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The Dushegubs woke me up again around 4:00 am by trying to dig into the bottom of the Pit. Normally, I’d let them tire themselves out, but I was exhausted, so I made them a very large screen and then put the Leave It to Beavers documentary on it. It was a PBS production with a lot of footage of beaver tree-cutting and dam-building. Horrifying guests went against the innkeeper policy, but the Dushegubs were really testing my patience.
Sean woke me up at 5:00 am by getting out of bed, and when I asked him what was happening, he kissed me and told me to go back to sleep. When I finally crawled out of our bed two hours later, the bedroom was empty. I found him outside talking to Marais. Marais had discovered a couple of the Dominion paparazzi trying to film the inn at dark o’clock, apprehended them, and turned them over to Sean, who tossed them out into Baha-char while I slept. Now they were discussing what to do if more of the celebrity stalkers showed up. I left them to it and took myself to breakfast.
Most of the delegations once again opted for a private meal, so I went straight to the observer quarters. They had talked Tony into letting them eat on our back patio, and when I came out, I found Dagorkun, Karat, Tomato, Tony, and Gaston, all situated around the big outside table enjoying Orro’s version of the traditional American breakfast. If the traditional breakfast included serving sunny-side-up eggs in little baskets made of French-fried potatoes and bejeweled with beads of crystallized but delectable ketchup and maple syrup.
The moment I sat down, Droplet emerged from the kitchen, placed a plate with my own egg in a basket and a cup of coffee in front of me, and vanished back into the kitchen. The table was so full of food, it was a wonder it didn’t break. I stared at the spread for a long moment, struggling with decision paralysis, then put a couple of sausage links on my plate, added some fruit, and took a sip of my brew.
Mmm, delicious caffeine.
“I thought you preferred tea,” Tony said. His plate was the size of a Thanksgiving platter, and he was putting food away like he would never get a chance to eat again. There was a reason he was Orro's favorite visitor. Well, aside from Gaston, that is.
“I do. Tea isn’t cutting it right now.”
“Dushegubs?” he asked.
“Mhm. And paparazzi. And pirates. Which one of you let Caldenia into the otrokar quarters last night?”
Gaston raised his hand. “C’est moi, je suis coupable.”
Tony rolled his eyes.
Why was I not surprised? “You are supposed to watch her, not cater to her whims.”
“I have a dual mission, to assist you and to assist the Sovereign. George, and the Office of Arbitration, want the spousal selection to go smoothly.”
Of course, George wouldn’t let it go.
“Watching Her Grace is truly an honor and a privilege,” Gaston said. “Her plotting is sublime. When I grow up, I want to be just like her. If she was taking apprentices, I would immediately pledge myself on bended knee. Sadly, she isn’t interested at this time. I’ve asked.”
That’s just what we needed, Gaston underfoot.
“That is a spectacularly terrible, no good, awful idea,” Tony said. “That woman can dissect you with two sentences. You’ll never recover.”
“And that’s precisely why I would want to be her apprentice,” Gaston said.
“What was that language you used?” Karat asked.
“French. A version of it, my lady,” Gaston said.
Oooh, “my lady.” Someone had caught on to vampire etiquette.
Dagorkun frowned.
“Does your planet have more than one language?” Karat asked.
“It has many. I learned to speak French and English at the same time. They are both my mother tongues. Does your planet have other languages?”
She shook her head. “No, we have various dialects, but they are all distributaries of the same linguistic river. Your other language sounds interesting.”
“Would you like to hear more?” he asked.
Dagorkun’s frown deepened.
“Yes. I think I would.”
Gaston leaned forward.
“me sentinelle,
Murmurons l'aveu
De la nuit si nulle
Et du jour en feu.
Des humains suffrages,
Des communs élans
Là tu te dégages
Et voles selon.”
He had a really good voice, deep and resonant, and somehow French seemed to suit him.
Tony rolled his eyes again.
“What does it mean?” Karat asked.
Gaston made a small, elegant gesture with his hand. “It’s a poem by Arthur Rimbaud. It speaks of the eternity one finds in the moment the setting sun touches the ocean or two lovers make a whispered promise. It’s a quest for unlocking infinity in an instant and carrying it forever in your memory as a defense against the inevitability of torment.”
I stopped eating and looked at him.
“It’s true,” he said.
“Fascinating,” Karat said. She anchored her elbow on the table and rested her chin on the back of her hand. “Tell me more.”
