Shades of Grey

The East Carmine Marriage Market

1.1.2.02.03.15: Marriage is an honorable estate and should not be used simply as an excuse for legal intercourse.

I followed the rays of the setting sun out of the village along West Street, and sat on a bench to draft my telegram to Constance. Neither the nonadventure with the Last Rabbit nor the Oz Memorial nor the disgraced Yellow postman would actually impress, and mentioning Jane’s odd view of the Collective would be anathema. Constance had confided before I left that the things she looked for most in a husband were “incurious unambition” and “an ability to follow orders,” so I composed the telegram along the lines of how much I wanted to discharge my Civil Obligation to the Collective in the most productive ma

When I was a kid, we used to play dusk ru

Within a few minutes the river, stockwall and linoleum factory had all vanished, swallowed up in the rolling wall of darkness that was sweeping across the land. I abandoned my seat when the shadows became empty holes in my vision and retreated to the safety of the town square. The streetlamp was now burning brightly, the low hiss of the arc and the occasional squeak and flicker working to dispel the fear of the night. Behind me, only the crackletrap atop the flak tower could still be seen, and that only as a silhouette against the rapidly darkening sky. “Hello!” said Tommo as he walked up. “I’ve been looking for you.” I returned his salutation and thanked him for fixing up the Rusty Hill gig. “Not a problem. Did you double-order the Lincoln for us, by the way?” “A bit of a snag, I’m afraid.”

“Don’t be afraid,” said Tommo, “or at least, not ofme. Courtland once beat Jim-Bob so hard he had blood in his wee.”

“I’ll get the Lincoln for you somehow.”

“I know you will. More important, are you going to marry my sister?” I would have to get used to how quickly Tommo could change the subject. “I didn’t even know youhad a sister.” “A state of affairs I am at efforts to maintain.” “You’ve lost me.”

“It’s pretty simple. You’re a Red of moderate perception and the son of a swatchman. The fine, upstanding Red womenfolk of this cesspool will be fighting over your plums like dogs about a freshly dead carcass.”

“Graphically put, if also a little disgusting. But I’m sorry, I’m on a half promise to an Oxblood.” Tommo raised his eyebrows. Not much impressed him, but this did. I explained about how my potential union to the Oxblood family would be my ticket to the easy life. We would be jointly ru

“They have three permanent servants and a Leapback-compliant gyrocar,” I boasted, “and eat colorized food as a matter of course.”

“They’re also notoriously Redcentric,” he murmured.

This was true, too. Countless generations of Oxbloods had been choosing their mates wisely, and it was rumored that, paired with a suitably high-Redceptor husband, Constance might produce offspring who would surpass the Redness of the Crimsons, and topple them from the Red prefecture.

“Are you anywhere near the front of the queue,” asked Tommo, “or just a sad wa

“We’ve shortlisted a few possibilities, but nothing’s fixed.”

Constance’s opinions on the matter, sadly, were entirely conservative. She had thought my suggestion of “snootchy bear” as an endearment a tad risque, was tempted with a more traditional “dear” or “honey” and had conceded to a tentative “honey bear” as a compromise, but only in private.

“The union is not quite as inevitable as I make out,” I confessed. “Standing between me and a supremely rosy future is a po-faced slack-jaw named Roger Maroon.”

“A Maroon?” said Tommo. “I’d duck out now while you still have your dignity.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” I said quickly. “She’s quite affable in spite of her choosy Redcentric fickleness, and our courting has not been without a few moments. She has allowed me on several occasions to take her to a tea dance.”

“How scandalously forward of you. Have you tangoed?”

“Not yet,” I said slowly, “but we’re almost there.”

Actually, Constance had refused me a tango on the grounds that it was a “gateway dance” to something bolder, such as a lambada. If we’d done that, Old Man Magenta would have insisted we marry in order not to further offend public decency.

“Sadly,” I continued, “she’s also danced with Roger.”

“Looks like she’s hedging her ballroom bets as wisely as her bedroom ones.”

“I suppose so.”

“It’s all academic anyway,” said Tommo with a laugh. “Once you get to know the fillies in this village, all notions of ru

“I’m not staying, Tommo.”

“Well, let’s just pretend you decide to take up residence. C’mon, Eddie, run with me on this one.”

“Okay,” I said with a sigh. “Let’s hear it.”

“Excellent!” he cried, clapping his hands together. “Here’s how I see your wedding prospects in this glorious sinkhole of ours: Since you look like too bright a fellow to dilute your color with anything other than the good old House of R., your choices among the Red crumpet in the village are, to say the least, limited. Once you subtract all the Greys, men and other hues from the three thousand or so people living here, there are one hundred and twenty-five potential Red womenfolk. You do the sums. Thirty-nine are already married, fourteen are widowed and nineteen have partners off at Reboot. Seventeen are spinsters over the age of fifty, and twenty-eight are under sixteen. How many left?”

“Nine.”

“Right. Up for their Ishihara this year and thus available for nuptials are my sister Francesca, Daisy Crimson, Lisa Scarlet and Lucy Ochre. If those don’t suit, Rose Madder, Cassie Flamingo and Je