Earthly Crown (6 page)

“Yes, I think you covered most of the clichés,” he said approvingly, and she laughed again, half from relief and half because the whole scene between them was so transparent, without losing any of its intensity.

A hush fell over the hall. Marco’s attention jerked away from her. A Chapalii dressed in the pale tunic and trousers of the steward class stood in the far doorway, holding a gold wand in his hands.

Soerensen rose. “Excuse me,” he said to others at the table. “Suzanne.” She rose as well, and together they collapsed their trays, deposited them in the sort bin, and walked over to the door. Soerensen received the gold wand from the steward, and after a brief conversation with the alien, he and Suzanne left the hall. At once conversation flooded back along the tables.

David ben Unbutu, unruffled at being abandoned, went back to his meal. The engineers begged pardon and left. Marco glanced at the strip on the back of his left hand. “Ah,” he said. He returned his attention to Diana. “My heart, it grieves me to part from you, but I must go.” He lifted her hand to his lips, brushed a kiss there, and hurried out of the hall.

Don’t watch him go.
Even as she thought it, she wrenched her gaze away from Marco’s back only to find David ben Unbutu watching her with a wry smile on his face. Instantly, she blushed.

“Sorry,” said David. “I noticed your necklace. Are you a Trinitarian, or is it just a family heirloom?”

She lifted a hand to touch the necklace, with its intertwined star, book, and cross. “I was brought up in the worship, yes,” she replied. How kind of him to change the subject.

“Have you visited the chapel on board? It’s very…quiet. I’m going there now.”

Diana smiled, a softer smile than the one she had offered to Marco Burckhardt. She felt like an idiot, sitting down by Burckhardt only to be deserted; probably he had gone off on Soerensen’s business. Probably David ben Unbutu understood her plight. “Oh,” she said, noticing the four short, beaded braids hanging from his coarse black hair down the back of his neck to dangle over the collar of his tunic. “You’re Orthodox.”

“Orthodox Judaeo-animist,” he agreed with a chuckle. “Our village is one of the last pockets of Trinitarian animism left in western Africa, and, of course, there’s a long history of engineers in our family because of it.”

Behind them, through the other doors, a horde of actors swept into the dining hall.

Diana jumped up, collapsing her tray over the uneaten food. “I’d love to see the chapel.”

Along the red curve passageway, down a slow lift to yellow core, and they came to the Three Faiths chapel. Diana expected it to be untenanted at this time of ship’s cycle, but someone had arrived there before them. David tried to stop her in the door, but he was too slow.

Diana had never thought of Marco Burckhardt as a particularly religious sort of person. But there he sat on a back bench of the chapel. Diana was skilled at reading the nuances of body language. The slight sound of their entrance had alerted Marco to their presence, but his red-haired companion remained oblivious, as well she might, being locked in so tight an embrace.

“Oh, Goddess, Marco,” said David emphatically, and with no little disgust. “Have you no respect?”

The companion took her time in allowing him to break off the kiss. Without turning to look, Marco said, “but David, dear David, we all choose our own ways of worship.”

“Let’s just go,” Diana murmured.

“I will not,” said David, showing an unexpected stubborn streak, “surrender this divine ground to your earthly pleasures, Marco.”

Red-Hair leaned away from her conquest and rested her weight on a hand, cupping the curve of the ivory bench. She preened, and when she saw Diana, the smile that tipped her lips was positively triumphant.

Marco got a startled look on his face, and he turned to look directly at them. “Oh, hell,” he said, seeing Diana. He covered his face with a hand. That he was sorry to be caught by
her
did not make her feel any better. She felt mortified.

But Marco wasn’t the sort of man who slinks away from confrontation; he lowered his hand, and Diana had to admire his nerve. He bent forward and whispered to Red-Hair. He had a loose-limbed grace, tall and big-framed, trim, but not slender, the kind of man who is comfortable in his body. Behind him, the stark white walls of the chapel set off the scene, framing the woman’s red hair and Marco’s purple shirt so boldly that Diana could, for a moment, only think that the two colors clashed.

“You will note,” said David in a low voice, “that this is not in fact a circular room, but an oval. It’s shaded so subtly with the carpet and a slight difference in hue in the white walls that it’s hard to tell.” He made a noise in his throat. “As if you care. But it’s a marvelous room.”

