"Well, thank you, Captain," Regina said. "I will treasure it."
"Me, too," Griffen said.
"Quality's what we aim to offer," Etienne said.
The meal followed suit. Griffen enjoyed a shrimp etoufee that rivaled any he had had at the best restaurants in the city. All the courses were, he thought with a self-deprecating grin, fit for a king.
After dessert was served, Griffen sat back with a full stomach and a sense of well-being. People came up to take pictures of him, alone or with the spouse of the camerawielder. He felt like a minor celebrity. This was a lot more fun than the conclave had been. There he had been a curiosity, one of a kind. Here, he was among fellow dragons. His mask limited his vision to what he could see ahead of him, but that was a minor annoyance.
Etienne stood up and banged on the side of his water glass with a fork. His lean, sharp face was lit with eager energy. Griffen could see how that enthusiasm had inspired a new generation.
"Attention, folks! I want to welcome y'all to the revival of the Krewe of Fafnir and our Masquerade Ball! In a moment, we'll see a tableau of this year's theme, which I'll tell ya, just to whet your appetites, is Dragons Rule!"
The diners burst into wild applause. Etienne held up a hand. "All right. But first, I wanna introduce you to the court of Fafnir. These are your royalty, ladies and gentlemen. I want you to give dem all your respect. Let's start with our pages!"
Three small boys of about ten or eleven years of age stood up at tables throughout the room. They were wearing satin dinner jackets and gold silk bow ties. Their hair was firmly slicked down, as if their mothers had gone to work on them with a comb just before they were introduced. Etienne reeled off their names, to tremendous applause. As each boy's name was called, he took off his mask.
"Dat's great! We're proud of 'em. Next, give a big hand to our gorgeous ladies of de court, the Maids of Fafnir!"
One by one, the women at the head table rose and removed their masks.
". . . And, finally, Miss Valerie McCandles!"
Val stood up, looking shy, and got the biggest round of applause. Griffen pounded his hands together and whistled loudly. She blushed and sat down in a hurry.
"Our honored dukes!"
The nine men whom Griffen had just met stood up and bowed, revealing their faces. Griffen realized he had seen a few of them before. They were leaders of the community, one a noted journalist on the Times-Picayune, and another the owner of a jazz club off Bourbon Street.
"Next, her fiery majesty, who is second only in our krewe to the king, I am forthrightly honored to introduce you to Mrs. Melinda Wurmley!"
Griffen clapped madly as a strongly built woman in fire gold satin stood up from the chair on the other side of Etienne and lifted her mask. His hands froze in midair. She turned to accept the accolades from the crowd and glared at Griffen.
M. Wurmley was that Melinda.
Griffen realized that he had not known Nathaniel and Lizzy's last name. He had seen the name "M. Wurmley" in Hardy's guide and not thought anything about it except that it sounded like a dragonish last name. Never in a million years would he have associated it with the dread Melinda.
Val rose and rushed out of the room. Mai followed her. Gris-gris shot a look of concern toward Griffen, who gestured to him to go. Gris-gris rocketed away, weaving among the tables and servers like an oiled snake. Griffen barely heard his own name. Etienne shoved his right foot into Griffen's leg to get his attention. Still reeling with shock, he rose to his feet.
"Our king and honoree at our parade on the twenty-fourth of February, the dragon who rule the Dragons Rule, dis is Griffen McCandles!"
Griffen lifted his mask and did his best to smile at the crowd. His head was spinning as he sat down. How in hell did she come to be Mardi Gras queen? He leaned toward her.
"What are you doing here?" he hissed.
Melinda looked indignant. "I was asked by him!" She tossed her head toward Etienne's back. "What are you complaining about? I told you I would abide by a truce with you, at the very least until the baby is born. Don't you trust my word?"
"Well, yes . . ."
"Then shut up and act like a king, even if you have to pretend! This is not the time to have this discussion."
Griffen felt rage throttling him. "No! The time was months ago, when I could have refused to be here!"
"Don't be ridiculous," Melinda growled. "We both need to be here. I am not a threat to you or your sister!"
"She doesn't see it that way."
"She's not hurt--she's only surprised. Both of you need to grow up!"
"Me, grow up?"
Etienne, seemingly oblivious to the verbal sniping going on behind him, went on to introduce the dozens of lieutenants, heads, and members of the various committees. After the last round of applause, he held up his hand for silence.
"So, now we come to the fun part y'all been waitin' for. I turn y'all over to Mrs. Lucinda Fenway, who will present our parade tableaux. Then you can tell people you saw it here first. Ms. Lucinda!"
Lucinda, gorgeous in rich, Prussian blue satin sewn with rhinestones, stood up and gestured to the members of the court, who followed her out of the room.
"Now, I'll just turn you over to our master of ceremonies, Mr. Matthew Winger." Etienne stood aside as the slender man came forward to take the microphone.
"Evening, everybody!" he called.
Griffen took advantage of the bustle to excuse himself from the table.
Forty-one
In the anteroom, the other ladies of the court and other women, each designated by the float captains to represent a float's theme, laughed as they helped one another to don flowing, open-fronted satin cloaks over their dresses and put on hats the size of those worn by Las Vegas showgirls. Most of those had a dragon in some position, some heroic, others comical, but all recognizable by Griffen as representing one of the giant floats in the den.
Beyond the place-card table, Val stood against the wall with Gris-gris on one side of her and Mai on the other. Her careful makeup was streaked on her cheeks from crying.
"Why is she here?" Val demanded. "I was ready to put up with seeing her once in a while when I had to."
"I don't know," Griffen said, upset for her sake. "She said Etienne approached her months ago, even before he talked to me. She said he saw her in a vision, standing on a parade float."
"Everything he does is for that damned parade!" Val snarled. He realized that she was over being shocked and was just angry. She looked around for something. Gris-gris whisked a handkerchief out of his impeccable suit pocket and handed it to her. She dabbed at her eyes. Mai took it from her and cleaned the mascara off her face. "I can't go back in there."
"You'll have to," Mai said. "You can't let her win."
The first of the maids got her headdress in order. It depicted a dragon lounging in an airline seat with a drink in its hand, watching a small television set on a bracket. Her escort, one of the dukes, took her arm and led her into the ballroom. The jazz band struck up a fanfare, which resolved into a peppy, cheerful melody. Griffen heard Matt's voice boom off the ceiling.
"Ladies and gentlemen, Flying First Class!"
Roars of appreciative laughter greeted the maid.
Fox Lisa, dwarfed by the massive sculpture on her head of a short, stout red dragon holding a gigantic quill feather, hurried up to take Val's hands.
"What's the problem?" Fox Lisa demanded. "You shot out of there like you were on fire!"
"The mother of the man who knocked her up is here," Mai said.