It feels like I’m wearing a pound of makeup, though I removed at least three layers with some of Meredith’s magic towels, stolen between applications. Dean Edina gave us thirty minutes to dress for the event, which meant letting Meredith add layers of rouge and powder in record time. Still, I consider it a victory, because instead of a low-cut red number, I’m wearing a seaglass-blue, belted dress with pleated cap sleeves, made of a silken velvet that hits just past my knees. She said it was prudish; I don’t really care.
We’re in the Great Hall again, where a small stage has been erected and draped in blue and gold damask. About twenty-five seats are filled with a variety of official-looking people, mostly men. The first two groups go on without a hitch and are able to reach a compromise with ease. When it’s our turn, I stand with Molly next to the podium representing Swendenland. As I expected, Fiona and Avery are representing Nordania, as I’m sure they plan to do in the future.
“Today, we come together to renegotiate the terms of our trade agreement, as it pertains to Swendish zinc,” Fiona says with an air of magnanimous royalty. She’s wearing a floor-length, sapphire and black lace dress with wing-like sleeves. It looks nothing like what anyone would ever negotiate the terms of a copper agreement in, with the exception of maybe her bracelet, made, as we learned, from Nordanian copper thinned with Swendish zinc. Avery is in a bateau-neck gown of blush-colored silk, with sequined cap sleeves that make her look almost bridal, and I suppose, standing next to Fiona, that’s the best she could hope for.
“We are amenable to these proceedings and thank the delegation from Nordania for its warm hospitality,” Molly says, reciting the opening lines provided to us by Dean Edina. Molly is dressed in a tea-length dress of cascading green chiffon. It’s beautiful, but looks completely overdone next to me. I almost feel bad for not dressing up for her comfort. Almost . . .
“We have long enjoyed our preexisting agreement with regards to Swendish zinc in exchange for a quantity of Nordanian copper,” Avery says. The task is simple. Dean Edina gave us instructions as to what we want from the other side. Each side has a concrete goal, but she encouraged creativity in reaching a compromise. Not reaching an agreement is unacceptable. And the goals for each country are unequal, so there will be a winner and a loser.
Our instructions, as representatives of Swendenland, are to export no less than 50,000 pounds of zinc and to import no more than 25,000 pounds of copper. It’s not an equal amount. The 50,000 pounds of zinc are in no way equal to the 25,000 pounds of copper, with copper running at about $2.50 a pound and zinc closer to $0.68 per pound.
The one thing I’ve learned from watching the previous three negotiations is that whichever side states its interests first loses. That means Nordania always wins, which appeals to the audience. But it’s stacked in favor of the girls who were lucky enough to draw Nordania.
It’s my turn to speak, and I know I’m supposed to articulate our interests. But I don’t want to lose. I can’t afford to lose.
“Yes, we have enjoyed our preexisting agreement, and would be excited to reexamine its terms. Why don’t you state your concerns, and let’s see if we can’t find some middle ground?” I say, stalling as the spark of an idea ignites. Fiona’s face falls. She must have figured out the same thing I did, and she turns to confer quickly with Avery. When she returns to the podium, her face is triumphant.
“As our guest nation to these negotiations, we gladly defer to the delegation from Swendenland. Please, do us the honor of initiating and state your country’s wishes.” Molly is about to take the microphone when I grab her elbow.
“It’s a trick,” I whisper.
“What is?” she asks, eyebrow raised. She regards me with heavy skepticism.
“Whoever starts the negotiations loses. It’s happened all three times,” I say.
“Then what should I say?” she asks, as her cheeks redden. The stack of leather-bound books from earlier flashes in my mind—the books Fiona and Avery refused to look at.
“Do we know any Swendish customs?”
“No,” she says.
“Do they?” I ask. She narrows her eyes, and then smiles.
“Pardon me?” she says into the microphone.
“Does the delegation from Swendenland have a question?” Avery asks. Fiona stands behind her, unblinking, her lips curved into a forced smile just short of becoming a sneer.
“I would have assumed, entering into this renegotiation, that the delegation from Nordania would be aware of the time, effort, and energy it took for the delegation from Swedendland to arrive and would observe the rules of etiquette as previously established between our two nations,” I say into the podium’s mic as the crowd mumbles. Avery and Fiona look gobsmacked. They back away from the podium to confer.
“Would the delegation from Swendenland kindly remind the delegation from Nordania as to which rule in particular you are referencing?” Fiona asks with a tight smile, running her fingers along the dulled silver—probably iron—stars dangling from her choker. Molly is ready to pounce.
“For as many years as our nations have been negotiating these terms, the hosting nation has always initiated the proceedings by stating their preferred terms. While these rules are merely customary, we must adhere to the customs of visiting nations, as we have always done when you’ve traveled to Swendenland,” she says. I want to kiss her. A dull roar spreads through the audience, and the other girls, waiting offstage, look flabbergasted as Avery takes the podium.
“I apologize for the misunderstanding. We would—” Fiona stops her, whispering something frantic in her ear. Avery shakes her head and backs away. Fiona takes the microphone.
“With all due respect, we know of no such customs between Nordania and Swendenland and request the delegation from Swendenland please state its requested terms at once,” she says, her eyes on fire. Without even casting a look at Molly, I step forward and take the mic.
“If that is the way in which the delegation from Nordania wishes to behave, then I’m afraid we have no choice but to suspend these negotiations until such a time as the Nordanian delegation can behave with class and dignity.” Molly and I start to walk away. Avery grabs the microphone.
“Wait, please. The delegation from Nordania would like to increase the amount of imported Swendish zinc to 65,000 pounds, and in exchange, we are willing to export 22,000 pounds of Nordanian copper.”
I look at Molly, and she grins.