Early in the morning, Joseph woke up and did his regular exercises, practicing his footwork with Mekke while drinking a morning coffee, before going on a daily run along the boundaries of Castle Belenus. Exercise was one of those things that always cleared his mind, and he had long ago learned that running calmed him down, after heated arguments with his parents or after a particularly bad day at school. Nothing had changed in that regard.
Only the route had, from the beaches of San Francisco to the cobblestone streets of Scuttleway.
It was the night of the gala, but he wasn't to arrive at Sunala's estate until later in the day. Most of his day was open.
Which was odd.
No chores were assigned to him – no feeding Becenti's krem, or cleaning the kitchen, or even going out for groceries. The job came first, and thus he was exempt from the daily rigors of guild life.
Which was especially odd. Why did he feel like it was the last day before his execution? For the first time, as Joseph ate his bowl of oatmeal, he came face to face with an awful truth. No longer was he distracted by learning to dance, or finding just the right outfit for the gala.
Joseph Zheng was nervous as shit.
He took a deep breath.
He could do this.
He had faced down Mordenaro. Survived being trapped in an underwater city. Survived Phineas's watery snoring. He was a fighter, someone with incredible powers and the ability to throw thunderbolts like Asian Thor.
Contort passed him by, slapping him on the shoulder.
“Good luck, man,” he said, “You’re going to need it!”
***
Early in the morning, Rosemary woke up with a familiar tingle of excitement. It had been a very long time since she had been to a gala this rich. Sunala's dress hung by her bed almost like a curtain, greeting her as she rose up and rubbed her eyes. She then did her morning routine on those days where she didn't have anything to do, and went back to sleep.
Mallory shook her head as she walked in for her lunch break, her hands stained purple and green from working with Meleko on the Titania Amber.
“Rosemary, get up.”
“Hmmm...?”
“It's almost eleven,” Mallory said, “Don't you have a gala to get ready for?”
“Gala's not 'til five,” Rosemary said, “I got plenty of time.”
“To shower?”
“No one's in the shower at three, so I got time.”
“Aren't you hungry?”
“Sure,” Rosemary said, “I could use a bite.”
She opened a single eye and stared at the tray of food Mallory had brought into the room. The Steamer glared.
“No way, Rosie. If you want food, you gotta get up.”
“Fiiiine,” Rosemary rolled out, stretching and yawning, “Spoilsport.”
Mallory rolled her eyes.
***
Early in the morning, Sunala awoke with dour cheer. Her usual look, of course, as she rose out of bed and went to her shower. It was the day of the gala. An important occasion. Doge Busciver was already writing letters to her now, passenger pigeons chirping up the staircase to her room with notes tied to their legs. A few of them also carried additional notes in their beaks. One had a note tied to her leg, a note in her beak, and a scroll tied to her back.
Busciver was a nervous man, indeed. He had come to rely on Sunala greatly these past few months, a fact that was not lost on her.
If Busciver could retain his position as Doge, House Sunala would be in a good position indeed.
Getting dressed, she read the letters on each pigeon. Much of it was Busciver's usual anxious drivel, fear of assassination and the like. A few were about the age of the wine House Rithmound had provided. It wasn't every day that Busciver bought product from a political rival, but Rithmound's winery was among the highest quality in all of Londoa. They wouldn't skimp or try to throw Busciver under the wagon wheel – especially after Sunala had insisted on having Rithmound's house crest emblazoned on every barrel.
There was much to do before the gala. In truth, the ball had started long before this night. It was much like the expedition in that regard – a dance of mercantilism, of buying the right product, of putting whispers in the right ears, of who to stick to during the entire affair, something that seemed to change by the day – even the hour.
Young ladies would be attempting to court the available young men in the aristocracy. They had their own game to take into account. Doge Busciver had no biological children, but he did have a niece, who was a voracious predator on nights like these.
If Sunala could steer her towards young Lord Symin...
