The Fires of Spring

Chapter One

"Mrs. Farrar?" asked the servant.

Lilith looked up to see that one of the many android servants that she kept about the house had entered the room and was now, bending forward, making her a pert bow on its smooth rotors,  his movement so fluid that she paused to admire him for a moment.

"Yes, Peter?" she asked, recognizing the servant to be the one that she, in a rare moment of what could only barely pass for sentiment, christened Peter. Christopher had not, of course, objected. He cared little for the androids, as he did for any aspect of the maintenance of his household.

"Mr. Farrar's guest is on his way out," said Peter.

"And how did Mr. Farrar's guest behave?" she asked, getting up and smoothing her skirt with both hands.

"Not well, madam," said Peter.

"How so?" she enquired, turning her head towards a long, gilt-framed mirror that sat on the wall opposite her. Brushing her fingers over her brow, she tucked a small stray piece of hair back into its place.

"There was a good deal of shouting on Mr. Farrar's guest's part, madam," said Peter.

"And let me guess, calm derision on the part of Mr. Farrar?" asked Lilith. Now she swept one finger along the line of her bottom lip, correcting the tiniest smudge of lipstick.

"Yes, Mrs. Farrar," said Peter.

"Well, then. Please show him in here," said Lilith, waving to Peter. Unlike Christopher, she never allowed herself to be rude or snappish with the servants. It was partly that their gentle manners and their vaguely anthropormorphic forms endeared them to her. She valued tact and politeness and so their programming was amenable to her. It was also that she used to practise her manners on them; now, she was so adept that it had partly become a habit to be polite to them. "That will be all, Peter."

The android made another bow and left the room completely noiselessly. His gait was so fluid Lilith watched it with pleasure for a moment.

Lilith, as she turned away from the mirror, took stock of Christopher's guests - this one made for six in one week, which was a rather large number, even for him. He usually put on a show more more fidelity than that, and kept them hanging off his elbow for at least a few days. One, not too long ago, a woman with a lithe figure and a handsome face, he had discarded after eighteen days. This was not, in Lilith's experience, Christopher's usual habit.

"Good Lord, Christopher," she muttered to herself. Her tone was flat and coldly admiring. "You're getting more and more wicked with every passing day."

So Lilith, as she always did in the circumstances, had a seat on her favourite armchair by the window to wait. As she waited, she admired the fine sight of a hawk circling next to the high window, her wings set in a V, soaring. She awaited the ritual to come with patience.

In a matter of minutes, she heard the door open and the patter of feet before a smooth, automated voice told her:

"Mr. Farrar's guest, madam."

"Thank you, Peter," she said, and motioned to the android to stay. Occasionally, these men and women reacted with violence. Peter had once had to restrain a brawny Swede who had tried to strike her. Peter obeyed, pausing by the door, his mechanical eyes pointed with an affected demureness at the floor.

A young man came softly into the room. The moment his eyes came to rest on Lilith he recoiled with horror. Lilith noted that this one was a man, like the five before him, which was another recent trend in Christopher's behaviour. He usually had no preference for gender, yet for the past week had selected only men. She disliked this only because she did not understand it; when she did, she did not doubt she would become dispassionate.