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Sean frowned. “You love the swamp?”
“It’s home. You should see it when the moon slips from the clouds on a quiet night. The night flowers glow, the poisonous worms fluoresce in every color, and the giant alligator-like reptiles sing to the sky. It is peaceful.”
“You are a strange man,” Sean told him.
“I’m only ¾ man,” Gaston corrected. “But I digress. Sophie is actually my cousin, once removed. Her aunt is my grandmother, which doesn’t seem right since I’m older than Sophie, but it is true.”
“That’s nothing,” Cookie said. “I’m my uncle’s thrice-removed cousin’s seventh son.”
Gaston nodded in appreciation. “Family ties are important. We come from a very large family, land-rich, money-poor. The Mire is not a nice place. There was an incident when Sophie was young. She was kidnapped by slavers and put in a hole for a week. In Sophie’s head, a little girl went into the hole and a monster came out.”
I had no idea. When we met, I could sense there was something there, something dark and painful, but I didn’t imagine that.
“The thing is, Sophie’s grandfather did his best to raise her and her sister as nobles. They had the education, and they knew the legacy of their family, yet they also understood that they would be stuck rotting in the Mire forever. It had all the makings of one of those potent tragedies. But!”
Gaston waved his glass with a flourish.
“There was a matter of international intrigue. People were murdered, disasters occurred, righteous punishments were delivered through feats of personal heroism. The end result of all this complicated mess was our entire family relocating out of the Mire. Sophie’s sister married Declan Camarine’s best friend, and Sophie and George were introduced.”
“The swamp monstress and the elegant prince,” Cookie said.
Gaston grinned. “Indeed. Not falling in love would’ve violated a fundamental law of existence. Cue decades of angst.”
He raised his hand to his forehead in an obviously feminine gesture. “Oh no, I am a damaged killer with trust issues. I do not deserve happiness.”
He slapped his hand over his left eye, his expression dark and tortured. “Oh no, I am a necromancer who must manipulate everyone to keep them safe due to childhood trauma, and the woman I love, whom I most want to keep safe, will not permit me to take care of her.”
Cookie snickered.
“Incredibly frustrating for everyone involved,” Gaston said. “George refused to make the first move in consideration of Sophie’s feelings. He wanted it to be her decision. And she, in turn, wanted him to throw himself at her feet and walk away from his professional obligations of playing chess with real rulers and empires as his pawns. They got nowhere.”
This was like some cheesy romance novel, except I knew the people involved.
“I had given up on them,” Gaston confessed. “And then George became an Arbitrator and dragged the lot of us with him. I have read this wonderful book, called The Three Musketeers. It was just like that, except we were missing our D’Artagnan. I believe you were there when George enticed her to return to the pack.”
“I was,” I confirmed. “It was something. He gave a very passionate speech.”
Gaston smiled. “He’s excellent at that. I don’t know what he said but it worked. However, once Sophie joined us, she realized that nothing had changed. George was still assuming responsibility for everyone and everything, still working himself to the bone, and still manipulating people and beings, except now, he was doing it on a galactic scale. Our little band of misfits had graduated to the big leagues. Sophie left us. Again.”
“She did?” I had no idea.
Gaston nodded. “Crushed George’s heart. I didn’t think he would recover but somehow, he did and threw himself into his work, the way he always does. The story would have ended right there if it wasn’t for Ruk Minoody.”
“I thought somebody killed him,” Sean said.
“Don’t ruin the story.” Gaston refilled his glass. “Ruk Minoody ruled over a prosperous planet in the central bulge of the galaxy. The planet’s citizens place great value on martial prowess, especially when it comes to settling personal conflicts.”
“The planet of swordsmen!” Cookie exclaimed. “I know about them. Uncle once did business with them.”
I knew about them too. Their planet was called Harriblex, and they were not all swordsmen, although all of them were martial artists of some discipline. They were excruciatingly polite when they stayed at the inns until someone mortally offended them by stepping on their shadow or some such nonsense and then nothing would stop them from demanding satisfaction.
“The Office of Arbitrators had offended Ruk Minoody,” Gaston said.
“Let me guess, he demanded satisfaction?” I asked.
“Exactly. They tried to reason with him. They failed. He sent hit squads to hunt down individual Arbitrators and managed to kill a couple. The Office declared that whoever satisfied Ruk Minoody would be entitled to a single boon.”