A dance, indeed.
***
Early in the morning, the assassin rolled into Scuttleway. The Inner Sun blazed high above, a fact that pained him, for he had always hated light. Damn Scuttlers and their obsession with shining as bright as the outer landmasses. The assassin hadn't been back on Londoa for a long time, and their hypocrisy was one of the big reasons.
His mission was clear. It would be fancy. Perhaps, even, a bit fun. A part of him was glad the guildmaster had chosen him for this specific job.
A death at the gala. It sounded like the name of a murder mystery. The assassin smiled.
He would make a killing tonight.
***
At four in the afternoon, Joseph finished staring at his bowl of oatmeal and made his ways to the showers. He shared it with Calacious Nine today, the jellyfish floating in the air like a specter while water umbrella'd down their bell. It was a quiet affair – he hadn't quite caught onto Calacious Nine's language (he already was learning half a dozen already), and Calacious Nine was embarrassed having to share a shower.
Never mind the fact that they never wore anything anyways.
Joseph had learned not to question most things in the guild.
He put on his suit afterwards. The Witch Rogga had done a magnificent job outfitting him, with long dress pants and a yellow sash around his waist. The undershirt was gray, with a dark blue waistcoat bedecked with gold buttons, a black dress jacket over that. Three layers – and he still felt cold, nervous, and clammy about the night ahead. To complete the ensemble was a simple yellow tie – like his father's, he noted, when he went to work. Joseph's best friend growing up had an old man who wore a new tie every day to work, plaids and stripes and funny cotton candy-colored affairs, as though he were trying to stand out.
Not Henry Zheng. Always yellow, or red, for diversity's sake. Joseph bit the inside of his lip. He remembered those ties just as much as he remembered his father’s face.
He wished he could have convinced Rogga to get him something with a bit more pizzazz to it. A bit more spark. Still, as he looked in the mirror, he couldn't help but notice he looked rather nice.
He slipped on his yellow dress shoes, feeling a bit unsteady in them as he walked. Nice shoes were reserved for job interviews at the grocery store, or those rare days where his mom took the family to church. This was a completely different world to him.
He should have danced in the new digs earlier, to get used to their feel and break them in.
But no, he had stared at his oatmeal all day.
Rosemary was waiting in the lobby. She looked nervous, bedecked in her namesake flower.
Wait, no, rosemary was an herb.
She was flooded with roses, at least. Thousands upon thousands of them, it felt like, an entire garden plucked and weaved. She had added a golden choker, one threaded with small vines, to better match her mace, which even now she held in both hands. She had left her hair well enough alone, but had added a small, green circlet made of ivy.
Joseph tried his hardest not to stare.
“You look nice,” he said.
“I look awful,” Rosemary said, “I slept in and was late getting ready.”
“Don't lie,” Joseph said, “Really, you're rocking it.”
She smiled. A genuine one, her anxiety melting a bit.
“Thanks, Joe.”
“So the plan is for Sunala to pick us up, right?”
“Yep,” Rosemary said, “I guess we better wait outside.”
They began walking out. A few other guildmembers were about, watching as they made their way through the double doors of Castle Belenus.
“Looking good, you two,” Mekke nodded.
“Not half bad,” Contort said.
“A beautiful dress, Ms. Rosemary,” Becenti said.
Meleko and Ichabod were placing bets as they made their way down the road.
“Trying to see if I'll step on anyone's toes?” Joseph asked.
“No,” Meleko said.
“Yes,” Ichabod sneered, “If you stomp on Sunala's, I'll give you half the pool.”
Joseph blinked.
“The pool?”
“Me, Urash, Chadwick, Lazuli, Meleko, and Slop,” Ichabod said, “Whiskey, too. You in?”
Joseph considered.
For a while, he stood there, hands shaking with temptation.
“Joseph,” Rosemary chided, “If you step on Sunala's toes, I'll break you in half.”
