The Highest Frontier (50 page)

The crowd hushed. Only the Frontera contingent leapt to their feet, cheering in their bear suits. The Kearns-Clark dad let out an amplified grizzly roar.

Disoriented, the Angel defenders pulled back, one of them heading toward Jenny. In their confusion, they lost the ball to David, who sent it back to her. The guard tried to intercept; but from six feet away from him, Jenny slanned again, all the way down the cage. Another five points.

Goalie 13 was sent back in, but the Angels seemed to have lost their playbook. They double-teamed Jenny and Yola, leaving Fran and David clear to hammer the goal at close range. Points started to creep up.

Outside the cage, the monumental Angel cheerleaders moved in with their song, as if to provide moral reinforcement. “
Ye who sang cre-A-tion’s story…”

Jenny’s two guards did not look happy. They crisscrossed in front of her. “Whore of Babylon,” muttered one, passing behind her. As he passed behind, her leg felt a blow. The leg exploded in pain.

The pain was unimaginable. Her leg dragged as if hanging by a thread.

“Jenny? Are you all right?”

In her toybox her medic sign was blinking and beeping. But if she gave up injured, they’d have gotten rid of her. She blinked to disable the medic.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Coach yelling at the ref, practically shouting down the guy’s throat.

“Coach Porat,” came the announcer. “Suspended for the rest of the game.”

“Keep going,”
texted Yola.
“I’ll call the plays.”

Overwhelmed by pain, Jenny barely knew what was going on, but she could still zigzag across the cage with her arms plus her one good leg. The points were gaining, particularly Fran’s and David’s side shots, which seemed to unnerve goalie 13. She was just aware enough to deflect a distant pass to Ken, and he swiped it in. At some point she lost track of time, and then faded out.

*   *   *

“Jenny? Jenny, can you hear me? Who’s the president?”

Jenny’s eyes flew open with alarm. Not me, she tried to shout, but it was like one of those dreams where you can’t open your mouth. She found herself lying outside, not even remembering how she’d got back down to ground. Coach was there, and the trainer was plasting her leg. Doc Uddin was berating Coach. “How dare you keep a student in the game with a tibia fracture.”

“Did we win?” Jenny whispered.

The trainer nodded.

41

The great win gave rise to effusive congratulations and celebrations, tempered only by the return to practice Tuesday morning. But the practice week would be cut short Thursday, as students rushed to finish their exams before October break.

In Jenny’s toybox appeared the long-anticipated invitation:

King Mark and Queen Berengaria of the Maple Realm

Proclaim

THE FEAST OF FOOLS

You and Your Guest are Summoned to Castle Cockaigne

Entertainment required

Morias philai paromen

“Morias,” according to Toynet, was Greek for “folly.” Anouk, seated in Jenny’s porch swing, read the invitation enviously. “‘Friends of folly, we are here,’” she translated. “The castle—it sounds
merveilleux.
”

“You may come with me,” offered Jenny. “If you provide entertainment.”

“That I can do indeed,” said Anouk with an air of satisfaction. “Thanks so much,
chérie.
And of course, Berthe will assist.”

Jenny shrugged. “She’ll blend right in with the amyloid help.”

“I’ll assist with your costume. You’ll need a persona.” And entertainment, Jenny reminded herself.

She remembered Tom, with a fresh well of pain. Tom didn’t even appear to her in Life class, now that he’d closed his window. But he would be at the feast; Ken and Yola had hired him for the food. Remembering, she chose her “medieval” name, Lúthien Tinúviel.

Wednesday night, she and Anouk arrived in good time at the castle. As they came across the drawbridge, a pair of amyloid trumpeters blew a fanfare. “Princess Lúthien Tinúviel. Accompanied by la Reine Zazzua.”

Jenny crept through the portal, taking care to avoid tripping on her long kirtle. She held up the meter-length pointed sleeves of the mantle, a navy blue cloak that parted dramatically down the front. After fixing her hair several ways, she had finally let it hang straight and loose, fairy princess style, with a tiny half-crown in front. Anouk, as Reine Zazzua, had her hair bound in a red turban studded with pearls, and wore a gold-trimmed white fur coat down to her toes. The coat flowed out in all directions, as if covering a full petticoat beneath.

The great hall was lined with amyloid torches, their knobs simulating a ruddy glow. Amyloid dwarves went to and fro, carrying dishes and pots. At the far end, a high balcony held musicians playing lutes and viols. The slanball team members and their guests were arriving, in various outlandish garb. Charlie, in chain mail, had invited Priscilla, in a Greek tunic; her window proclaimed “Hypatia of Alexandria.”

