No longer having to worry aboutwhich twenty-two to invite to any function, society happily removed its corsets and began to take what pleasure it could from winter and rebellion.
In any case, Martinez was pleased to be wearing viridian again.
“I didn’t know you were going to make a speech,” said Lord Roland, Martinez’s older brother.
“I’m planning on being a convocate myself someday,” Martinez said. “I thought I’d let them know that I can speak in public, and can be useful, and that Laredans don’t drool or twitch or pitch a fit when they get nervous.”
“Actually,I was planning on being the first convocate to be co-opted from Laredo,” Roland said. He was a little taller than Martinez, a result of his longer legs. His Laredo accent was pronounced. “I hope you’ll defer to seniority.”
“Maybe,” Martinez said. “But if I don’t, I’ll work hard to get you in. Now’s the time; there are vacancies.”
He didn’t know how seriously to take his own words. Lieutenant Captain Lord Convocate Gareth Martinez? It certainly seemed possible, on such a day as this. The Convocation was in a generous mood. They had already given the Laredo shipyards an order for three frigates, and guaranteed a substantial profit for the Martinez clan and their dependents.
Perhaps, after all this time, his father’s plans were actually bearing fruit. Marcus Martinez had been snubbed in the Fleet and on Zanshaa, and returned to Laredo determined to become so rich that no one would ever dare snub him again. Hehad become ridiculously wealthy, even by the standards of Peers, and his children were elements of his scheme to storm the city and cast down its social walls. But until now, Martinez hadn’t thought it was possible to purchase respect, not from the old families like the Ngenis and the Chens.
Until now.Since the rebellion, all sorts of things seemed possible.
Lord Pierre Ngeni arrived and raised his glass in salute to Martinez of the Golden Orb. Martinez raised the orb in reply, then noticed a piece of Fleet Commander Tork’s flesh hanging from the baton, stripped it away and let it fall.
“We were discussing,” Martinez said, “how the first convocate from Laredo should be one of your clients.”
Lord Pierre hesitated.He, theoretically, represented Laredo in convocation through his patron/client relationship with the Martinez clan, though of course Lord Pierre had never been to Laredo, and would never go. “I’m sure,” he said finally.
“You can never have too many allies in Convocation,” Martinez said.
Lord Pierre turned to Roland. “Now that your shipyards have got those contracts,” he said, “you’ll be returning home?”
“It will take me three months to get there,” Roland said, “and by then your frigates will be half finished. There’s no need for me to be on site—my father can handle all that. No,” Roland smiled, “I’ll be in the capital for quite a while. Probably a few years.”
Lord Pierre did not seem cheered by this. He turned to Martinez. “But you, Lord Captain, you must leave soon.”
“In two days, to make up this new squadron. I’ve barely met my new officers.” And what he’d seen hadn’t encouraged him: a gray-haired lieutenant who hadn’t been promoted in sixteen years, and a new-fledged youngster with scarcely any more seniority than Vonderheydte. He clearly had his work cut out for him.
“Do you think Jarlath will strike for Magaria?” asked Lord Pierre. “Everyone seems to think he will.”
“I don’t think he’s got the numbers,” Martinez said.
Roland gave a little smile. “I thought you said we couldn’t fail.”
“We can if wetry. ”
Later, as strains of music floated toward the assembly from the orchestra in the ballroom, Martinez found himself with a powerful yearning to have Amanda Taen in his arms. But Warrant Officer Taen was away in her ship, repairing satellites for the next month, and Martinez hadn’t the time to make a new connection, not unless he made one now.
As he walked toward the ballroom, Martinez found himself next to PJ Ngeni. Melancholy seemed to have become a permanent fixture on PJ’s long face, and Martinez assumed this to be a consequence of frequent contact with his sisters. Martinez more or less knew how he felt.
“I say, Gareth,” PJ said.
“Yes?”
“Terrific speech you gave this morning.”
“Thank you.”
“It made me want to—todo something, if you know what I mean. Do something useful, in the war.”
Martinez looked at him. “To join the Fleet?”
“I hardly think I—” He hesitated. “Well, to dosomething.” PJ touched a hand to his collar. “I wonder if I might ask your advice. On a more personal matter.”
Martinez lifted his eyebrows. “Of course.”
“I wonder if it’s normal for someone from Laredo—a young woman, for example—to maintain, ah, a sort of social and emotional independence.”
Martinez hid a smile. “Of course,” he said. “Laredans are renowned for their independence, both of thought and of character.”
“Ah, I wondered. Because, you know—” PJ frowned. “I hardly ever see her. Sempronia, I mean. Formal occasions, yes, and she gives me a kiss on the cheek and…” His voice trailed away, then he resumed. “But she has her own friends, and she spends time with them, and I never…” He tried again. “She’s in school, of course, and she says she wants to enjoy her school friends while she can. And I can’t object to that, because I’ve had my friends over the years, and…” His brows knit in puzzlement. “But so many of her friends are officers. Andthey’re not in school.”
For a moment Martinez almost felt a breath of sorrow for PJ Ngeni. And then he remembered who he was talking to, and his sorrow blew away like cherry blossoms in the spring.
“I think you should just have patience,” he said. “Sempronia’s the pet of the family, and she’s used to having her own way.” He gave PJ’s arm a consoling pat. “She’ll grow to appreciate your virtues in time,” he said. “And as for the officers—well, I’m sure she just wants to take advantage of their company before they go off to war.”
“Hmm.” These thoughts processed their way across PJ’s face. “Well. I suppose.”
Martinez found out more about at least one of the officers the next morning, after breakfast. He was packing his night case, preparing to leave for a meeting called by his new squadron commander, Captain Farfang ofDestiny, when he heard a tentative knock on his door.
“Yes?”
“It’s me.” Sempronia’s voice, muffled by a thumb’s length of Shelley Palace teak.
“Come in.”
Sempronia, her expression tentative, swung the thick door inward and entered. She saw him in his unbuttoned tunic, and walked up to work the silver tunic buttons, her teeth resting lightly on her lower lip and her hazel eyes comically crossed as she concentrated on the work. She finished the last button, straightened the collar, then stepped back to survey the result.
“Thank you,” Martinez said.
“You’re welcome.” She crossed her arms and frowned at him. He went to his dressing table and took from it the gold disk on a ribbon that he could wear if he wasn’t going to lug the Golden Orb about.
“You aren’t going to carry the orb with you?”
Martinez placed the disk about his neck. “To carry the orb on anything other than a formal occasion would be conceit.”
“But Gareth,” Sempronia protested, “youare conceited.”
Martinez decided that the higher wisdom lay in not answering this charge. He turned to her. “And the reason you came here, Proney…?”
“Oh.” She hesitated. “I wanted to talk to you about one of your officers.”
“One ofmy officers?”
“Nikkul Shankaracharya.”