“...Nnnnoooo,” Joseph said, “I can't.”
“Bah, typical,” Ichabod said.
“I'm biased!”
“As if that stopped anyone.”
“The carriage!” Rosemary poked Joseph's shoulder, helpfully steering him away from the lust of the gamble. Sunala's personal carriage was an elaborate, square box that reminded Joseph of a dollhouse, pulled by two krem in silver armor. The crest of House Sunala emblazoned the carriage's side. The goblin driver was the most fanciful creature Joseph had seen – a full tuxedo, a monocle, even a top hat. He stepped down from her perch and opened the door for them. The two guildmembers climbed in, sitting down across from Sunala.
“All ready, Rosemary?” the noblewoman asked.
“Yes, Milady,” Rosemary took a deep breath, “Nervous. Excited.”
“The natural feelings,” Sunala gave her a smile, “And you, Mr. Zheng?”
“I'm alright,” Joseph said.
She stared at him for a moment longer than was necessary, taking a gauge on him. She was matching Rosemary's theme, wearing a sunset-orange gown with chrysanthemums bloomed on each shoulder, small balls of curving florets that formed the straps of the dress. More of the flora was braided into her hair, and she had sprayed her face with gold glitter. She was much like the harvest moon, the shocking brightness of her attire smoothed by her quiet, almost melancholic air.
Music was playing in the streets as they wove their way through the city. With the Doge's gala, the rest of the city came to life, the sheer energy of the ball setting them off in a fiery pageant that only became more intense, more frantic and excited as they drew closer to Moonstone on the Len. Lights lit the night – many more than usual, magical will-o-the-wisps that flared and sparked like the bursts of bottle rockets, taking on a life of their own as they whizzed over the heads of party-goers and market stalls.
“Was the whole city invited to this?” Joseph asked.
“Not entirely,” Sunala said, “But this is one of the most important events of the year. It's the only gala that Doge Busciver personally hosts, and he makes it an entire festival in order to drum up excitement.”
“So the common people can have their cake, too,” Joseph said.
“The middle class supports the nobility,” Sunala said, “They speak in their lords' ear. And the nobility supports the Doge – without them, he is nothing.”
“Feels kind of...” Joseph glanced through the window, watching as one of the sparks exploded, “Weird? Artificial?”
“Of course it isn't genuine,” Sunala said, “It's calculated. Much of the festivities are placed strategically in the markets and upper-middle class areas. But very little is genuine, especially when it comes to politics.”
Joseph wasn't sure what to say to that. The carriage continued its wheeling towards the gala proper.
***
The front of Moonstone on the Len reminded Joseph of red carpet movie premieres. Townsfolk from the city were cordoned off from the line of carriages that snaked from the main road all the way up to the mansion's entrance, each wagon more extravagant than the last. They would only expel their noble contents when they had made their way to the entrance, each lord or lady throwing the door open like a diva and striding inside. Guards were stationed at the doors, unblinking and silent, as one of the servants greeted each guest and guided them inside. Orchestral music sang through the open doors, muted from distance, beautiful and cacophonous.
Sunala's carriage made its arrival. The driver flung the door open, extending a hand to guide them down. A few other nobles were outside, whispering to one another as Sunala alighted to the ground, Joseph and Rosemary following close behind.
“Appearances, dears,” Sunala said, “Act like you belong.”
Rosemary nodded, slipping a hand around Joseph's arm. Joseph stood a bit taller.
And they began to walk, trying to keep a level head around the complete sensory overload that roared around them, of people talking and laughing and jeering and drinking. Someone in the orchestra seemed to have brought a cannon, because in the middle of the cellos, violins, and flutes there was a great boom that everyone reacted to with wild applause.
“Oh, didn't know they hired Rinsovksy,” Rosemary said.
“Famous composer?” Joseph asked, leaning in to hear his guildmate over the explosions.
