“I’m afraid the notice mentions an entourage,” admitted Estif. “There will be two Old Earthians to do the actual ‘contact work,’ as they call it, plus a Cluvian protocol officer, some bodyguards, plus whatever specialists she figures she needs. The protocol officer will arrive on planet before the others.”
“There’s no way we can keep the Hags out of it, I suppose?” Bin snarled.
“We didn’t receive the only copy,” said Calvy. “The Hags will have been notified as well.”
Myrphee squeezed his hands together until his knuckles made white dimples in the plump sausages of his fingers. “How about asking for a delay, on the grounds of insufficient notice, or time for preparation?”
Calvy said, “We’re not supposed to prepare, Myrph. She’s supposed to catch us as nearly unaware as makes no difference.”
“You don’t suppose she’s heard about … ?” asked Slab, his eyebrows rising into a single hairy bar across his forehead.
It took no effort for the others to keep their faces carefully blank. They did not suppose. Every habit they had cultivated since childhood kept them from supposing. Not one of them would even momentarily consider that there was something particular on Newholme in which the Questioner might be quite interested. Even if the something particular bit them with long, sharp teeth on their collective ass, they would bear the pain without seeming to notice.
Considering that their true concerns were unspoken and nothing was put forward as a solution to the unspecified, the meeting lasted longer than necessary. Calvy tried a time or two to push for some resolution, but the general discomposure made decision impossible. Whenever the Hags or the edicts came into MOB discussions, the meetings dragged on while a chronic complainer vented anger at his wife or mother and a hobby-historian blathered on about olden times when there weren’t any Hags and when women did as they were damned well told. The committee always seemed to have at least one of each. At present they were Bin and Myrphee respectively. Though Calvy was a better historian than Myrphee, he didn’t blather about it.
Estif muttered, “If you’re sure the Hags are going to be involved, we ought to appear cooperative, I suppose. Is there a volunteer to take this document into Sendoph to the Haggery?”
Somewhat reluctantly, Bin g’Kiffle raised one hand. “I’m going back there tonight. I suppose I can take it.” He intended to catch the afternoon boat upriver, and could, in fact, deliver it that evening. It would give him an excuse for not going home immediately on arrival. As everyone in the room knew, Bin would use any excuse not to go home. His wife was a termagant.
“I’m going up to Sendoph tonight on business,” murmured Calvy. “I can take it if Bin doesn’t want to be bothered.”
“I said I’d take it,” snapped Bin. “And I will!”
Calvy bowed, making an ironic face. He intended to call on an old friend in Sendoph, and he was glad enough not to make a time-consuming call at the Panhagion.
Estif handed over the vellum and the fancy envelope with the seals and ribbons. Bin stowed it away in his leather-and-gilt document case, almost as important a symbol of status as his cockade and the g’ before his name. After which the men carefully affixed their veils across their faces, adjusted their honorable cockades, and took themselves back to home cities and places of business, where they belonged.
28—A Family Man Visits the Hags
Only in the secrecy of the Fortress of Lost Men was the Temple in Sendoph referred to as “the Haggery,” and Bin g’Kiffle was careful not even to think the words as he climbed the wide stone steps leading to the huge bronze doors. One of the Consort Houses had doors like that, also, part of the cargo of the ship the first settlers had pirated. Pirated or not, males did not approach those doors for anything trivial. Males did not hurry when there were Hags in the vicinity. When at the Temple, even workmen or delivery men took their time, abating any tendency toward immodest alacrity. Here, everything was done slowly, deliberately, with due weight and moment.