“A hundred or so?” Rhiow said.
“Could be a lot more,” Arhu said, stalking up beside her. “This is a fairly big place.”
“Possibly more like two hundred,” Hwaith said, coming up from behind. “There are as many cars parked in the lot up here as there were out on the street.”
“Come on,” Rhiow said, for the Silent Man had started across the floor to the biggest of the doors on the far side of the circular hall. This was a double door, the doors again of carved wood, opening inwards. Beyond them was a room at least three times the size of the front hall, again circular, the windows and glass doors on the far side all swagged with golden fabric, the panels between ornamented with paintings. Tables and chairs were set out here and there, and more tables, laden with food and drink, stood near the walls: from an adjoining room came the sound of a swing band playing.In the middle of this room, standing and talking and laughing, was a great crowd of splendidly dressed ehhif. They made up a truly astonishing vista — ehhif of all shapes and sizes, dressed of dark suits, from the casual to the very formal, or in gowns of rich silks and satins, enough jewel-flashing bracelets and necklaces to blind the casual viewer, wild hats with jutting feathers, elaborately rolled and curled hairstyles. But what Rhiow watched were the faces, the eyes, of the people who turned as the Silent Man came into the doorway, and seeing him, started to go oddly quiet.
That quiet spread, making the band in the next room sound louder by the moment. The Silent Man didn’t move out of the doorway, but simply stood still and smiled at this effect… and Rhiow was sure all the other ehhif could see the slight grimness of his look. She was equally sure that the Silent Man saw quite clearly how most of the many glances in his direction were trying to look accidental. Looks changed, scents and postures changed: the air of the room became uncomfortably charged. Nervousness, hostility, scorn, pity, annoyance, a certain nasty pleasure – without a word spoken, they were all clear enough to Rhiow, who spent at least a little of every day in Grand Central, and who over the years had been exposed to just about every ehhif emotion-scent going.
“I heard a rumor that you were coming,” said a voice from one side, “but I wasn’t sure whether to believe it. You hear so many things in this town…”
Approaching the People and the Silent Man at some speed was a small tom-ehhif in a dinner jacket and dark slacks, with a blue-and black-striped necktie of truly astonishing breadth underneath it. His black hair was slicked straight back from his forehead, as if he was trying to make it go as far back on his head as he could; his small beady eyes and long sharp nose suddenly reminded Rhiow of the grackles sitting in the tree above them on Olvera Street, their expressions caught halfway between nervousness and a kind of myopic self-importance.“Mr. Runyon, it’s such a pleasure, I’m Elwin Dagenham, we’ve met at Goldwyn once or twice, no reason for you to remember, of course. Please make yourself right at home. Marcus, quick, go back to the kitchen and get a pot of coffee for Mr. Runyon. Mr. Runyon, you hardly need introductions, you know everybody here, of course…”
The Silent Man smiled at his host, nodded as they made their way into the room. The normal array of crooks, scoundrels, cheats, jumped-up used-car salesmen now dealing in people rather than cars, money types looking for fame, famous types looking for money, and assorted others who’re just plain looking, the Silent Man said for the People to hear.
“And of course here’s the famous Miss Sheba, and this would be, what, her fan club? Oh, I think the papers are going to be interested in this, and probably the fan magazines too.” Dagenham gestured. “If you don’t mind, let’s just – yes, over here, that’s right, come on — ”
Suddenly there were more tom-ehhif gathered around the Silent Man and the People, holding up great bulky boxes with all manner of mechanics sticking out from them. Flashes started going off, and Rhiow realized with a start that these were the ancestors of the flashguns of her time: actual little bulbs of glass with something explosive inside them. The smell they produced was appalling.
Dagenham stood there looking pleased and proprietary as more ehhif from the party started gathering around, amused by what to them looked like some kind of tame-cat act.“Even the same phrasing,” Urruah said, staring around and producing his fake-ehhif smile for the amusement of the various humans who were gathering around to watch. “How many people do you think are paying Giorgio off for celebrity tips every day?”
“Probably as many as possible,” Hwaith said. “A maitre d’ doesn’t make all that much, even after the tips.”
Arhu and Siffha’h were standing together, looking desperately alike, wide-eyed and cute, an effect that Rhiow had seen even ehhif Queens find difficult to resist. Some of the photographers, apparently having far less developed powers of resistance, went down on their knees to get pictures of the two. “Try pulling the corners of your mouths back further,” Urruah said. “They like that.”
“Please,” Siffha’h said, dry. “My eyeballs are about to jump out of my head as it is. I’m saving my mouth for the food. And I know I smell chicken liver pate here somewhere.”
“Across the room, to the left, that second table,” Urruah said without turning a whisker, “between the Swedish meatballs and the lox. And, sweet Queen Iau, is that actually Beluga?..”
Rhiow rolled her eyes as the photographers finished their first round of photos, and Urruah proceeded across the room as if he owned it, straight through the splendid crowd who now turned their attention away from the Silent Man, and laughed to see Urruah march over to the dark ehhif in charge handing out plates for the buffet. He sat down in front of this gentleman, tucked his tail around his toes, and simply gazed longingly upward and purred.
An immediate furious yapping came from the next room over, the one containing the band. A small houff, one of the fluffy shrill-voiced kind, came charging out of the ballroom with its silky golden fur all a-bristle. Apparently it had seen Urruah crossing the room, and couldn’t bear the sight of a Person on what it had for the moment come to consider its own territory.
Play nice, now! Rhiow said to Urruah.
Urruah didn’t even bother turning his head. Speechless with fury, or at least reduced to incomprehensibility by it, the little houff went straight for Urruah – and halfway to him, tripped and sprawled right onto its already sufficiently-flattened nose.
Houiff were of course as unable to see a sidled Person as ehhif were. Hwaith, who had slipped out of sight under a table to go invisible, and afterwards had calmly strolled over and crouched down for the houff to stumble over, now got up as the enraged houff did. It turned toward Urruah, yelping with surprise and frustration, ready to jump at him again. Urruah merely turned to stare down his nose at it…and the poor houff had reason to yelp again, as Hwaith administered it a sharp whack on the nose with the claws just out enough to make an impression.
Apparently horrified by the concept of a Person who could hit you before you even got close to it, the houff turned and ran back into the ballroom, still yelping: a kindly-looking bald-headed man in a dinner jacket picked it up and took it away, talking to it soothingly. In the main room, the ehhif howled with laughter at Urruah’s deadpan reaction, and started plying him with food.
“Don’t forget to save me my percentage,” Hwaith said over his shoulder to Urruah.
“Cousin, caching’s for canids, you know that.” Urruah looked smug. “Just get over here in time not to miss the good stuff.” He paused to lick his chops after one tidbit. “Pretty good sour cream on these blinis…”
Rhiow watched with amusement as Hwaith strolled back her way.“A little harsh with the poor creature, weren’t you?”
“It’s what my dam always said: a claw goes further into the ear than a thousand explanations.” Hwaith wandered back toward a settee over at the side of the room. “Why waste time saying ‘nice doggie’ fifty or a hundred times? Houiff talk to each other, if not to us. Word’ll get around in a hurry….”