Page 81 of Babel

Ramy disappeared into the crowd. Robin sat atop his ladder and pretended to work. Privately, he was grateful for the job. It was humiliating to wear servant’s blacks while his fellow students danced around him, yes, but it was at least a gentler way to ease into the frenzy of the night. He liked being hidden safely in the corner with something to do with his hands; this way the ball was not quite so overwhelming. And he truly liked discovering what ingenious silver match-pairs Babel had provided for the ball. One, certainly devised by Professor Lovell, paired the Chinese four-word idiom ???? with the English translation ‘a hundred plants and thousand flowers’. The connotation of the Chinese original, which invoked rich, dazzling, and myriad colours, made the roses redder, the blooming violets larger and more vibrant.

‘No oysters,’ said Ramy. ‘But I brought you some of these truffle things, I don’t know what they are exactly but people kept snagging them off plates.’ He passed a chocolate truffle up the ladder and popped the other one in his mouth. ‘Oh – ugh. Never mind. Don’t eat that.’

‘I wonder what it is?’ Robin held the truffle up to his eyes. ‘Is this pale mushy part supposed to be cheese?’

‘I shudder to think what else it could be,’ said Ramy.

‘You know,’ said Robin, ‘there’s a Chinese character, xian,* which can mean “rare, fresh, and tasty”. But it can also mean “meagre and scanty”.’

Ramy spat the truffle into a napkin. ‘Your point?’

‘Sometimes rare and expensive things are worse.’

‘Don’t tell the English that, it’ll shatter their entire sense of taste.’ Ramy glanced out over the crowd. ‘Oh, look who’s arrived.’

Letty pushed her way through the throng towards them, tugging Victoire along behind her.

‘You’re – goodness.’ Robin hurried down the ladder. ‘You’re incredible.’

He meant it. Victoire and Letty were unrecognizable. He’d grown so used to seeing them in shirts and trousers that he forgot sometimes they were women at all. Tonight, he recalled, they were creatures of a different dimension. Letty wore a dress of a pale, floaty blue material that matched her eyes. Her sleeves were quite enormous – she looked as if she could have concealed an entire leg of mutton up there – but that appeared to be the fashion of the year, for colourful, billowing sleeves filled the college grounds. Letty was in fact quite pretty, Robin realized; he’d only never noticed it before – under the soft fairy lights, her arched eyebrows and her sharply angled jaw did not look cold and austere, but regal and elegant.

‘How’d you get your hair like that?’ Ramy demanded.

Pale, bouncy ringlets framed Letty’s face, defying gravity. ‘Why, curl papers.’

‘You mean witchcraft,’ said Ramy. ‘That’s not natural.’

Letty snorted. ‘You need to meet more women.’

‘Where at, Oxford lecture halls?’

She laughed.

It was Victoire, however, who’d truly been transformed. She glowed against the deep emerald fabric of her gown. Her sleeves, too, ballooned outwards, but on her they seemed rather adorable, like a protective ring of clouds. Her hair was twisted into an elegant knot at the top of her head, fastened with two coral pins, and a string of the same coral beads shone like constellations around her neck. She was lovely. She knew it, too; as she took in Robin’s expression a smile bloomed over her face.

‘I’ve done a good job, haven’t I?’ Letty surveyed Victoire with pride. ‘And to think she didn’t want to come.’

‘She looks like starlight,’ said Robin.

Victoire blushed.

‘Hello, there.’ Colin Thornhill strode up to them. He seemed quite drunk; there was a dazed, unfocused look in his eyes. ‘I see even Babblers have deigned to come.’

‘Hello, Colin,’ Robin said warily.

‘Good party, isn’t it? The opera girl was a little pitchy, but perhaps it was only the acoustics in the chapel – it’s really not a proper performance venue, you need a bigger space so the sound doesn’t get lost.’ Without looking at her, Colin held his wineglass out in front of Victoire’s face. ‘Get rid of this and get me a burgundy, will you?’

Victoire blinked at him, astonished. ‘Get your own.’

‘What, aren’t you working this thing?’

‘She’s a student,’ Ramy snapped. ‘You’ve met her before.’

‘Have I?’ Colin really was very drunk; he kept swaying on his feet, and his pale cheeks had turned a deep ruddy colour. The glass hung so precariously from his fingertips that Robin was afraid it would shatter. ‘Well. They all look the same to me.’

‘The waiters are in black, and they’ve got trays,’ Victoire said patiently. Robin was amazed at her restraint; he would have slapped the glass from Colin’s hand. ‘Though I think you might try some water.’

Colin narrowed his eyes at Victoire, as if trying to see her in better detail. Robin tensed, but Colin only laughed, murmured something under his breath that sounded like the words ‘She looks like a Tregear,’* and walked off.