Early spring on Aquila was an uncertain time of year, weather-wise. This year's had been especially cold and wet, which might be a contributory factor to the influenza epidemic that had laid low so many of the city's inhabitants. The Thursday of the Bahlmis salon dawned clear, but by afternoon clouds were scudding across the sky before a strong wind, making gleams of sunlight alternate with intervals of shadow.

Even with the sun obscured, the carefully tended flowerbeds lining the carriageway in front of Bahlmis House shone bright with crocuses and hyacinth, purple, pink, and white, with borders of daffodil and narcissus swaying in the wind. The rhododendrons, still budding and not yet bloomed, formed a dark background for the extravagant yellow explosions of forsythia.

A light curricle drawn by a perfectly matched pair of chestnuts entered the carriageway at a swift trot, the driver skilfully reining in his horses just in front of the entrance. A Bahlmis groom, stationed there to see to the carriages of the guests, came to the horses' heads, while another groom sprang down from the rear of the curricle to assist the driver to alight.

Lord Giulian Anderon descended from his curricle and, after giving his team a few words of praise and a lump of sugar apiece, sent them off in the care of both grooms while he made his slow way up the front steps. Petrie, the elderly Bahlmis butler, was waiting to open the door for him, knowing better than to offer the young man any additional assistance.

"Good afternoon, Petrie," Giulian greeted him. "Is anyone else here yet?"

"I believe you are the first, Lord Giulian," Petrie answered as he made his stately way down the hall to the spacious BlueDrawing Room, with Giulian in his wake, "though as I was called away for a few minutes just now to see to a minor emergency, I cannot be absolutely certain." He opened the drawing room door and intoned, "Lord Giulian Anderon, my lady."

"Giulian, how good to see you!" Lady Bahlmis exclaimed, coming forward to greet her former pupil with a handclasp and a kiss on the cheek. "And how is Bea? Better, I hope?"

"She's somewhat better, yes," Giulian answered, "but she still doesn't feel up to much. Jack is with her, though, and that's improved her spirits considerably. Father should be arriving a little later, once he's sure she's settled."

The Blue Drawing Room was furnished with a simple, if rather faded, elegance characteristic of most of the House, in tones of blue and cream with occasional touches of dark red. Couches and armchairs were arranged in an informal oval, interspersed with small tables for refreshments.

"This influenza!" Rosalor shook her head. "We can't expect either Lucas or Olivia this afternoon; they're far too busy at the hospital. And the news is that poor old Lord Acciaio is sinking fast, so of course none of his family will be here."

Rosalor crossed herself, a habitual, almost unconscious gesture of respect toward the dying.

"Lady Tremontaine has it too," Giulian commented, sitting down in one of the more comfortable armchairs and leaning his crutches carefully against it -- where they would be in easy reach but hopefully would not trip anyone. "She and Mother have been trading remedies back and forth. Well, hello, Mercurio, my friend!"

A cat-sized, lemur-like creature with red-brown fur, a long, silky, cream-colored mane and large, sky-blue eyes had jumped down from its perch and scampered over to Giulian. It sat up and rested its handlike forepaws on his knee; Giulian scratched it behind the ears, evoking a happy trill. "I don't suppose =you= have any opinions on advanced technology, do you, old fellow?" Giulian asked it teasingly.

"Until someone works out a way to translate Shanalythe, we may never know," Rosalor responded dryly.

"I'm sure it would make an interesting project for a biology doctorate," said a voice from the doorway.

A tall, upright man now entered, seemingly in early middle age. His dark curls were touched with grey around the temples, and when he smiled - something he did easily - small wrinkles appeared around his eyes and lips. But Lord Talaren Bahlmis was still an energetic and attractive man, especially when dressed, as he was now, in House livery. The blue was subdued, almost a grey, and the red muted to a trim on the jacket - Bahlmis was one of the Houses that had to strive not to appear gaudy when dressed in House colours.

Talaren smiled now at Giulian, then took a small nut from his jacket pocket and offered it to Mercurio, who accepted it with great dignity.