“Yeah,” Rosemary said, “Likes incorporating weapons from other planes into her work.”
“No shit,” Joseph said.
They ascended up the stairs, arm in arm, when Joseph spotted someone out of the corner of his eye.
He stopped. Glaring. Rosemary tripped as he did so.
“Joseph, what the hell-?”
“You.”
Alonso Moriguchi was here. He was in a black charro, as though he had just joined a mariachi band, embroidered and laced with flowing orange, though he still wore his signature luchador mask, a look that clashed brilliantly with his ensemble. He, too, was linked up with a guildmate, this one being a pure black, humanoid rabbit in a tuxedo. Joseph had always disliked rabbits. Cute, sure, but the wild ones had an energy that buzzed in their eyes, the purest sense of wild nature, something untamed and cunning.
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
And this rabbit had that vibe multiplied.
“Amber Foundation!” Moriguchi said, “Hola.”
“Don't 'hola' me,” Joseph said, “What the hell are you doing here?”
“On a job,” Moriguchi said, “You?”
“On a job,” Rosemary said, “Bodyguards.”
Joseph glared at Moriguchi and the rabbit. The Exodus Walkers looked at him for a moment, before Moriguchi's eyes widened in understanding.
“Oh! Where are my manners? This is my guildmate, Ket.”
“Hello,” Ket’s voice was deep and scratching.
“Don't just act like that!” Joseph said, “Come on, man!”
“I'm... sorry?” Moriguchi said.
“You tried to kill me!”
“Yes! But it was nothing personal,” Moriguchi said, “I was on a job. Like I am, now.”
“And what job is that?” Joseph said through gritted teeth.
“Bodyguarding,” Moriguchi said, “Lord Rithmound hired the Exodus Walkers to look after him tonight, make sure nothing... unfortunate, happens.”
“Like I'd believe that,” Joseph said, “Who says you aren't here to just finish us off?”
“Really, it was nothing personal,” Moriguchi said, “Unless you want to kill Lord Rithmound, I have no desire to throw down.”
Joseph opened his mouth to make another retort, but Rosemary interrupted him.
“Joseph, cut it out. We're on a job, remember?”
“Right,” Joseph said. He continued to glare at the Exodus Walkers, “I'm watching you.”
“I'd expect so,” Moriguchi said, “You should be watching everybody. You're a bodyguard.”
“I...” Joseph's eye twitched, “I resent you greatly.”
Moriguchi nodded.
***
The two Amber Foundation swept off, the girl nearly dragging Joseph away and into Moonstone on the Len. Moriguchi chuckled to himself. Ket continued to stare at the two retreating guildfolk.
“I like him,” Moriguchi said.
“I can see,” Ket replied.
“He's new to the job,” Moriguchi said, “But he's got a different air about him...”
“He was the one who faced Mordenaro,” Ket said.
“Ah, I see you've read the reports,” Moriguchi said.
“Metahuman. A dangerous one.”
“Who woulda thunk” Moriguchi chuckled, “Think you can handle him?”
Ket considered. Joseph and Rosemary were talking to Sunala now, introducing them to some pish-posh or other. Rosemary was being as gracious as could be. Joseph seemed a bit awkward as he extended out a hand, a fake smile plastered on his face, though he was still glaring at them from inside the keep.
“Yes,” the rabbit said.
Moriguchi nodded.
“I need a drink,” he said, “I'll leave you to... socialize.”
The rabbit nodded.
“Good luck, I guess,” Moriguchi said.
The rabbit nodded.
Moriguchi rolled his eyes as he stepped inside. Already he could see Ket making his way over to Lord Rithmound's side. All fun and no play, and Rithmound had told them to act like any other guest at the gala.
“Should've brought Meldorn,” Moriguchi said.
***
“I don't know what they're playing at,” Joseph said as they extricated themselves from Sunala and the Duke of Morgania (“the Third!”)
