Free Irona 700 by Dave Duncan Page A

cruel to make you a Chosen as well as me. That mite is never sixteen!”
    Irona ignored the first remark as if it had been a slip of the tongue, which it might have been, except that Ledacos’s tongue wore cleats.
    â€œHe may have been starved all his life,” she said.
    Komev had actually gone down on his knees to set the collar around the boy’s neck, and he was still almost as tall. The new Chosen was weeping.
    â€œI think you’d better go down right away and provide some assistance,” Irona said. “701 is out of his depth.”
    â€œSo am I. He needs a woman. Come with me.” Taking her wrist so she could not refuse, Ledacos led her out of the door.
    By the time they had run down the stairs, Komev had brought the boy into the cool peace of the recovery room, away from the thousands of eyes. The priests had not yet brought refreshments for the new Chosen, but he was sitting on a chair, feet swinging, and stuffing himself from the remains of Komev’s breakfast in the silver bowl, which Komev was holding for him. The collar seemed ready to slide down over 702’s shoulders and pin his arms.
    Komev 701 looked up with relief at the arriving reinforcements. “Meet Dychat 702.”
    Irona knelt beside him and looked into the red-rimmed, terrified eyes.
    â€œWelcome, Dychat. Don’t eat so fast.”
    He dropped a half-eaten prawn back in the bowl and cringed as if expecting to be struck.
    Irona tried again. “I just meant that you’ll make yourself sick. There’s no hurry. You will never be hungry again.”
    His hand reached for the prawn as if it had a life of its own. He might be thirteen, but eleven seemed more likely. He needed a bath, several baths, and a thorough delousing.
    â€œAnything else you want?” she asked.
    His chin trembled. “My mother?”
    But did his mother want him? If she had wanted to be rid of him, she could have told him he was sixteen and sent him off to the coming-of-age ritual. Then he would be legally an adult and on his own. Truly, Caprice was well named.
    The priests arrived, alarming the child even more, until he saw the spread they were laying out and was told he could help himself. Then he rushed to the table and tried to stuff his mouth with both hands while the adult watchers didn’t know whether to laugh or weep.
    Outside, the seemingly endless parade of adolescents trooped across the bridge. The counting had changed, though. Now there were no groups of ten; postulant priests simply counted heads going by and signaled for a drumbeat or trumpet call as needed. Why be so careful before the choosing, and less so afterward?
    Eventually Ledacos told Dychat that he had better stop or he would burst, and would he like a ride in a sedan chair? Instantly worried again, the boy asked what a sedan chair was, but then agreed that it might be fun.
    â€œWe’ll go to my house then. Irona lives nearby, so you’ll be able to see her again quite often. Won’t he, Irona?”
    Of course, she agreed, wondering if she ought to acquire some building blocks or a skipping rope for the new Chosen to play with.
    Azalka 660 was a tall, stiff woman whose mouth looked as if she disapproved of most things, but she greeted Irona warmly enough when she arrived at Sebrat House. Azalka was the senior commissioner of Property and had the house in her gift, so far as assigning it to a Chosen was concerned.
    â€œToo small for most, but a fine starter home,” she declared. “The view from the terrace is especially fine. Shall we begin there?”
    A fast tour of house and grounds took about half an hour and left Irona overwhelmed by splendor. She had visited many mansions in the last two years, but not with an eye to owning any of them. Sebrat House was small by Chosen standards but a hundred times larger than her parents’ home. It was lavishly decorated and furnished, and even Azalka gave grudging approval of the