"You look like dressed-up frogs," Tira growled. "But you’ll have to do. Come on. The guests will be arriving in less than an hour, and I still have to teach you how to serve."
What followed was a whirlwind lesson in service and servant manners. Fortunately, Tira decided to put them in charge of one of the hors d’oeuvre tables in the main ballroom for the drinks and dancing portions of the party, and that meant mostly replacing empty trays with full ones from the kitchen and giving guests directions to the bar and bathrooms. Later, during the dinner portion of the evening, their sole duty would be making sure the guests’ water glasses remained full. Tira made both of them pour glass after glass from a crystal pitcher until she was satisfied with their performance.
"It’s worth your hide if you spill one drop on guest or tablecloth," she warned, and bustled away. Lizard and Pup gave identical sighs of relief, then laughed. Lizard remembered his first night at the farm when he had heard Pup’s laugh. He still liked the sound, though he had never said so.
A while later, the first guests began to arrive. Lizard stood behind the hors d’oeuvre table, exchanging nervous glances with Pup and trying not to fidget in his tight shoes on the hard marble floor. The unfamiliar clothes began to feel heavy and confining, and he had to force himself to concentrate on the task at hand.
Please please please, he pleaded silently, don’t let me screw this up.
The ballroom was two stories tall and had a pale green marble floor shot with black. A balcony ringed the upper wall with two grand staircases at either end granting access to it. The guests were all human-Lizard hadn’t seen a single alien since the space station-and they wore a dazzling array of glittering jewels, bright colors, and rustling fabric. Several of the women were accompanied by an entourage of gems that orbited head and hair like tiny solar systems. Lizard managed not to stare and instead put what he hoped was a friendly, obsequious smile on his face. A tastefully small orchestra provided light music from the balcony, though no one danced-that would come after dinner. Lizard guessed there were well over a hundred people present.
A steady stream of guests began to visit the hors d’oeuvre table, and Lizard found himself very busy. He and Pup alternated bringing in food trays from the kitchen, combining half-empty serving dishes, and whisking the dirty dishes away. There was, Lizard found, a certain rhythm to it, and once he got it down, it wasn’t that difficult. Once, Tira came by to inspect their work and grudgingly admitted they were doing "an adequate job." Lizard’s nervousness eased and he began to wish there were something he could do about his sore, pinched feet. He had hoisted yet another tray of empty serving dishes onto his shoulder and was heading for the kitchen when an old woman dressed all in black stopped him.
"Where’s the restroom, please?" she asked with more politeness than most of the guests.
Lizard nodded toward one of the staircases. "Directly through the doors under either staircase, Mistress."
"Thank you, dear." Before Lizard realized what was happening, she reached up to pat his cheek like a friendly aunt. Her bare hand touched his face, and a jolt slammed through Lizard’s body. Lizard gasped, and the room twisted around him. The tray fell from his shoulder with a ear-shattering crash of breaking crystal and ringing silver. After a moment the vertigo faded and he became aware he was on hands and knees amid shards of glass and scattered serving spoons. A ring of people had surrounded him. The orchestra had fallen silent. Tira’s angry face appeared among the crowd, and a part of Lizard knew that his chances of promotion to house slave had vanished like water on a hot stove.
"Lizard?" Pup said beside him. "Are you hurt? What’s wrong?"
"I don’t know." He let Pup help him to his feet. "She touched me, and-"
"What’s going on here?" demanded a new voice. Giselle Blanc, dressed in a pale green gown, pushed her way to the front of the crowd. She took in the scene at a glance and turned to face the crowd. "A small accident. Thank you for your concern, my friends. Please return to your conversations. Everything is under control. Orchestra?"
This last was clearly an order, and the music immediately resumed. The crowd drifted away, leaving Mistress Blanc, Pup, Lizard, and the old woman in black.
"Get this mess cleaned up," Blanc snapped. "How could you be so clumsy?"
"It wasn’t his fault, Giselle," said the old woman. "The boy is Silent. Didn’t you know?"
Blanc blinked. "Silent? What do you mean? How do you know he’s Silent?"
"I touched him," the woman said simply. "You should have him tested, of course, but the touch is never wrong."
Blanc stood motionless for a moment. Conversation and music mingled on the ballroom floor behind her. Then she pointed at Pup. "You. Clean up this mess. You-" she pointed at Lizard "-come with me. Clara, would you mind?"
"Not at all, dear."
The two women turned and walked toward one of the exits without looking back. Bewildered, Lizard shot Pup a glance. Pup, who had knelt to gather up the debris, gestured at him to follow and gave him a thumbs-up sign.
"What’s Silent mean?" Lizard hissed at him.
"Go!" Pup hissed back. "And be sure you remember your friends later."
More confused than ever, Lizard trotted away. He followed Mistress Blanc and the old woman named Clara out of the ballroom, along a corridor, and through a set of double doors into a large room paneled with blond wood. A huge silk rug covered the center of the burnished floor, and an enormous desk sat next to a stone fireplace. Shelves were crammed with bookdisks, and statues of frogs were everywhere. A wet bar occupied one corner. It was well after sunset, and the windows showed only a reflection of the room itself. Blanc motioned Clara to a leather easy chair while she opened a decanter at the bar.
"Brandy?" she asked.
"No thank you, dear," Clara said from the depths of the chair.
Lizard wasn’t sure what to do, so he stood next to the door. His heart pounded like a hyperactive hammer and he was starting to sweat. Was he in trouble for dropping the tray? Doubtful-Pup had looked happy for him. So why was he here?
Blanc splashed red-brown liquid into a glass the size of a balloon and took up a chair behind the desk. She swirled the brandy, sipped. "You say my slave Lizard is Silent."
Clara gave a prim smile. "Of course."
"I don’t understand how." Blanc set the snifter down and tapped her desk. A holographic screen winked into view and text scrolled across it. "It’s as I remembered. His papers state he was found on an STL colony ship that left Earth some nine hundred years ago."
Lizard stood by the door in his tight shoes, feeling like some new species of frog that had caught Mistress Blanc’s eye.
"So he wasn’t born into slavery?" Clara said.
Blanc shook her head. "And I know what you’re thinking. Listen, someone else would have bought him and his dam if I hadn’t, and I treat my people well. He has a good home here."
"Did you rescue him from a colony ship or the dog pound?" Clara asked mildly, echoing Lizard’s unspoken thoughts. A wash of anger flashed over him and he had to struggle to stay quiet.
"At any rate," Blanc said, brushing Clara’s comment aside, "he left Earth long before Irfan Qasad started creating Silent babies."
"Nevertheless," Clara said firmly, "I am Silent, and when I touched him, I knew."
Lizard could keep quiet no longer. "Please, Mistress," he said, and both women turned their gaze on him, "what does it mean that I’m Silent?"
"It means you’re worth a hell of a lot more than five hundred freemarks," Blanc muttered.
"Silence is a form of telepathy, child," Clara said. "Once you’ve had proper training, you’ll be able to enter the Dream and communicate with any other Silent in the universe, no matter what species they are, what language they speak, or what planet they live on." She gestured at Mistress Blanc. "Some of the frogs on this very farm produce toxins that can be refined into drugs that aid the Silent in reaching the Dream."