(austria)

The day of the auction began calm, wet and slightly foggy. It bore the kind of dampness that permeated Roderich's morning coat, waistcoat and white pleated shirt, but the auction proper wasn't due to start - the main event, anyway - until half past one, and by that time, it would have warmed up considerably.

Nevertheless, as he got to the arena fairgrounds, he found that Eliza was taking no chances: the pavilion spikes were set up around the perimeter for the tents, although the canvas roof was missing. Whether it would rain didn't much matter; the auction would be outside. When it came to rain, there was very little Eliza - or the Council - or even Avo Romae himself - could do.

(Well. Insofar as Roderich knew, anyway. Maybe that man's power overreached beyond what was physically possible. Romae was surprisingly meddlesome for one who would not even be at the Auction itself. But Roderich had met him in the course of his own work only twice and therefore had yet to formulate a fixed opinion. Didn't like him, didn't hate him. Didn't know.)

Please be at the fairgrounds by one were Eliza's instructions, and so he had awoken early and assembled himself by ten in the morning. He had run through some scales and practice etudes to warm himself up and donned a warm pair of chamois gloves. Stylish, yes, but wholly unnecessary for Standard Calendar November weather, which, on Hallar, felt like mid-June by afternoon. He would not need to warm up later. And they looked proper. People wanted properness, in an auctioneer, didn't they?

When he arrived a half hour later at Tolino Downs, across the road from Caput Halleri Border Control and the central BSPA offices as well as the main Council Building and Avo Romae's own immense homestead, crammed with people like he'd never seen it before, he was surprised to find his own face staring back at him through posters. Decennial Auction! they proclaimed, this way! Featuring Roderich Edelstein in Concert! A once-in-a-lifetime event! Included was a long list of radio stations that promised live, non-stop coverage.

There were at least five from every planet. He felt his pulse race and, for the first time since he was very young and playing his first recitals, he began to get nervous. How many people would be listening?

He was impressed at Eliza's ability to hustle - on every single tent spike (and there must have been nearly a hundred) there were advertisements for him and his music. At the north end of the rectangular field, he spotted the twenty metres of stage stretching the width of the field in front of a row of tent huts. It was set up for him already, and he imagined he'd better make his way towards it through the thick crowd.

On the left side of the stage, there stood a podium with a portable microphone - not like the ones he recorded his records with, but rather like the desktop models the radio announcers used, looking like a giant metal capsule. He imagined the wires were probably tucked away behind the podium. On the right side, there was a step-up dais with a full concert grand piano atop that. A beautiful model, he thought approvingly, not the shiny black he expected but an immaculate ivory white.

He approached the instrument and tested it out with a simple scale. Again, he marvelled at Eliza's ability to get things done so quickly on such short notice - whoever owned the instrument, it must have been expensive to move, and with the jarring motion of the wagon on Caput Halleri roads, it would have required extensive tuning. But here it was, in mint condition, sounding perfect, with quick response and a positively charming sound.

"Oh, thank god!" he heard from behind him out of the huts. He whirled around to see Eliza, looking harried. "You're here, I just have to - wait where are you going with that? - sorry, Roderich, I'll just be right back -" And then she was gone again, chasing after someone else.

Roderich took the opportunity to familiarise himself with the backstage. Behind where Eliza had stood before flitting off was a hive of people buzzing back and forth running errands and moving boxes and equipment, ducking in and out of a maze of tents. Some he easily deduced the purpose for - private cavity exam rooms, for the new owners to test the response; three rooms for transactions; and a large, wide lounge for the sellers - he recognised none of them except Francis of Hallar who was by the entrance, fiddling with the cuffs of his shirtsleeves, tapping his foot impatiently and searching the crowd. Waiting for someone who had evidently stood him up.

There was a final tent off to the side, where he spotted a line of figures swathed in flowing off-white linen robes. Not people, then, but bondspeople, all dressed in casual bondsperson robes, in the same style so no decorations could detract from their natural beauty.

Roderich ducked in to steal a quick peek at the goods. He couldn't even begin to afford one - especially not one that would be sold at auction, the sellers always reserved the best of the best for any regular auction, let alone the Decennial. But one could always dream, and there was no harm in looking.

On a chair inside the tent slouched a tanned, dark-haired, messy fellow, with not one but two cowlicks and a bandage on the bridge of his nose. Evidently the keeper, judging by the cargo shorts and tee he wore, instead of linen robes, and the fact that he was granted the privilege of sitting. When he saw Roderich, he leapt to his feet and cried, "Hey, hey hey! Yer not allowed to be in here, this is a strictly no sneak-previews event -"

"Relax," Roderich told him, "I'm with the show - I'm the auctioneer and entertainment. I'm not buying one anyway. I'm just curious."

The youth gave him an uncertain look so Roderich introduced himself properly, name-dropped Elizaveta, and offered to bring her over. That got a reaction. "Please don't," he begged in consternation. "I've already had to run into her four times today and each time she only gets angrier and angrier."

"She's a lot nicer when she's not overworked," Roderich confided.

"Think I'll be takin' your word on it. Well, if you're the auctioneer, you might want this," he explained, handing Roderich a thick folder filled with identification slips. "They're all in order. Starts with Helena Carson of Luna Halleri, then Francis of Hallar, then the famous Avo Romae, and then Antonio of Marigon. Then there's a break, then the next four, then the musical number - you have thirty minutes of entertainment, and then it's the class two and three sales which should take less time. Watch the clock to ensure that you end before 5 PM on the class three - they're the least important."

