Элизабет Мун - Moon Flights

“You dance as well as you… er… look,” Sergeant Gorse said.

“My turn, Quill,” said Sergeant Dogwood. He bowed to Mirabel. “If I might have the honor.”

Mirabel spent the next five dances with the sergeants, one after the other; by then she wanted a rest. Though the sales booths hid the alcoves, she managed to squeeze in behind the patchwork animals, where she lounged sideways on the bench with her feet up. The freckled girl looked at her.

“I don’t know if you’re supposed to be here. Miss Primula said—”

“Miss Primula hasn’t been dancing with six sergeants, child; my feet hurt.”

From her vantage point, she could peek over the pile of patchwork animals and see the dancers. At one side of the ballroom, the King and Queen sat on a dais, pointedly not looking at each other. Sophora had collected another two ministers and the Duke of Mandergash. Then she spotted Harald by his red beard, and next to him Krystal.

Krystal leaned gracefully against a pillar, her followers around her… two barbarians, a man dressed in leather straps and chains, half a dozen pirates, and someone wearing a long plaid skirt with his face painted green and a green target painted on his naked chest. Krystal herself wore a gown like nothing Mirabel had ever seen—it might have been painted on, glittering silver mesh slit up the side to reveal her tall dress boots. She was, Mirabel had to admit, incredibly beautiful.

“Mirabel Stonefist, what are you doing back there lounging at your ease while the rest of us—” Primula glared over the stack of stuffed animals.

“I tried to tell her, Miss Primula,” bleated the freckled girl. “She wouldn’t listen.”

“She never does,” Primula said to the girl. Then to Mirabel, “Come right out of there; I need to talk to you.”

“My feet hurt,” Mirabel muttered, but she knew it would do no good. She got up and squeezed back past the corner post of the booth.

“I had to go to the office for my master lists,” Primula said, “I have them here.” She waved a sheaf of papers.

“ And now, majesties, lords and ladies, gentlemen and women of quality, it’s time to vote for the Queen of the Ball —” That was Lord Mander Thunderblatt. “ We honor the Ladies’ Aid & Armor Society, by choosing one among them to reign as queen for a night — meaning no disrespect to Your Majesty, of course… ”

“Will you pay attention, Mirabel! Quickly now—you say you didn’t have Sergeant Gorse on your list?”

“No, I told you.”

“Do you remember who you did have?”

Mirabel thought about it. “Corporal Venturi, Corporal Dobbs, Granish the greengrocer, Stebbins the headgroom of the royal stables…” She noticed Primula ticking these off on the master list. “Er… Harald Redbeard, Skyver Twoswords, Gordamish Ringwearer, Piktush somebody… I can’t remember any more. Someone named Overbite or something like that.”

“Just as I thought!” Primula looked simultaneously triumphant and furious. “Those are not on my list at all.”

“All of them?”

“No, the last four. Who gave you your list?”

Mirabel blinked. “Krystal, of course.”

“ Now you remember the rules,” Lord Mander said. “ Nominators contribute a gold piece to the Fund; voters contribute ten silvers. Ladies of the Society may not nominate themselves — not that any of our hostesses would — but may nominate another Member, as well as vote …”

“That scheming little tramp!” Primula said. “I see it all now—”

“ I nominate Krystal Winterborn!” someone called.

“She’s wanted to be Queen for years,” Primula said. “And now she’s cheated—”

“Huh?”

“She stacked the lists,” Primula said. “Erased some of the names she knew would vote against her and added her friends.” Primula tapped her own sheaf of papers. “I’ll soon put a stop to this nonsense—”

“ I nominate Cabella Ironhand!” called someone else. Cabella had been Queen of the Ball for the past three years; as a sergeant herself, she could count on the sergeants and corporals to vote for her.

“ I nominate Sophora Segundiflora,” yelled another.

“I refuse the nomination,” Sophora said. “But thank you.”

Across the floor, Harald Redbeard met Mirabel’s eyes and grinned; then he winked. “ I nominate Mirabel Stonefist,” he said loudly. Krystal whirled and glared at him; Mirabel felt as if she’d just had the wind knocked out of her. What did he mean? She’d never been a candidate for Queen of the Ball.

“What are you up to?” asked Primula.

“Nothing,” Mirabel said. “I had nothing to do with it.”

Primula glared at her, but apparently decided Krystal was the bigger game, and started across the floor.

“Nominators, make your way to the Donations Table,” Lord Mander said. “Voters, you may begin lining up to vote when the nominations have been verified. Nominees, come join me at the front of the room.”

“Go on, silly,” said the freckle-faced girl when Mirabel hesitated. “I didn’t realize you were important—imagine being nominated for Queen of the Ball.”

Mirabel made her way through the crowd, accepting congratulations and wolf whistles, until she joined Krystal and Cabella at Lord Mander’s side. The room seemed full of eyes; she had never been shy, but she’d also never stood on a dais being stared at by a roomful of people while wearing a whore’s dress and a necklace that annoyed the Queen. She could see over the heads of the others to the Donations Table, where Harald was just then handing over a gold piece to one of the clerks.

“Look ’em over, folks,” Lord Mander bellowed past her ear. “Here they are, three lovely and talented Members of the Ladies’ Aid & Armor Society. For those who don’t know them well, let me introduce… Krystal Winterborn.” Krystal twirled; her gown glittered in the light. Enthusiastic cheers from part of the crowd, including her barbarian followers. “Cabella Ironhand.” Cabella, in a handsome rose brocade, smiled and waved at the crowd, to similar cheers from her supporters.

Mirabel felt like a stray cow at auction, not a candidate for Queen of the Ball. As far as she knew, she had only one supporter, and he had his back turned, leaning over the Donations Table. “Mirabel Stonefist,” Lord Mander said, and she struck an attitude and did a swirling dance step. To her surprise, another storm of wolf whistles and cheers broke out.

Lord Mander looked at the Donations Table, got the wave he was waiting for. “All right, folks—all the nominations have been verified. You vote with your silver… form three lines, have your coins ready… you know the rules.” He nodded, and the band began to play “Stillwater Faire” to cover the shuffling and talking.

Cabella turned to Mirabel. “Do you know what Primula’s upset about? She cornered me to ask about the list of people I’d addressed invitations to… she’s never complained before.”

Past Cabella’s shoulder, Mirabel saw Krystal’s tense face. “I’m not sure,” she said. It wasn’t her place to embarrass Krystal in front of the whole group. “I thought it was just me; she complains about my handwriting every year.”

“Well, whatever it is, she thinks it’s serious. She’s talking to our Chancellor—” Cabella nodded to the far corner, where Primula, gesturing and waving papers, had trapped Sophora Segundiflora.

“She thinks everything is serious,” Krystal said, with an edge to her voice.

Harald Redbeard was relieved to find that aside from a few unarmed sergeants in dress uniforms the ball consisted of civilians in fancy outfits. Some costumes required weapons, to be sure—the barbarians had fake spears, and Gordamish Ringwearer had a peculiar looking knife that couldn’t possibly work in a fight—but nothing he need worry about. No one had tried to relieve him or his crew of their pirate cutlasses, which were not fake at all, and with which he intended to make a clean sweep of the gathering’s jewels and gold.