the student problem 6

 

Chapter 6

 

I was relieved, and amused, that none of the snotty brats from my class seemed to recognise me. Plainly, thinking that a tutor was little short of a servant, none of them saw me as a person, whereas Henduuri Liim was Somebody. I was even introduced to Sharuu, and she tittered, gave me the eye, and greeted me prettily.

Well, she’d be a dead loss as a noble in terms of her observation.  And I was fairly sure from her body language that she had not recognised me.

I had a good cover story for any who might, and gave me an excuse for rather chilly standoffishness.  One did not really wish to meet, socially, the students one had reluctantly taken on as a favour to a friend.

I would have been rather hurt if Miss Kerofin had failed to recognise me, I confess, but I was still gratified when her eyes scanned the ballroom and stopped on me with immediate recognition. Her eyes looked all kinds of questions. I made ‘stay put’ faces at her, and moved, not directly, in her general direction.

This led to me having to talk to one or two people who wanted to know how true it was that Lady Kelso was a dreadful woman, with no manners at all, and just too, too violent.

I smiled brightly to answer that one.

“Lady Kelso adheres to the social code of her barony,” I said. “The people of Tallis have adapted largely to the customs and societal mores of the Babari settlers there. I’m sure you know that they resemble felines, and have a warrior culture, in which there is a gendered dichotomy of behaviour. To retain their respect, Lady Kelso has to be perceived by them as a male warlord. She has won a number of duels fighting only with the strap-on dewclaw, which is the Babari way of settling conflict. She’s not a large woman, maybe sixty-five ruud tall and ten kameen.” I used the Wiłu measurements; a ruud, originally a thumb length, was about the same as an old earth inch, and a kameen was five kilos give or take. Indira is skinny but made of whipcord. “Seeing her take on thirty-five plus kameen of angry furball at court, because some idiot had slighted the Babari ambassador was a real treat. She’ll bear a scar on her left bicep for life – there are rules that scars from honour duels may not use tissue replicators to mend them – but she spread his guts over the throne room for his remarks to the emperor.”

“Indeed, whatever one may think of his family line, he is the emperor,” said my interlocutor. Some female named Rutilli Foruudeen, if I recalled correctly from memorising the social scene, a social climber with sufficient roots not to easily be weeded out, and suckers with gripping thorns which clung where they touched as she heaved herself up. Oh bugger. I had just essentially said I had been at court.

I do not attend court. I had only been there to discuss my little book on spying with those who were interested... and Mad Indira had been there, and the incident with Ambassador Reeaawlish had occurred. But Foruudeen’s eyes had lit up.

“Are you often at court?” she asked.

“No, I find it too tedious,” I said.

Good save, Kowalski. The eager look faded from her eyes, and she took her encroaching sucker... hand, I mean... off my arm.

I managed to make my way over to Miss Kerufin with only a few minor interruptions after that.

“Gunny!” she gasped. “I am glad to see you. Everything I hear now means more, and... goodness, I probably deserved the D grades old Asaki used to give me, but he never explained things like you do. You look so different!”

I grinned.

It’s amazing how much difference it makes to have a quick-grown hairstyle all over in contrast to a marine’s strip-cut, even with the length permitted to a high ranking gunnery sergeant. The Marine corps is strict. A recruit’s head is shaved; and when it starts to grow back, the sides of his head are shaved. By the time he has a respectable strip, he is fully-trained and is expected to maintain his hair like that. Now that fitted masks are no issue, anyone above the rank of corporal is permitted facial hair. Some units maintain customs whereby this is only a moustache until promotion to sergeant. I’ve seen one unit where lance-corporals wore a moustache on one side only, until promotion to corporal. I considered that to be taking things too far.  Anyway, as a gunny, I was permitted to grow the front of my strip cut to a maximum of six inches long where that did not impede my eyes. An officer might grow a tail at the back.

And I had defied all marine convention and had grown my hair over all my head in the way a nobleman generally wears it – in the inner sectors, anyway – brushed back from the forehead to fall to shoulder length. I postulate that it comes from a time when this was a form of conspicuous consumption, in that one could afford to have any grease from the hair readily laundered from collars, before the days of easy laundry, but it’s only my theory.  I had not had it curled as some people do, but it curled under naturally at collar length.