Roderich flipped through the files briefly, only enough to catch a few glimpses of faces. He whistled. "It'll be difficult to keep things punctual," he observed, and looked up at the sea of white linen, their heads bowed in subservience.

The young man shrugged unhelpfully and said, "Do what you can. Better the class three sales run late than the class ones. But if it's not done on time, it's Héderváry's head on the line."

With dismay, he remembered Eliza's promotion. There was no choice, he decided grimly. Either get it perfectly timed, or have one tiny little error screw things up for Eliza at work for the next forever. Put that way, there was a lot more riding on Eliza than there was on Roderich and his performance. Even if a thousand radio stations listened in, he was old hat at it. He didn't feel so bad about the musical number anymore. Now, he had a different kind of responsibility - the kind where you risked letting someone else down, instead of yourself - and that kind was far worse. Did he really have to do this alone?

"Do I get a helper?" he asked the kid. "Someone who can deliver me water or relay a signal for security?"

The boy checked his files. "There's no one listed," he found; then decided, "but tell ya what. You act as a buffer from me having to deal with Héderváry, and I'll happily sit by the side and get you what you need."

"Done," Roderich told him. He noticed one of the bondsmen - its head still bowed - sneak a glance up at the two of them talking. The second it spotted Roderich's careful eye, it put its head firmly to the ground, its gaze lowered, but not before Roderich had had a chance to see its full pink lips, the clear vivid blue of its irises, and the flawless, soft-looking skin of its cheeks. "I'm grateful for your help already," Roderich told the young man, "I can see the merchandise is excellent quality this year. I imagine the schedule'll be tight."

The youth shrugged again. "It is a Decennial. If you want to examine any of them, go on ahead - the prices that are in your files aren't rules, just suggestions - guidelines, really! - so if you think that they might need adjusting, by all means. I'm gonna take advantage of your being here to watch them to go get myself something to drink. Back in five."

"I'll take a water now, if you don't mind," Roderich called out, without looking back, his gaze on the bondsman. He stopped in front of the pretty thing and placed two fingers below its jaw, lifting the head up to examine the face more closely.

Very pretty. Which one was this, he wondered, and returned to his files to flip through them until he found the matching picture. The first of Avo Romae's - oh, indeed. Romae would start things off with a bang with this one. Behind it stood another - red-haired and female, that looked to be Romae's second; good, then they were standing in order already - and before it stood a bondsman with similar features. Very similar.

Too similar.

He turned to the file before and spent a moment flipping back and forth, comparing the faces. Same colour hair. Same styled length (though the pictures had Romae's first with shorter hair, and this other bondsman - Francis' last - with longer hair. Out-dated pictures, perhaps). Both bondsmen wore spectacles. Same height, even! The eyes were a little different in colour, but for everything else, it was like the same picture on two different files.

Both from Veshna, according to the synopsis. Roderich tutted. For a place that dominated most of the pre-trained bondsperson product, it sure didn't exhibit a lot of genetic variation. That wouldn't be good for business in the long run. He'd mention it to Eliza later that night.

He returned to the bondsman he'd singled out, Romae's first. It was marked two million to start in the file, which seemed a little low to Roderich. He traced its lower lip with his thumb in meditation - fleshy, soft and warm - and suppressed a shiver. The kind you might more likely get on a bondswoman, but here was this bondsman with such beautiful features instead! No, it'd have to be starting at four million at least. Two million bought you a piano, but this creature was a finer instrument than that.

Though he might have to do something about that stubborn cowlick. Roderich tried pressing it down with no success. He tucked the file under his arm, licked a finger and tried smoothing it down with some moisture - still no luck -

"It won't stay down," the bondsman said quietly, startling Roderich out of his skin. "I've tried, believe me."

"If I wanted you to bark, I'd pull your chain!" Roderich snapped, and the bondsman seemed a little taken aback. It blushed, ducked its head down and bit its lip, its shoulders slumped.

Roderich felt a little sorry for it; he hadn't had to be so mean. "I see why they wanted to start at two million," he said, and the bondsman looked further disgraced. "Well, really!" he told it, "seen and not heard, isn't that what's ingrained into all of you by age five?"

"Sorry," it muttered, that lower lip trembling.

"Shocked the hell out of me for you to speak up without prompting." Roderich calmed, and sighed. "As long as you don't do that again, you'll be fine," he reassured. "With those looks, I can't imagine not starting high. You'll fetch a lot if you keep quiet and behave."

And the bondsman almost looked worse! "Listen," Roderich told it, "you've got a job to do. It's like chairs. People sit on chairs. That is what they're for. That's it. That's all you have to do. So act like what you are!"

"What are you saying?" it asked.

Hadn't it heard him the first time? Really, now! But before Roderich could snap at it any more, the one in front of it - the one that looked exactly the same but with slightly different eyes - said icily, "He's saying you're furniture. Now shut up."

"Good grief," said the voice of the keeper behind him. "I turn my back for not three minutes and all the gums start flapping about." He cleared his throat and barked out, "Heads down, post-haste!" and all class one bondspeople went silent, their eyes at the ground.

The boy laughed as he handed Roderich his bottle of water. "How d'you expect to handle a crowd of thousands if you can't hack a crowd of ninety-some bondspeople?"

His feathers ruffled, Roderich took the bottle and replied indignantly, "I know my audience. This isn't it, this is just a collection of objects." After all, who would expect a bondsperson to understand fine arts and music?

But then the clock struck one-thirty and Eliza found them in the tent to lead him to the stage and introduce their auctioneer, so no more was said.