Zach was beginning to get tired of the twinkling lights, white fabric, and idiotic bloody nobles. It had been at least half an hour since he’d last talked to Winifred and there was still no sign of the Count. His back and face were aching from carting around tray after tray and smiling through insults and complaints. Frankly, Zach had always known he wasn’t cut out for the manual labor his kind seemed to prefer and this evening was doing more than a good job of confirming it.
He’d kept his good eye on Winifred as she’d finally started to act like one of the crowd at last. It was weird seeing the change from pit-fighter to society lady. She drifted through the crowds like a natural, stopping for a conversation here and there, all charm and politeness. She affected the delicate and dainty mannerisms expected of her, fiddling with loops of hair as she chatted, painted fingernails gleaming under the lights. She moved with grace as she mingled with the guests. If he wasn’t so pissed off, Zach might have actually found the change impressive.
He could tell that she was slowly working her way towards him. He was standing at the doors that led to the kitchen, waiting for the chef to finish his latest batch of hors d’oeuvres, some sauteed Nagorac pate on Crocotta Toast that all the toffs were going nuts over. Frankly, it tasted like shit on bread but they seemed to love it.
“You’re doing a better job,” Zach said when she approached him. “I guess your upbringing is all coming back to ya? Before you know it you’ll be just like these fops,” He mocked, keeping his social smile firmly in place.
“Oh aye, I love it,” Winifred replied sarcastically. “I’ve been called darling, princess, and sweetheart in the past half hour. It’s every little girl’s dream,” She spat sarcastically. “What I wouldn’t give to kick their teeth in.”
“So I was thinking, how come none of these toffs seem to recognize you? Didn’t you say you used to come here when you were younger?”
“Aye, once or twice. As soon as I worked out a good place to hide out with one of my adventure books, I’d disappear and my parents stopped dragging me along,” Winifred answered, a small frown flittering across her face at the memory.
“And I’m assuming you’ll know some people here right?” Zach asked, nodding as though he was being asked a question. “Why yes Milady, we expect fresh provisions to be ready shortly!” He raised his voice when a portly couple passed them and tried to ignore their shocked gasps when they saw his face.
“Aye,” Winifred replied. “It’s a full house from what I’ve seen tonight,” She looked around the ballroom and nodded toward the champagne fountain that was steadily trickling away in the corner. A group of three men was standing around it, quaffing the beverage from the expensive wine glasses and patting each other on the back. “The guy in the red sash? He’s one of the dignitaries from the Chersetra Empire. Rumour has it that he’s a little too fond of some of his housemaids,” She continued, glaring at the man in disgust. She nodded again, this time in the direction of a man who was currently barking orders at the pianist, he was as squat and wide as a barrel. “That’s Lord Ashkan. He’s in charge of keeping the Merchant’s Guild in line. He’s probably one of the richer-”
Winifred stopped her explanation as an awed hush fell over the nearby crowd. Heads turned towards the ballroom entrance as several men dressed in military-like uniforms were marching into the room with precision and perfect synchronicity.
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Clearing his throat loudly, the Master of Ceremonies puffed himself up before bellowing out an introduction that seemed to reverberate throughout the entire room.
“My Lords, Ladies, and Gentleman! It is my pleasure to introduce Sir Romulus of House Killian!”
“Romulus Killian?” Zach said incredulously. It was finally a name that he was familiar with. Killian was the leader of the People’s Militia and one of the richest men in the city. He’d worked his way to the top by being vicious and brutal, not to mention duplicitously prone to backstabbing anyone who got in his way. Sykes had been his supplier, back when the slippery bastard was still in the lands of the living.
“Aye, didn’t ye know he’s mixing with the rich now?” Winifred replied in disgust as they watched the man strut across the ballroom as if he owned it. The rather large man was practically covered in the usual trappings of the wealthy. His fat sausage-like fingers were covered in numerous gaudy rings. Three heavy necklaces were draped across his chest and his robes were made from the finest silk that money could buy.
These fancy accouterments did nothing to hide his squat, ugly face and pig-like nose with its greasy mustache, however. Not that it put off any of the women in the room. They were practically swooning at the guy’s feet. It was clear that as wealthy as most of the assorted nobles were, Killian was a step above.
To Zacharias however, it was nearly comical. At the end of the day, so long as there was someone out there with more gold than you, could you really call yourself rich?
It was obvious that since he’d made his wealth, he’d given up working the nitty-gritty.
“Still, he’s nae a man ye’d want to cross,” Winifred continued. “I’m sure ye’ve heard about his underworld connections.”
“Whatever,” Zach said with an easy shrug. “Pretty sure I could trip the guy and he’d roll away,” He chuckled. Killian was nothing like the man he’d once met at Skyes’ hideout. That man had been heavy set but with a layer of muscle beneath the blubber. Someone you genuinely wouldn’t want to tangle with. Not this joke of a fat man strutting by them. Clearly, the guy had been sitting back on his laurels and quaffing too many glasses of fancy wine now he had others to do his dirty work for him.
Zach was just about to go into detail about how little he cared about some big shot when Winifred let out a soft gasp. “You can fuck off now,” Winifred said, smiling sweetly. Zach frowned until he realized who she was smiling at, as Zach noticed a much older and more dignified-looking nobleman heading their way.
“Good evening Count Kalisz,” Winifred simpered, bobbing him a little curtsy. It was almost impressive, the way she appeared to change everything about herself. She’d gone from foul-mouthed pit fighter to classy society lady in seconds. He supposed old habits really didn’t die hard.
“Good evening, my dear,” The Count replied, not taking his eyes off Zach. It was a little odd, but Zach had stared down weirder threats, so he locked eyes with the man silently daring him to comment on his face.
Instead, the Count turned his attention back to Winifred. She extended her hand to him and he gave it a quick kiss. Not for the first time that evening, Zach found himself thinking about how weird the rules of high society were. If he did that to any woman he met in the tavern, all he’d get for his pains would be a slap around the chops and a mouthful of abuse. And he would know. He’d tried it before.
“I do hope that you don’t find my attention too forward,” The Count continued smoothly. “I was rather taken by you when I saw you across the ballroom and I thought to myself, there’s a young lady who knows how to have a good time,” He smiled superciliously.
If Winifred was taken aback by this statement, she hid it well. She simpered convincingly as Zach stifled a grin.
“Allow me to get us some of that delightful champagne,” The older gentleman nodded towards the champagne fountain and, giving a slight bow, he walked off in its direction.
“Well look at that,” Zach said, nodding in the Count’s direction. “He’s the first bloke today that’s realized he’s got two hands of his own, almost makes me like him,” he glanced back at Winifred and smirked up at her.
“He totally thinks you’re a whore though.”