“I love her, Dad,” I said after a long pause, “from the moment I first saw that nose of hers. She’ll be a Russett and your daughter-in-law and living in this house. You’ll get used to it. But more to the point, it’s important that residents understand that this can and should be done. A fig to Chromatic betterment; one should go with one’s heart—in all things. But I don’t expect you to understand. Hue first, love second, right?”
“Not strictly true,” he replied, and handed me a worn, red-jacketed merit book.
I took the book and felt the soft cover, then flicked through the pages of merits that my mother had gained through abundant good Civic Work. It was over and above what was demanded of her by the obligations. She had served the Collective diligently, only to be disposed of when the Rules decided she could be of no further use. It made me angry, and I began to tremble.
“Look at the back page, Eddie.”
I did as he asked, and recognized her postcode and handwriting. There was also the official stamp that transferred her merits to her husband and, more important, her color-perception ranking.
“Some of us do things we regret, then fix them as best we can afterward,” he said in a quiet voice, once I had read and digested the implications. “We’re not so different, you and I, although by rights, we should be as different as different could be.”
“You’ll always be my dad,” I said, handing the book back.
“And I won’t veto your marriage, or cease to keep a careful eye on you.”
We stared at each other for a long time. I didn’t really know what to say. I’d always assumed that my mother’s ranking was high, but it wasn’t. She had been only 23.4 percent Red. With Dad at 50.23 percent it didn’t take a math wizard to realize that my 70-plus percent couldn’t be anything but purchased parentage. Perhaps most people were. Perhaps that’s how it really worked. Dad had not married to enRedden the Russett line, but for a much more noble reason, the same as I hoped to do myself.
“So who was the man who made me?” I asked at length.
He looked at me for a long time and then said in a quiet voice, “Some questions are not easily answered.” He looked at his watch. “It’s just past nine. You need to be in your formals and ready outside the town hall in half an hour. I’ll run you a bath.”
I found Tommo talking to Doug outside the town hall. There were still ten minutes to go before we had to file in and wait in the anteroom, and it was customary for those who were due to face the spots to arrive early and chat with parents, friends or residents who had taken their tests the year before. Violet was there, along with Daisy and Imogen, who was looking quite lovely and very nervous. She and Dorian had agreed on terms with the Colorman and were going to elope on the train that afternoon. Of the ten of us, seven had nuptials already agreed—some of them from wrangles going back ten years or more. Tommo’s fantasy marriage league may have been something of a joke, but the principle was sound. The day of your Ishihara was the day your life was set. A relief, if you were the sort of person who didn’t much care for making decisions, but anathema to those who did.
I saw Violet talking to her family; when she noticed me, she looked quickly away.
“Nervous?” asked Dad.
“A little. How long did it take when you had it done?”
“About twenty minutes. A few minutes to discover my predominant perception, then some fine-tuning to find out the range. They use a lot of test cards to make sure you’re telling the truth, so you’ll never know whether seeing anything in the dots is good or bad, positive or negative.”
Doug wandered over.
“I’m sorry that you’re up to marry Violet again,” I said. “I’d do anything to help out, except marry her myself.”
He shrugged good-naturedly. “I was always expecting it, so the shock wore off long ago.”
“Have you heard the rumor?” said Tommo, striding up. “Dorian’s going to elope with Imogen on the fifteen forty-three.”
“And speaking of marriage,” he added, turning to Doug, “hold out for at least three grand from the deMauves. Barring any sleepers, Violet’s pretty much in the bag.”
“Three grand?” he said in a quivering voice. “I can’t ask that much!”
“Believe me,” said Tommo, laying a hand on his shoulder, “deMauve will definitely pay that to have his daughter in the Green Dragon’s bridal suite by Monday night. I’ll negotiate for you if you want—I need the merits after Eddie’s little disappointment.”
“Would you?” asked Doug. “I’d really appreciate it.”
Doug walked off to speak to his family, and I was left alone with Tommo. We were silent for a while. I was going to be a prefect, and I needed Tommo on my side. He could never know what I was up to, but his skills at wily artifice might be an asset.
