“And you’re so mature. You think I don’t know about your little tantrum in the hall? I got news for you: that vase was a collectible.”
“I haven’t the slightest notion what you’re talking about.”
Her reply is so airy, so assured, that Ripple almost lets it slide. She’s no damsel, but her flesh is creamy and inviting, agreeably squished into the boning of her dress. When the dusk light from the skydome hits her curls just so, he remembers why he used to tug it to her Skin Pics. Woman: the most dangerous game. He reminds himself to show no mercy. He aims straight for the heart. “Did you think I was in love with you or something?”
Boom. Swanny’s disappointment is so total, it’s like the extinction of a species. When she finally spits out a reply, Ripple isn’t even sure if her words are directed at him, or at the entire course of her life leading up to the chain of events that summoned her from Wonland County and brought her to this place: “What a waste.”
* * *
Pippi and Humphrey stroll down the Hall of Ancestors, now dressed for dinner, shoulder-padded in their suit jackets, chartreuse and navy respectively. Humphrey breaks the companionable silence: “I’m glad we’re getting a chance to speak candidly before the ceremony. Without the lawyers present.”
Her suspicion is piqued: “Is there something you were reluctant to disclose?”
“No, no, of course not. This position really is a terrific opportunity for the baroness to come into her own and play an integral role in the future of the family.”
“In consultation with Duncan, of course.”
“Pippi, let’s be frank. He’s my son. My affection for him goes without saying. But he’s not up to the task. The scale of our holdings—it’s considerable. The real estate, of course, but also the controlling interests, the shell corporations, the vulture funds, the offshore accounts…” Humphrey hesitates, scrutinizes his loafer tassels. “Sometimes I’m afraid he takes after his mother.”
Pippi is all condolences: “You mustn’t blame yourself for that.”
“Marriage is not a decision to make emotionally. I learned that the hard way. Which is why I’m so relieved about nailing down this deal. We were in talks with some other families, but none of them compared, in terms of the total package.”
“Swanny is a top-drawer candidate, by any objective standard. Of course I’m biased, but the test scores don’t lie.”
“I don’t just mean Swanny. I’m hoping you’ll stay on in an advisory capacity.” He smiles ruefully. “It’s been too long since I’ve had a sounding board for executive-level decisions.”
“I’m flattered.”
“If you’d like to take a look at the financials, I’d be happy to show you the books after dinner, over a cognac in my office. There are some exciting new additions to the portfolio.”
Pippi grasps his bespoke sleeve. “It’s a date.”
* * *
Upstairs in the locked guest room, Abby is still watching the Toob. The Lady used to call it “the hypnotist’s jukebox,” and though Abby still isn’t quite sure what those words mean, she’s beginning to understand. She’s watched four hours now: four solid blocks of content, interrupted briefly by edutainment specials about fire-retardant fashion and an edible rodent charcuterie in South Crookbridge. She thinks of the toaster she met this morning, the Electric City flowing through its cord from an unnamed source. The Toob is a toaster of black-hex enchantment: a toaster full of souls.
A girl looks through the other side of the Toob screen, as if gazing into a window, or a mirror. She looks like Abby: blond hair, tan skin, spectral cheekbones. The only difference is her eyes, jade green instead of dawn blue.
“You are not alone,” she tells Abby, close enough to touch. Though the surface of the screen is flat—Abby’s checked—she seems to lean a little ways into the room.
“I am not alone,” Abby murmurs back. She huddles under the blanket she’s unplugged from the wall. Abby wonders if the girl in the Toob knows she’s in a Toob. She wonders if she can see out, and if so, what she sees. Maybe when you’re inside the Toob, it doesn’t seem like you’re in a sleek white box at all. Maybe it seems like you’re in a locked cell where there’s nothing to do but look at a screen flashing rainbow colors and lithe bodies, and through that very screen, others see you.
Maybe Abby is a Girl in the Toob.
“If you’re one of the countless women in this city affected by hideous, disfiguring burns, you may feel you can’t go on. But now there’s hope—with Graftisil.”
A different woman appears in place of the first one. “My scabs started sloughing off the first day!” she exclaims. She has a thick chunk of hair covering half her face. RESULTS MAY NOT BE TYPICAL scrolls across the bottom of the screen.
Clack. Clackety-clack.
Abby twists around, startled. The knob turns on the locked door. She imagines Dunk’s father, who dragged her here, returning to take “further disciplinary action,” like he threatened. Or worse yet, the chortling People Machine, with his wire hair and riddle tongue. But when the door opens, it’s Katya, clad in a dress that shimmers like the bay in sunshine, that sparkles like broken glass. Abby takes one look at her and bursts into tears.
“Oh dear,” says Katya. She steps inside and deftly strokes the side of the Toob with her hand, as if soothing it. Immediately the people vanish. “Poor little one. You didn’t know how to turn it off.”
“I want to see Dunk.”
“Dunky is at dinner with his wife.”
Abby covers her face with both hands. She sees Dunk’s body in her mind, every part: the curly hair on his belly, the scar on his knuckle from Power Jousting. The column of his throat bobbing as he chugs. After a moment, she feels the mattress slosh. Katya has sat down beside her.
“You shouldn’t worry,” Katya says quietly. “He can never love her. A mother knows.”
“Really?”
“Yes. She is big and fat and will boss him around. They may have babies, but they’ll never make love. They’ll have their babies in a tube.”
Abby sniffles. “So that’s how it works.” She glances at the darkened Toob. “You’re born into it.”
“Yes,” says Katya. Her sadness makes her face almost old.
“OK.”
Katya hesitates. “Abby. We’re not so different, you and I.”
“We’re not?”
“I don’t belong here either. Humphrey also found me and brought me back from somewhere else.”
“Somewhere trashy?”
“Somewhere trashy.”
“Do you ever miss it?”
“Even if I did, I could never go back.”
“Why not?”
“I have forgotten how to survive alone. You must be careful that you don’t forget.” She stands up. “I came to make sure you had your dinner. Did Hummer show you where the dumbwaiter is?”
Abby shakes her head. Katya stands up and presses on a panel in the wall. It retracts, revealing a serving tray under a silver dome.
“Still hot,” she says without touching it. “Eat.”
* * *