Shades of Grey

Tommo and Dad

I found Tommo waiting for me outside, sitting on the wall of the village’s color garden. The yellow had run out sometime overnight, and the grass was now a sickly shade of blue. The pump would have been switched off, but the remaining color would take a few days to leach through. I wasn’t feeling that well disposed toward him, so I just walked off in the direction of home.

“What did you get?” he asked, trotting to catch up.

“I didn’t get anything,” I replied. “I lost eight hundred.”

“Wow,” said Tommo, visibly impressed. “Not even I’ve lost that many in one hit. Never had that many to lose, actually.”

“And I’m leading the expedition to High Saffron.”

“You’re insane. And I’m not sure they can do that as a punishment.”

“I volunteered—in return for six hundred merits.”

“Not quite so insane but still amusingly irrational. But with a one hundred percent fatality rate, it will be difficult to draw up odds on this one. Unless . . .”

“Unless what?”

“Never mind. Violet was grinning fit to burst when she came out. What was that all about?”

He’d doubtless hear about it in due course, and I’d rather he had the correct story from me so I explained what had happened.

“Congratulations,” he said, “I’m sure you’ll be very happy together.”

“Happy?”

He shrugged. “It’s a relative term. If you’ve got that much red,” he added, “you’re going to be prefect.”

“Perhaps, but not here. I’ve got an Oxblood to marry and a stringworks to inherit.”

“That will all change when Violet gets weaving on her father. You’re Chromatically made for each other.

Violet is way down the blue end of Purple and your Red plums are just the thing to keep the family at the pointy end of the Chromatic Hierarchy.”

He smiled and put a hand on my shoulder. “Eddie, my friend, you are in a uniquely strong bargaining position. Do you want me to negotiate your dowry? The deMauves are pretty oiled. I’ll only charge ten percent.”

“No.”

“You drive a hard bargain—five percent, then.”

“No.”

“Two?”

“I mean I’m not marrying Violet.”

“You’ll come around to it.”

I accused him of attempting to profit from my enforced marriage, but he didn’t even bat an eyelid.

“Listen,” he said, as though I were the one being unreasonable, “I need that commission if I’m to avoid Reboot on Monday. Could you have that on your conscience?”

“Easily. I thought you said Violet was ‘the most poisonous female in the village.’ ”

“I must have misspoken. And listen: It wasn’t all bad news on the playing field this morning. Lucy let me hold her ear while she waited to have it stitched. Then, rather than telling me to go youknow myself, as she usually does, she thanked me quite sweetly.”

He looked at his bloodstained hand reverentially. “It was this hand. I’m never going to wash it.”

“I didn’t think you ever did.”

“Perhaps not, but now at least I have a reason. I’ll see you at lunch.”

I went and had a bath. Although Violet’s unwelcome attentions, the loss of nearly eight years’ worth of merits and the lack of a ticket home were matters of some concern, there was still plenty of room in the Eddie Russett worry pot: There was someone in the village who could see at night, Jane was up to something regarding Ochre and Zane, my father was seeing Mrs. Ochre and, incredibly, the Gamboges had killed Travis. All, however, were eclipsed by the fact that I would be traveling to High Saffron. The survival rate was so poor, in fact, that even Tommo wasn’t willing to lay any odds. But I wasn’t that worried. If Violet had her way—and I think Violet generally got her way—she could have the trip postponed forever.

I climbed out of the bath, dried, dressed, carefully parted my hair, tied my tie in the prescribed half-Windsor, then walked downstairs, where I found Dad waiting for me in the hall.

“Let’s walk together,” he said, for it was still ten minutes until lunch. I agreed, and we stepped out the door.

“This Tommo Cinnabar fellow,” he murmured as we walked across the square, “can we trust him?”

“Not even the tiniest bit,” I replied, “but I’ll admit he’s shrewd. Why?”

“He’s offered his services to negotiate the dowry we should charge for you to marry Violet deMauve.”

It was lightning-quick work on Tommo’s part.

“I don’t want to marry Violet, Dad.”

“Perfectly understandable,” he said. “She’s frightful. More important, I’ve not yet been approached by the head prefect, so nothing’s official. I just wanted to make sure we were singing from the same song sheet. Tommo seems to think we can get ten grand for you.”

“Dad!” I said, shocked by the notion that he might decide to sell me without consultation. “I’m up on a half promise to Constance, remember?”

“And that would cost me three grand,” he said. “Children are so ungrateful. Why the puce didn’t you tell me you were potential Alpha Red?”