“Joseph, he's right,” Rosemary said, “They tried to kill us, we tried to kill them. It was months ago.”
“That doesn't-”
“Joseph, cut it out,” Rosemary said, “We're here to protect Sunala, and have a good time.”
“And if they want to hurt Sunala?” Joseph growled.
“Then we deal with it,” Rosemary said. She guided them to one of the tables, sitting down. A servant appeared out of thin air and began pouring her a glass of wine. She nodded in thanks, giving a dazzling smile that glowered down as she gave a hard look at Joseph.
“Guilds do jobs, that's it,” she said, “Nothing personal between us and the Exodus Walkers.”
“‘Some days we're friends, some days we're enemies,’” Joseph sighed. He joined her, downing his glass as soon as the servant finished pouring. The servant immediately began to refill the glass.
“Exactly. It's the Law of InterGuild,” Rosemary said, “I don't always have to like it, but it's there. Moriguchi's a pro, he's not going to be mad because you got the egg to the Dragon.”
“And if he's hired to kill Sunala?” Joseph said.
“Why are you so hung up on that?”
Joseph's face was stone as he looked at the room. They were on the first floor, young nobles already dancing on the ballroom floor, stepping in tune to the music in two long lines. The orchestra’s piece was growing nightmarish and frantic.
“This feels weird,” Joseph said, “There's something under the surface.”
“It's the gala before an election,” Rosemary said, “Scuttleway's politics can get fierce. We should assume everyone has an agenda.”
“Including the Exodus Walkers.”
“Sure,” Rosemary said, “I'll grant you that. But you shouldn't just concentrate on the Exodus Walkers here, Joe. For all we know, they could be our friends.”
“'Friends' is really carrying a lot, there,” Joseph said.
Rosemary rolled her eyes.
“Whatever you want to call it, then. Look: Don't be an idiot and just assume Moriguchi's out for Sunala. He could be! And if he is, we'll kill him, or whatever. But you should expect danger on all sides. You never know what might pop up.”
“...Right,” Joseph said.
“Look, I'm going to re-join Sunala,” Rosemary said, “You start dancing.”
Joseph blinked, before giving a begrudging smile.
“You're still on that?” he asked.
And Rosemary broke into a grin.
“Duh, doofus. Go on, make G-Wiz proud.”
***
Rosemary stepped away from Joseph, who was swilling his wine, his face contorted in a dark anger. He needed to relax – this was supposed to be a fun, entertaining gala.
The anger, bitterness, and intrigue – that was hidden by the dancing and music, like a mask over the entire ballroom floor. And Joseph's was slipping, which would be improper. One was not rude when everyone else was happy. That wasn't the Scuttle way.
Ha!
She drifted up the stairs to the second floor, watching the dancers wheel and turn on the ballroom. The more personal, one-on-one dances would come later in the night, but this graceful moshpit, known as the Gentlegob's Bow, was the first dance that was performed at every gala, no matter the occasion. It was the nobles' way of saying 'hello.’ Already Joseph was getting up and attempting to join in. Rosemary smirked as she saw him stumble into the line, thrusting a leg out with the other lords as they carouseled in time with the ladies. He was turning beet red.
Sunala was overlooking the balcony. Beside her was Doge Busicver. He looked much like the paintings Rosemary had seen of him – old, bent with age, his white suit matching his white eyebrows to the exact shade. He seemed to have shined his nose for this occasion, for it almost glowed in the light as he turned, creaking like a rocking chair as he noted Rosemary's approach.
“Ah! You must be one of the two from the Amber Foundation,” he said.
“Yes, Milord,” Rosemary gave a curtsy, “My name's Rosemary.”
“Lily-Ann was just telling me about you,” Busciver said, “Telling me all about that sunken city on Chliofrond! Such adventure! Tell me, do you have that mace of yours?”
“Of course,” Rosemary presented her rose, “It's, ah, it's a sceptre.”
