"Looking good," Griffen told him. Gris-gris ducked his head shyly.
"It's the lady on my arm that makes it all work," he said. "I never done nothin' like this before. I worked a bunch of krewe parties in days past, but I never came to one."
"Neither have we," Griffen assured him. "Come on, let's go find our table."
All but Gris-gris donned masks, and they entered the room.
"I love my dress," Val told Gris-gris, holding on to his arm. "That was one of the most fun experiences I've ever had."
"Aunt Herbera said she'd be happy to fit you out again anytime."
"Local talent is all very well, but the real cutting-edge fashion comes from New York couture," Mai began. Griffen nudged her hard. Mai started to give him a dirty look, then ducked her head in shame. "But she does impeccable work, I must admit. There is not a stitch out of place, and this is the second time Val has worn it. It is a classic that will last many years." Gris-gris looked pleased.
"My aunt, she been making dresses for kings and queens of Mardi Gras for forty years," he said. "This the first time I've seen 'em bein' worn. She will be thrilled."
The huge ballroom was even more dimly lit than the anteroom, but enough to see the decorations. Around the perimeter and flanking the amazingly long head table were white pillars with gold dragons perched on top. The dragons' tails wound down the columns, almost to the spotlights that shone upward, projecting the winged shadows on the ceiling. Softly rippling banners hung on the walls. One of them, fringed in heavy swags of old gold tassels, looked old enough to Griffen to have been made before World War II. The others were newer but just as beautiful. Round tables filled most of the room around a large dance floor.
An archway made of trelliswork crawling with dragon figures stood at one edge of the dance floor. A photographer stopped them as they reached it and snapped several exposures.
"Trying to go incognito?" a stocky man asked them when the photographer let them go. "It won't work."
Griffen smiled at Detective Harrison. He touched the mask on his face. "I don't know what the mask is for," he said.
"Plausible deniability," Harrison said. "Consorting with known criminals."
"But here you are," Griffen said. "You look good."
"Thanks. Cost me enough to get here, between the ticket and tuxedo rental. Mine wasn't fancy enough for this blowout."
"You have your own tuxedo?" Griffen asked, unable not to sound astonished.
Harrison frowned at him. "You think you can live in New Orleans and never get invited to a Mardi Gras party? Thanks a heap."
"I don't mean to be offensive," Griffen said. "You could fill a library with all the things I don't know about Mardi Gras."
Harrison waved a hand. "Never mind, Griffen. Anyone can tell yours is a rental. But the rest of you cleaned up pretty good."
"Didn't know we could do it, huh?" Gris-gris asked, grinning. Harrison did the same double take that Griffen had.
"Gris-gris? Well, I will be damned. But this is the season for costumes. For everyone, I guess."
Gris-gris was enjoying himself too much to be offended. "That's right, Officer. I hide my inner prince most days. But today I had to reveal myself to take this lovely princess on my arm." He patted Val's hand.
"Enjoy yourself, Detective," Griffen said. "They're signing to us to sit down."
He escorted both of his ladies to the long table at the end of the room. Several people in domino masks were already seated there. All the men rose as the ladies approached. Griffen recognized most of them in spite of the nominal covering, and introduced them to his party.
"These are the dukes and maids," Etienne explained, giving everyone's name. "Lieutenants and committee heads are out dere." He gestured toward the sea of round tables.
"A pleasure," Griffen said, bowing over the women's hands and shaking hands with the men.
The dukes followed suit, in "pecking order," as Mitchell might have put it. The ladies all curtsied to him and shook hands with the others. He had heard some of the names. They were prominent in business or society or both in town. He felt proud to be titular head of a group like that.
"What are the masks for?" Mai inquired.
"We reveal the members of the court later on in special introductions," Etienne said. "After you are so obligin' as to assist us in the tableaux. I know y'all are all ready to go on dat."
"We've been practicing," Val assured him.
"For what?" Griffen asked, feeling like a rug had been pulled out from under his feet. "You're presenting a tableau?"
Val winked at him from behind her mask. "You don't know everything that's going on, Big Brother." She let one of the masked dukes lead her away
Etienne's seat was at the center of the table. Griffen was at his right hand, and an empty chair was on his left. The rest of the court spread out boy-girl-boy-girl on either side. Griffen took a moment after sitting down to look at everything.
Etienne had kept his promise: Fafnir could hold its masquerade ball up beside any of the krewes, super or not, with pride. The decorations featured the same masked dragon that had been on the Fafnir invitations. He--or she--had been made into wall hangings like medieval tapestries that hung suspended all around the walls, etched into the champagne flutes at each place, and printed on the name cards. A white card with the sequence of events printed on it was propped against the pristine white napkin folded on his plate. Two bands would play that evening, one jazz and one orchestra. The jazz band was playing at the moment off on the side of the room.
"Canapes, sir?" asked a waiter in black tie. He extended a silver tray to Griffen. Griffen accepted a small plate and napkin. The waiter used a small silver tongs to fill it with a pastry shell an inch across filled with pink crabmeat and topped with a dollop of remoulade, a single perfect shrimp on a black-and-white crust made of sesame seeds, and a globe of salmon paste with a flag made of cucumber sticking out of it on puff pastry. He kept doling out tiny sculptures in food until Griffen held up a hand to stop him. The lady to his right, Regina Bellaut, owner of three trendy exercise studios, exclaimed over her morsels.
"That is just the most delicious thing!"
"It's the best food I've had at any of these parties," Griffen said. He had become quite a foodie since moving to New Orleans and was pleased to be able to identify the delicacies to his seatmate.
"Well, I am mightily impressed," Regina said. "It's so nice to have Fafnir up and around again after all these years. My great-granddaddy was a duke of Fafnir."
"Really?" Griffen asked. He realized that she was a dragon and wondered if she knew it. "Did he know a man named Mose?"
"Yes, of course he did! A fine gentleman. He and Great-granddad used to chat about once a week. Probably still do though I don't know. Great-granddad is in Arizona for the climate."
Griffen noticed that beside his water glass was a china figure of a dragon with the date and the name of the krewe on a banner snaking down its chest. The dragon was wound around a treasure chest made of real wood banded with metal.
"What is this?" he asked.
"It's the favor," Regina said. "I think it's a little jewelry box, a ring box, for little valuables or paper clips. This is so much nicer than most of the table favors at other balls. Very pretty, Captain," she said, raising her voice so Etienne could hear.
He offered her a seated bow. "We do it all," Etienne said. "It's got a witchin' on it so you never lose half of a pair of earrin's or have you necklace clasp break. It's good luck."