Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
M ila
There are no plants in New Boston, except for one place where there is a great glass dome that covers the equivalent of several city blocks. Inside the dome there are more plants of various kinds than I have ever seen in my life.
It occurs to me that I have no idea what is commonly eaten here, as there seems to be no vegetable supply. But this garden answers that question. Part of it is a farm, dedicated to hydroponic bays many stories high.
Then there are exotic areas, with trees and bushes of kinds I have never seen before. This would be a nice place to go for a romantic stroll with Arthur. It’s not the nicest place to traipse about with a heavily armed soldier behind me.
I want to spend all my time with Arthur, but of course I cannot. It is too much to expect. But that does not mean I want to spend so much time in Lydia’s company either. I will have to make some suitable friends. Thinking about friends makes me think about the woman I met on the plane, Elizabeth. She seemed nice. And she’s from Angeland as well, so she has the same background as me. We can commiserate together.
“Do you know a man named Edward Idaho?” I ask the question.
Lydia glances at me. “Where did you learn that name?”
“I met his bride on the plane over here. Elizabeth. She’s close to my age, and I was thinking we could perhaps be friends.”
“I will ask the Archon-General,” she says.
“Or I will,” I say. “I’m capable of speaking on my own account.”
“Of course you are.”
“So what did you do to end up with this job?” I ask her the question because I don’t know why Arthur chose her, and I want to know.
“I’m a woman,” she says. “And a soldier.”
There’s a lot not said there. She must have been a good soldier. He wouldn’t trust just anybody with me.
Arthur
The ladies have returned. I can hear my bride complaining. It speaks to my attachment to her that I find the sound endearing. My work has been tedious compared to the time spent with her.
“I need a bath,” she says. “Lydia pushed me into a pond.”
“I did no such thing,” Lydia denies immediately.
Mila rushes past in a huff, going straight to the bedroom.
“Interesting visit to the gardens?”
“She takes pleasure in not listening,” Lydia says, following me into my office. “However, an opportunity presented itself today.”
“Oh?”
“Mila met a young woman now known as Elizabeth Idaho on the plane. She was matched with Edward Idaho. She wants to meet up with them in the hope of making friends with Elizabeth.”
“I see.”
Edward Idaho is my equivalent, in a sense. He is the leader of the merchant class, a man with more money than most, and almost as much power.
We do not move in the same circles, because there is something of a mutual mistrust as well as a symbiosis between those who go to war and those who sell weapons. The Artifice is responsible for both our successes, in a way, though I would not be where I am if I were not capable of surviving. The same could be said for Edward. I have heard he is ruthless and brutal.
“Thank you for letting me know, Lydia.”
“Arthur! I want to invite a friend over. Her name is Elizabeth Idaho.” She asks me the question as we are preparing for bed. I have watched it percolate through her mind all evening as she worked her way up to asking me. It has been a most adorable process to observe.
“Consider it done,” I say, mostly because it is.
“Really?” She smiles very broadly.
“Yes, of course. I want you to be happy here, Mila. And I want you to have suitable companions.”
“Ones you don’t banish to the colonies,” she smiles. Then the smile falls. “You won’t banish Elizabeth, will you? She seems very nice.”
“I will try not to,” I smile. I like seeing her excited about something. I like the idea of making her happy. She wants such simple things. Other men talk incessantly about their wives’ endless requests for jewels and such. Mila might be working up to begging for a diamond, but I don’t think so.
“How exciting!” Mila smiles broadly. “I can’t wait. When will dinner be? What will we have? We’ll have to play parlor games. She’s from Angeland like me, so she’ll know them all. We’ll have to teach you.”
Several days later, we have dinner with Edward Idaho.
He arrives two hours late, which I find unspeakably rude. I live in a world where a seven p.m. dinnertime is a seven p.m. dinnertime, not a nine p.m. arrival.
There is a hold-up down at the gate due to the untimeliness of the whole affair, which further delays their arrival. Mila is a nervous wreck. She has changed her dress four times, and every time she does, she feels compelled to repaint her nails. She has also put on a good amount of cosmetics that she sent out for the moment the dinner party was confirmed. Having met her without so much as a scrap of makeup on, it is quite interesting to watch my simple country bride transform into a smooth-skinned sophisticate. She looks gorgeous either way, but internally I think I prefer her without it. I like seeing her just as she is, not as she imagines she wishes she was.
But I understand that women have their battle paint, and that a social occasion, even one with those one hopes will be friends, is not without danger.
