“Among others,” said Mr. Rath with a raise of his dark brows across the room.
Jasper met his eye and both men began to chortle under their breath.
It would not do, of course, in mixed company, to mention the HMSCockchafer.
“Oh!” Miss Templeton-Rath exclaimed. “I’ve got a good one! Sorry, sorry, I know I’m always last.”
“Speaking of last,” said her mother. “Last chosen is first to pull. Paul, dear, that is you.”
“Capital,” he said, standing and dusting off his jacket. “That will give our guest a little more room on the settee, hm? So he is not forced to squish against my daughter.”
Lem blinked several times and quickly scooted to the opposite edge of the sofa. He did not look at either Rath, though they were glaring quite pointedly at one another for the duration of Mr. Rath’s trip to the hat and withdrawal of his slip.
“Do we all guess?” Libba asked, raising a finger. “Or is it one team at a time?”
“It is a melee,” Miss Rath said to her with a little smirk. “Which is why we do not separate the clues. Whichever team guesses will win the point, and half a point to the actor. Half a point lost if no one guesses.”
“Mercenary,” Lem said softly, sounding impressed.
It was the first time he had spoken since before dinner and it caused a moment of silence as everyone turned to gape at him.
Jasper bit his tongue, but thought it served him right.
Mr. Rath picked up the tiny handbell next to the hat and rang it, signaling he was ready to begin his pantomime. He rotated on the balls of his feet and showed three fingers to the assembled crowd.
Three words.
So far, so good.
They quieted and watched as he mimed tossing a long mane of hair and then bent down toward the table to lift something round from it and place it on his head.
“King!” barked Mrs. Templeton-Rath.
“Monarch,” Miss Rath guessed.
“Princess?” said Libba.
He grinned and reached for an imaginary orb and scepter.
“Queen,” Jasper said, and immediately, Mr. Rath released his posture, pointed to him and nodded.
He held up two fingers and tugged on his ear to indicate the next word would be a rhyme, and then spread his fingers flat over his face and began to wave them rapidly back and forth.
“Fan!” Mr. Templeton-Rath said immediately, getting another pointed finger.
Mr. Rath grinned and held up three fingers, giving a meaningful look at his team for not having yet guessed correctly. He lifted one hand and rubbed his fingers together before miming a sort of swaying flight with his hand and then landing on his own forearm.
He opened the hand and immediately swatted it, as though killing a mosquito that had bitten him.
Everyone was silent for a moment, which made him frown and perform the mime again.
“Vengeance,” Lem decided in his calm, steady baritone.
“Oh!” said Miss Rath, perking up to the point of nearly bouncing on the sofa cushion. She gripped the upholstery over the arm of the thing and shouted. “Queen Anne’s Revenge!”
Mr. Rath grinned widely, showing every tooth in his mouth, and rang the bell again.
“That is one and a half points to us,” he said, turning and bowing in a gloating fashion at his brother. “And we go again. Off to a terrible start, brother.”
