Choices (4 page)

I had sensed this earlier, when I had
inquired once or twice about his life in Eclipsia City. There had
been incidents early in his tenure as Commandant of the ‘Graven
Military Academy, some trouble that had left him wary of confiding
in anyone. I had decided to let it be, too absorbed in my own
concerns to fret over his. If he wanted my help or my advice, such
as it could be, a foreigner in his country, he would ask.

Waking up these mornings I was happy,
convinced that my training would progress swiftly, and determined
to become a sibyl worthy of such a love.

W
hen I had been
working diligently for eight days, an Eclipsian week, Edwige again
called me into her study. I had learned the routine now, and I knew
that Edwige did not usually have private conferences with novices.
She did not teach the beginners’ class. That first day had been an
exception, to help me assimilate. Now I wondered what I had done to
warrant such attention.

Edwige looked at me and sighed. “Those are
children’s clothes,” she said.

Well, of course they are
, I thought.
Edwige knew where they came from, as she knew everything that went
on in La Sapienza.

I had been wearing Drusilla’s clothes every
day. My aide had not seemed to think anything was wrong, and he had
taken the clothes to be cleaned during the night, returning them,
fresh and dry, in the morning. I could not bear to wear my old
Terran clothes. They made me too self-conscious, the skintight
leggings and body suit making me look almost naked—I had read the
men’s unshielded thoughts on the night of my arrival—and they were
not warm enough anyway.

The freedom of Eclipsian clothes had
converted me, and it was impossible to imagine ever returning to
wearing tight things. Terrans pity Eclipsian women, forced to live
in a male-dominated society, to wear the long skirts that hide
their bodies and hamper exercise. Eclipsis is no paradise for most
women, but I hate exercise and love comfort. And I had never felt
so comfortable until I put on Drusilla’s old clothes.

“And the waistband of that skirt is too tight
for you,” Edwige said.

This was true. It was my one complaint about
my new outfit. “I forgot about clothes,” I said, as if it was my
fault that I had been hustled off so precipitously to La Sapienza
after my test. Actually, it had been like a holiday, not having to
think about what to wear each morning, or make a decision. I had
given up the makeup after my attempt that first morning. Nobody
else wore any, and in a seminary, where appearance meant nothing,
it would seem ludicrous.

“I will take you shopping,” Edwige said, as
if pronouncing a terrible punishment.

Although in general I shared her sentiment, I
wondered what had brought her to this conclusion. “Why can’t I just
order some things?”

“ ‘Order some things,’ ” Edwige repeated.
“Order them how? From where?”

I had been thinking of holonet catalogs, but
caught myself before saying something so foolish. Still, there had
to be stores or shops. I had seen stalls selling clothes when I had
visited the marketplace in Eclipsia.
Why couldn’t we send
someone to pick out some in my size, have them delivered?

Edwige laughed at my ignorance. “Those
clothes are not for you. While you are here, you are ‘Graven,” she
said, in case I hadn’t heard that word enough this last week. As
sibyl, she felt no need to observe the rule that applied to the
rest of us, not to listen in on others’ thoughts.

There was no point in arguing with her. I
started to go upstairs, to get my pack with my cube. Edwige laughed
again. “You won’t need that,” she said. “It doesn’t work out here
anyway.” She bundled me into a warm outer wrap, pronounced my
Terran boots inadequate but said they would have to do, and we set
out.

During the short walk to the nearby town we
were accompanied by a troop of aides, larger than our personal
helpers, more like the human guards that had escorted us here from
the city. These guards walked upright, without the stooping posture
of the indoor aides, and had unmistakable, oversized male genitals,
displayed proudly and obscenely uncovered. As ‘Graven, whether real
or honorary, Edwige and I never set foot outside without this
unusual, and effective, protection.

It was an overcast day, with a damp drizzle
and a gusty wind that constantly blew the hoods of our cloaks back,
exposing our faces. Edwige lowered her inner eyelids, the daylight
quickly turning the first milky-white display to forbidding opaque
silver, and told me to do the same. As we proceeded along the
narrow, crowded streets, everybody we passed sneaked a peek at us.
I was reminded of my arrival and the resentful men at the baggage
platform, although here it was more a matter of awe and curiosity.
Most of the gawkers were cautious, hoping to catch a quick glimpse,
but a few gave us bolder stares, men who wanted to prove their
courage by looking a ‘Gravina full in the face.

