Saleable.
He left his machines and walked into the corridor. No longer did it please him, for Subone had changed it, strewing trash and artifacts on its floor, painting the clean, smooth walls with indelicate designs.
The alice tube took Subtwo to Blaisse's section of the Palace. He ignored the slaves who bowed to him as he passed. He could have ordered them to stay out of his sight, but he preferred to avoid any behavior patterns common to his pseudosib and Blaisse.
The guard at Blaisse's door announced Subtwo with questionable civility, a reaction he could not comprehend until he recalled the other guard, the murdered woman. He wanted to say something to this cloudy-faced young man who glared so at him, but he could not think of anything that would not injure his own pride. He would not make excuses for Subone.
Blaisse lay in bed, Saita beside him. Subtwo's upbringing, alone in a controlled environment, had produced in him an unintended modesty, which continued to be disturbed by such sights. He must have revealed his distress, or Blaisse remembered the party, for the Lord laughed at him. "You are a prude. I didn't know there were any in these fine days."
"I simply value my privacy."
"Yes, I know."
"I meant no censure."
"Nor I."
Conversations with Blaisse never took the direction Subtwo planned. Without waiting to be invited, he sat down in a chair that faced the bed, and rubbed his fingers across the brocaded upholstery. He could feel that the stitching was done by hand: inefficient, inexact.
"I've been observing your customs."
"And—?"
"Some of them appear. quite agreeable." Subtwo despised himself for the lie.
"Which ones, in particular?" Blaisse was smiling that dreadful, incomprehensible smile.
"Machines are insufficient companionship. Other options interest me."
"Your brother—pardon me, your pseudosib—seems to find everything he needs in Center."
"His needs are not mine."
"What are your needs?"
"A relationship of longer duration than those contracted in Center."
"Something permanent, you mean."
"Yes."
"But to your convenience alone, of course."
"Yes," Subtwo said, perhaps too quickly. He wondered if Blaisse could detect the reluctance of his answers.
"Then we shall certainly have to satisfy your urges. What you want is advice in selecting a slave."
Subtwo thought it politic to agree.
"A young one," Blaisse said. "To train yourself. That's always the most satisfactory arrangement. There's no worry about one's own sufficiency of knowledge. Of course you must be careful to train them, not teach them."
Subtwo felt that he must be purple with repressed fury, and he thought that his idea might fail simply because Blaisse would be offended by his manner. Saita watched, her usually gentle and unreacting expression troubled. Subtwo wanted to explain to her what he was doing, what he was trying to do, though he knew he should not care so much what people thought about him. Blaisse laid his hand on Saita's breast; she started and her color heightened, silver dulled and blue darkened, with embarrassment or fear for having let her attention drift from her master's pleasure. Blaisse looked down on her, but she did not meet his gaze; he glanced languidly back at Subtwo. "You see how well Saita and I get on?"
"I had in mind," Subtwo said carefully, "someone more mature."
"Indeed?" An ironic lift of eyebrow. "More mature. Older, you mean. And you so young. Well. No accounting for taste. So our problem will be finding a mature female who is not too badly used. Ah—excuse me—a female? Or a male? Or something more exotic? You've given me no chance to observe your preferences."
"A woman," Subtwo said, trying to resign himself to this humiliation of the spirit. He hoped Madame was not nearby, to hear herself discussed in such terms. It suddenly occurred to him, a dreadful thought, that she might misunderstand, just as Saita had, his aims. Even the knowledge that her misunderstanding would be for only a short time disturbed him.
"This is a difficulty," Blaisse said. "We may have to contact Clarissa's relatives and see if they have anything of the sort."
"I had someone under consideration, as it happens," Subtwo said. He understood Blaisse well enough, he thought, to know that he must not seem too eager.
"Indeed?"
"Yes. One of your. one of your people. She seems about the right age. She's rather tall—I need someone tall. Dark hair. She wears black and silver—"
"You mean Madame? My slave steward?"
"Yes, I suppose so. I don't know her name—"
Blaisse did not use the opportunity to tell Subtwo Madame's name. Instead, he chuckled. "Madame? No, no, that's ridiculous."
"Ridiculous? I see nothing ridiculous about it."
"Whyever do you think her attractive?"
Subtwo had no answer for such a question; the question itself was ridiculous.
"Your tastes are unusual," Blaisse said.
"Then all that remains to discuss is the. price."
"Price? Oh—to buy her."
"That was what I came about." To buy her, to free her: to offer to take her anywhere, without obligation, somewhere he too could be free, he hoped, and then to start again, both of them, two free people, and see if they could love.
"It's out of the question."
I've been too eager, Subtwo thought. He felt ill, weightless. He knows, and he plays with me. "Why? You as much as said you did not find her attractive."
"Dear boy," Blaisse said. "That has nothing at all to do with it. She wasn't bought in the first place for beauty, just the opposite. How much work do you think she'd get done if my guests were always dragging her off to their beds? She was trained here. She's been steward almost as long as I've been Lord. We couldn't get along without her."
"It is not sensible to be so dependent on one person," Subtwo said woodenly. He had no idea of changing Blaisse's mind; that was simply his reaction to the statement.
"You're right. Of course you're right." Blaisse rubbed his middle finger across Saita's nipple, and his eyes went out of focus. Subtwo thought Blaisse was about to lapse into his characteristic boredom and order him away; Subtwo did not think he could tolerate an order. He stood up and turned toward the door.
"One moment."
Across Subtwo's shoulders, all the muscles tensed abruptly.
"We should work out an arrangement."
Reluctantly, Subtwo faced him, less than anxious to hear what Blaisse would say.
"She should have an assistant. Someone to train, someone who could take over."
"And—?"
"Bring me someone." Blaisse's blank look had changed to one of lupine watchfulness. "Raid it or buy it, I don't care, a young child, six or eight years old, young enough to tame, I don't want to have to flog it for obedience. Intelligent, not pretty, be sure of that. And if it works out, in a few years, we can repeat this conversation."
"A few years."
"A few years, yes. My palace is not simple to run."
Subtwo gazed at the floor and slowly shook his head.
"Why so downcast?" Blaisse was truly mystified, or he was acting and laughing; Subtwo could not tell which. "If you're so infatuated with her, take her—you don't need her consent or mine for that. But don't keep her from her duties, unless you don't care that she'd be punished for neglect."
Without responding, Subtwo turned and stumbled toward the door. He felt totally exhausted.
Blaisse's voice, hard and victorious, followed him. "If you want her that much, steal me a child."
Hearing the music of the alarms, Subtwo jumped up from his bed as though he had not been asleep. He had lain down only to think. He looked around, recalling the familiarity of his rooms, and collapsed back. No law said he should feel guilty about sleeping during what others considered daytime. Who could tell, in this forsaken place? And there was no law that said he must speak with anyone who approached. He had more important things to do, plans to implement. He climbed to his feet, and reached for the front door's locking control.