Page 10 of Wolf's Bane
Mr. Parkell watched as Charlotte carefully poured out the tea and served up tiny sandwiches cut into triangles. “My physician prescribed fresh country air. Uncle obliged.” He picked up a silver spoon, then removed a cloth from his coat’s breast pocket to polish it. “Everything is delightfully rustic.”
His snobbish tone belied his words.
Colonel Chambers ignored his nephew’s rudeness. “I’m glad to have the company. I’m tired of rambling about that big house all on my own.” He tossed a look her way.
Solenne focused on her tiny sandwich. The bread was thin and the filling nothing but cucumbers and butter. They were a rather unsatisfactory experience, and she wondered how many she could politely eat before raising eyebrows. Probably not enough to sate her stomach.
“Life in the country must be so dull after the military. I can’t imagine it compares,” Charlotte said.
“Things were exciting enough on the equinox.” Chambers glanced to Solenne.
Rather than exchange the polite sympathies about her father, Solenne said, “Tell me all about the West Lands. Is it true that there are plants that will swallow a person whole?”
“Oh, yes! The land there is the planet’s natural habit. Is it wholly unsuitable for humans?” Charlotte leaned forward with rapt attention.
Chambers told them about flowers that changed colors based on the temperature, and the person-swallowing plant actually swallowed insects, not people.
The West Lands was native habitat, free from human alteration. Every child learned the story in school. After the ship landed, computers deployed terraforming equipment, but the energy fluctuations from the nexus broke the machines. By the time the crew and the settlers woke—again, the stories never really explained what this sleep was but implied it was something other than the regular eight hours a night sleep—they discovered they were on the wrong planet and only a small portion of the continent had been made suitable for human habitation.
Surprise.
The knowledge to reform a planet in your image. To move between the stars…it all seemed like a fairy story.
“Did you see the city in the mountains? Is it true a second ship landed there, but none of the crew or settlers survived? Machines built a city for the dead?” Charlotte shivered at the grotesque image.
“My company never made it that far west.”
“And you found the sword Vervain?”
Solenne’s interest perked. The sword, one of several empowered weapons created by early settlers, were common bedtime stories. She did not have the enthusiasm for history like her friend, but she relished stories.
“Is that true? It was lost,” Solenne said.
“I have an old sword, ancient, in my collection, but not that sword,” Chambers said.
“Collection.” Mr. Parkell made a derisive noise. “It’s like living in an armory.”
“I thought we might have a dance,” Chambers said, once again ignoring his nephew’s rudeness. “A summer solstice dance, before the event, of course.”
“How exciting! I do so love a dance.” Charlotte clapped her hands, legendary swords forgotten. Which was a shame, because Vervain was one of the few interesting points of their conversation.
Colonel Chambers nudged his nephew with his foot, who sputtered out, “Oh, yes. I’m intrigued by what passes as entertainment among the rustics.”
Not even Charlotte could ignore the disdain in his voice. She looked rather awkwardly at the floral centerpiece on the table. “I am rather pleased with the tulips this year. Such color.”
Solenne would have none of the pompous twit sitting, a guest in Charlotte’s home, and looking down his nose at them. “I’m sure life on the fringes out here must be a change for you, Mr. Parkell. I rather enjoyed the noise and bustle of Founding, when Miss Wodehouse and I attended university.”
“Academics. I should have known,” he scoffed. “I much prefer ladies with other accomplishments.”
“Jase, that’s enough,” Colonel Chambers warned, nearly growling.
“Accomplishments?” Charlotte asked, her voice sweet. Solenne recognized the trap as Mr. Parkell blundered in. Even Colonel Chambers sensed the danger, and leaned back in his chair, content to watch the scene play out.
“Amiable, amenable and charming, for starters. Singing, playing an instrument, painting or sketching, and needlework. Those sorts of accomplishments.” He examined a butter knife and must have decided it clean enough to spread cream on a scone.
“Oh, I daresay that between us we can do a passable sketch,” Charlotte said, sharing a glance with Solenne.
“My needlework is decently good,” Solenne added. “I always thought sewing and embroidery was rather like stabbing the cloth with a tiny little dagger.”
