Six Moon Dance (66 page)

The Marshal paused before answering, for the words had been peculiarly freighted with meaning, and that meaning suddenly penetrated. “You mean, live here, sir?”

“Can’t be here without living here, can you?”

“No, sir.” He thought, furiously. What was he supposed to say now? He’d never thought of such a possibility. He was no courtier! But he could scarcely say so, at the moment.

“Ah … I am deeply honored, Your Majesty, and I will comply as soon as I can arrange the few … responsibilities I’ll have to see to first….”

The Lord Paramount’s eyes had not left the Marshal’s face, but now they slid aside, like a snake from a rock. “Of course, of course, for the moment I’d forgotten. You have a family—what is it, a daughter? Delganor mentioned her to me just recently. He met her at your place in Lang-marsh. As I recall, he spoke well of her.” He breathed for a moment through his teeth, a little whistle,
whee-oo, whee-oo
, in and out. “If possible—though it may not be—she should be with you, of course. All the young women at court have assigned duties, and we’d need to be sure she could acquit herself in a covenantly manner. Let’s have someone take a look at her again, just to confirm Delganor’s impressions. By the way, what’s her name?”

“Genevieve, sir.”

The Lord Paramount’s eyes were on the turning pages. “Of course. Genevieve. Well, I’m sure she’s quiet and respectful, a dutiful daughter, covenantly, pure of soul, a proper candidate.” The Lord Paramount looked up, piercingly.

The Marshal found himself feeling slightly queasy, almost sick, like a man hard pressed, unable to catch his breath. It was known that the Prince was seeking a wife, but it would be presumptuous to imagine Genevieve as a candidate for … well, what the Lord Paramount was obviously referring to.

He chose to evade the question. “That would be hard for a father to judge, sir.”

The Lord Paramount gave him a sharp look. “Ah … you think so? Well, I have an idea. Since that equerry of yours would be looking after her here in Havenor, let him take a look at her. We old fellows, we can’t judge women, and it’s not our place, anyhow. Though Delganor does very well. Proper judge of livestock, Delganor. Gave me a marvelous stallion, just recently.”

“As Your Majesty wishes,” murmured the Marshal, backing away from the presence while trying not to show his discomfort. Why had he mentioned having responsibilities? Still … if the Lord Paramount had meant what he might have meant …

Behind him, in the small council chamber, silence fell. A servant crept through a side door and circled the throne, putting the scattered booklets into a basket and rearranging the pile at the Lord Paramount’s side before creeping out once more. The Lord Paramount dropped the booklet from his lap onto the carpet and took the top one from the pile, leafing through it, marking the pages here and there. The Aresian mercenaries by the door continued their restless watch upon the room, raising their weapons briefly as the curtain behind the baldachin opened and Yugh Delganor slipped through to lean familiarly across the Lord Para-mount’s shoulder.

“So, do I invite the girl to join us all here at Havenor?”

The Lord Paramount smiled. “Give it a little time, Yugh. It isn’t as though we’re in a hurry, eh? Look at this animal, here. Like a sheep, only tiny. It’s a kind of lapdog. I want one. Or several.”

“As Your Majesty wishes.”

“Ten of them, I think. That way I’ll have replacements. They don’t last long, pets. Such short lives. Better bring them in stasis. And look here, this admirable new type of rug weaving looms. I must have some of these.”

Yugh Delganor scanned the booklet, bowing. “Your Majesty is no doubt correct.”

“I’ll have Krivel look at it. We may be non-technological, Yugh, but we have to keep up with things, ah?”

“Your Majesty can say nothing less than truth.”

The Lord Paramount nodded, the pages flickering in his hands. “Let that young colonel look her over, the Marshal’s daughter—look at this dinnerware! Quite marvelous—if you think she’s all right and he’s a suitable one to …”

“Oh, definitely. Very … puissant.”

“Then he’ll no doubt find her charming, despite the nose.”

“She may have grown into it by now,” the Prince interrupted.

“Despite the nose,” repeated the Lord Paramount, an edge to his voice. This time Delganor did not interrupt him. “Then you can go down to her school or academy or whatever it is and invite her. If all goes well, we’ll have you wed shortly. Your third wife, won’t it be?”

“Fourth, Your Majesty.”

“Pity. I remember your first wife. Charming girl. Look at this boiler arrangement, Delganor. Now that’s innovative …”

The Prince did not reply. He merely bowed and departed, taking no notice of the Aresians who had measured his every movement and recorded his every word. The Prince was a source of much information to the intelligence people on Ares. They drew sustenance from every casual word uttered by the Prince. More than from the Lord Paramount, who spoke unequivocal nonsense most of the time.

