Dark Foundations (14 page)

Merral was excused from helping. Lloyd, however, was given the task of answering the door and telling the many well-wishers that the D'Avanos family were very busy at the moment, but they could leave messages. And the callers—and there were many of them—would look up at Lloyd almost entirely filling the doorway and decide to leave their message and depart. At one point, the frequency of visitors wanting to see Merral or his parents was so great that Lloyd found it easiest to sit by the door on a creaking chair and read his diary.

As they gathered round the table for the meal and bowed their heads to ask a blessing, Merral silently added an extra clause:
Lord, please don't let there be a row.

Whether it was the prayer or the presence of Lloyd, who periodically had to get up to answer the door, there was no row. It was, Merral felt, a very near thing.

As they were eating the first course, his mother said “I was ever so
surprised
during the representative's broadcast when he said, ‘Merral D'Avanos,' and showed
that
picture.” She pointed to a photograph of Merral on a bookshelf. “I said to Stefan, ‘That's the name of
our
son and he even
looks
like him.' And Stefan said ‘That's because it
is
our son.' Only your father
could
have been more polite about what he
called
me.”

“The heat of the moment, my dear,” his father said calmly, tenderly stroking the newly trimmed fringe above his right ear as if it were a fresh wound. “I have the very highest respect for your intelligence. I always ha—”

“But the
shock
, Merral dear. Your sisters called and I didn't
know
what to say to them
or
to the neighbors. Not at all. . . . I
do
think you should have told us; I really do. We are your
family
. Don't you agree, Lloyd?”

Lloyd looked thoughtful. “Well, Mrs. D'Avanos, it was a secret operation.”

“Secret? Well, Merral, you could have
told
us it was secret. You could have said ‘I'm on a secret mission to
find
this ship.'”

“In which case . . . ,” his father began to protest. “Oh, never mind.”

“Still we
are
honored,” his mother began again. “And the representative mentioned your name
three
times. I couldn't believe it
really
. Nothing like this has happened to
my
family before. But your
father
had a great-uncle who was given the Silver Globe medal for rescuing a
canoe
with children in it. Isn't that right, Stefan? Oh, you're dribbling into that beard
again
.”

“Sorry, dear,” his father said, dabbing at his lips with a napkin, “but that business with Gregory was . . . well . . . a little different.” He turned to Merral. “Now, Son, as commander—I have a job to get my mind around that title—you will have to brush up on new machines. You'll be making new ships, I suppose. Make sure you get some good engineers and make very sure they design ships that have long service intervals. Take it from me, you don't want to be in dock having your turbines lubed when the enemy appears. And from personal experience—not of course with such things—you really can't have too many backup systems. Have backups for backups, I say—”

“Oh Stefan, there you go
again
about your machines. You've become a
bore
. Our son doesn't want to hear about all
that
. He's got advisors for that. But what I want to say, Merral dear, is that you need to be sure there are
uniforms
. Properly tailored ones. It's
good
for morale.”

The conversation continued in this way as the meal progressed. The evening light filtering through the window began to fade. Merral, discouraged and alarmed, felt very much marginalized. He decided not to intervene and soon discovered that if, every so often, he uttered a meaningless phrase such as “That's a good idea,” “Possibly,” or “I ought to think about that,” the dialogue continued without him. The fact that he was effectively distanced from the conversation gave Merral a chance to analyze what he was seeing in his family. He was dismayed that his parents and their relationship seemed to have developed into savage caricatures of what they once were.
My mother
always could say silly things. But they were limited, and her sanity and grace outweighed them all. Now it's as if everything is overturned and only an unchecked silliness prevails
.
And my father's long-windedness has lost the amiability that once excused it. My mother, sadly, is right: he's now a bore.
And it's not just them that's the problem. Their only partially successful pretense at maintaining the illusion of marital friendliness is worrying.

At the meal's conclusion, Lloyd thanked Merral's parents profusely and offered to continue his role as doorman so that they could “have a family conversation.” With a nod at Merral, which seemed to suggest both disquiet and sympathy, he went out into the hall.

As they sat down in the general room, Merral threw up a prayer for grace, patience, and guidance. He knew that the matter of Isabella was going to be raised and feared the worst.

“Well, Son,” his father said, “this
is
a change in events. You are commander of this Farholme Defense Force. It's hard to take in. You'll be based in Isterrane, I suppose.”

“They're giving me an office there.”

“To be expected. There are good facilities there. Excellent workshops at the airport. And the port. A very fine dry dock, one of the bes—”

“I was hoping you could stay here
,
” his mother interrupted. “We need a commander here this close to the forest and those things that may be in it.”

His father frowned, cast a furtive glance northward, and nodded as his mother continued. “And there's spare office space around. You'd be close to Isabella. That's important now.”

And so here we are
. Merral braced himself, trying not to reveal anything by his expression. “Why now, Mother?”

A look passed between his mother and father, almost that of coconspirators, Merral decided.

“Well,” she said, with a slight awkwardness, “we were going to tell you that . . . that we approved your commitment to Isabella last week.”

