Blaggard's Moon by George Bryan Polivka Page A

ferociously. This one, this one, would grow up a lady. And so while Shayla cleared the teacups and crumbs of crumpet cakes, she watched the wealthy women carefully, and she listened close and studied how they worked their polite magic. And when she wasn’t washing the linens or polishing silver or scrubbing fine marble tiles, she was schooling her daughter in the ways of gentility, teaching her how to sip from a porcelain cup with her pinky finger raised.”
    A few of the men, lost now in the tale, raised invisible cups to their lips and dutifully protruded their little fingers.
    â€œAnd Jenta learned how to proffer a limp hand for a gentleman to kiss at a garden party.” Several men kissed invisible hands. One or two absently held up limp hands toward the dark timbers above their hammocks.
    â€œEventually, she taught Jenta all the manners and mannerisms, and Jenta learned to be a perfect lady. But as Jenta came of age, neither her lessons nor her skills brought her a single invitation to any of the fine events in town. For in Nearing Vast, in the City of Mann at least, the doors to such society are shut upon those not born to rank and privilege.”
    There were grumblings about the unfairness of society’s doors.
    â€œThere was one dance, though, just one, a cotillion held for new recruits into His Majesty’s Navy. It was local girls saying their goodbyes to local boys, mostly, but it had an air of respectability to it. Jenta was sixteen, versed in all the ins and all the outs of polite banter, knowing the fine dance steps of ladies and gentlemen, and ready to put such skills to use. So Shayla said yes, and Jenta went. And there she danced with many a young sailor. Several caught her eye, but only one caught her fancy.”
    â€œYou’re a quiet one.”
    Jenta said it to the dark-haired boy who leaned against the wall near the bowl of sugar punch. He wore the same blue uniform as the others, but standing there by the drapes where the wall angled in, he fairly melted into the shadows. She had noticed him some time back, tall and aloof, calm eyes that spoke of some larger purpose, something deeper. He seemed more aware, somehow, than the others. He had held her gaze when she glanced at him during a dance, not in a challenging way, nor in a hopeful way as most of the boys did, nor in that hungry way a few of them did, but just in a questioning way. As though he felt she was different, too. He hadn’t seemed the least interested in dancing; she even saw him shake his head when chatting with several girls who came by and then left him alone again.
    Jenta spoke the words after she had finished perhaps her fifth dance, a slow and melancholy thing, throughout which she had needed to assure her partner that no, he hadn’t hurt her toes and yes, he was doing just fine, both of which he seemed quite willing to believe. She had graciously declined the young man’s offer to continue their partnership into the next tune, citing a sudden thirst, and when he asked if he could accompany her to the punch bowl she had quickly agreed. But on the way she introduced him to a young lady with whom she had spoken earlier in the evening, and who afterward seemed to watch with something that looked a bit like envy. So after a brief conversation, during which it was discovered that the young lady very much enjoyed dancing and the young man very much wanted to learn to dance better, she was able to complete her quest for punch unaccompanied.
    She did not pick up one of the empty cups beside the bowl, however, but instead stood nearby watching the dancers, close enough to the quiet young man that he must be quite aware of her presence, but not so close as to be considered forward. He made no move to introduce himself. She sighed, fanned herself, and even caught his eye with hers once. But hesaid nothing. So she was the first to speak, a simple observation, not an accusation, regarding the apparent disparity