"You arranged this?"
Blandly, he replied. "I am constantly flattered by your suggestions, Amelia. I admire your perceptions, though it would seem to me that you are inclined to over-interpret, on occasion."
"If you would have it so, sir." She curtsied, but her expression was hardly demure.
Fearful of further tension between the two, Jherek said: "So we are again to be guests at the Duke of Queens'. You are not disturbed by the prospect, Amelia?"
"We have been invited. We shall attend. If it be a mock marriage, it will certainly be an extravagant one."
Lord Jagged of Canaria was looking at her through perceptive eyes and it was as if his mask had fallen for a moment.
She was baffled by this sudden sincerity; she avoided that eye.
"Very well, then," said Jherek's father briskly, "We shall meet again soon, then?"
"Soon," she said.
"Farewell," he said, "to you both." He strode for his swan which swam on a tiny pond he had manufactured for parking purposes. He was soon aloft. A wave of yellow froth and he was gone.
"So marriage is the fashion now," she said as they walked back to the house.
He took her hand. "We are already married," he said.
"In God's eyes, as we used to say. But God looks down on this world no longer. We have only a poor substitute. A poseur."
They entered the house. "You speak of Jagged again, Amelia?"
"He continues to disturb me. It would seem he has satisfied himself, seen all his schemes completed. Yet still I am wary of him. I suppose I shall always be wary, through eternity. I fear his boredom."
"Not your own?"
"I have not his power."
He let the matter rest.
That afternoon, with Jherek in morning dress and Amelia in grey and blue stripes, they set off for the wedding of the Duke of Queens.
Bishop Castle (it was evidently his workmanship) had built a cathedral specially for the ceremony, in classical subtlety, with great stained glass windows, Gothic spires and masonry, massive and yet giving the impression of lightness, and decorated on the outside primarily in orange, purple and yellow. Surrounding the area was the band of the Duke of Queens, its automata at rest for the moment. There were tall flag-masts, flying every conceivable standard still existing in the archives; there were tents and booths dispensing drinks and sweetmeats, games of chance and of skill, exhibitions of antique entertainments, through which moved the guests, laughing and talking, full of merriment.
"It's a lovely scene," said Jherek, as he and Amelia descended from their footplate. "A beautiful background for a wedding."
"Yet still merely a scene," she said. "I can never rid myself of the knowledge that I am playing a part in a drama."
"Were ceremonies different, then, in your day?"
She was silent for a moment. Then: "You must think me a cheerless creature."
"I have seen you happy, Amelia. I think."
"It is a trick of the mind I was never taught. Indeed, I was taught to suspect an open smile, to repress my own. I try, Jherek, to be carefree."
"It is your duty," he told her as they joined the throng and were greeted, at once, by their friends. "Why, Mistress Christia, the last time I saw your companions they were trapped in a particularly unpleasant dilemma, battling with Brannart."
Mistress Christia, the Everlasting Concubine, laughed a tinkling laugh, as was her wont. She was surrounded by Captain Mubbers and his men, all dressed in the same brilliant powder-blue she wore, save for strange balloon-like objects of dull red, on elbows and knees. "Lord Jagged rescued them, I gather, and I insisted that they be my special guests. We are to be married, too, today!"
"You — to them all!" said Amelia in astonishment. She blushed.
"They are teaching me their customs." She displayed the elbow balloons. "These are proper to a married Lat female. The reason for their behaviour, where women were concerned, was the conviction that if we did not wear knee- and elbow-balloons we were — um?" She looked enquiringly at her nearest spouse, who crossed his three pupils and stroked his whiskers in embarrassment. Jherek thought it was Rokfrug. "Dear?"
"Joint-sport," said Rokfrug almost inaudibly.
"They are so contrite!" said Mistress Christia. She moved intimately to murmur to Amelia. "In public, at least, dear."
"Congratulations, Captain Mubbers," said Jherek. "I hope you and your men will be very happy with your wife."
"Fill it, arse-lips," Captain Mubbers said, sotto voce, even as they shook hands. "Sarcy fartin' knicker-elastic hole-smeller."
"I intended no irony."
"Then wipe it and button it, bumface, Nn?"
"You have given up any intention of going into space again?" Amelia said.
Captain Mubbers shrugged his sloping shoulders. "Nothing there for us, is there?" He offered her a knowing look which took her aback.
"Well —" she drew a breath — "I am sure, once you have settled down to married life…" She was defeated in her efforts.
Captain Mubbers grunted, eyeing her elbow, visible through the silk of her dress.
"Flimpoke!" Mistress Christia had noticed. "Well!"
"Sorry, my bone." He stared at the ground.
"Flimpoke?" said Jherek.
"Flimpoke Mubbers," Mistress Christia told him, with every evidence of pride. "I am to be Mrs. Mubbers, and Mrs. Rokfrug, and Mrs. Glopgoo…"
"And we are to be Mr. and Mr. Mongrove-de Goethe!" It was Werther, midnight blue from head to toe. Midnight blue eyes stared from a midnight-blue face. It was rather difficult to recognize him, save for his voice. Beside him lounged in an attitude of dejected satisfaction the great bulk of Lord Mongrove, moody monarch of the weeping cliffs.
"What? You marry? Oh, it is perfect."
"We think so," said Werther.
"You considered no one else?"
"We have so little in common with anyone else," droned Mongrove. "Besides, who would have me? Who would spend the rest of his life with this shapeless body, this colourless personality, this talentless brain…?"
"It is a good match," said Jherek hastily. Mongrove was inclined, once started, to gather momentum and spend an hour or more listing his own drawbacks.
"We decided, at Doctor Volospion's fairground, when we fell off the carousel together, that we might as well share our disasters…"
"An excellent scheme." A scent of dampness wafted from Mongrove's robes as he moved; Jherek found it unpleasant. "I trust you will discover contentment…"
"Reconciliation, at least," said Amelia.
The two moved on.
"So," said Jherek, offering his arm. "We are to witness three weddings."
"They are too ludicrous to be taken seriously," she said, as if she gave her blessing to the proceedings.
"Yet they offer satisfaction to those taking part, I think."
"It is so hard for me to believe that."
They found Brannart Morphail, at last, in unusual finery, a mustard-coloured cloak hanging in pleats from his hump, tassels swinging from the most unlikely places on his person, his medical boot glittering with spangles. He seemed in an almost jolly mood as he limped beside My Lady Charlotina of Above-the-Ground (her new domicile).
"Aha!" cried Brannart, sighting the two. "My nemesis, young Jherek Carnelian!" The jocularity, if forced, was at least well-meant. "And the cause of all our problems, the beautiful Amelia Underwood."
"Carnelian, now," she said.
"Congratulations! You take the same step, then?"
"As the Duke of Queens," agreed Jherek amicably, "and Mistress Christia. And Werther and Lord Mongrove…"