Sunday Morning

The sun was high when I awoke, and I lay in bed, thinking about the previous night’s debriefing, which had carried on until lights-out. My detailed report of the impracticality of mounting any sort of color-scrap extraction plan was met with annoyance and dismay, but not much surprise. To my relief, the Council seemed to be of the same opinion, accepting that since it had been deemed impractical two hundred years ago, when Ford flatheads and tractors were still in abundance, then it was doubly so now.

Violet, and to a lesser extent Tommo, had been severely criticized for risking the loss of their Civil Obligation on such a foolhardy venture, and neither of them spoke of the scam they had planned. It seemed that at least in this they were agreed, if in nothing else. The question then turned to Courtland’s loss, and our account of it. It was met with shock, then sadness, then finally a certain degree of acceptance and regretful pride that he had given his own life to save mine. I thanked Mrs. Gamboge in a tearful exchange, and Bunty McMustard was named deputy Yellow prefect.

I made to get up but then realized I didn’t have any jobs or tasks to perform, so just lay back on the sheets and ran over the events of the previous day. It would need many more conversations with Jane before I could get all the loose ends straightened, but that’s what honeymoons were for. I smiled to myself.

There was a knock, and Dad popped his head around the door. We had not spoken privately since I had returned home, so his collusion in the deMauve succession had not yet been aired.

“I’m sorry about selling your, um, heritage to the deMauves,” he said, gazing out of the window, “but I really didn’t think you would come back.”

“I’ll work my way past it,” I said, trying to be as honest as I could. “There are bigger things to worry about than the deMauves.”

“You’re right,” he agreed, “and it might not be the best time to tell you, but I’m staying on as permanent swatchman—to carry on Robin Ochre’s good work.”

“Keeping the village free of Mildew?”

“For as long as I can.”

I was about to reveal what I knew, but I decided today would not be the day to tell him. We would bring him slowly into our plans.

“I’m also planning to marry Mrs. Ochre,” he added. “She’s agreeable, but I wanted to make sure you weren’t going to go nuts or anything.”

I could think of far worse people to be my mother than the mildly eccentric Mrs. Ochre. And Lucy needed a brother on the Council to enable her to keep studying the harmonics without any problems.

“Sounds like a fine idea, Dad. I’ve always wanted a sister. But be warned: Tommo wants to marry her.”

“Tommo as my son-in-law?” he said, getting all protective. “Not if I have anything to do with it!”

And we both laughed.

“Look here, Eddie,” he said, all serious for a moment, “deMauve is spitting blood that you’ve chosen a Grey over his daughter. Daisy he might have tolerated, but Jane is an insult. The ten grand I’d get for you is important, but if I don’t exercise my veto, then I’m planting myself firmly on your side of the divide—and I need to have the Council with me if I’m to be an effective swatchman.”

“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.”