“Amazing what hair can do for you,” I murmured.

“Yes, you’re even more scrumptious, Gunny,” said Miss Kerufin, who then blushed fierily red. “I’m sorry!”

“I’ll take the compliment in good spirit,” I said. “You are attracting attention from young men; congratulations on your new look. I’ll ask you to dance later but I won’t stand out by asking you for the first.”

“Besides, I don’t have much to report,” said Miss Kerufin. “Suppose I put you down for the supper dance?”

“Admirable,” I said. “Then I also get decent conversation for taking you in to supper.”

“The relief there is mutual,” said Miss Kerufin.

 

I let some callow idiot ask Miss Kerufin to dance, and moved away before I informed him that any woman who took him seriously must have had at least a partial cerebrumectomy, at least those portions of the brain dealing with sight, scent, hearing, and good judgement. His pantabriefs were scarlet, and he wore a quasi-military jacket with them, in gold lamé, tight on one arm, pleated and wide on the other, with scarlet and black frogging of the kind I’ve never seen even on the dress uniform of the personal guard of the most outrageous Wargrin  dictator, and over it a half cloak of similar cut to mine, where ended the similarity, it being scarlet with gold lining. His hair tamer stank like a cheap brothel and he might as well not have bothered as his asymmetric cut was not staying where he seemed to want it, and he had a rather high-pitched and nasal voice.

I hoped Miss Kerufin would not giggle at him too much; it might give her hiccups.

I danced the next few dances with women who were, on the whole, older than me, and glad of the attention. What, did you think that because I’m a marine I can’t dance? I’ll have you know that marines dance very well. It’s good for footwork as well as being good P.R., and you soon learn a dance when your sergeant is firing a powered down laser rifle at where your feet should not be.

I still have a burn scar from learning the Trehuuni Threestep, or what we called the Poshity Polka.

I was contemplating whether I would ask one of the even older harridans, or one of the young idiots for one of the last two dances before the supper dance, when  I felt someone behind me, and a light hand slid into my arm.

“This way,” said Miss Kerufin.

She led me down the length of the ballroom, through an antechamber where people were playing cards, down a corridor, into another room, currently empty, and into... a cupboard.

I turned to her, to ask if this was a joke, and she put her finger to her lips.

Very pretty lips, but pursed unbecomingly at the moment, even as her face was twisted in a frown. She fished around in her silly little clutch-purse, and extracted a nail file, which she used to unscrew some kind of insulation inside the cupboard. I assisted her with part of the kit I always carry with me. The panel lifted away and we were hearing voices.

“...wipe away the Soll’d contamination forever,” rumbled Lord Duranor. “The timing has to be impeccable, or we lose our chance whilst Xander Papadopulos is off Capital on his Progression. Lord Bronteen, your sacrifice is considerable.”

“Hardly,” sneered an upper-class, rather nasal voice. “Obviously one of the family has to be there to greet the emperor, and if my wife and daughter are there, and I have an unfortunate case of some childhood ailment I don’t want to spread, that’s a good reason not to be there in person.”

“You’d better be genuinely ill; there will be investigations afterwards and they’ll be all over you like Sol pox,” said Duranor. “You might do better to be inspecting some slum building on your major moon, and get trapped in falling rubble. I know a man who can arrange for you not to be badly hurt, but to be out of commission for a few days.”

“Thank you, I have my own man to arrange such things,” said Bronteen.

“Don’t you trust me?” said Duranor.

Bronteen laughed.

“Of course I trust you. I trust you to cover your own arse. I plan to survive to reluctantly remarry, and start another family. I won’t make the same mistake; Sulitielle is beautiful and seemed restful, and as dear Lady Faruu is one of us, and astute, I assumed Sulitielle was astute as well.  Her daughter – I do not claim her – is positively wanting, so it will be no loss at all.”

“Moreover, Sulitielle speaks out of turn and says too much,” said a female voice, which I assumed was Lady Faruu until Miss Kerufin stiffened beside me. “And I am sure my dear husband will be an honour guard. And then I can get rid of him as easily. And we can start over, Hen-Hen.”

