, no matter what. I don’t care with whom you have to spend the evening, don’t leave that area. I’ll be around the refreshment tables.”
“Great. We work, he eats,” Ugly said.
Shield laughed – a cultured yet genuine sound – covering her mouth with the back of her hand. Again, I was brushed by the light breeze of homesickness. I had seen that gesture a thousand times back on Garden.
Guards were patrolling the length of the line, checking invitations. Ours were checked at least three times, given the amount of weaponry we were carrying.
At last it was our turn to enter. Captain handed our announcement card to the servant, who scurried into the hall ahead of us. We walked calmly in, measuring our steps. Twenty seconds was adequate time for the attendants to read and prepare the announcement, without causing a gap which would draw attention.
An aging man standing just inside the doors lifted an oak staff and brought it down three times upon a wooden box. The rolling wall of sound from the resounding thumps set my teeth on edge.
Ugly and Shield approached the doors first, arm in arm. The announcer’s voice boomed over the assembled crowd. “Second Keeper of the First Cell, Ugly. Keeper of the First Cell, Shield.” The other guests’ heads turned and their faces twisted into confusion at the unusual appellations.
“I’ve got to spend more time with people who use real names,” I muttered under my breath.
Captain must have heard me, because he looked at me from the corner of his eye and smirked under his mustache.
Captain was next, the staff thumping for attention. “First Keeper of the First Cell, Captain Dancer.” There was no confusion this time. Folks in the crowd made no attempt to hide their curiosity about him. As one of the few people at the ball with the power of life and death over everyone present, the captain warranted serious respect. Anyone engaged in any inappropriate dealings (read: everyone in the city) should take this time to memorize his face and give him a wide berth. He paused on the threshold and slowly surveyed the room, giving everyone a chance to get as much of him as they could stand. It also, I noticed, helped Ugly and Shield slip into the crowds without drawing any more attention. Next it was my turn.
Thump, thump, thump. “Writer for Lush Bodice Publishing located in Iris City on the planet Garden, author of the recent widespread bestseller My Mech, My Love… Belkan Candor.”
As usual I suppressed a wince at the dreadful title, which had been my publisher’s idea. There were gasps from all over the large entry hall. All at once I heard a thousand hand fans snap open and begin whisking the air. A sea of long eyelashes were fluttering in my direction. My skin warmed as the temperature of the room climbed by ten degrees.
So much for my quiet visit to the city, I thought.
The first pack of crafty jungle predators was already approaching, their skirts rustling as they jockeyed for visibility in the group. I put on my biggest book-signing smile and met them head-on, with both hands spread wide to receive as many pawing handshakes as my audience demanded.
I didn’t hear the adoring women’s names even as they told them to me because there were at least ten conversations directed at me at any given time. I didn’t stop walking and made my way slowly across the entry hall, through the wide arch at the end of the room, and into the ballroom itself. The crowd didn’t abate any more once I clawed my way through the archway, because word had spread. I swam against a tide of moiré and brocade, nearly drowned by the crush of soft bodies all doing their best impressions of subtlety while straining to brush against me. Every utterance of “Glad you enjoyed it” and “Yes, it’s my favorite, too” brought me closer to the farthest end of the hall where dwelt the families of the upper Houses I had been directed to attend.
At last I reached a gap in the crowd: an unofficial no-man’s-land which separated the noble area of the ballroom from the rest of the hall. The relative silence thundered in my ears. I had the impression of coming out of the forest after days of wandering and finding an open field at sunrise. I could feel air currents on my face again, and drew a deep breath. I glanced over my shoulder to see a crowd of disappointed young ladies behind me who dared go no further.
With no small amount of relief, I made to walk forward but stopped when I felt something clenched in my left fist. Ah, a garter. Of course. I couldn’t just drop the thing in the middle of the ballroom, so I put it in my pocket. Feminine giggling broke out behind me.
Now that I was free of the crush of ladies, I had time to take in the ballroom. A wooden dance floor took up the center of the main room, the polished floor made of that famous ripplewood. Each of the dancing couples was creating waves of colors which crashed against the ripples from other couples, creating dazzling patterns. Three edges of the room were taken up with tables and chairs, people resting and talking, conducting business, breaking laws. A small band of musicians sat in one corner of the room, the natural acoustics of the building spreading their music to every corner of the ballroom.
Massive mahogany pillars held up the dark vaulted ceiling, which had been painted a deep blue-black color. Lanterns of every color hung from brackets on the pillars to light the room. More of the dancing lights I had seen in the Hegemon’s throne room lit the ceiling. I realized they were phosphorescent creatures flying around up in the painted rafters. Huge banners and streamers hung down, draped between pillars.
Above all of this sat a second level, a different room. People in fancy clothes stood at the railing looking down, among them Andre Covina. He stood glaring down dispassionately at the couples on the dance floor, a glass of wine held loosely in his hand. A large chair sat in a pool of darkness near the back of the platform, and I easily guessed the Hegemon sat within it. Everywhere I looked I saw guards, though they tended to be discreet and only lightly armored.