“Oh!” Busciver clapped his forehead, “Of course. Forgive me.”
And Rosemary found she liked him a bit more than before, as she handed the Doge the sceptre. He considered it for a few moments, turning it this way and that, eyebrows raising just enough for her to see his bright, moon-like eyes.
“Impressive,” he said, “Very impressive. Where did you get it?”
“From home,” Rosemary said.
“Ah, multiversal, then?” Busciver said, “Makes sense, but I hear the Amber Foundation has a few locals, yes?”
“Yes,” Rosemary said, “Broon and Mekke are from here.”
“Ahhh, yes,” Busciver nodded, “You don't look like any elf from these parts. Carry yourself too kindly.”
“Busciver!” Sunala said.
The Doge's laugh was a barking whisper.
“I meant nothing by it, Lily-Ann! Nothing at all.”
He noticed someone out of the corner of his eye.
“Ah, I should go. Lady Imran is waiting. I'm hoping to finalize that trade deal, and all that.”
“Of course,” Sunala nodded.
“If you will excuse me,” Busciver gave Rosemary another smile, “Pleased to meet you at last, Lady Rosemary. You are a shining example of your guild.”
Rosemary beamed at that as the gnome waddled away. Sunala, however, had turned her attention back to the dream-like waltzes below. The dancers had begun to separate from the Gentlegob's Bow, moving off into threes and fours, quickly filling what was left of the ballroom floor and moving like a great, multi-armed being to and fro, up and down.
“Mr. Zheng seems to be having a good time,” Sunala said.
“He's surviving,” Rosemary laughed, “Look, he almost just stepped on that lady's foot.”
“That's Lady Antrila,” Sunala said, “A prominent political rival. He could break her toes for all I care.”
“Harsh,” Rosemary said.
Sunala gave a demure smile.
“Notice anything yet, Ms. Rosemary?” she asked.
Rosemary turned her attention back to the floor below, squinting a bit to make out individual faces on the dancers.
“Nothing yet, Milady,” she reported, “No assassin here.”
“Looks can be deceiving,” Sunala warned.
“I know,” Rosemary said, “They're not going to be all dressed in black. They'd probably be a party-goer. Do you have someone testing your wine?”
“No,” Sunala said.
“How about someone watching the Doge?”
“Busciver has his own resources,” Sunala said.
“Still, swill the wine before swallowing,” Rosemary said, “Joseph's an idiot, he just swallowed it down like a fish.”
Sunala raised an eyebrow.
“Personal experience, Ms. Rosemary?”
Rosemary said nothing. Her brow had furrowed as she stared down. Sunala nodded.
“Very well, then,” she said, “I'll keep your advice in mind.”
***
Joseph had broken off with a lord and a lady, and he was obviously a third wheel.
The lady was an unusually tall gnome in a white dress, her hair tied up in a long, conical bun with gold lacing her locks, and she was completely smitten with the hobgoblin lord in a crisp tuxedo, a large gardenia tucked into the lapel.
“Oh, Isaac,” the gnome said, “A gardenia! You do care.”
“I know it's your favorite,” Isaac said, giving a nervous smile. The three of them wheeled about in time to a single flute solo that sang over the entire hall, a piping that had Joseph's ears ringing. The entire time, the gnome and the hobgoblin had eyes only for each other.
Which Joseph didn't mind, he had already stepped on the gnome's feet a couple times, but she was so enamored she didn't even notice.
The flute drew to a close, a signal for the dancers to split up once more. The gnome began to step away, but the hobgoblin stopped her. He pulled the gardenia free and presented it to her.
“Isaac!” she squealed, “Don't be embarrassing.”
“Anything for my Lady Busciver,” Isaac said.
“Isaac Rithmound, you dog,” but Lady Busciver took the flower anyway, her eyes watery, before she forced herself back into the dance.
