“I’ll be the Red prefect’s wife,” replied Jane coolly. “Why would I want to work there?”
“You’re getting above yourself,” she remarked, her voice rising. “You are horribly arrogant. This is because you think you’ve got a better nose than me, isn’t it?”
Jane turned to look at her.
“I don’t think I’ve got a better nose than you. I know I have a better nose than you. If the arbitrary division by which the Collective is split were set by nose quality rather than color vision, I’d be head prefect.”
“And,” I added, eager to back her up, “if it were run on the basis of who was best at manipulative dishonesty, it would be Tommo.”
“If it were run on those who demonstrated the most smug, pompous, and self-satisfied attitude,” continued Tommo, eager not to be left out, “you’d both run it jointly.”
We traveled on in silence, and as we approached the marshy area where we had seen the flamingos earlier, the light fell abruptly within the valley walls, and Jane slowed to a stop as a wall of impenetrable darkness loomed up in front of us. We could still see the sky, but everything below the line of the ridge was a muddy gloom that seemed to dance and ripple as our eyes attempted to give it some sort of form.
I heard Violet swear, then make some comment on how her parents would be sick with worry. But this was as far as we could go without artificial light. Or at least, as far as we were willing to admit we could go.
“Tommo,” I said, “did you steal one of the lightglobes from the flak tower?”
“I got kicked in the ribs,” came a sour voice from the darkness. “My mind was on other matters.”
“I think we should sing,” said Violet after a pause.
“If you do, I’m taking my chances with the night,” retorted Tommo.
And they started to bicker.
“Yewberry gave me three hand flares,” I announced as I rummaged in my bag. “Each one will last five minutes. They might get us as far as the closest dam to the village, and within line of sight. They’ll be keeping an eye out for us, so at least they’ll know we’re all right. Who wants to have a crack at it?” Violet was of the opinion that we should stay where we were and use the flares throughout the night to ward off Pookas, Riffraff and nocturnal biting animals. Jane was for pressing on, and Tommo was past caring one way or the other. I took Jane’s and my opinion as a consensus, so fumbled my way to the front of the car, perched myself on the front bumper and lit the first flare. It sputtered into life, and by the meager light that penetrated less than twenty feet ahead, we moved off. It was slow going, and by the time the first one had burned out and I’d started the second, we had reached the broken bridge. I began to think this was a poor idea when the second flare burned out without any end of the reservoir in sight, and when I fired up the third and final one, the tension in the Ford was painfully high. We were about a minute from the end of the final flare when I spotted a fine white point of light in the distance. It looked at first to be the lamppost, but it couldn’t have been this far out, and as we drew closer I could see that it was another flare, but this time a large Daylighter, which spread a flickering white light a hundred yards in every direction while giving off a rasping hiss and a pall of dense white smoke. Flares were used sparingly, and only to effect an emergency night extraction of a valuable member of the community. Violet or Courtland, for instance.
We drew level as my hand flare gave out, and we could see that the Daylighter had not long to burn, so we carried on to the next flare, and the next. It was in this manner that we returned to the stockwall gates, past the linoleum factory and into the outfall of the main lamppost, where all the prefects and most of the village were waiting for us. After the initial relief and cries of joy, Courtland’s absence was noted.
Sunday Morning
2.6.02.13.057: Every resident will take the Ishihara test in his or her twentieth year.
The sun was high when I awoke, and I lay in bed, thinking about the previous night’s debriefing, which had carried on until lights-out. My detailed report of the impracticality of mounting any sort of color-scrap extraction plan was met with annoyance and dismay, but not much surprise. To my relief, the Council seemed to be of the same opinion, accepting that since it had been deemed impractical two hundred years ago, when Ford flatheads and tractors were still in abundance, then it was doubly so now.
Violet, and to a lesser extent Tommo, had been severely criticized for risking the loss of their Civil Obligation on such a foolhardy venture, and neither of them spoke of the scam they had planned. It seemed that at least in this they were agreed, if in nothing else. The question then turned to Courtland’s loss, and our account of it. It was met with shock, then sadness, then finally a certain degree of acceptance and regretful pride that he had given his own life to save mine. I thanked Mrs. Gamboge in a tearful exchange, and Bunty McMustard was named deputy Yellow prefect.
I made to get up but then realized I didn’t have any jobs or tasks to perform, so just lay back on the sheets and ran over the events of the previous day. It would need many more conversations with Jane before I could get all the loose ends straightened, but that’s what honeymoons were for. I smiled to myself.
There was a knock, and Dad popped his head around the door. We had not spoken privately since I had returned home, so his collusion in the deMauve succession had not yet been aired.
“I’m sorry about selling your, um, heritage to the deMauves,” he said, gazing out of the window, “but I really didn’t think you would come back.”
“I’ll work my way past it,” I said, trying to be as honest as I could. “There are bigger things to worry about than the deMauves.”
“You’re right,” he agreed, “and it might not be the best time to tell you, but I’m staying on as permanent swatchman—to carry on Robin Ochre’s good work.”
“Keeping the village free of Mildew?”
“For as long as I can.”
I was about to reveal what I knew, but I decided today would not be the day to tell him. We would bring him slowly into our plans.
“I’m also planning to marry Mrs. Ochre,” he added. “She’s agreeable, but I wanted to make sure you weren’t going to go nuts or anything.”
I could think of far worse people to be my mother than the mildly eccentric Mrs. Ochre. And Lucy needed a brother on the Council to enable her to keep studying the harmonics without any problems.
“Sounds like a fine idea, Dad. I’ve always wanted a sister. But be warned: Tommo wants to marry her.”
“Tommo as my son-in-law?” he said, getting all protective. “Not if I have anything to do with it!”
And we both laughed.
“Look here, Eddie,” he said, all serious for a moment, “deMauve is spitting blood that you’ve chosen a Grey over his daughter. Daisy he might have tolerated, but Jane is an insult. The ten grand I’d get for you is important, but if I don’t exercise my veto, then I’m planting myself firmly on your side of the divide—and I need to have the Council with me if I’m to be an effective swatchman.”
“I love her, Dad,” I said after a long pause, “from the moment I first saw that nose of hers. She’ll be a Russett and your daughter-in-law and living in this house. You’ll get used to it. But more to the point, it’s important that residents understand that this can and should be done. A fig to Chromatic betterment; one should go with one’s heart—in all things. But I don’t expect you to understand. Hue first, love second, right?”
“Not strictly true,” he replied, and handed me a worn, red-jacketed merit book.
I took the book and felt the soft cover, then flicked through the pages of merits that my mother had gained through abundant good Civic Work. It was over and above what was demanded of her by the obligations. She had served the Collective diligently, only to be disposed of when the Rules decided she could be of no further use. It made me angry, and I began to tremble.