“The Countess Mandragora!”

Jenny winced at this joke on Mary, however well meant. Her
compañera
was there, all right, in her usual tie-dyed dress. The only one who’d come as herself.

A goose waddled past her feet; Jenny startled. The goose raised its wings and hurried, followed by a small pig, a carving knife in its snout. Amyloid, she hoped, as the floor filled with strutting edible animals. Medieval nobles were partial to meat.

Upon a dais beneath the musicians sat the reigning monarchs. “Hear ye, nobles and guests fair.” King Mark was actually Yola. The King wore a huge jeweled crown, and a fluorescent blue robe with gold maple leaf decorations flowed down across the floor. “He” raised a glittering scepter. “Welcome, all, to the Maple Realm. Find your places and let the feast begin.”

“And remember your entertainments.” Ken was Queen Berengaria, his russet gown cinched tight at the waist, a velvet headpiece draped beneath his crown. “We expect to be entertained. If it’s too dramatic, we delicate ladies may faint.” He appeared to relish the prospect. Like Jordi, Jenny recalled with a sudden pang. Jordi as “Lady J,” at that last private megabuck fundraiser, before the waves took Fire Island. She smiled, quickly wiping her eyes.

Besides the students, Coach and Professor Abaynesh were there with Tova. The mop-headed girl gazed all around, her eyes wide. Not missing a thing—Jenny wondered if a child really belonged at this event.

The long table was already filled with baskets of fruit and cheeses. At each place sat an enormous wine jug with a fretwork of figurines and holes in between. Charlie picked up his jug to drink, but the wine flowed out through the holes. “What’s this?”

Jenny smiled. “It’s a puzzle jug. My ‘entertainment.’” She’d pulled that one from her magic repertoire. “If you can’t figure out how to drink from it, you’ve probably drunk too much.”

“
¡Oye!
I’ve drunk
nothing
for weeks.”

Anouk looked away. “Water, please,” she asked a dwarf. Around the table, there were spills and lots of laughter.

Priscilla poked at her jug, one hole after another. Finally, she covered one spout and drank from the other. “See?”

The dwarves set out tureens of soup. A delicate cream soup, the sort Tom always made, Jenny thought wistfully. The soup was followed by individual stuffed quails.

The trumpets played a flourish. King Mark pounded “his” scepter. “And now, for our next entertainment: Knights of the Maple Realm.”

Charlie and David came out to the side, where the dwarves shooed the geese and pigs out of the way. In the clearing the two knights raised their swords. The swords clanged, and each took quite a beating. When David lost his footing and landed on his back, Queen Berengaria called a halt. Both knights approached the queen to receive a laurel wreath.

“HUMOR?”
texted Mary.

“ENTERTAINING,”
Jenny sent back.

“Next,” announced the King, “la Reine Zazzua.”

Anouk stepped forward with great dignity. The cloak fell away, revealing a full ballet skirt of white tulle down to her ankles. She launched into a ballet number, “Archimedes spiral.” As she danced, her red turban whirled. Virtual numbers streamed down around her, the radial series that generated the famous spiral spinning out to infinity.

“WISDOM?”
texted Mary.

“WISE. ENTERTAINING.”

Next to entertain came the Philosopher Queen. Priscilla stepped forward, putting on an enormous donkey head. “Kind gentles, I present a discourse upon the question of Best Government. I argue the case for Government by Ass.”

Appreciative laughter around the table.

“Let us argue for the Rule of Ass,” nodded the donkey head, “rather than the Rule of Man. Firstly, those who think it better to be ruled by Man argue that the Man will deliberate more nobly when it comes to particulars. But experience shows that even an Ass can judge particulars better than a certain Man.”

More laughter. It was no secret who that Man might be.

“Furthermore, the Ass need not in fact be better at deciding particulars, since the multitude could be better than he is and less corruptible. But beware lest the Ass will hand things over to his children. If the Ass’s children succeed him (and behave as some heirs have done) they will ruin everything.…”

By the end, Priscilla could barely be heard, there was so much laughter all round; Jenny had to wipe the tears from her face.

Queen Berengaria tossed a bouquet of flowers. “Gentle Ass,” cried the Queen, “you
must
come before us to kiss our hand.”

“HUMOROUS AND WISE,”
Jenny texted Mary.

The King banged his scepter. “And now,” he announced, “we present: Pope Innocent and Lady Godiva.”