I crossed to the steps and made my way up to the noble level. The aristocracy gave me a refreshingly mild welcome compared to the ladies at the door. Most of the nobles pretended to ignore me, in fact.
As was proper for a man without a mutual acquaintance to make the rounds for me, I was expected to approach and introduce myself. Captain had given explicit introductions that I stick close to First House members as much as possible and to stay on the second floor at any cost, so I took my time soaking in the surroundings.
The family members of the first three Houses sat or stood according to their preference. This end of the hall was decorated more like a massive sitting room, complete with semicircles of chairs gathered around low tables. The polished mahogany floors lining the entire hall were covered here and there with luxurious fur rugs.
I noticed Sarenna of the Second House sitting with a group of people, one of whom was telling a story. Sarenna and I made eye contact, and she raised one gloved hand to me in greeting. Her dress was a study in wealth, made of rich ivory silk, and an elaborate hairstyle sat piled atop of her head, exposing a graceful neck draped with jewelry. Every part of her sparkled.
I nodded once and smiled at her from across the room, but did not approach. I had a lot of time to kill but I wasn’t in the mood for intense conversation. Besides, she had seemed just a little too sharp at our last meeting. I made as though I was looking for someone specific. It wouldn’t be rude of me to turn down such an obvious invitation if I were on my way to engage with someone else.
My eyes happened across the Hegemon just as his eyes swept over me, and we made eye contact. Even across the room, I could see one of his eyebrows twitch. All the same, after a few heartbeats he beckoned me over. I bowed my head and approached his throne, wishing I had reconsidered Sarenna’s offer.
I bowed low before the Hegemon. He was dressed in his usual somber tones, black and gray, and seated upon a carved mahogany throne carried in just for the occasion. He was flanked by his personal guards, massive soldiers encased in gold plate armor. I noticed there was no goblet on the table next to his throne, nor any bits of food.
The Hegemon finally acknowledged me, “Rise,” and I straightened up. He looked me over for a moment. “I’ve been told you’re up here in order to safeguard my family.”
“Yes, Your Excellency.”
“I question the wisdom of a writer serving as a guard. Were it my decision, I would instead prefer someone capable. Nevertheless, here you are, so I give you this warning: If even one member of my House in this protected section suffers so much as a scratch, I will hold you personally responsible. Very personally.”
My breath caught in my throat. I remembered the stories of what had happened to the First House guards who’d let the assassin get away. And those had been men beneath his notice. I was skewered by his gaze and very much within his notice now.
I swallowed like some sort of idiot and managed, “…I understand, Your Excellency.”
The Hegemon nodded and waved me away, rested his elbows on the arms of his throne and steepled his fingers, and returned his attention to scanning the ballroom. I bowed and backed away, only turning on my heel when I’d covered the appropriate ten steps from him.
I headed to the nobles’ refreshment table against one wall and snatched up the first wineglass I saw. I barely tasted it as I tossed the first half of the contents down my throat. I must have looked white as a sheet and in need of rescue, because a young man standing nearby moved over to me.
“He’s always like that,” the young nobleman confided. “Most people develop a sudden need for wine immediately after their first few visits with him.” He offered his hand and spoke his name, something like Jack or Jeremy. The only thing I remember is he wore a pin of the Third House, positioned on his right lapel to indicate a non-heir.
I gave him the best smile I could muster and introduced myself. “Belkan Candor.”
“Oh, the writer,” he said. “I had heard something about that. I think my cousin is quite your admirer. I wonder if you’d mind meeting her and the rest of us over here?” I indicated I was open to it, silently thanking the Lady.
I spent much of the next hour answering the usual questions: “Yes, I do enjoy writing. No, I’m afraid I can’t tell you what my next book will be about. I’m not quite sure I could capture your unique likeness as a character, but I will keep you in mind. No, I’m not married. No, I’m not particularly tired thank you, but if you really want to retire to your chambers don’t let me stop you.” I had the answers down by rote now, which meant I had plenty of attention remaining to watch for the assassin.
Several dances went by, and then an hour had passed. Between each dance, the participants would check their cards, and the gentlemen would go find their next scheduled partners.
I noticed Shield was never alone, surrounded between every dance by a small crowd of men waiting patiently (mostly) for her to enter their names on her dance card. She and Ugly were down below in the lower section, seated at round tables which ringed the dance floor. It struck me how very unusual Shield’s delicate Garden bone structure must look here. She was a rather beautiful lady, I realized. It was easy to miss under the layers of plate armor and sweat, but in a ballroom setting she seemed to blossom into a completely different person.
Ugly sat nearby, a smirk on his face. I thought back and couldn’t recall having seen him dance yet. After a few short dances, Shield parted her crowd of followers and approached Ugly (he had been sharing a table with her the entire time, but her admiring entourage made her seem isolated from anyone else). She curtsied and offered her hand, to which he actually smiled – the first real smile I could remember seeing on his face. He took her hand and rose gracefully from his chair. They again parted her crowd of admirers, who looked ready to commit murder but had the good grace to back away, and stepped onto the dance floor.
