Monson's room carrying three pairs of slacks, button-ups, sweater vests, and shoes. He arranged them at the foot of Monson's bed.
"Boys, if you would be so kind as to line up." Brian gestured to the bed.
The three boys exchanged looks. Casey was the one that spoke. "Yeah . . . so I don't believe we've actually been formally introduced."
"Cassius Kay and Arthur Paine, yes, I'm well aware of who you are. Now hurry, or Master Grey will be late."
Monson stifled a laugh; the expression on Casey's face was priceless. Accompanied by a significant amount of glaring, Casey did as he was told. The three boys lined up, shoulder to shoulder. Brian grabbed a set of clothes and held them up to the boys, sizing up each of them as he did. He took measurements and appeared pleased with himself.
Casey whispered a little louder than he probably meant to, "I feel like he's taking measurements for my coffin. Grey, are you sure this guy works here?"
Artorius' whisper wasn't subtle at all. "At least you're small and fit into most standard coffins. If he kills me, then I'll probably just be dumped in the woods."
Casey shook his head. "With that fire-bush you call hair, they'd find you too quickly. No, he’d chop off those hairy hobbit feet of yours to make you fit in a smaller box. Serves you right for being so tall."
Artorius raised a hand, placing it over his eyes. "Why I haven't popped you like the zit you are is beyond me."
Casey returned the banter with a rude gesture.
"Well, it appears I was spot-on with your sizes. Now all you need to do is change."
The three boys gawked at him.
"Change?" Monson asked. "Change for what?"
"For your reception, Master Grey. Now you need to hurry, or you're going to be late for the ball."
***
"Mr. Gatt is so getting punched when I see him next," Monson stated as he lingered side-by-side with Casey and Artorius. "Why didn't he say anything about this?"
Artorius bit into a chunk of light, fluffy cake. He relished it before he answered. "He did Grey, earlier. It's not so bad. At least for the most part people are ignoring us."
That was certainly true. Not more than two people had said a word to Monson, Casey, or Artorius since the moment they had entered the lavish reception hall. This seemed odd to Monson; this was supposed to be a reception for the new Horum Vir , and as far as he knew, he was the new Horum Vir .
"There's food, so I'm not going to complain." Casey popped a meatball into his mouth. "They must have had a Master Chef's take on this. I'm almost positive the meatballs are Kobe beef."
Monson helped himself to one. It was absolutely amazing . OK, so the reception wasn't so bad.
"May I have your attention, please?"
The crowd quieted and turned toward a podium, similar to the one at orientation. Dean Dayton flashed a million-dollar smile. "I want to thank you all for coming tonight and on such short notice. It has been quite the year for…."
Another speech. Monson sighed, and let his mind wander. When was this thing going to be over?
"Mr. Grey, yes, yes, Mr. Grey, would you mind coming up?"
Monson froze. What had the Dean just been saying? He really needed to start paying attention.
The beam of a bright spotlight settled upon him and the only sound came from the uncomfortable throat clearing that seemed to have stricken many of the guests. Not knowing what else to do, Monson walked slowly to the front of the room. Applause followed, trickling in at first, before more of the audience joined in. The hall was roaring by the time he stood at the podium. Dean Dayton clapped as well, an incredibly fake smile affixed to his face. Monson smiled back and tried to look genuine, even as his mind raced.
Why would the Dean call him up here when they were doing such a fine job ignoring him? Monson squared himself behind the podium as the dean wrapped an arm around him. "Smile, Monson, all these people came to see you."
"Why would they come to see—"
"Ladies and gentlemen, I
C. J. Cherryh
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