“If this Tommo fellow is correct and the deMauves are both stinking rich and hue-desperate, we can probably get a preemptive bid or go to auction. Plus,” he added, as though to try to soften the deal, “I’d be happy to split the dowry with you. We’d walk away from the deal with both our pockets comfortably full.”

“That’s the difference,” I said. “I don’t get to walk away. I get to stay right here. And be married to Violet.”

“Is she really so different from Constance?”

“Not at all,” I replied. “But at least Constance was my decision.”

“Choice is overrated,” said Dad, quoting Munsell, something he rarely did. “I’m sure you’ll warm to her, given time. You’ll be Red prefect as soon as you’ve taken your Ishihara, and with deMauve as father-in-law, you’ll eventually run the linoleum factory.”

“Dad, we always agreed to talk this through before a decision was made.”

“We’re talking it through now, aren’t we? Besides, you’ve only yourself to blame, blurting out your bestowal—you see what happens to those who shamelessly boast? Like that Carrot fellow. What was his name again?”

“Dwayne.”

“Right. Dwayne Carrot. Exactly.”

We stood on the steps in silence as the other residents streamed into the town hall. They were chattering volubly, and paid us little attention.

“How did the hearing go?” he asked at length.

I told him about the eight hundred demerits, which he didn’t seem so annoyed about—presumably because it increased the likelihood of my going the deMauve route. He asked me why so many, and I explained about the rabbit. He shook his head sadly, and said that he always knew the rabbit would be trouble. I then took a deep breath and told him I’d offered to go to High Saffron to earn the merits back.

“You did what?”

“High Saffron. For six hundred merits.”

“What if you don’t make it back? What if night falls?”

“Night always falls, Dad.”

“With you inside it, I mean.”

“Dad,” I said more forcefully, “I’ll be fine, really. All the missing were feckless Rebootees who took the opportunity to leg it and are now probably running around in a loincloth with uncombed hair and poor table manners. I’ll be fine.”

“You might have consulted me before you took this rash decision. I have a twenty-year stake in you, too, you know.”

“In volunteering for tosh squads,” I replied, “the Rules do not require me to seek your permission.”

But he knew this.

“I suppose it might improve your leadership skills,” he grumbled, “useful if you do become a prefect.

When is this to be?”

“If the deMauves have their way, not until we’re wed and their grandchild is in the bag. Who knows, if Violet gets to like me, she could postpone the trip indefinitely.”

“That would suit all concerned.”

He was partly right. Dad would get his ten grand, Tommo would get his commission, Violet would get a Purple child and deMauve would secure his dynasty. The only beneficiary missing from the list was me.

But Dad was nothing if not fair, and after thinking for a moment, he relented. He sighed, patted my shoulder and said, “Listen, I can’t force you to marry Violet with a half promise to Constance on the table, but as the sole supplier of your dowry, I think my arguments might at least count for something.”

Once inside, I sat at the usual Red table and pondered the situation. At least I still had a way out. I could telegraph my Ishihara results to Constance on Sunday afternoon, and she’d agree to our marriage. I could get her to wire me a ticket authorization by return and be gone by Tuesday. Simple . . . except for the ticklish problem of not having enough merits to get married. Still, that was a problem I could deal with back home. It was now Friday, and all I had to do was to keep my nose clean until Sunday, the day of my Ishihara. And avoid Courtland. And Jane. And the Colorman. And Violet. I was just wondering how long I could barricade myself in the broom cupboard with a stack of cheese sandwiches and some water when the prefects walked in.

Lunch

“The annual boys-versus-girls hockeyball match was won this year by the boys, despite the disgraceful behavior by all concerned. The two captains have been justly punished, and Miss Ochre’s ear was saved, so no more will be said.”

DeMauve was giving his prelunch speech. We were all sitting attentively at our places, feeling hungry.

“Due to another highly regrettable but wholly unavoidable accidental death at the factory,” he continued, “the average age of the village has risen above safe parameters. Because of this, we have licensed an extra conception certificate to be taken up forthwith. All eligible parties should contact Mr. Turquoise for consideration at tomorrow’s Council meeting.”

There was a murmuring among the villagers about this, mostly from the Grey end of the room, as a hastened Grey worker usually required a Grey birth to replace it. There was even an audible “Hoorah!”

“Right,” said deMauve, consulting a sheet of printed paper. “As of this morning we have a volunteer to lead the High Saffron expedition. His name is Edward Russett, and considering that he is visitor, he has shown considerable pluck and fortitude to have stepped forward, a selfless act that I think should be an example to you all.”

He paused, expecting a flurry of voices goaded into action by his words, but there were none. If worse came to worst, I would be on my own.

“Moreover, we have decided to increase the expedition payment to two hundred merits.”

Still silence.

“Then I’ll leave it up to your own conscience,” said deMauve, faintly annoyed. “Now, against my better judgment and well-argued wishes, the High Saffron expedition will take place . . . tomorrow! ”

He glared at both Gamboge and Yewberry as he said it, and my heart fell. Tomorrow was the day before my Ishihara. I should have seen it coming. Yewberry didn’t want to lose his position, and Mrs.

Gamboge, no fan of Edward Russett, would fondly like to see the back of me long before I even took my seat on the Council. The sooner I was out of the picture, the better for both of them. The implication wasn’t missed on Tommo, who gave a low curse over his potential lost commission, and I saw Dad shake his head sadly. Myself, I felt a sudden sinking feeling as the full inevitability of what I had agreed to do settled in my stomach like an anvil.

“So for reasons that I won’t trouble you with,” added deMauve, “I am personally willing to add three hundred merits to the two hundred already offered—on condition that the team leader is returned safely, alive and in one piece.”

“I will add two hundred more to that!” said my father. He was breaching protocol, but no one minded.

Despite the Rules against talk, there was a lot of murmuring. DeMauve, sensing that a fair hand would be better than a firm one, let everyone chatter for a couple of minutes before waving us all to be quiet. Seven hundred merits. For a single day’s work. It was unprecedented stuff. But not, it seemed, unprecedented enough. The number of arms that shot upward was as close to zero as it could possibly be.

“Very well,” said deMauve, visibly angry. “If anyone changes his mind, he can contact me directly.”

He looked around before continuing.

“Russett, you are to present yourself for a briefing with Mr. Yewberry straight after lunch. You’ll leave with Mr. Fandango at first sight tomorrow morning. Now, today’s reading will be from Munsell’s . . .”

The talk was fortunately a lot shorter this time, and was mostly about working together in strict harmony, and respecting the Colortocracy that our bestowals had decreed, and how anyone might, through hard work and strict adherence to the Rules, ensure that his future progeny might move up the ladder by using his well-earned merits to ensure a better marriage for his children. And so on and so forth. I wasn’t paying much attention. I was thinking about going to High Saffron and cursing my own impetuousness.