“Yes, Papa.”
“This decision is much against my inclination, Mouche. You were to be the son of g’Darbos, our unique line. I had such plans for you, for us … “ His voice trailed off sadly, and he stared out the small window at two of the littler moons just rising above the horizon to join a third, bigger one in the sky. “But seemingly it is not to be. There will be no g’Darbos lineage, no immortality of the family, no descendants to remember me and honor the name. Even so, I would not make this decision lightly; I had to find out what kind of life we’d be sending you to. I didn’t tell your Mama, but when I was last in Sendoph, I went into House Genevois, by the back door, and when I explained myself, I was allowed to talk to some of the … young men.”
Mouche wriggled uncomfortably.
“I found out, for example, that they eat very well indeed. Far better than we do. I found out that the maximum contract for a Hu—a Consort is about twenty years, beginning as soon as schooling is completed, somewhere between the eighteenth and twenty-fourth year. The standard contract for men from House Genevois provides one third the original payment set aside for your retirement, plus one third of the down payment on your contract, plus half the payments to House Genevois every year of service, all invested at interest to provide you an annuity. All Consorts receive wages from their patronesses, plus tips, many of them, and even after they’re retired, ex-Consorts can freelance for additional profit. There are ex-Consorts in the city who are almost as well respected as Family Men.”
“But it isn’t the sea,” said Mouche, feeling tears, blinking rapidly to keep them from running over. “If I go to sea and make my fortune, I could send you money.”
“No, Mouche. It isn’t the sea, but it’s now, when we have need, not years from now when it’s too late. If you can set aside your dream of the sea, being a Consort has few drawbacks. Well, there’s the possibility of being killed or scarred in a duel, but any farmer might be killed or scarred. The men I spoke with said Consort dueling can be avoided by a fast tongue and a ready wit, neither of which can help farmers avoid accidents. And, so far as I can tell, the shame that attaches to the candidate’s family goes away after a time. One grows used to saying, ‘My son? Oh, he’s gone to work for a contractor in the city.’ “ Papa sighed, having put the best face on it he could.
“How much will you get for me, Papa?”
“I won’t get it. Your Mama will. It’s twenty gold vobati, my boy, after deducting your annuity share, but Mama has agreed to use it on the farm. That’s the only way I’d give permission for her to sell you, you being my eldest.” Eldest sons, as everyone knew, were exempt from sale unless the father agreed, though younger ones, being supernumerary, could be sold by their mothers—if she could find a buyer—as soon as they turned seven. Supernumes were miners and haulers and sailors; they were the ones who worked as farmhands or wood cutters or ran away to become Wilderneers.
Still, twenty vobati was a large sum of money. More than he could make as a seaman in a long, long time. “Is it as much a daughter would bring in?” Mouche whispered.
“Not if she were a healthy, good-looking and intelligent girl, but it isn’t bad. It’s enough to guarantee Mama and Papa food for their age.”
Mouche took a deep breath and tried to be brave. He would have had to be brave to be a seaman, so let him be brave anyhow. “I would rather be a Consort than a playmate, Papa.”
“I thought you might,” said Papa with a weepy smile.
Papa had a tender heart. He was always shedding a tear for this thing or that thing. Every time the earth shook and the great fire mounts of the scarp belched into the sky, Papa worried about the people in the way of it. Not Mama, who just snorted that people who built in the path of pyroclastic flow must eat ashes and like it, and with all the old lava about, one could not mistake where that was likely to be.