"I trust you've warned the students to keep Mercurio away from anything with cream as a constituent?" he said to his aunt. "One cannot help but remember that unfortunate episode two summers ago, when the topic was the works of Hayden. I'd never suspected Mercurio of possessing such - ah - violent views on the later symphonies. And all over the new hearth rug."

"Petrie now makes a point of so instructing the students," Rosalor assured him. "I doubt any of the guests who were present that afternoon are likely to forget it. Poor Mercurio -- =he's= got no way of knowing he's become lactose-intolerant in his old age."

Talaren glanced down to the other end of the room where the students were stationed, hovering around the long tables spread with white cloths.

"I don't seem to recognise any of this bunch," he said to his aunt. "Are they all new? Lord Giulian - do you know any of them?"

Giulian glanced in the direction of the students. It always created a touch of cognitive dissonance to find classmates of his acting as temporary waiters for Lady Bahlmis' salons. Aquilan upper-crust etiquette enshrined the principle that good servants were all but invisible, and that therefore to pay undue attention to the staff (apart from the occasional word of direction or thanks) was to imply that they were not doing their jobs well. On the other hand, it didn't seem right to ignore friends and acquaintances simply because they happened to be wearing an apron today. He had eventually settled on a policy of returning greetings but not initiating them.

Now, however, his eyes widened slightly as he spotted a certain young woman with short dark hair, and one corner of his mouth twitched with amusement. "My, my," he said in a low voice. "Tell me, Rosalor, did you by any chance hand-pick your staff today to go along with the subject under discussion?"

"Not to my knowledge," said Rosalor, looking rather startled. "Why?"

"Oh, it's only that Miss Starr is known to have quite -strong- opinions on the use of technology," Giulian said.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the two new arrivals joined the salon, the girl with long dark hair tugged her white apron back into place, and for the fifth time made some adjustment to the plate of canapés she would shortly be offering around.

"Do you think we should go and serve them now?" she asked her companions quietly. "Or should we wait till some more people arrive?" She smiled at them both ruefully. "I've not done anything like this before, you see.

"Neither have I..." The girl next to her muttered a curse under her breath as she tugged and pulled at her top. The sleeves were too short, and the buttons choked at her throat. Her hair, dark, was cut almost scandalously short, the wisps tickling her jaw line. "And I can't say the examples I've seen were doing a =salon= or anything fancy. Just slopping plates on tables and glaring at the lot of us." She looked over at Devon and winked, then started working on her
apron.

The young man looked equally as uncomfortable in his uniform, the shirt too large, the belt pulled tight around a narrow waist. He fixed his collar, and brushed long bangs back from his face with a scowl. At Jo's wink he almost laughed. "I'd like to think I can do a better job than that. My goal is to get through the night without dumping a drink down someone's front." His tone is dry and self-deprecating.

"Oh - I'm Sasha, by the way," said the first girl. "Sasha Matisse. I'm reading Aquilan Culture, and Development Studies."

"Jovanna Starr. Call me Jo." She looked up from a neat square knot. "And I'm reading Economics. For now. At least until Professor Duchat manages to sink me."

" Devon Byeroth. Likewise Economics. Assuming I get through this year and manage to stay on," Devon muttered that last.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just then the Tremontaine party arrived. Lucien, Lord Tremontaine, immediately went to Lady Bahlmis. He was dressed in rich chocolate brown with darker chocolate trim. Twenty-five years had marked him slightly - his hair and beard were lightly touched with grey and there were a few lines around his eyes, but those dark, deepset eyes were as focused as ever, and his body remained that of the expert swordsman and rider he was. "Lady Bahlmis, it is always a pleasure." Indeed, apart from her neice Olivia, Rosalor Bahlmis was the only Bahlmis for whom he had any real respect and regard.

"It is good to see you, too, Lord Tremontaine," said Rosalor, who had risen to greet the new arrivals.

True to her word, the moment her formal mourning period had ended twenty-five years ago, Rosalor had put away every black gown she owned. Today she wore a soft periwinkle blue, trimmed with embroidered bands of deep red and cream. During the time she had served as Head of House, the white in her hair had made steady advances against the auburn, and her face had gained a few more lines, but her grey eyes were still keen and her carriage erect.

"And your younger household members as well," she added.

