"Griffen."
"Mr. Killen," Griffen said formally. He held his temper in check. The krewe should have invited him by the third or fourth introduction to use their first names, too. The longer it went on, the madder he got. It was a power move to deny him the familiarity, but he determined he would not show that it bothered him. Better to make it sound as if using the honorific was what he did to keep his distance. He smiled superciliously at the membership chairman, who squirmed a little, then caught himself. Yes, they knew what they were doing. So did he.
"Well, let's get started," Callum said. With his glass, he gestured toward the circle of chairs beyond the pool table. Griffen waited for the others to lead the way. To his surprise, they all deferred to Etienne.
The werewolf-dragon hybrid loped toward a seat set with its back to the center of the white-painted fireplace. The set of brass irons that stood beside it made it look as if Etienne had his choice of scepters to wield. He settled down and put his right ankle on his left knee. The rest of the men followed and took seats in the circle. If there was a system governing who sat where, Griffen had no idea. Callum went to take his place at Etienne's right hand. The chair at his left remained empty. Etienne waved Griffen over.
"C'mon, man! This is where you belong," he said. Griffen, feeling the eyes of the rest rake him as he went by, sat down where he was directed. Etienne took a battered three-by-five spiral-bound notebook out of his back pocket and flipped to a page. "This is the ninth meeting of the Krewe of Fafnir since its refounding late last year. As you captain, I call for news from my lieutenants on the progress of each of you departments." He grinned sideways at Griffen. "This isn't the whole krewe, of course. We're just the heads of all the committees. We meet from time to time to catch up on what's done and what still needs to be done. There's an encyclopedia of work to get through. Just get up and walk around if you get bored."
"I won't," Griffen said. He glanced at the circle of men. "Uh, aren't there any women lieutenants?"
One of the eldest men present, sallow-faced and with pouches under his eyes that made Griffen think of a deflated frog, cleared his throat. "You're out of order, Griffen," he said, in a squeaky voice that would have sounded natural in a pond.
"Wait," said a young man with shiny dark hair and dark eyes and a pale complexion. "That's going to be a matter for discussion in future years, but it was like this when this krewe last organized a parade. If you join us, you can have a vote. The discrepancy with modern society, uh, has been noted. But that's not what we're here to talk about today if you don't mind."
Griffen felt he'd been slapped down, but it was none of his business unless he put his money where his mouth was. Mardi Gras krewes didn't get any support from the government, so fairness laws didn't apply. If he wanted to make a change in their structure, he would have to change it from the inside.
"Okay, then," Etienne said. "Let's go down the list. Treasurer?"
No surprise that Callum Fenway was in charge of money. He stood up and produced a BlackBerry from his jacket pocket.
"At present the checking account has eighty-four thousand sixty dollars and twelve cents in it. Got some big upcoming payments, to Nautilus and Blaine Kern, for float rental and construction, to Bourne Range for the den rental, Howson's for fabric and notions for costumes, and Mimi's Masks on a down payment for our parade masks. We won't know exact numbers until about a week before the parade date, so final payment has yet to be determined. This week, I have processed nineteen requests for riders. All their checks have cleared."
"Okay," Etienne said. "That'll leave it to Terence to make sure there's no problem with other krewes before we accept 'em." Terence Killen nodded and accepted a document from Callum. "Sounds good. How many riders we got so far?"
"Three forty-five," Terence said. "Counting krewe members who've paid."
"Oscar?" Etienne asked. "What about the riders?"
Oscar hitched his big belly over his belt buckle. "I'll get on the float captains. We've got a meeting on Thursday. They are recruiting, but they've got to close the deal and get them to pay up. They're into the concept, though. Real excitement. Could be over eight hundred by parade date."
"Nice. Well, then, Doug, where y'at on liaison?"
The dark-haired man stood up. "I was on the phone with our friends in the Krewe of Antaeus, the Krewe of Nautilus, and the Krewe of Aeolus. It is agreed: We are going to be the fourth to step off on the twenty-fourth of February, at seven o'clock in the evening. They're looking forward to the group meeting on Twelfth Night. Aeolus is hosting it at Antoine's. Should be a mighty fine party."
"Sounds fine," Etienne said, checking off an entry on a page and flipping to another. One by one, the men got up to report, reading from extensive notes. Every lieutenant had a checklist, a clipboard, a handheld electronic device, or something equivalent on which he could jot down details.
"Mitchell, how's the tractor situation?"
"We're gonna have enough," said a chocolate-dark African-American in a charcoal gray sports coat and yellow polo shirt. "Got nine big ones to pull the double-decker floats . . ."
"Nine?" Griffen echoed, impressed.
"Really, that's nothin', young man," Mitchell said, with a humorous glance toward him. "Proteus, Rex, Zulu, Bacchus, they'll have dozens of the big floats in between all the smaller ones, and the bands and the other units. We're just getting started. You wait ten years, and we'll be ready to rival them for a really long parade!"
"Hear, hear!" laughed Terence.
Mitchell went on. "Sounds like we'll have twenty-four small floats, and I have got enough tractors and drivers to manage them, plus some spares. Fifteen of the smaller floats are still under construction, and not all in the den yet. I've got one in the barn out back of my mother's house. The rest of each committee's got them in various places, in pretty nearly every stage of disarray. It's just too soon to start moving even the finished ones, and we don't want to tip our hand too soon on the theme. They'll start to migrate to the den after Twelfth Night."
"Our formal ball will introduce you and the parade theme on January 18," Etienne told Griffen.
"What is the theme?" Griffen asked.
"Well, that kind of information is not open to the public," Mitchell said flatly. "Until you join Fafnir, you are still the public. We can't count on outsiders keeping our secrets."
Griffen tried not to scoff. "You make it sound like a big deal."
Mitchell lowered his brows. "It is a big deal, young man. We have rituals drawn from history, going back centuries. Fafnir has been the guardian of fire in this place, well, since its founding."
"But what about the people at the ball?"
"Ah, well, they won't be present for the underlying rituals of our krewe, just the announcement and the party. Your guests will be welcome to come to the ball, too. There are plenty of family members invited who are not part of the krewe, and they don't have to keep secrets."
Griffen immediately saw a way to keep peace among the three ladies in his life. "And how much are tickets?"
"We're projecting about three-fifty apiece," Callum said. "That right, Ralph?" A white man with a short brown beard nodded. Griffen swallowed hard. Three for the girls, one for himself, and at least two others added up to over two thousand dollars right off the bat. Callum had undoubtedly seen the apprehension on Griffen's face. "But all that's by the way, unless . . ."
"Unless what?"
"Unless you say no." Callum nodded toward Etienne.
Nine
The captain nodded around the circle and flipped to the next page in his notebook.