“How are your ribs?”
“You broke two.”
“I’m sorry.”
“And I’m sorry about that whole leaving-you-to-starve-to-death deal. It was Courtland.”
“I know.”
We shook hands and smiled uneasily. The friendship wasn’t yet healed, but would be, given time.
“Good morning.”
I turned. Jane was dressed in her best Grey formal wear, with her hair plaited and interwoven with wildflowers. She looked quite lovely—radiant, in fact—and was accompanied by her parents, who were grinning like mad. I shook hands with Stafford and was introduced to her mother, who was a small, chirpy-looking woman with only one ear.
“Very pleased to meet you,” I said.
“Pardon?” she replied, cupping her hand to her missing ear before bursting into laughter, for it was a joke.
“Mother!” implored Jane. “Please don’t embarrass me.”
“I’m sorry I was unable to ask you for your daughter first,” I said to Jane’s parents, “but the conditions of our courtship were somewhat onerous.”
A bell sounded.
“You’re wanted,” said Jane’s mother, kissing us both. “Good luck.”
We made our way to the Chapter House, where Yewberry was ringing the hand bell. We filed into the anteroom behind the Council Chamber and took a seat, whereupon Yewberry read brief instructions regarding protocol and told us to just relax and enjoy it. At the end he made a lame joke, which wasn’t funny, but we laughed to break the tension. All eyes, however, were soon riveted on the door that led to the Council Chamber. You would walk out of this room a youth and enter the village twenty minutes later an adult. You were even allowed to exit the Chapter House by way of the prefects’ entrance. It was quite an honor.
Ishihara
6.3.01.01.225: The Ishihara test is final and can be neither reviewed nor retaken.
A
t ten o’clock
precisely,
the first person was seen. It was Violet, and she went to the Colorman with a spring in her step. We all sat silently under Yewberry’s watchful eye, and after twenty minutes it was Doug’s turn. He gave us all a bow before vanishing next door, and after half an hour, Jane was called. She caught my eye as she went in, and gave a half smile. We’d brought books, but none of us read them. For the most part we all just sat and stared blankly into space, shuffling down a place every twenty minutes, so that the next person to go was always sitting nearest the door.
“Edward Russett?”
“Yes?”
“You can go in now.”
I got up and entered the Council Chamber, carefully closing the door behind me. There were two people in the room: my erstwhile father-in-law and the Colorman, who was dressed in long robes that had no color in them at all, but were fastened by a long series of buttons that reached from his throat to his feet and shone brightly in the broad beam of light that descended from the skylight.
“Hello, Eddie,” said the Colorman in a friendly voice. “Take a seat. Do you have your merit book? I know you’ve already been verified, but I need to check again.”
So I did, and once satisfied that I was who I said I was, he shuffled to get comfortable and cleared his throat. “It’s very simple. All you have to do is tell me what you can see in the pictures.”
There was a big book on the reading stand in front of me, and deMauve positioned himself on my right, ready to turn the pages. At a signal from the Colorman, he opened the book.
The page was a mass of grey dots, which ranged in size from a period to the width of a pencil. But interspersed within this grey mass were
colored
dots, and they made up a picture.
“What do you see?”
“A swan.”
“And in its beak?”
“There’s nothing in its beak.”
“Quite right. Would you turn to page seven, please, Mr. deMauve?”
There were more dots on this page, but it wasn’t a swan, it was a number.
“Twenty-nine,” I said.
“Good,” said the Colorman. “And what about page eighteen?”
It was the outline of a bouncing goat. And after that, a wavy line, then nothing, then another number. After each answer the Colorman referred to his chart, scribbled a score and gave Mr. deMauve a new page number. After fifteen minutes of this I was shown a chart that carried no numbers, or a picture of any sort—just a mass of differently hued dots. I was about to admit that I couldn’t see anything when the number sixteen popped into my head. My conscious mind wasn’t seeing the color, but my unconscious mind was. “Sixteen.”