“Do you think they’re not coming? They would have said if they weren’t coming, wouldn’t they?”
“I don’t know,” I’d replied, largely because I do not know. Edward Idaho is a stranger to me.
“All the money in the world and I can’t get a place like this,” he says, shaking my hand. “They say something happened to your eyes. Is that what the glasses are for?”
“Yes.”
“Very cool.”
Interesting take.
Edward Idaho is tall, relatively young at thirty years old, and handsome in a rakish way. His even younger bride seems very much enamored of him. She giggles whenever he speaks, on the off-chance that something he said was a joke, I suppose.
“So you’re a war hero,” he says. “Very cool.”
“Indeed.”
“I suppose you’ve killed a lot of people,” he says. “I’m not supposed to ask that, I know, but eh.”
“Eh indeed,” I reply.
This conversation is going to be a difficult one.
Edward Idaho is a shark. I do not believe this happy go lucky rich idiot act for a second. He catches my eye and smiles. I don’t mind swimming with sharks, but I don’t play nice with them usually. Tonight is an exception to a long-held rule.
Being matched means making decisions and doing things I wouldn’t usually do. I want her to be happy, and this is the first thing she has seemed truly excited about since she arrived. So I smile back. Just barely.
“I think you and I are going to be great friends, Arthur,” he says.
“Sure we are,” I agree.
There’s no way we’re ever going to be friends. Edward is not my type of man. I’ve known plenty of men like him before. He’s smart, but he’s glib, and probably weak. The sort to talk a big game, but who will want to hide behind others when it comes time for that game to be played.
I catch Lydia looking at him with the same quiet distaste.
Mila, on the other hand, seems a hair shy of enamored with him. Not in a manner that makes me concerned, of course. I would never be concerned by a sprat like him.
“What a beautiful bride you have,” he says. “What beauties we’ve both been given. We must have pleased the Artifice, you and I, Artie.”
The familiarity makes me wince, but correcting him would introduce social tension, and probably embarrass Mila. I see her look at me with concern when he uses that diminutive term. She already knows me well enough to know I won’t like it. I’d consider that some kind of intimacy, but really, any sensible person would know better.
This makes me even more suspicious of Edward. He is trying to get a rise out of me. He’s pushing the limits already. He wants me off balance in my own home. He’s hostile, in other words.
“Dinner is served,” Cordingly says, bursting in with much needed cheerfulness.
I am very glad. If we eat dinner, then we are one step closer to the others going home. This evening has already gone on too long.
Mila and Elizabeth are deep in conversation about dresses and balls and weddings. Elizabeth is doing most of the talking, discussing the upcoming ceremony that she and Edward plan to have to celebrate their having been matched. Marriage is an arcane and outdated tradition in many respects, but of course Edward wants to make a scene, or a spectacle.
“What are your hobbies, Arthur? I’ve just gotten into hunting. You should come out with us sometimes. The deserts are absolutely teeming with things to kill.”
The deserts are full of life mutated at the end of the last war. The areas close to New Boston are monitored and regularly cleared, so there’s no real danger. But further out? There are monstrosities of the kind only a fool would willingly deal with.
It makes perfect sense that Edward likes to go out there. It allows him to be violent without truly risking all one must risk when one goes to war.
“She’s very excited about the ceremony,” he says, when I do not respond to the previous comment. “What are you and Mila going to do to celebrate the match?”
“Conceive a child,” I reply.
Mila
Arthur is being so rude. Every time Edward tries to talk to him, he refuses to answer. It’s like watching someone try to talk to a wall.
The last response is so shameful somehow. Elizabeth chokes on her food, and I feel myself going bright red. He is referring to sex, of course. He is basically announcing to everyone in the room that we… that he… fucks me.
The fact that I know what he does and how he does it makes the statement all that much more scandalous.
There is a protracted silence following his statement, then, much to my relief, Edward Idaho bursts out laughing. It seems like quite genuine merriment, so much so he reaches out and slaps Arthur on the shoulder.
“I knew there had to be life in the old dog!”
Arthur does not look any more pleased, but the tension is broken.
“Well, we are going to have an old-fashioned party, and of course the two of you must come. We intend it to be the biggest celebration New Boston has ever seen. We’re thinking of asking the Artifice for special dispensation to break a few of the customary rules.”
“Such as?”
Now Arthur is interested. He doesn’t like rule breaking of any kind.
“Nothing too serious, Archon-General. Relaxation of the gathering size rules mostly. And of course, the entertainment.”