“Only if you’re still fertile, Moruunaa,” said Lord Bronteen. “I will want an heir, and your daughter is not suitable; she’s too much like her father. Indeed, I think she should have the honour of meeting the emperor with her dear friend, my daughter.”

“I... Serenaa has not been herself lately,” sighed Moruunaa, and I suddenly realised that this was Lady Kerufin and that Serenaa was shaking uncontrollably beside me, and suppressing a sob.

She did not suppress it well enough.

“What was that?” said Duranor. “Quick! Into the passage, let nobody get away, find out if someone was eavesdropping!”

Hastily I shoved the insulation back, putting two screws in fairly well, Serenaa, bless her, catching on to do likewise, and the voices vanished. I pulled Serenaa into the empty room, which was some kind of parlour, and pulled her against me.

“Pardon the liberty,” I said, and kissed her, hard.

She was kissing me back, and moaning loud enough for the noise to be as much as a muffled sob in the cupboard as Duranor crashed into the room.

I ignored him, making out that I was too carried away. Which didn’t take much acting. Serenaa had one hand clamped firmly on my butt, her other hand entangled in my hair. I had one hand in her curls and the other on her own delectable little arse.  Most improper, but better than being caught spying. And my arousal was in no wise simulated. Especially as she thrust herself against me.

“Lime?” said Duranor.

I started, and probably looked as guilty as I was feeling for manhandling a student.

“Dammit, my lord, I thought we were out of earshot of anyone,” I said.

The woman with blue hair behind him gave a little shriek.

“M...mumsy?” said Serenaa. “I... I’ve been seeing Harry for a while...”

“What, some Soll’d?” said Lady Kerufin.

“Henduuri Liim is perfectly respectable, Lady Kerufin,” said Duranor. “He assumed a Solcentric name for his own reasons, though like many people, including your own husband he has some Solcentric blood. We can’t all be pure blooded,” he smirked.

“You’ll have to marry him!” said Lady Kerufin. “Oh dear! What will your father say?”  

“Goodness, Mumsy!” said Serenaa. “It’s not as if I’m sleeping about like some people do; Suelle is sleeping with four different boyfriends and going all the way, and trying not to let them find out about each other. I haven’t permitted Harry to touch an inch of flesh.”

“We are going home, and we will talk about this tomorrow,” said Lady Kerufin. She grabbed Serenaa by the wrist, and dragged her off. Serenaa flounced, and wriggled her butt at me. Part of me was trying to follow her out.

Duranor strolled over to look in the cupboard, before coming back to talk to me.

“You’d be in trouble if I ratted you up to the principal,” he said, in an amused tone.

“I can’t say I’m enjoying teaching so much that it would really upset me to be fired,” I said. “She’s a passionate little piece; I wouldn’t even mind being saddled with her, even if it did start out as revenge.”

“Revenge?”

“Her father is a martinet,” I said.

His face relaxed.

“Oh, I see,” he said. “Is that why you really took the job?”

“Of course,” I said. “No profit in teaching a bunch of frankly slack-jawed inadequates how to do their jobs, even the pure bloods seem mostly wanting.”

“I expect they were playing you up, thinking you too Soll’d,” said Duranor. “I will have words; they will behave themselves a bit better.”

“I had hoped it would stimulate them to try to prove themselves better, but that, alas, did not work,” I said. “A little social experiment of mine, for kicks and giggles.”

“Now, Henduuri, you are not one of the Forerunners and should not play games with our young people,” said Duranor, wagging a playful finger. “Did you break into Miss Frostyface’s virginity?”

“I thought I was going to do so tonight,” I said, managing to sound rueful. “I was so sure we could not be heard from the ballroom or the antechambers.”

“Oh, it was because I was conducting some business in another room the other side of this one,” said Duranor. “Well, well, I won’t tell on you, and I suspect the more Miss Kerufin is scolded, the more stubborn and reckless she will become.” He winked at me. “I wager you’ll have her in your bed before the holidays.”

“I hope so,” I said. “I want her beyond payback to her father.”

Mix three parts truth to one part lie, stir well.

And my lust must be fairly obvious.

He clapped me on the shoulder, and took me to his study for a Tallisian brandy.

It looked as though we had got away with it. If only Serenaa could manage not to throw her mother’s betrayal in the woman’s face.

I trusted her not to do so.