“Hmm!” said the Colorman, uttering the first response that gave away any opinion. “Page two hundred and four.”
Again, I could see nothing, but felt it was a horse.
“It’s a horse.”
“Quite right.”
We went through twenty more plates, some of which I could sense, and others I couldn’t. But I could tell the process was almost done. The Colorman was starting to relax. Finally, after three images in which I could see nothing at all, he added up the score, scribbled in my merit book and stood up.
“Welcome to the Collective, Mr. Russett,” he said, shaking my hand. “You have much to contribute and an obligation to fulfill. Do it wisely, do it fairly, do it by the Rules. Remember: Apart, we will always be together.”
I turned smartly and walked out of the chamber and into the sunshine, much relieved. My father was there, waiting to greet me, and a little way away was Jane, sitting on the color garden wall.
“Well?” said Dad, and I opened the book with a thumping heart and trembling fingers.
“Eighty-six-point-seven-percent Red,” I said, reading the figures, “and negligible across the Blue and Yellow fields.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
He gave me another hug, then said Jane wanted to speak to me. I walked over with something akin to a stupid grin on my face. If I didn’t defer my prefectural duties, I would be sworn in just as soon as I did the traditional “knocking on the Council Chamber door.” We could make a start, Jane and I, and perhaps even travel to Emerald City on a fact-finding tour of the faculty or something. But as I walked up, my grin was not returned. Quite the opposite, in fact.
“Problems?” I asked, sitting down next to her.
“Only of a personal nature. It won’t alter our Grand Plan. It’s just that, well . . I turned out twelve percent Yellow.”
I laughed. It was only 2 percent above threshold, so was as good as nothing, and for Jane’s huge dislike of Yellows, there was the nub of a fine joke about it.
“You’re no longer a Grey. That must make you a Primrose, minimum. Has Bunty asked you to spy on anyone yet?”
“Eddie,” she said with a serious look that I didn’t much like, “there’s something else. I’ve also got fourteen percent Blue.”
All of a sudden I wasn’t laughing. “Anything else?”
“No.”
“Blast!” I yelled so loudly that people nearby looked up and tutted audibly. Raising one’s voice showed very poor self-control. “Blast, blast, blast!”
“Hey,” she said, taking my hand, “perhaps it’s for the best. The Grand Plan’s still on, right?”
“How can it be for the best?” I asked. “You’re
Green
. We’re
complementary
. We can’t ever marry and we shouldn’t really talk to each other. And now I’ve got
nothing
to stop my father from insisting on a union with Violet!”
“Eddie,” she repeated, “stay focused. I know this is hard, but there are some things bigger than both of us.
Is the Grand Plan still on?
”
I said nothing, and instead stared at the ground with my head in my hands, wondering what kind of bribe it might take to add a few points to Jane’s score. It didn’t matter even if they had. The Ishihara was never repeated. The test was perfect, the Colorman above reproach. Infallible, in fact. I looked into her eyes, which were blurred with tears. The truly ironic part of this was that once I was married to Violet, we would not be complementary any longer and could talk freely. If deMauve and Violet had wanted to rub our noses in it the cruelest way possible, they could not have planned it better.
“Okay,” I said, “the Grand Plan is on. Who knows? Maybe being within the House of deMauve is the best place to be. Purpose first, love second, right?”
“I could always kill Violet. I could make it look like an accident.”
“Don’t joke about things like that.”
“Sorry.”
I wanted to kiss her, but people were watching, and fraternizing between complementary colors was not just demeritable but severely taboo. I had a position to maintain, and we had a plan together. We had a future together, too, just not one that would see us married. Or at least, not to each other.
“You have to go now,” she whispered, “but leave your window unlatched tonight.”
“You’re coming in?”
“No, you’re coming out. It’s time you met some people.”
I gave her an imperceptible nod, cleared my throat and stood up.
“Thank you, Miss—?”
“Brunswick.”
“Thank you, Miss Brunswick,” I said in a loud voice, since a small crowd had gathered to see how the Edward/Jane affair would pan out. “Will you release me from my promise?”