‘That’s him,’ said Crake, admiring their host’s stiff, brocaded jacket.
Thade was in conversation with several men, all of them stern and serious-looking. Some of them were smoking cigars and drinking brandy.
‘Who’s that with him?’ murmured Jez, looking at the man next to Thade.
Crake studied Thade’s companion with interest. ‘That’s Duke Grephen of Lapin.’
Crake knew him from the broadsheets. As ruler of one of the Nine Duchies that formed Vardia, he was one of the most influential people in the land. Only the Archduke held more political power than the Dukes.
Grephen was a dour-looking man with a squarish build and a sallow face. His eyes were deeply sunken and ringed with dark circles, making him look faintly ill. His short blond hair was limp and damp with sweat. Though he was thirty-five, and he wore a fine uniform with the Lapin coat of arms on its breast, he looked like a pudgy boy playing at being a soldier.
Despite his less than formidable appearance, the others treated Grephen with the greatest respect. He didn’t speak often, and never smiled, but when he had something to offer, his companions listened intently.
‘Bet you never thought you’d see him when you came here tonight,’ said a voice to their right. They looked over to see a gaunt man with white hair and bushy eyebrows, flushed from alcohol and the heat. He was wearing a Navy uniform, his buttons and boots polished to a high shine.
‘Why, no, I hadn’t imagined I would,’ said Jez.
‘Air Marshal Barnery Vexford,’ he said, taking her hand to kiss it.
‘Bethinda Flay. And this is my sweetheart, Damen Morcutt.’
‘Of the Marduk Morcutts,’ Crake added cheerily, as he shook Vexford’s hand. Vexford wasn’t quick enough to keep the fleeting, predatory glitter from his eyes. Crake had already surmised what was on his mind. He was after Jez, and that made Crake his competition.
‘You know, ferrotypes don’t do him justice,’ Jez twittered. ‘He’s so very grand in real life.’
‘Oh, he is,’ agreed Vexford. ‘A very serious man, very thoughtful. And so devout. A credit to his family.’
‘Do you know the Duke very well?’ Jez asked.
Vexford glowed. ‘I have had the privilege of meeting the Duke on many occasions. The Archduke is also a personal friend of mine.’
‘Perhaps you could introduce us to Duke Grephen?’ Crake suggested, pouncing. Vexford hesitated. ‘We’d be honoured to meet him, and offer our thanks to the host. I know Bethinda would be very grateful.’
‘Oh! It would be a dream come true!’ she gushed. She was getting to be quite the little actress.
Vexford’s reservations were obvious. You didn’t introduce just anyone to the Duke. But he’d talked himself into a corner, and he’d seem foolish if he backed out now. ‘How can I refuse such a beautiful lady?’ he said, with a hateful smile at Crake. Then he laid his hand on Jez’s back, claiming her as his prize, and led her over towards the Duke’s group without another look at her ‘sweetheart’. Crake was left to follow, rather amused by the Air Marshal’s attempt to snub him.
Vexford’s timing was perfect. The conversation had lulled and his arrival in the group caused everyone to take notice of the newcomers.
‘Your Grace,’ he said, ‘may I introduce Miss Bethinda Flay.’ After a pause long enough to be insulting, he added, ‘And also Damen Morcutt, of the Marduk Morcutts,’ as if he’d just remembered Crake was there.
On seeing the blank looks of his companions, someone in the group exclaimed knowingly, ‘The Marduk Morcutts, ah, yes!’ The others murmured in agreement, enough to imply that the Marduk Morcutts were indeed a fine family, even if none of them knew who the Marduk Morcutts actually were.
Jez curtsied; Crake bowed. ‘It’s a great honour, your Grace,’ he said. ‘For both of us.’
The Duke said nothing. He merely acknowledged them silently with nods, then gave Vexford a look as if to say: why have you brought these two here? The conversation had fallen silent around them. Vexford shifted uncomfortably and sipped his sherry.
‘And you must be Gallian Thade!’ Crake suddenly exclaimed. He took up Thade’s hand and pressed it warmly between his palms, then gave the older man a companionable pat on the hip. ‘Wonderful party, sir, just wonderful.’
Vexford almost choked on his drink. The others looked shocked. Such familiarity with a man who was clearly his social superior was unpardonable. The worst kind of behaviour. Nobody expected such oafishness in a place like this.
Thade kept his composure. ‘I’m so glad you’re enjoying it,’ he said frostily. ‘You should try the canapes. I’m sure you would find them delicious.’
‘I will!’ said Crake enthusiastically. ‘I’ll do it right now. Come on, Bethinda, let’s leave these gentlemen to their business.’
He took her by the arm and marched her away towards the canapés, leaving Vexford to face the silent scorn of his peers.
‘What was that about?’ asked Jez. ‘I thought you wanted to find out what Thade was up to.’
‘You remember this?’ he said, taking a tiny silver earcuff out of his pocket.
‘Of course I do. You showed the Cap’n how they worked. He didn’t stop talking about them for two days. I think you impressed him.’ She watched him affix it to his ear. ‘Looks a bit tacky for this kind of party,’ she offered.
‘Can’t be helped.’
‘Where’s the other one?’
Crake flashed her a gold-toothed grin. ‘In Thade’s pocket. Where I put it, when I patted him on the hip.’
Jez was agape. ‘And you can hear him now?’
‘Loud and clear,’ he said. ‘Now let’s get some canapes, settle down, and see what our host has to say.’
Nineteen
An hour later, and Crake had begun to remember why he’d been so bored with the aristocracy. He seemed to be en countering the same people over and over again. The faces were different, but the bland niceties and insipid observations remained the same. He was yet to meet anyone more interesting than the clothes they wore.
The guests fell neatly into the pigeonholes he made for them. There was the Pampered Adventurer, who wanted to use Father’s money to explore distant lands and eventually set up a business in New Vardia. They had no real concept of hardship. Then there was the Future Bankrupt, who talked enthusiastically of investing in dangerous projects and bizarre science, dreaming of vast profits that would never materialise. They were often attached to the Vapid Beauty, whose shattering dullness was only tolerable because they were so pleasant to look at. Occasionally he spotted a Fledgling Harpy, spoiled daughter of a rich family. Unattractive, yet intelligent enough to realise that their fiancée was only with them for their money. In revenge for thwarting their fantasies of romance, they intended to make the remainder of his life a misery.
These, and others, he recognised from long experience. A procession of stereotypes and clichés, he thought scornfully. Each one desperately believing themselves to be unique. They parrot their stupid opinions, plucked straight from the broadsheets, and hope that nobody disagrees. How had he ever communicated with these people? How could he ever go back among them, knowing what he knew?
They’d moved into the magnificent ballroom, with its swirled marble pillars and copper chandeliers. The floor was busy with couples, some of them lovers but most not. They exchanged partners as they moved, men and women passed around in a political interplay, gossiping and spying on one another. Crake stood to one side with Jez, talking with a pair of brothers who had recently bought an aerium mine and clearly had no idea how to exploit it.