“What kind of entertainment?”
“Better drinks and powders.”
I watch Arthur stiffen. The flint in his eyes seems to harden. I half-expect him to launch into a lecture, but he doesn’t. He just sits there, very still, his eyes on Edward. He hasn’t really changed his physical position, but something about him reminds me of a predator tensed and ready to strike.
“Better drinks and powders than the ones currently allowed?”
“Alcohol is for babes,” Edward says jovially, not noticing how poorly his words are being received.
“I hope you don’t give our baby any alcohol when we have one,” Elizabeth cuts in with a little laugh. She is reading the room much more adeptly than her husband, it seems.
“Adults should be able to enjoy themselves as they see fit. This used to be the land of the free, you know.”
“That was a long time ago,” Arthur replies softly.
I am very worried now. I think my husband has identified Edward as a rebel, and that will not do. I look over at Lydia and notice that she has gone. That realization sends prickles of concern running down my spine. Where is she? What is she doing?
I can’t afford to excuse myself from the table, but I need this conversation to stop before Edward says something very stupid. So I pretend to stand up, and in doing so, I make sure I am holding my glass of very red wine. As I stand, I ‘trip,’ hurling the contents of the glass across the table and over Arthur’s shirt.
The look he gives me suggests that he knows very well that was no accident, even as I start stammering apologies.
“I’m so sorry! I’m so clumsy!”
“It’s not a problem,” Arthur says. “I’ll just take a moment and get cleaned up. You should come too, Mila. You have a few drops on your dress.”
I don’t have a speck on my dress, but I know better than to refuse to follow him.
Lydia has returned, almost as if she has spontaneously appeared at the sound of my distress. She stands at the door, surveying the scene with a nonplussed air. I am so ashamed. This is the most awkward dinner I have ever been a part of. I know Elizabeth will go home with Edward and probably laugh at how strange we all were.
Arthur and I hurry to the bedroom, where I turn on him the moment the door is closed.
He is waiting for my comment, I can tell by the wry look on his handsome face as he starts undoing his cufflinks and unbuttoning his waistcoat in preparation for removing his shirt.
“Do you have to act like the officer of the world?” I hiss the question. “Can’t you just let some other people do what they want sometimes?”
“Not if it is against the orders of the Artifice,” he says.
“You sound more like a robot than the Artifice machine is,” I snap back.
His eyes darken in my direction. “Careful, Mila. This evening may not be going as well as you hoped, but I promise you, it could get worse. You can go back out there with a sore ass.”
I bite my lip and watch as he strips his shirt off. The sight of his muscular, scarred body does mollify me somewhat. It’s hard to be angry with him when he looks so very appealing.
“I do appreciate the break, however,” he says. “That conversation was excruciating.”
“Only because you made it that way. Can’t you forget that you’re the Archon-General from time to time?”
“Not easily,” he says. “I dedicated my life and a good part of my body to serving the Artifice. I don’t intend to forget my principles because some bore decides to say inappropriate things at the dinner table.”
He’s reaching for a shirt now, and he’s rippling in all the right ways. I suppose he’s right, really. Edward Idaho is talking to him as if they’re old friends. He’s provoking him, almost. I just wanted to have a nice night with Elizabeth.
“Tell me you at least think Lizzie is nice,” I say. She told me to call her Lizzie, and that is what I intend to do.
“She seems nice enough,” Arthur says. “A pleasant young woman.”
“Maybe she and I can go out and do things from time to time?”
“Certainly,” he says, immediately raising my spirits. “As long as Lydia is with you.”
They are dashed as quickly as they were elevated.
“Why? This entire city is full of people who are afraid of you. Nobody would ever dare touch me. Lydia looming around after me all the time is just weird.”
“Mila, you are starting to sound like a spoiled brat, and there is only one thing to do with spoiled brats.”
He is buttoning the shirt now, hiding his impressive torso.
“I just want to have one normal day,” I half-sob. Maybe I am being dramatic, but I have pinned all my hopes on this friendship. I miss my home. I miss the rolling hills and the house that smells of history everywhere. I miss the horses in the barn and the flowers in the fields, and I miss the freedom to roam where I please.
Arthur gives me a surprisingly sympathetic look. “I know you’re adjusting to a new life, and I know that adjustment isn’t easy. Elizabeth seems like a sweet girl and I am sure you two will be very good friends. But I am going to look after you as I best know how to. And right now, the best way to look after you is to ensure that either I am with you, or Lydia is. You can accept that, or I can spank you, and then you can accept it.”