Laughter swept the table, with pointed comments.
“Innocent of what?”
texted someone, followed by increasingly ribald answers. Jenny frowned, eying innocent Tova. She hoped the party guests screened their text to the windows of students.

Lady Godiva entered, riding a small Gilead horse. Virtual hair cascaded to the floor, decorously covering her supposed lack of clothes. “Gentles!” she cried. “Let us save the poor from taxes!” Like the poster for the Mound.

Pope Innocent followed, his pointed mitre bobbing above his scarlet robes. The robes swayed as he took a long step forward. “Save Earth from disaster—Burn all the witches!” Suddenly the Pope pulled apart his robes to reveal the exaggerated virtual form of a flasher. The hall erupted in screams of laughter, while Godiva cartwheeled off her horse, revealing equally exaggerated female charms.

“What, ho!” Queen Berengaria banged her staff on the floor. “I’ll not have this impudence at our family-friendly feast.”

“Family friendly.” King Mark extended his scepter. There erupted a blast of light. The virtual body parts disappeared, revealing two slanball sophomores in tights. There were sighs of disappointment.

“Only students saw it, anyhow,” muttered Charlie.

Jenny was not so sure. She doubted any toy-view escaped Tova.

From the balcony above, the trumpets blared. Below, four dwarves came out bearing a tray with an enormous mound of gilt pastry, shaped with ruffles and florets. The tray was set down upon the long table. A knife stuck in the center. From the crack emerged two dozen tiny birds flying in all directions. Amyloid, Jenny hoped. Medievals knew nothing of hygiene.

“Hark, minions!” King Mark rose from the throne, holding aloft his scepter. “Where is our Master Cook? Bring him hither.”

The dwarves rushed out. Two of them returned, dragging a bewildered Tom between them. Tom wore his usual white toque and jacket.

“Behold the creator of this feast—Master Cook René Verdon de Pouzaugues.”

Everyone rose to their feet, and the applause echoed through the hall.

“But—but my soufflé,” Tom stammered. “It’s burning.”

The King waved “his” hand, and Tom hurried out. “And for our final act…”

Curious, Jenny blinked up Tom’s chosen name. “René Verdon” had been the master chef of the original Kennedy White House. She took a deep breath, and for a moment heard nothing more.

The final act consisted of Fran Pezarkar done up as a mock DIRG with a giant Weaver head, battling a great bear. Fran’s aim with the anachronistic laser was outrageously poor, sizzling a flagstone here or there while the bear reared menacingly around the gathered company. At last the bear made a rush for the Queen.

“What, ho! Save me!” The Queen threw up “her” arms and collapsed with dramatic abandon.

Just in time, the Weaver-headed Fran aimed her laser right at the bear’s head. The grim beast collapsed, rolling neatly on its back.

“Great Bear,” cried the King. “Arise, and show thy true self!”

The bear’s head came off, and out of the costume crawled none other than the ecoengineer, Quade Vincenzo. At this surprise appearance of the students’ favorite administrator, the crowd erupted in applause and clamor.

“Elephant man! Bring on the elephants!”

“Encore, encore! Bring on the poison frogs!”

“Ultraphyte! Let’s set the bear against ultra! See who wins!”

Charlie nodded. “Hey, that’s a good one. Ultra against the bear. We’ll bet on which wins—and no house edge!”

The crowd stamped their feet. “Ultra and the bear—ultra and the bear!”

Suddenly there were gasps. Along the floor snaked a long, sallow shape with the regular eyespot cells of an ultraphyte. A few students got up and drew away. Jenny cried out, then clapped her mouth. It was amyloid … wasn’t it?

“Mary!” Professor Abaynesh called above the din.
“Get back to the lab!”

Mary was nowhere to be seen. The ultra glided easily along the floor, finding its way amongst the geese and piglets, slinking out at last toward the drawbridge.

*   *   *

In the morning the ecoengineer’s snoopers were seen swarming around the castle and the moat, but no news was heard. That afternoon at the lab, Jenny and Anouk were sampling their wisdom plants. In each pot the twin seedlings had matured. Jenny had set up the test the weekend before, spreading caterpillar semiochemicals onto one member of the pair. Now she and Anouk were sampling the leaves for any response from their neurons. Would the plants wisely cooperate to defeat insects? Meanwhile her toybox filled with unanswered interview requests, and her mother’s reminder of Iroquoia. And so much back homework to do over “vacation.” Her other classes were going well, but her Life grade was still only A. She had to get that up somehow. Other students had already transferred out.