Red-Hair heaved a great, dramatic sigh—overdone, of course—and oozed up to her feet. She flung a scornful glance toward Diana and exited stage left, through an otherwise invisible door that whisked open just as she reached it and shut into the seamless wall behind her.

“Don’t retreat,” whispered David. “And never on holy ground.”

They went in. The ceiling lofted into a dome, paling to a soft white glow at the crown. It made Diana think of standing inside an egg, nested and safe. Marco met them by the altar, which stood in the center of the room, ringed by benches.

“Well,” he said, “that looked bad.”

“Yes,” said Diana, desperate to put a bold face on, “it did. Now I recognize her. She’s a university student. Isn’t she a little young for you?” Then cursed herself inwardly for saying it, since she and Red-Hair were probably much of an age.

David rolled his eyes and shook his head. It was so quiet in the chapel that Diana could hear the beads on his name braids as they clacked together.

But Marco only laughed. “Hoist with my own petard.”

“‘For ’tis the sport to have the engineer hoist with his own petard: and it shall go hard. But I will delve one yard below their mines, and blow them at the moon.’”

He loved it, of course. She knew he would. He caught one of her hands and lifted it to his lips, which were cool and soft. “Golden fair, my heart is yours forever.”

“If I were you,” said David, sounding more amused than disgusted now, “I’d leave before you dig yourself in any deeper.”

Marco released her hand. “I’d better go see if Charles needs me,” he said, and he winked at Diana and left, that fast. Leaving her breathless and embarrassed and warm.

David moved away from her, walking over to sit down on a bench. She felt all at once that she didn’t have to make any excuses to David, that he wouldn’t judge her. Marco had a reputation; he didn’t apologize for it or even try to hide it. So why, when she sat down herself and closed her eyes, was his the first image that came to her mind? But after a while, the peace of the chapel seeped into her, and she let the silence wash over and envelop her, the silence through which the Divine spoke to each individual.

“David!” A sharp whisper.

Diana started. Suzanne Elia Arevalo hurried into the room, striding over to stand beside David, who lifted his head and regarded her quizzically.

“Charles needs you. You can’t imagine—” She broke off and looked straight at Diana. “Oh, hell,” she swore. “I need another woman anyway. Diana—that’s right, isn’t it?” Suzanne had a brisk, competent air about her. Diana felt impelled to stand up, like a soldier awaiting orders. “Are you free? I don’t know how long it will take.”

“I’m free for the evening,” Diana admitted.

“Good! Then come along.”

“You might explain—” protested David, but he followed meekly in her wake, and Diana was far too curious to be left behind.

As they hurried down the yellow curve, Suzanne spoke in a hushed voice. “That wand, the request, came from a Chapalii lord who is on board with his family. Well, his wife and retinue, in any case. It turns out that his firstborn child—or male child, it must be, since it’s to be his heir—is about to be born. And under Chapalii law the birth of an heir must be witnessed by a noble of higher rank. Well, Charles is the only duke on board—so…Here.”

They came to a pink lift, which halfway through its rise turned flat white on all its walls. It opened onto a threshold of granite columns. The scent of cloves and cinnamon hung in the air, smothering, and the heat swallowed them. Diana broke into a sweat. Four stewards waited at the threshold. Their pale skin bore tints of colors, bewildering in their variety. Under their escort, the three humans proceeded forward. Diana stared around, but here in the sacrosanct Chapalii halls she saw nothing that looked different: just the sickly-orange walls. They crossed two intersections and came to a broad white seam. One side opened. The stewards gestured to David to go through, and followed after.

Suzanne laid a hand on Diana’s arm. “We don’t go with him. There’s a separate place for the females.”

“But why—?”

“—are we here?” Now they waited alone in the corridor. Suzanne leaned back and looked down one curve, then the other, and touched the brooch at her shoulder. She swung her shoulder slowly back and forth, taking in the entire scene—scanning it, maybe—not that the scene itself was much to look at. “Charles has Marco and David attending him, and evidently they want two females to balance the two male attendants. I don’t know. Parity? Harmony? Hostages? How should I know? Have you ever seen a Chapalii female?”