"I am afraid my wife has a touch of the new influenza. She had to remain at home, and we will not stay as long as we otherwise might have done."

"Yes, Giulian told us that she was ill," said Rosalor. "His mother is down with it too, unfortunately, so she won't be joining us this afternoon. Lord Anderon is expected, however."

While Lucien was speaking to Lady Bahlmis, Renata looked around. She was wearing a moss green dress, woolen, and normally packed away by now. This weather was mad... Her dark auburn hair was caught back in an ornate clip, but kept threatening to tumble free of it. "Where are the Acciaios?" she asked. She had hoped to spend some time talking with both Iolanthe and Nellie. She saw Giulian Anderon and smiled at him. She'd known Jules since she was a child, what with her father being a counsellor to his, and it was like having another older brother.

Giulian smiled back and gave her a little wave.

Speaking of which, she could tell that neither Harry nor Alex were likely to be of any help to her tonight. They would probably get involved in the whole intellectual debate and leave her to her own devices. Which, she had every reason to think, were never quite adequate in a setting like this.

Old Ruth had gone downstairs to be with the servants, which was fine with Renata; she didn't know why they brought her in the first place, or why her family valued the old drab so much. She was rough and uncouth, and never very helpful to Renata. In fact, she only seemed to care about Harry and, to a lesser degree, their mother.

Harry Decuma Maun arrived with the Tremontaines. Whether his choice of a white shirt, over which he wore a cream coloured vest trimmed in blue, and blue pants trimmed with white was a reflection of the House colours of that House, there was no sign either way.

Still, standing at an even six feet tall, his dark haired head bobbed about as he looked about the proceedings. He gave a smile to the already occupied Guilian as soon as he saw him. Still, patiently, he began to move into the room and looked for a target for conversation.

"I'm afraid the Acciaios won't be here this afternoon," Rosalor answered Renata's question, her expression turning serious. "Lord Acciaio is gravely ill, and is not expected to live."

"That is terrible news," Lucien said. " Aquila without the Dragon... it is almost unthinkable."

Renata frowned sympathetically. "I know Aunt Iolanthe is very fond of him. And so is Au - Lady Nellinora." She sat down on one of the less overstuffed chairs.

"The fact that both of them have been able to give him grandchildren may soften the blow somewhat," said Rosalor. "Though one has to wonder how ready Lord Nicola is to assume the
Dragon's mantle."

"Marriage has had a sobering effect on him, though," said Talaren. "To say nothing of three children. It never ceases to amaze how radiant Iolanthe still manages to look ...

"I suppose you sent as message saying all that was proper, Aunt ... or shall I ride over later and offer any assistance we can give?"

"I did send a note, but that shouldn't prevent you from paying a call in person," Rosalor answered.

Lucien smiled slightly to himself, remembering Iolanthe's pronounced interest in Talaren Bahlmis many years ago. The off-worlder had not accepted Iolanthe's veiled invitations to pursue, but clearly his cousin had left some small visual impact on the man.

"She has done a great deal to help Nicola... prepare," he said. "And indeed fatherhood can give a man pause - and new inspiration." He smiled at the thought of his own children and how they were enriching his life. "And, as Renata has said, she is devoted to Arturo. Life at Palazzo Acciaio has suited her better than I thought it would."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alexander Tremontaine, quite as tall as his half-brother Harry and even a bit broader about the chest, entered last of the Tremontaine ménage. He had his father's dark hair and eyes, did young Alex, and the shape of the face as well; an old etching of Lucien Tremontaine hanging in Tremontaine House had more than once been mistaken for a recent picture of Alexander.

The Tremontaine heir had dressed in House colours, bright white shirt -- what they were calling a "peasant's shirt" these days, which phrase made Tremontaine servant Ruth Green laugh aloud -- over a pair of trousers in clinging, shimmering azure velvet. A trying costume for many men, but Alexander could carry it off. Many days of solitary outdoor pursuits had hardened and sculpted his body such that not even the most outré fashions could make him look other than manly.

Alexander dutifully shadowed his father while that worthy made his round of greetings. He bowed correctly over Rosalor Bahlmis's hand, murmuring a faint hello, and his expression took on all appropriate solemnity when the talk turned to ailing Lord Acciaio.

