She switched it off and the road abruptly reverted to its usual state, and when she picked up her pendant, the sunken panel vanished from view.
“It’s astonishing.”
“It seems astonishing now —but it was once so ordinary you’d not have given it a second’s thought. And, Red?”
“Yes?”
“You can’t tell anyone about this.”
I assured her I would add it to the long list of secrets, and she laughed. A sudden thought struck me.
“You’re not going to submit to Reboot, are you?”
A look of seriousness came over her face, and she replaced the pendent around her neck.
“No. Monday morning I’m gone. It’s not an ideal outcome, but I’m eight hundred merits below zero.”
“Eight hundred? What did you do?”
“It was what I didn’t do. When people take a dislike to you, it’s amazing how quickly you can become a demerit magnet.”
“Where will you go?”
“I have no idea. Rusty Hill, perhaps. It’s not an ideal situation, but at least transport isn’t a problem. I can ride the conveyor to wherever I want.”
I said the first thing that came into my head: “I’ll miss you.”
“Red,” said Jane, placing a hand on my arm with a rare display of tenderness, “you won’t be around to.”
I fell into silence for a moment. Despite her annoying forthright-ness, it was the first vaguely pleasant conversation I’d had with her—she hadn’t once threatened to kill me or hit me with a brick or anything, and we’d been talking for nearly twenty minutes. I’d like to think it was because she trusted me, but it was more likely that she, like everyone else, didn’t rate my chances at High Saffron very high. But I still didn’t feel the moment was right to ask her to come with me. I had an idea.
“Can you accompany me into the zone?”
“Why?”
“I’d like to have a look at the Vermeer.”
I’d visited the Greyzone in Jade-under-Lime only a few times, when much younger. It wasn’t somewhere Chromatics generally went. Partly because we had little business to be there, partly because the Rules were fairly strict when it came to Grey privacy and partly because we simply weren’t welcome.
I looked around curiously as we walked in. The houses were built in the twin-terraced fashion of mostly stone, with a single roadway in between the buildings, which had their doorways facing each other in an unusual fashion. The streets were scrubbed, and everything was as tidy as a new pin. Since almost a third of any town’s population was made up of Greys, the zone was a large part of the residential area but always slightly removed from the Chromatic part of the village. Apart We Are Together.
I had expected to be stared at when we walked in, but I wasn’t—no one took the slightest notice of me.
“It all seems very friendly,” I observed.
“You’re with me,” she said. “I wouldn’t attempt this on your own. Don’t believe me? Watch.” And she told me to wait for her as she ducked into a house.
I suddenly felt very alone and vulnerable. Within a very short time I was being stared at, and after less than a minute, a young man approached and spoke in a voice that, while polite, carried with it a sense of understated menace. “Have you lost your way, sir?”
“I was waiting—”
“He’s with me,” said Jane, coming out of the house, holding a plate with a slice of cake on it. “Clifton, this is the swatchman’s son. Red, this is Clifton, my brother.”
“Pleased to meet you,” he said, his manner entirely changed. “Jane says you’re ‘mostly deplorable,’ which for her is quite a compliment.”
I looked at Jane, who said, “Don’t listen to him. It’s every bit as insulting as it’s intended to be.”
“So,” continued Clifton, who seemed as gregarious as Jane was serious, “for you it’s death or marriage to Violet. You do like difficult choices, don’t you?”
“If I get back, she’s the last person I’d marry.”
He laughed. “So you say. Violet can be very persuasive. She and I have had an understanding that goes back a couple of years.”
He opened his eyes wide so the meaning was clear. “You won’t be disappointed. Mind you,” he added, “I upped the feedback score to ensure repeat business.” He winked and added, “If you don’t use the word no in her presence, I daresay you’ll be very happy.”
“Thanks for the advice,” I replied in a humorless tone.
He smiled, said it was nothing and departed.
“Clifton keeps us well fed with Violet’s tittle-tattle,” said Jane as we walked on, “so his position within the Hierarchy is not totally one sided. In fact, your marriage will cut off a very useful gossip stream.”
“I’m not getting back from High Saffron,” I said, “remember?”
“Then perhaps we’re safe after all. The cash helps, too. Here we are.”
We had arrived at a plain front door at the end of the terrace, and Jane knocked twice. The man who answered the door was Graham, the elderly man who’d had the sniffles.
“Enjoying your retirement?” I asked.
“What retirement? Mrs. Gamboge has me on part-time work.”
I asked him how this was possible, and he responded that Sally Gamboge was a master at finding ways to extract every last ounce of sweat from the Greyforce.
“We came to look at the Vermeer,” said Jane to Graham. “I brought you some cake.”
Mr. G-67 thanked her and then showed us upstairs, where the painting was hanging in a room all by itself. There was a linen-covered roof-light and a plain viewing bench to sit on.
“It’s quite lovely,” I said after a minute’s silence.
The canvas was of a woman pouring milk out of a jug and into a bowl. In front of her was a small table with a basket of bread laid upon it, and the whole scene looked as though it had been lit from a window to the left—although of the window itself there was no sign. The canvas had several scorch marks along the bottom of the frame, and the paint had come away in patches, but there was still enough that was wonderful.
“I’m told her tunic is yellow and her dress blue,” observed Graham. “The Greens come up here quite a lot to practice their color separation. We had someone around last month who was ticking Vermeers off her I-Spy book. Seen all eight, she said. I’ll leave you to it.”
I sat down on the viewing bench, leaving ample room for Jane, but she remained standing. I decided to pop the question. “I’d like you to come with me to High Saffron.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, “I never do death on a first date. Have you found out anything more about the Colorman?”
I shook my head.
“Then perhaps you should start going through his valise. See what you can find out.”
“You’re joking!”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
“No. But—” I stopped because there was a mild commotion outside, and Jane moved to the window.
“What on earth are they doing here?” she murmured, and made her way swiftly out of the door.
Intrigued, I followed. But she didn’t exit out of the front of the house, where the commotion was; she made for the rear, through Graham’s kitchen. When I tried to follow, the elderly Grey stood in my path and looked at me in a way that, while not openly hostile, made me realize that the only way out of the house was the way I came in.
I stepped into the street and was met by a brilliant flash of yellow. It was Sally Gamboge, Courtland, Bunty McMustard and even little Penelope. They were striding down the street and didn’t look as though they were here to see the Vermeer.