Edwige walked with noble indifference, taking
regular, unhurried steps, never turning her head, as if we were
strolling in a vast, empty landscape.
Ignore them
, she
ordered me once when I returned the gaze of one of the toughs,
wondering if I could intimidate him like the men in Eclipsia City.
She found a convincing analogy in my memories.
Pretend you are
on the sub way
. I took the hint.

We arrived at a shop, small but elegant. The
words “Madame Leslie” were painted in a flowing form of writing on
the sign over the door. Edwige snorted at the designation as she
translated for me. “If she’s of gentle birth, I’m the Dowager
Viceroy.” The shopkeeper, a woman about my age, gasped when we
entered and made a deep curtsy, as much to me as to Edwige. “How
may I assist the ‘Gravinas?” Madame Leslie asked, eyes darting back
and forth between Edwige and me.

Edwige did the talking. The young lady was
far from home, she said, hoping the shopkeeper might think I was
from the mountains, where the immodesty of such short hair could be
excused as a northern peculiarity. “Lady Amalie will need a
complete trousseau,” Edwige said, fudging the expected title,
referring to me as if I were a Landgrave or Margrave’s unmarried
daughter. A married noblewoman would be called Lady Ertegun, or
Lady Aranyi, the equivalent of her husband’s title. “She will need
undergarments, nightclothes, work dresses for La Sapienza, a formal
gown, and a hooded cloak for traveling.”

I started to protest, not needing all this
stuff, worried for the poor shopkeeper, all her work, and how much
it would cost.
Don’t worry
, Edwige silenced me without
speaking.
I’m doing you both a favor
. I tried to
communicate some of my objections to Edwige, but she shut her mind
to my thoughts and pushed me toward a fitting room in the back.
“Strip,” she said, as Madame Leslie exclaimed at Edwige’s brusque
manner, tempering it with murmured requests, “If the young lady
wouldn’t mind,” she would have to take my measurements. “The room
is quite warm, and private…”

I gave in; a week at La Sapienza had trained
me well. Madame Leslie called to an assistant to take her place in
the front room and hurried to join Edwige and me as I stood naked
in front of the three-way mirrors, seeing myself for the first time
in ten days. Other than the disagreeable look of the places, under
my arms, on my legs and in my pubic area, where the hair was
growing back, I was pleased by what I saw. Despite the deluge of
images that had washed over me all my life, of tall, muscular women
with narrow hips and large breast implants, I had always taken a
perverse delight in my unfashionable little body, soft and rounded,
more curvaceous in the flesh than any clothes could reveal.

Madame Leslie was pleased too. She admired my
pinkish-white skin, although my moles and freckles, where I had
been careless in exposing myself to the scorching Terran sun,
puzzled her. She was, of course, much too polite to ask. She took
all my measurements, everywhere I could think of, and many places I
could see no point to, calling out each number in a clear voice.
When she finished she asked me to wait just a few minutes.

In less time than that she returned,
accompanied by a female assistant carrying a simple long white
garment. It was a rough pattern, cut out and basted together as my
measurements were taken. Madame Leslie slipped it over my head,
pinching and pulling on the fabric to see how it hung on me, making
minute adjustments with pins she took from her mouth and drawing a
few lines with a piece of charcoal. From this prototype my clothes
would be constructed.

Once I was dressed again in Drusilla’s
clothes, Madame Leslie ushered Edwige and me into a side room, with
chairs and a table. We were invited to sit and were offered small
cups of the bitter, resin-spiked beverage that Eclipsians drink in
place of coffee. The shopkeeper stepped out into the corridor and
shouted, in a totally different voice, more like Edwige’s bark of
command then the soft, ingratiating voice she was using with me,
sending assistants scurrying to bring bolts of cloth.