Immediately, the band swung into an even-tempo quadrille in the local style. Ugly and Shield nodded to a nearby couple, and they began intermixing as required by the dance. Shield glided through the dance steps, graceful as ever. A brilliant smile lit her face when she stepped back and clapped her hands twice with the rhythm. She and the other woman linked arms and turned about, as did the men. Colors rippled outward across the floorboards in soft waves. Shield returned to Ugly and the two entered the classic waltz frame for the next part of the quadrille. It seemed a shifting mess to me, a rough approximation of the refined steps of a Garden dance. Despite this, Ugly stayed perfectly in time. I rather expected him to stomp a few toes, then draw his sword and begin making threats. Sadly, I was disappointed. The man danced surprisingly well.
The quadrille ended and the two bowed to their partners, who returned the gesture. At this point, it was customary for Ugly to escort Shield back to her seat in time for her to match up with her next dance partner. Instead, the two Keepers stood on the dance floor speaking to one another in a familiar manner. He smiled and said something, to which she laughed, a sweet sound I could just barely hear across the hall. Again, she covered her mouth with the back of her hand, fingers curled slightly. Ugly grinned all the more. I wondered if the two had forgotten their mission entirely. At the edge of the floor, several young men clutched their cards and seethed.
The band struck up a waltz next, slow and measured. Ugly offered his hands to Shield, and she stepped into his arms and took up her stance. I watched them move through the steps, surprised at the grace which Ugly displayed. This was a true Garden waltz, not a rural approximation. Ugly danced with tremendous skill to match his beautiful partner. The local couples around them worked through the steps, but none of them could match the natural poise of the Keeper couple. Others began to stop and watch. Those who continued dancing turned their heads to keep the couple in sight.
Shield positively glowed with an inner light. Even Ugly’s face, usually a scarred mess made worse by his grim expressions, was lightened considerably. Against all odds, smiling at Shield turned him into an almost handsome man. The floor was a canvas beneath them; each movement of their feet created a new riot of color. Rings of color pulsed in time with their movements, spreading across the dancefloor.
When the waltz ended, the dance floor erupted in applause. The two Keepers glanced about with wide eyes, drawn back to reality. Shield had the modesty to blush. She and Ugly held hands and bowed before their unexpected audience. Ugly led her back to her seat.
I was hardly surprised to see after the waltz that both of them were surrounded by admirers requesting a dance. Shield finally relented and let her entire card be filled instead of managing one at a time. Ugly scowled unbecomingly, but I saw him sign his name quite a few times as well.
The evening went on in much the same fashion. Captain came to check on me once and left after I told him I had nothing to report except that he had crumbs in his mustache. I managed to avoid dancing with anyone who asked me by using the excuse that I was waiting for someone. This wasn’t a lie since we Keepers were waiting for the assassin.
The dancing continued. Ugly was as graceful with each partner as he was with Shield, though I didn’t see him smile again. The two didn’t dance together after that, having committed a faux pas in dancing together twice in a row. Between them they kept the entire dance floor observed, and they seemed to be all business now.
I had just refilled my plate with sausages and fruit when I noticed something odd. Ugly was out on the dance floor, but he was dancing with a lady who looked remarkably like Sarenna. I glanced over at her spot and saw it was indeed empty. I thought back to our visit and remembered the two sparring with their words. Sarenna had a smooth smile on her face and her lips were moving. Ugly had no smile at all and seemed to be mostly listening, responding here and there. He said something with no smile at all, but she laughed just the same. It looked like she tried to mimic Shield’s graceful gesture, but her hand placement was too low, covering the chin instead of the mouth. Her hand slid up from his bicep onto his shoulder. He tried to glance around the dance floor but Sarenna caught his chin in her fingers and turned him back to face her, laughing as she did so. His face went blank.
There was a sudden small commotion to the northern side of the dance floor. Someone had dropped their cloak. Wait a minute, I thought. A cloak, inside the ballroom? Only the most pretentious…
The man who had cast off his cloak finished affixing a porcelain mask to his face and straightened up, drawing two short swords from his belt. His cloak had been hiding dark leather armor underneath. Ugly and Shield pivoted at the same moment on opposite ends of the rectangular dance floor and moved toward the man who stood between them.
The masked man leapt forward onto the dance floor with his thin blades extended and rammed them through the back of a young man. The assassin withdrew his blades and then scythed them to the left, slashing another young man deeply across the chest. Both young men dropped to the floor in a growing pool of blood.
Nobles and commoners were screaming as they scrambled to get off the dance floor. Gentlemen were shielding their dancing partners and backing away from the grisly scene. The crush of people slowed Shield and Ugly.
I shook myself and stood, drawing my own blade. I advanced to the tiered steps leading down from the noble area onto the dance floor, doing my best to form a barrier between the nobles and the assassin. At the same time, I tried not to feel grateful that the attack had not happened in my jurisdiction.
The assassin spun on one heel and rushed toward the south wall. He leapt into the air, curling into a ball and hurtling through an open window. Shield and Ugly finally got free and gave chase.