“I don’t like being threatened all the time.”
“Then you have the option of behaving yourself and making the warnings, not threats, unnecessary.”
Arthur
She looks at me with that harmless fury that is uniquely her own. One day she might be an imperious creature, but for now she is a hissing, spitting kitten.
I kiss her petulant lips.
She might not like being reminded that she can be disciplined, but it is better to get a reminder than it is to have the experience itself.
Mila leans into me, sighs against my mouth, gives me that moment of surrender and lustful desire that always simmers beneath the surface. I have been watching Edward and Elizabeth, seeing how they superficially seem to match so much better than my bride and I. But the moment I feel her lips on mine, and our connection fires into life, I have no doubts about the Artifice’s judgment. She’s mine. She belongs to me. It is truly that simple.
“Maybe we should stay here, in the bedroom,” I growl against her mouth. “Would you like that?”
“We have to be polite,” she moans back.
“We should both remember that,” I reply.
The feeling of her lithe, warm body against mine is a pleasant distraction from the social unpleasantness going on in the dining room. I wish we had not invited anybody. Perhaps it would have been better to follow the wedding custom and take the weeks following with my bride.
But I cannot rest, and I cannot take a vacation, for any reason. All of my intelligence suggests that the rebellion is growing in strength and numbers. There are skirmishes on the West Coast, pushing into the heartlands. People in New Boston assume there’s nothing there, but the truth is there are millions of people out there. People living simple lives that aren’t as affected by the Artifice as they are here. They’re ripe for the rebellion, because the rebellion has human intelligence. The Artifice makes cold, hard, unpopular decisions. The rebellion always gives people what they want, or it at least pretends to. The further we get from the war that ended everything, the more people think they don’t need the Artifice. They’re wrong.
I do what I do because I know what the Artifice knows, that people cannot and do not make good decisions for themselves, or for the world at large.
The attitudes displayed by Edward Idaho are dangerous. I do not want Mila to have anything to do with him. I don’t know about his wife. She seems young and impressionable. But with that man making his impression on her, she will not be a suitable companion for long.
I won’t tell Mila that right away. I want to give her what scraps of happiness I can. I am not going to be like the rebels. I am not going to be able to give her all she wants. I am going to deny her many things for her own good, because I love her, and because loving someone is not always the same as pleasing them.
“Come,” I say. “We must return to our guests.”
The rest of the evening is less heinous. I manage to swap a few pleasantries with Edward Idaho. He is not an entirely unpleasant man. He is intelligent, and he can be quite witty. Beneath the banal banter that serves as a social lubricant, he is capable of understanding a great deal. He is dangerous, the sort of man I should be trying to keep close.
I find myself reevaluating the potential companionship between my bride and his. Part of the blessing of marriage is creating social connections. This might herald a new era in my fight for the Artifice.
“I may take you up on that offer to hunt,” I say. “What is your favorite desert quarry?”
“My favorite dessert quarry is chocolate mousse,” Elizabeth giggles.
Cordingly takes the hint and dives toward the kitchen.
“The bigger the better,” Edward says. “I killed a mega boar on my last venture. A 50 cal barely scratches those things.”
Mega boars are descendants of wild pigs that bred with farmed pigs to create a sort of super pig. Those pigs then continued to evolve at an advanced pace, adapting to the various changing conditions of war and pestilence. They are now over a thousand pounds, and practically armored, their hides are so thick. They dig dens in the desert and make their home in ruins. They can survive extreme cold by regulating temperature underground, and they are so cunning as to be practically uncatchable.
“You should come to my house and see its head,” he says. “I had the boar mounted in the foyer. Only place big enough for it to fit!”
I am sure that is not true, but I am curious as to what that would look like. I try not to get caught up in superficial pursuits, but that sight would be quite something.
“That actually was rather nice in the end,” my bride says once we have farewelled our guests for the evening. “Thank you for indulging me. I know it was painful for you.”
“You are welcome. It was not entirely unpleasant.”
“I’d like to go out with Elizabeth soon,” she says. “I think she’s going to invite me for a walk in the gardens.”
I feel a little uncertain. My basic instinct is to tell Mila that she is a grown, married woman, and does not have to get my permission to go anywhere or do anything. That is the legal truth of the matter, but the real truth is that I absolutely will tell her where she can go and what she can do.
“That sounds like a good time,” I say.
“Good! I’m going tomorrow!”