After a time the lips of the guards curved in not-quite smiles at the slither of booklets spilling from the lap of the man on the throne, followed by a gentle but unmistakable snore.

“So, likely we’ll be getting a new woman to flit about here for a while,” said one, Ogberd by name, speaking barely above a whisper without moving his lips. “Destined for the Prince. Brother, it’s interesting that they never stay long, do they?”

His brother, Lokdren, assented with an almost invisible nod. “Lady Marissa was the last young one, and none since she married Lord Tranquish. Lately
I
‘ve felt like an attendant at a home for the aged, and by the Great Sportsman, it’s a waste of time!”

“Shhh,” hissed the other, with a quick glance at the throne, where the Lord Paramount had stirred slightly. “Aged or not, we are sworn to him, and as the universe knows, we Aresians never waver from our oath of service.” His lips firmed as he said sententiously, “Faithful service is our pride. It says so in the Aresian security services prospectus.”

The other actually did smile at this, a quick twitch of the lips, his eyes roving the room as they always did, taking note of every gentle movement of curtain, every shift of light, every sound that might presage a visitor. He stiffened slightly at a sound in the hallway outside the door, then relaxed at the familiar tramping of feet. Behind the two, the doors slid soundlessly open to admit the change of guard who eased into the places Ogberd and Lokdren silently vacated.

Outside in the corridor, Lokdren removed his helmet, wiped his brow, and continued the interrupted conversation, though softly. “I’m less concerned with what’s in the prospectus than I am what’s in our orders. We may be fulfilling the prospectus, but we’re damned well not finding out what we came to find out!”

Ogberd’s lips twitched. “We’ve learned a lot about rug weaving looms and chandeliers and wine-making equipment and miniature sheep, though, haven’t we?”

Lokdren shook his head. “More than I care to know, frankly. Time is running out. Father’s getting impatient. He sent another indignant message this morning. If we don’t come up with something soon, he’ll do something irrevocable.”

“Do you care?” Ogberd shrugged.

His brother nodded back. “Haven’s a nice enough little place. Some of the people are pleasant. I’d hate to see them in Father’s hands, the mood he’s in, put it that way. He won’t stop at anything. I’m sure of it.”

“Nonsense. Father’s an honorable sportsman.”

“Is he now? Are any of us?
Given the consequences if we don’t find out?”

“Given the consequences …” Ogberd sighed. “Damn. Well, I don’t know. Given the consequences … I suppose even Father … well, I suppose even he could … do the unthinkable.”

Lokdren thinned his lips and snarled. “Better start thinking about it, brother. Just so it won’t be unthinkable, when it happens.”

“Tepper takes the traditional icons of fantasy, restores their resonance, and makes them her own.”
Minneapolis Star-Tribune

“Tepper combines a treatise on the politics of gender with a transcendent celebration of love and renewal. Always breaking new ground with her imaginative forays into speculative fiction, the author weaves the individual stories of her characters into an elegant design. Highly recommended.”
Library Journal

“Tepper is an extremely gifted storyteller with a particular talent for constructing believably lived-in environments … SIX MOON DANCE is the unmistable work of one of SF’s most distinctive voices … Its vivid setting and imaginative complexity continue to reveal the unique fecundity of invention that has become this author’s most delightful trademark.”
Locus

“Amazing … By the time you finish SIX MOON DANCE, you might find yourself looking at the world in a different light … No matter how bizarre the situation, she maintains the credibility that keeps readers mesmerized … Tepper attacks our most basic beliefs and knocks the supports out from under them.”
SF Site

“Challenging … Tepper has tremendous fun … even when her purpose is deadly serious … The upshot won’t just raise your consciousness, it’ll blow the top right off.”
Kirkus Reviews

Other Books by
Sheri S. Tepper

T
HE
F
AMILY
T
REE

“What matters it how far we go?” his scaly friend replied.

“There is another shore, you know, upon the other side….

Then turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and join the dance.

Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, will you join the dance?”

—Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
,
L
EWIS
C
ARROLL

Mankind Newholmians:

Native Newholmians:

Extraplanetary persons:

Together with various gardeners, livestock, supernumeraries, haggers, worshippers, travelers, members of an entourage, a representative of the Brotherhood of Interstellar Trade, ship’s crewmembers, family members, spouses, and monsters.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

AVON BOOKS, INC.
1350 Avenue of the Americas
New York, New York 10019

Copyright © 1998 by Sheri S. Tepper
Excerpt from
Singer From the
Seacopyright © 1999 by Sheri S. Tepper.
Inside cover author photograph by Charles N. Brown/
Locus
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 98-11918
ISBN: 0-380-79198-6
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EPub Edition © AUGUST 2010 ISBN: 978-0-062-03501-1

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