This was a dance in pairs. A waltz. Isaac Rithmound turned, presenting a hand to Joseph. Then, the hobgoblin noticed Joseph staring at the gnome's back.
“Lady Busciver...” he whispered.
“Indeed,” Rithmound said, “I'm sorry, I didn't get your name. May I have this dance?”
Joseph snapped back to attention, looking at the white gloved hand of the nobleman.
Couldn't afford to be rude now. Joseph took it, allowing himself to be guided by Isaac across the dance floor.
“Joseph,” he said.
“Ah! From the Amber Foundation, yes?” Isaac asked.
“That's the one,” Joseph said. Left to the right, pull the left leg to the right. He was good at this part, at least.
“Must be a life of adventure,” Isaac said.
“It can be,” Joseph said, “Going to be honest, it's mostly just day drinking for a few weeks and then a couple days of almost dying.”
“Ah, the life!” Isaac chuckled.
“And you're... Isaac Rithmound.”
“Yes, first son of House Rithmound,” the hobgoblin preened.
The wheel that was Joseph's brain turned. House Rithmound. He had needed to do a bit of research for this, hadn't he? What had Rosemary told him?
“Rivals to the Doge?” he said, but felt stupid as Isaac gave him a soft, pitying smile, as though he were watching a dog run into a wall.
“That's a good way to put it,” he said, “'Rivals' is certainly a nicer word than what some of our comrades across the table have called us.”
“All is fair in love and war,” Joseph said.
“Ah, that much is true,” Isaac guided them through another grand, swaying arc across the ballroom floor, “There are those who always fear change, and the agents who bring it.”
“What would your House do, if your old man was the Doge?” Joseph asked.
Isaac's smile lessened a bit. He suddenly seemed tired.
“I'm sorry, Joseph. You seem rather interested in all this, but all I wanted was a nice, quiet night of dancing until my ankles break.”
“Sorry,” Joseph said, “Just trying to make conversation.”
“Nothing to apologize for,” Isaac said, “I talk shop more often than I wish.”
Great, Joseph thought, This is where he asks me all about the guild.
“What do you like to do for fun?” Isaac asked.
Joseph nearly tripped.
“Uh,” he said, “R-reading?”
“For the guild?”
“Exercising,” Joseph continued, “Hanging with my friends?”
God, he was boring.
Indeed, Isaac seemed to agree, for the song was drawing to a close and one of his servants – a pudgy little goblin - was walking over to him.
“Milord,” the servant said, “She's ready.”
Isaac's eyes flashed for a moment in that same, tired look he had given Joseph a moment before.
“Right, then,” he said, “Let's get this over with. Excuse me, Joseph. Thank you for the dance.”
“No problem,” Joseph said.
Isaac began weaving his way across the dance floor, servant bobbing beside him. He was making his way to one of the side doors that led into the myriad halls of the mansion. Looking for a moment at the crowd and the gala, not realizing Joseph was still watching, he and the servant opened the door and went inside.
Joseph's eyes narrowed.
They didn't... live here, right?
***
“Lord Rithmound,” Sunala gave a bow, gesturing for Rosemary to do the same.
She did, and as she looked up she could behold the political enemy that Doge Busciver was so afraid of. Lord Bryce Rithmound was a hobgoblin, orange-skinned, with a whispering salt and pepper mustache that, despite its frailty, was expertly groomed. In opposition to the colors and styles from across Londoa, the sashes and dresses and tuxedos, Lord Rithmound was in military dress, a fine blue silken shirt covered by silver armor, upon which was painstakingly etched the Lion of Rithmound. He gave a bow in return, though as he stared at Sunala, Rosemary felt a shiver crawl up her spine.
His eyes were dead and empty, beetle-black and devoid of... everything.
“Lady Sunala,” Rithmound said, “A pleasure to see you on this night of nights.”
“The pleasure is mine, Milord,” Sunala said, “May I introduce one of my two guests for the night, Ms. Rosemary.”