“Oh,” Merral said, trying—and failing—to keep his tone neutral.

“You don't seem very pleased.” His mother's tone was sharp.

“I'm sorry. But what happened?”
Let them talk. It's safer
. Merral struggled to control his anger.

“Just after the broadcast the Danols came round,” his mother replied. “They reminded us—very nicely
—
that we had agreed to
review
things after six months and it was nearly that. And they pointed out—what we knew—that now you were a commander,
everything
was changed. They felt it seemed a bit
silly
to withhold parental approval to someone who was
leading
our world as a commander does. We would have been embarrassed. And we felt that you would need all the
support
that you could get and that a wife would be an
excellent
thing.”

“And it wasn't just you that changed, Son,” his father added quickly. “Things are now different for Isabella. She is now what they are calling a crisis counselor to Warden Enatus.”

“That's impressive, isn't it, Merral?” his mother said. “A crisis counselor to the warden. We've never had one of
those
before.”

“That's because we've never had a crisis,” his father mumbled in an acid tone and was rewarded by a glare.

“Your father has taken to
muttering
. I tell him not to do it, but he persists. Anyway, the Danols
persuaded
us . . . no, we agreed
together
that we should approve a commitment,
immediately
.”

“I wish you had asked me,” Merral said, struggling to keep his anger out of his voice. “So, who else knows about this?”

“Well, your sisters. And your uncles and aunts. And the Danols, of
course.
And their family.”

The whole town and beyond
. He suddenly remembered the woman from the flier. “I see,” he said slowly.

“But isn't it what you wanted?” his mother asked. “We assumed that you
wished
it. I mean, we only did it for
you
.” Her tone was defensive.

They've been manipulated by the Danols.
Had the idea come from them? Ultimately, had Isabella been the instigator? He had his suspicions.

He suddenly realized that his parents were looking at him as if waiting for a response. After some thought he said, “You're right that a lot has changed since we discussed the matter at Nativity. And there are things that Isabella and I need to talk over.”

“She's a nice girl,” his father said, rather mechanically.

“Very well thought of. A
crisis
counselor now.”

Again they looked expectantly at Merral, but he said nothing.

“Oh, Merral dear, it will work out all right. Marriages
do
.”

They did once.
Merral tried to bottle up all the boundless resentment that he felt. He shrugged and said nothing.

A long silence that followed was soon ended by his mother. “Anyway, about tomorrow, Merral. I don't know what you are intending to do, but there are things planned.”

“I have to see Isabella. There are . . . matters that need sorting out. And I have other things to do. But what else is scheduled?”

“No need to sound so suspicious. You are among family here. There's a party in Wyrent Park. Warden Enatus has arranged it in your honor.”

“That's kind of him.”

“And there's going to be a presentation there.”

“What sort of presentation?”

“Of a medal. And the
whole
town will be there. Well,
most
of it. And you'll have to give a
speech
.”

Suddenly, Merral felt that he had had as much as he could stand. He got to his feet. “I need a walk. Some fresh air.”

His mother frowned. “It's late. And you have a big day tomorrow.”

“I need some exercise.”

“Are you all right, Merral dear?” His mother peered at him.

“I just need some exercise—doctor's orders.” As soon as he had said it, Merral realized that he had lied and the only shock he felt was the realization that he
wasn't
shocked.

“The sun's set,” his mother said.

“What's wrong with going for a walk at night?”

His parents exchanged uneasy glances. “It's been, well,
rowdy
at night lately,” his father said.

“Rowdy?”

“Noisy, uncomfortable. That sort of thing.”

“In
Ynysmant?
”

His parents looked at each other with expressions of perplexity.

“I'll take Lloyd.”

As they stepped onto the darkened street, Merral noted that although Lloyd left his bag behind, his jacket seemed to have acquired an odd bulge. He considered inquiring about the cause, but decided not to. The conversation with his parents had given him enough to worry about.

The afternoon's wind had died down to little more than a gentle breeze. The air was dry, warm, and dusty, and the sky had cleared to give a view of hazy stars. From out of the open windows and the people sitting on balconies came the slow buzz of conversation.

“I apologize for my parents. They're not always like this. Did Vero mention the social and psychological trends we're seeing?”

“Yup. I guess that's one reason why I'm here. Mr. V. hinted that things were moving rapidly, back to a sort of bad pre-Intervention state. That's why he gave me the handbook and suggested I watched a lot of really old films.” Lloyd paused and when he spoke again there was a puzzled tone in his voice. “But, sir, I don't understand
why
things are changing.”

“Why?” Merral echoed, as he looked up, seeing the ruggedness of Lloyd's face highlighted by the streetlights. “We don't know.”

“Well, something's happening, sir. If I had read the stuff in
The
Bodyguard's Handbook
a few months ago, I'd have either laughed or fallen asleep. But when I read it now, it's like it all seems familiar territory, if you understand me.”

“That's a worrying comment,” Merral said. He gestured to an alley. “Let's go up here. We get up to one of the best vantage points this way.”