Humility
“But what if it was important?” Wendy said when Humility had returned and explained the interruption.
“They run the lottery. Whatever they want, best to stay out of it.”
“But what if-” Cyprian stood up, pushing his chair back.
“Sit down,” Humility said, “or you’re not getting any dessert.” She’d hoped at least one brother would take off early, citing some excuse or another, leaving pie leftover for tomorrow, but she didn’t want to hear what the woman had to say.
She ignored the knock that began again.
“I’m going to go see what she wants,” Cyp said.
“Cyp!”
The get-rich-quick wheel was turning in his head. An opportunity of a lifetime was knocking at the door, and if he didn’t investigate, it’d slip right through his fingers, leaving him to wallow in grief and regret.
Cyprian ignored the threat of withheld pie and answered the door. The remaining five stared at each other for a moment in silence. Claude shoveled the rest of his plate into his mouth and then eyed Cyprian’s portion. Jacques had ants in his pants and kept looking in the direction of the door. Curiosity won out and he hopped up out of his chair and disappeared around the corner with Wendy hot on his heels.
Humility sighed and stood. She was going to have to stop whatever was going on before the fever spread. Hack off a limb, or maybe a three inch heel would do it.
She rounded the corner and knew there was trouble. Cyprian practically had stars in his eyes. Jacque’s mouth was hanging open and Wendy was looking a little green.
“What is she selling? Because we don’t want any.”
“Eight million?” Cyprian asked the stranger.
“Immediately,” she said.
“Eight million what?”
“Dollars,” Wendy said flatly. “Eight million dollars.”
“That sounds like a no brainer. I mean, think of what we could do with all that money!” Cyprian practically shouted.
The woman eyed Wendy up and down. “How old are you?”
“Not bloody old enough! Get out!” Humility interrupted.
“Hue! That’s no way to talk with our guest. Please, come in, can I take your coat?” Cyprian offered.
She wasn’t wearing one, but that didn’t stop her from beaming at him as he practically pulled her into the dining room. He sat her at the foot of the table, in Humility’s chair.
“Papa, this is-” Cyprian had already forgotten her name, but Mason didn’t care. He was beaming from the chance to entertain a guest, no matter how dubious.
“Mrs. Excelsia Grand, Ministry of Alien Affairs.”
“She’s gonna give us eight mil! Think about it! Eight million dollars!”
Now she had Claude’s attention too.
“People don’t just give money away,” Mason said.
“Well, no of course not,” Mrs. Grand stated as she eyed the mismatched china and the simple decor of her surroundings. “But it is significant compensation.”
A knot turned in Humility’s stomach. “That’s what they call the money they give bride families.”
“Well, yes. Because as I was telling Mr. Renault after someone rudely shut the door in my face, we have a certain, very rare circumstance in which-”
“Her birthday isn’t for another eight months,” Humility stated.
“I’m not here for her,” Mrs. Grand replied curtly.
Humility blinked at Mrs. Grand a few times. “My birthday was last month.”
“I know. That’s why I am here to offer you the chance of a lifetime, and why the Ministry is choosing to offer such generous compensation to your family.”
“I don’t understand,” Mason said with a wheeze.
“The Mahdfel have a clause in the treaty that says on the very, very rare occasion, a match is put at the top of the list, made a priority. We call it a red flag, but it basically means that a very powerful and influential Warlord has requested a mate, and doesn’t want to have to wait for a year to be matched.”
“But a woman’s DNA is supposed to be wiped from the system the day it’s put in!”
Mrs. Grand looked up at the ceiling for a moment before shrugging. “Nothing was ever said about other databases sharing information.” She looked directly at Cyprian, pegging the biggest sucker in the room. “Imagine what a life she’ll live.”
“Probably have servants for your servants!” Jacques said with a nod.
“Never have to lift a finger,” Cyprian added.
“Don’t you make this about me,” Humility warned.
“But it’s all about you. I mean, you deserve to live the good life, out there and not stuck here in the middle of nowhere making weirdo dolls,” Jacques said.
Humility opened her mouth and then shut it again before she regretted anything that came out of it.“No, instead you want me to spread my legs for one!”
“Hue!” Claude shouted with a face that said she’d succeeded in grossing him out. “Nobody wants to know who’d you spread your legs for. Besides,” he said, turning to Cyprian, “you know the bitter old maid would turn down a sheep that shat gold if it meant we’d get a fraction of it.”
“So you can put it up your nose, or in your vein, or whatever’s in vogue this season?” Hue retorted.
“That’s enough,” Mason said.
“And who would take care of Dad? Huh? Are you going to fix his meals, help change his tubes?”
“Has it occurred to you that your new powerful husband might be able to fix Dad?” Jacques said.
Humility whipped her head back to Mrs. Grand. The whole table fixated on the stranger. Finally back to the center of attention, she gloated a bit before replying.
“The Ministry makes no promises, mind you,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “I would imagine that a man of your future husband’s stature and influence would have access to medical technologies that we do not have here on Earth.”
All the breath flew out of Humility’s lungs. A cure for her father’s condition after all this time? “I need some time to think.”
“Of course. And pack. Your travel appointment,” Mrs. Grand handed her a card with a date and time written on the back. It was for two days from now. “I wouldn’t miss it, if I were you. There have been stories, you know. About red flags who miss their appointments. Not in our province, of course, but in others. Women just go missing, with no compensation at all. Have a good night.” Her exit would have made more of an impact if her heel wouldn’t have broken as she stood.
Mrs. Grand was promptly escorted to the door, shoes in hand. Cyprian helped her out. In no mood to mess with Cyprian or Claude, Humility grabbed Claude by the ear, and despite his protests, pushed him out the door as well. Humility locked the door and then sagged against it. Jacques opened his mouth to further the campaign, but thankfully Wendy waved him away and helped Hue into the kitchen. In a whisper, Wendy took charge and ordered him to help his father to bed.
“You don’t have to do it,” Wendy told her as she put a slice of pie down in front of her sister.
“You heard her. I don’t have a choice. If I don’t go-”
“That was just talk. I’m sure nothing would come of it.”
“As of an hour ago, you believed you could only be taken on your birthday. They’ve been lying to us this whole time,” Humility said between bites of pie. It was a good apple pie, cooked just right so that the apples were still tart and crisp and not overly sweet. Wendy pounded the table.
“Then we go public.”
“No,” Humility shook her head and put down her fork. “That’s a way to get disappeared for sure. The moment I open my mouth, poof! And that would mean no money for you.” It was an impossible situation. She could see the carrot they dangled, but she also saw the stick. Humility pushed down the mounting anger. She had to keep a clear head to do what needed to be done.
“I don’t care about the money,” Wendy said.
“You are going to, when Claude and Cyp come around. You know they will milk Dad dry in a year if you let them.”
Humility sighed. Two days. It wasn’t nearly enough time, but it would have to do. Her mind started whirring at full speed. No regrets, no what ifs. There was no time to grieve. That would happen later.
Most of her birthday plans were still in place. A quick call to the in home care would set up a caretaker for Mason. Her measly bank account was already set to easy transfer into a trust for his care. Eight million dollars was a lot of money. She bet Cyp and Claude were already home, counting their cut of at least a million. No, damn them. If they were so eager for her to go, they weren’t going to see a cent of the government’s bribe money
“I need to pack,” she said.
“Finish your pie first. Never know when you’re going to get real pie again.” Wendy didn’t get half of her sentence out before she started blubbering. Her tears came in torrents and Humility grabbed onto her sister, wrapping her in a fierce hug until they faded into wet hiccups.