“Milord,” Rosemary said.
Rithmound nodded.
“And the other?”
“That would be Mr. Zheng,” Sunala nodded to the dance floor, “The one in the nice yellow.”
“The one who looks like a lost quail,” Rithmound said.
“...Yep, that's Joseph,” Rosemary admitted. Joseph had lost all of his dance partners, and was now walking across the ballroom floor, getting in the way of the other dancers and generally making a mess of himself.
“Seems to be... a fellow,” Rithmound said.
“Indeed,” Sunala said, “And you are having a good time, Milord?”
“It is a gala,” Rithmound said, “I am searching for my son. He has a few social calls to make, and I'm hoping he's not wasting his time with the Doge's niece.”
“Lady Busciver is down there,” Rosemary said, pointing.
Rithmound turned, then nodded at the sight below.
“Good,” he said, “Tell me, where is the Doge?”
“I just saw him...” Sunala glanced around, “No doubt looking for Lady Doria. He's been meaning to talk to her about renewing their contract...”
“Of course,” Rithmound said, “If you will excuse me.”
He slinked back into the crowd. Rosemary stared at him for a moment more, before turning her attention to Sunala.
“Nice guy,” she said.
“He bankrolls much of the militia,” Sunala said, “Many of the soldiers are hired by his house.”
“And he wants to be the Doge?” Rosemary asked.
“Everyone wants to be the Doge,” Sunala said, “Anyone in power, that is. Scuttleway is a major city on the plane. A lot of trade comes to our ports, and we export quite a bit. New ships, crystals and gemstones...
“Fresh water,” she finished with a smirk.
***
Joseph made his way over to the door Isaac Rithmound had just gone through. After a moment's hesitation, he opened it and took a peek inside. It led into a hallway, lit by orbs that glowed on torch sconces, balls of light that replaced flame. A couple of servants were smoking in the hallway, all dressed up in white and already with exhausted looks on their faces. One of them was absently eating from her tray of hors d'oeuvres.
One of them glanced up at Joseph.
“Hi,” he said.
“Can I help you, sir?” the servant asked.
“I was...” Joseph's mind raced, “Bathroom?”
“You were... bathroom,” the servant said.
“No, I was wondering where the bathroom was,” Joseph said.
“Down the hall,” the servant said, “Take a right, then a left. They're communal, so watch out.”
“Right,” Joseph said, “Err, thanks.”
“You won't tell the boss we're here?” the servant said.
“I ain't a narc,” Joseph said.
The servant nodded, “Hell yeah. Have an hors d'oeuvre.”
Joseph took it, tossing it into his mouth as he walked. It was good, at least – Doge Busciver hadn't skimped on the food. He went down the hall, making note to keep quiet as he went, hunkering down and taking his steps slowly. He could hear footsteps going down the hallway to the left. Multiple people, or a giant spider. One couldn't be too sure out in the multiverse.
He followed the sound, cutting to the left hallway. He was just turning another corner when he saw Isaac Rithmound and his servant. They were in front of a door, one which was evidently locked, as Isaac was fumbling with a key in his pocket.
“Almost fell out when I was giving the flower to Buscie,” he noted.
“That'd be awkward,” the servant said.
“Yeah, it would be,” he smiled for a moment, lost in a memory of some kind, “Worth it, though. Here we are.”
He clicked the key into the lock, turning it, giving a glance to the left and the to the right.
“Come on,” he said, “Lady Doria's waiting.”
The servant gave a grim nod.
“Do or die,” he said.
“Don't be like that,” Isaac said, “I'm already nervous.”
He gave one more glance at the hallway, almost catching Joseph, who leaned back out of sight, before he gestured the servant inside, following him in and closing the door.
The door closed with a distinct click.
And Joseph felt a strong, gnarled hand rest on his shoulder. He turned his head.
“Amber Foundation,” Ket said, “Shouldn't you be dancing?”