I shrugged. “I wasn’t sure—and I didn’t want to be a braggart.”

“Very noble of you,” he replied sarcastically, “but if I’d known, I could have offered you for less or nothing to the Oxbloods, and spent the money on a hardwood conservatory instead.”

“Roger’s potential Alpha, too,” I said a bit uselessly.

Dad shook his head and lowered his voice. “I’ve seen his parents’ charts, and they don’t make exciting viewing. Josiah Oxblood is a strictly dynastic man. He’d have Constance marry a can of paint if it would enRedden the line.”

“That’s not a very good idiom, Dad.”

“It was the best I could come up with at short notice.” He glared at me and I fell silent.

To be honest, I hadn’t really considered the consequences of keeping my bestowal a secret. Usually a Chromatically arranged marriage was simply a source of gossip and a cheap laugh at someone else’s expense. When it happened to you, it suddenly seemed, well, a bit crummy. The higher-hued you became, the less choice of life partner there was. This kind of garbage never happened to the Greys.

“If this Tommo fellow is correct and the deMauves are both stinking rich and hue-desperate, we can probably get a preemptive bid or go to auction. Plus,” he added, as though to try to soften the deal, “I’d be happy to split the dowry with you. We’d walk away from the deal with both our pockets comfortably full.”

“That’s the difference,” I said. “I don’t get to walk away. I get to stay right here. And be married to Violet.”

“Is she really so different from Constance?”

“Not at all,” I replied. “But at least Constance was my decision.”

“Choice is overrated,” said Dad, quoting Munsell, something he rarely did. “I’m sure you’ll warm to her, given time. You’ll be Red prefect as soon as you’ve taken your Ishihara, and with deMauve as father-in-law, you’ll eventually run the linoleum factory.”

“Dad, we always agreed to talk this through before a decision was made.”

“We’re talking it through now, aren’t we? Besides, you’ve only yourself to blame, blurting out your bestowal—you see what happens to those who shamelessly boast? Like that Carrot fellow. What was his name again?”

“Dwayne.”

“Right. Dwayne Carrot. Exactly.”

We stood on the steps in silence as the other residents streamed into the town hall. They were chattering volubly, and paid us little attention.

“How did the hearing go?” he asked at length.

I told him about the eight hundred demerits, which he didn’t seem so annoyed about—presumably because it increased the likelihood of my going the deMauve route. He asked me why so many, and I explained about the rabbit. He shook his head sadly, and said that he always knew the rabbit would be trouble. I then took a deep breath and told him I’d offered to go to High Saffron to earn the merits back.

“You did what?”

“High Saffron. For six hundred merits.”

“What if you don’t make it back? What if night falls?”

“Night always falls, Dad.”

“With you inside it, I mean.”

“Dad,” I said more forcefully, “I’ll be fine, really. All the missing were feckless Rebootees who took the opportunity to leg it and are now probably running around in a loincloth with uncombed hair and poor table manners. I’ll be fine.”

“You might have consulted me before you took this rash decision. I have a twenty-year stake in you, too, you know.”

“In volunteering for tosh squads,” I replied, “the Rules do not require me to seek your permission.”

But he knew this.

“I suppose it might improve your leadership skills,” he grumbled, “useful if you do become a prefect.

When is this to be?”

“If the deMauves have their way, not until we’re wed and their grandchild is in the bag. Who knows, if Violet gets to like me, she could postpone the trip indefinitely.”

“That would suit all concerned.”

He was partly right. Dad would get his ten grand, Tommo would get his commission, Violet would get a Purple child and deMauve would secure his dynasty. The only beneficiary missing from the list was me.

But Dad was nothing if not fair, and after thinking for a moment, he relented. He sighed, patted my shoulder and said, “Listen, I can’t force you to marry Violet with a half promise to Constance on the table, but as the sole supplier of your dowry, I think my arguments might at least count for something.”

Once inside, I sat at the usual Red table and pondered the situation. At least I still had a way out. I could telegraph my Ishihara results to Constance on Sunday afternoon, and she’d agree to our marriage. I could get her to wire me a ticket authorization by return and be gone by Tuesday. Simple . . . except for the ticklish problem of not having enough merits to get married. Still, that was a problem I could deal with back home. It was now Friday, and all I had to do was to keep my nose clean until Sunday, the day of my Ishihara. And avoid Courtland. And Jane. And the Colorman. And Violet. I was just wondering how long I could barricade myself in the broom cupboard with a stack of cheese sandwiches and some water when the prefects walked in.