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?”

“I shall do so,” replied Jane in a formal manner, “and I thank you for your interest.”

And we bowed curtly and shook hands. I walked smartly away, and was instantly grabbed by Mrs.

Gamboge and tugged unceremoniously away from the crowd.

“Don’t think I don’t know you killed him,” she growled, staring at me angrily. “I’ll have my revenge. Not just on you but on that stupid Grey.”

“She’s Green.”

“She’ll always be a Grey within, Russett. And I’ll find proof. Even if I have to walk to High Saffron myself.”

“Be my guest,” I replied, “but you’re wrong. Courtland died trying to save me.”

“And that’s where your story falls apart. I know my son. He would never have lifted a finger to save you.”

It was a very sound argument, and we hadn’t thought of it. Jane and I would have to review our lying procedures.

“You disgust me,” added Gamboge, “I’ll make it my life’s work to destroy you.”

“Likewise,” I said, leaning closer. “I will aggressively pursue the manner of Travis’ death. Perhaps we should discuss the timing of Penelope’s allocation at Council tomorrow?”

She blinked several times and pursed her lips. But she said nothing more and moved away. The strange thing was, I hadn’t even broken a sweat under her attack. Being a prefect was going to be quite enjoyable.

I made my way through the crowd and rejoined my father. “Okay,” I said, “we’ll do it your way.”

The DeMauves

Violet had scored 28 percent Red and 64 percent Blue, which made her Purple enough to one day become head prefect. She was delighted when my father got word to her of developments, and quickly broke off with Doug, much to his relief. She was well mannered enough not to comment on Jane’s and my misfortune, and we sat side by side on the sofa in the living room of their house, one of the largest on the main square. They had two servants, three Titians and not a spot of synthetic purple anywhere in the house. They had breeding, after all, and the overly ostentatious expression of one’s hue was not the done thing at all.

My father was there, and he had been chatting to Mrs. deMauve, who was as delighted and relieved as Violet over the change of circumstances.

“More tea?” said Violet.

“No, thanks.”

The door opened, and deMauve walked in. I knew almost immediately that he had bribed the Colorman, as he had the faint smile on his face of someone who had just turned up a winning ace.

“So,” he said to my father, “I understand things did not work out as expected?”

My father explained that, due to an “unforeseen incident,” his son was once more available, and wondered if deMauve would care to enter his daughter into an arrangement.

“At the same rate?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Dad.

“No,” said I.

“It seems as though your son has issues with authority,” said deMauve, “an ugly trait, and not one we should encourage.”

“I would like to work for National Color,” I said, “but I need you to endorse my application.”

“Absolutely not,” replied deMauve crossly. “Yewberry is the worst Red sorter we’ve ever had, and with High Saffron a washout, we’ll need you in the Pavilion to even have a chance of meeting scrap-color targets.”

“What if I were to make East Carmine the spoon capital of the Collective?”

“We can’t make spoons,” he replied gruffly. “It’s not allowed.”

“But what if I can get around the Rules? Can you imagine the riches such loopholery might bring to the community?”

DeMauve stared at me. Like it or not, I was an adult now, and at 86 percent, almost an equal.

“Keep talking.”

I showed him the utensil that had been embedded in my backside when I was thrown into the yateveo. It wasn’t really a spoon, but then it wasn’t a fork, either. It had a spoonlike shallow scoop, but with the addition of three tines of a fork. I handed it to deMauve, who stared at it intently.

“I call it a spork,” I said.

“How ingenious,” remarked Violet, who was eager to have the pretense of a strong and supportive marriage, and was resolved to start as she meant to continue. “Whatever made you think of a brilliant name like that?”

“It’s engraved on the back.”

“Oh.”

DeMauve turned the instrument around in his hands. It was mildly corroded from where it had lain inside the tree, but none the worse for that.

“Redundant production-line space at the linoleum factory could churn these out by the thousands,” I said.

“We’d be on full grid color by next year, and hosting Jollity Fair in three.”

The head prefect nodded to himself. “I think you might be right. If the other prefects agree, we will do a trial batch for peer review of Rule Compliance. If it passes, you can have your endorsement to National Color.”

The marriage deal was duly completed, and although expected to kiss Violet in front of them all, I didn’t, which caused only minor consternation. I was still a good catch, even if the marriage was a sham. The meeting ended with the nuptials fixed for tomorrow at ten, with a week’s honeymoon at Purple Regis, paid for by the deMauves. There was also the question of surname, and it was decided that I would abandon the Russett name, but that it would become a middle name for the infant. There were other wrinkles to iron out, but nothing too onerous—or nothing that seemed onerous, given that I was marrying Violet.