The fabrics were laid out for my approval.
First, for the undergarments and nightgowns, I was shown various
linens and another fabric, softer and more slippery. Silk, I
recognized, entranced. I had heard about it, had worn a synthetic
version on Terra. I looked at Edwige, not knowing what I was
supposed to do.

Edwige was enjoying my initiation into
feminine attire. “By all means, choose the silk,” she said,
“although you will find linen more practical for everyday wear.” I
compromised, choosing half of the garments in a fine linen, the
rest in the silk. Madame Leslie was gratified, I saw, every time I
leaned toward the more expensive, luxurious materials.

Next came the nightgowns. “The lady’s skin is
too delicate for wool,” Madame Leslie said. The nightgowns would be
of silk, which is a strong fabric, and warm, for all its apparent
delicacy.

Now for the outer clothes. This was fun, I
decided, resolutely putting aside questions of cost. Madame Leslie
had many choices for me to make here. I had noticed that most of
the women at La Sapienza wore, not the tunic and skirt of
Drusilla’s childish garment, but a one-piece dress, and I wished to
select this for myself.

Edwige watched, hiding her smiles, as I
forgot I was Terran, discussing the virtues of different styles,
low necks and high necks, fitted waists and looser ones with button
fronts, “For when my lady marries, may the gods send you many
healthy children.” Madame Leslie chattered on until quelled by
Edwige’s frown.

The traveling cloak was simple. A heavy but
soft wool, densely woven to repel wind and rain, would form the
outer layer. Inside, the garment would be lined—with fur! Unlike
the silk, I had not even heard of such a thing on Terra. Centuries
ago, I recalled, the weather had been colder, and people had farmed
some animals for their skins. This fur was so velvety and sensuous
I couldn’t stop stroking it like the living creature it came from,
until I heard Edwige’s impatient thought:
A mountain weasel
would bite your whole arm off. Let the woman make the cloak
,
and I snatched my hand back from the fluffy gray pelt.

Finally all was settled. The clothes would be
made up, and in an impossibly short time, Madame Leslie promised,
they would be delivered to La Sapienza.
Now for the
reckoning
, I thought. I had no idea what the price would be
for such an order, all fine fabrics made in an extended
cottage-labor system, every garment sewn by hand to my exact
measurements, the patterns unusable for anyone else. I reached for
my cube automatically, forgetting it was back in my room, and, with
no Terran satellites allowed over ‘Graven territory, and no way to
recharge it, about as functional as its nickname, a plastic cube.
Edwige shook her head.

After many expressions of thanks from Madame
Leslie, and the entire work force of the shop had lined up to
curtsy or bow and wish us well, we stepped out onto the street. Our
waiting escort of aides fell in around us, and the crowd that had
apparently been peering in the windows dispersed.

“What’s the deal?” I asked in frustration,
since Edwige still said nothing. “Do I pay on delivery, or did you
make an arrangement with the woman ahead of time?”

Edwige hustled me along the busy street. “I’m
sorry,” she said, laughing. “But it was a treat for me to see you
become ‘Lady Amalie.’ You won’t pay anything, at least not money.
If you like the clothes, and if they are becoming to you, the only
payment you should make is to wear them outside a few times and let
people know where you got them. That self-styled ‘Madame Leslie’
will be able to live like a genuine lady once she fills all the
paid orders she’ll get from people who want to wear what a ‘Gravina
at La Sapienza wears.”

I thought this over during the time it took
for Edwige to convey me to a leather goods shop where a similar
scene was enacted, and I ordered riding gloves, sandals to wear
indoors and a pair of ankle boots to replace my old vinyl ones. The
‘Graven Assembly had allowed me to come to La Sapienza, to be
treated as honorary ‘Graven, I told myself, and I was beginning to
learn their responsibilities. The original aristocrats hadn’t
received these privileges for nothing; they earned them. With work
and dedication, so would I—I hoped.

That night, when Dominic visited me, he was
excited—physically, sexually aroused.
You are more beautiful
than I imagined
, he said, caressing and kissing me, his hands
on my breasts, and his lips on mine and on my neck. How he did all
this I still wasn’t sure, but there was no doubt I felt it. I was
stimulated in return from his phantom touch, ready to accept the
reality of my senses and not question too deeply.