“Of course not! I thought they were all in seclusion, or something. Purdah.”

Suzanne took her hand off the brooch. “Neither have I, and I, my dear, have seen a damn sight more of the Chapalii than most people. And no human has ever witnessed the birth of a Chapalii child. Ah.”

The other side of the seam opened. A rush of cooler air swept over them, mingling with a scent like nutmeg and a charge in the air that sent prickles down Diana’s back. She tried to shake it off, but it coursed down through her and made tiny sparks at her feet as she and Suzanne stepped onto the black-tiled floor of the chamber within.

A riot of color greeted them, so profuse that it made Diana dizzy. Animals and plants in garish hues intertwined like lovers clutched together in an endless embrace. A beaded curtain of plain black stone cut off one side of the chamber. Suzanne and Diana stood alone in the room. The curtain twitched, stirred in a musical rustling, and stilled. A voice spoke in what Diana assumed must be Chapalii, and was answered by a second voice that had in it the reedy musicality of a woodwind.

Diana stared around, stared at the curtain, stared at the walls. The strange scent pricked against her constantly, and a distant sound like falling water played in the background. She was numb with excitement and at the same time out of breath and yet again cold, as if one part of her brain had detached itself from her body in order to survey her surroundings without emotion.
This
was an adventure, and it seemed to her that, like a prologue that grabs your interest, it boded well for the play to follow.

No one came through the curtain, though. Suzanne did not touch her brooch. One wall faded to black, became translucent, and there, in a white chamber, sat an egg.

Diana gasped. Then she looked again, realizing that she merely called it an egg because it was egg-shaped and white, because humans like to label things as familiar things; it could be anything, organic, metal, plastic, an incubator, a womb, or something altogether out of her experience. At the far end of the white chamber, Soerensen appeared between two figures: one a Chapalii lord, the other so swathed in robes that Diana could not see one single millimeter of skin nor even the suggestion of eyes or a face.

Suzanne’s whole body was canted toward the window, as if she wished mightily to press herself up against it in order to get a better look, but dared not move. Chills ran up Diana’s spine. A seam appeared in the smooth surface of the oval. The lord ventured forward, hesitant, and Soerensen came with him, close enough that Diana could judge by his height that the egg was about a meter tall—just over half as tall as he was. The duke had a peculiar expression on his face, as if the air smelled bad in the white chamber and he had to endure it. The robed figure glided around to the other side of the egg. The curtain stirred and rustled back to silence. She saw no sign of Marco or David.

The top half of the container sheened from white into a glowing translucence. Through it, Diana caught a glimpse of a tiny object squirming. Soerensen edged closer to the egg. His eyes widened as he watched something within. The Chapalii lord moved closer to him and spoke, and Soerensen started. He extended both hands. Diana detected the slightest hesitation, and then Soerensen placed both hands, palms down, onto the glowing surface of the egg.

“Marking it,” Suzanne said under her breath, evidently unable to contain herself. “He’s sealing the act of witness, that the heir is alive and viable.
Can you see it?”
The older woman was wound so tight that Diana could feel her exhilaration, like waves roiling off her that struck and eddied with Diana’s own excitement.

At the touch of Soerensen’s hands, the top surface of the container dissolved into a swell of steam and then nothing. He bent at the waist, almost overbalanced, and together, as one, the three of them—the duke, the lord, and the robed figure—bent down to examine what lay within. The beaded curtain rustled and the woodwind voice spoke a long phrase, so musical that it seemed more like a melody than a sentence. Suzanne winced.

“What—?” Diana began softly, but Suzanne only waved her away impatiently.

“Damn, hell,
chaib,”
she hissed, whispering, “but I can’t understand them.”

The Chapalii lord straightened. He held in his hands a small, white, wriggling thing, an exact, miniature version of himself. That brief glimpse they gained; then the robed figure fluttered forward and the child was restored to the egg. Soerensen retreated. A glow domed the empty crown of the egg, solidified, and sealed off the container again. A seam shut. The wall darkened and became the frieze of animals and plants. Another seam opened, this one leading into the passageway.

“I think we’re being asked to leave,” said Suzanne, and then she said something more, in Chapalii, but there was no response from behind the curtain.