Giulian had been listening with half an ear to the talk of Lord Acciaio as well, but he lost no time in motioning Harry and Alexander over once the formalities were finished with.

Alexander laid one hand on his father's shoulder, murmuring his intended whereabouts. With a courteous nod to Lady Bahlmis, he left her with his father to join Giulian.

Giulian Anderon made Alexander uncomfortable. No fault of Giulian's, of course; Giulian was a fine man -- Giulian's mere presence confronted Alexander with physical disability, a phenomenon he shrank from. To be confined, in pain, debilitated; to have entire spheres of vital experience closed -- unfair, unthinkable, unbearable. Thoroughly ashamed of the repugnance he could not control, Alexander straitly governed his conduct in Giulian's presence, though he often thought uneasily that Giulian saw through his effort.

"Afternoon, Jules," he said, holding out his hand. "What's new with you?"

Giulian returned the handclasp. "I finally found a sitting-room carpet I can live with," he answered pleasantly. The redecoration of his apartments in the South Wing of Anderon House was an ongoing project.

Alexander Tremontaine, in turn, was a young man Giulian regarded with a faint exasperation. With all his advantages of birth, looks, education and position, he never seemed to want to do anything in particular with them, apparently content to stand in the shadow of his father, or even of Harry -- who, God knew, was not in the habit of taking centre stage himself.

"I understand your mother is down with the influenza as well," he added sympathetically.

"Yes, but she's mending, thank God. She even ordered our Ruth out of the house to come here." An unlikely but not implausible connection asserted itself in Alexander's mind. "Say, Jules -- how much work's being done on your rooms?"

Giulian waved a hand. "Oh, it goes in fits and starts, depending on when I can find something I like. And of course something like laying a new carpet will involve more work than just adding
a new chair or table or whatever."

"Oh... so you're not rebuilding it, really." Alexander realized what he would have had to say to reach the aim he had had in mind, and quailed; but he kept his embarrassment to himself. "Never mind, then."

A waitress was coming up to them; Alexander turned toward her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After showing in the Tremontaine household, Petrie the butler moved over to the group of waiters and informed them, "You may begin serving refreshments to the guests now."

Jovanna was outside of hearing when Giulian mentioned her name to Rosalor, but she looked away from the other waiters suddenly, as if a consensus had been reached among them. She took up a tray of canapes, balancing it on one upturned hand with a cat's grace. She came to Harry and Guilian, a smile that nearly suceeded at being bland on her lips.

"Something to eat, sirs?"

"Thank you," Giulian responded in a tone that entirely succeeded at being bland, while taking a morsel from the tray. His dark eyes, however, always expressive, held a lurking amusement as they glanced from the young woman's face to those of his companions. He wondered if either of them recognized the notorious campus firebrand Jovanna Starr in the demure salon waiter.

Harry smiled as the waiter with the canapes approached.

"Thank you" he replied, taking something that looked like a compound of tomato and crumbled beef. He regarded it on its miniature skewer before devouring it. "My compliments to Bahlmis for their cuisine, as usual." Harold said with a smile.

If he recognized Jovanna, he did not show any immediate sign of doing so.

Jovanna blinked, and she spared a glance at the looming presence of the crochety butler. Then she looked back at Harry. "I'll make sure they know that, sir."

If her 'sirs' were a bit hard on her tongue, it was hard to tell.

Alexander selected a dainty empanada, thanking the waitress with reflexive politeness. He did not recognize her; he did not know her. She was just a girl doing a job, another person to be dealt with as correctness dictated.

She studied the three of them, more than likely doing some placement of her own. "Is there anything else sirs would like?"

"'My lords,'" Giulian corrected demurely and entirely wickedly, before going on to say, "Not for me, thank you."

Jovanna, just as demure and wicked, gave him a small smile. "Why, I wasn't aware you were a lord yet..."

"It depends on your definition," Giulian said, reflecting her mischievous smile in his eyes.
 
Alexander shook his head silently, wishing Giulian had just let it go.

"Not at this..." Harry turned to look at Giulian before returning to Jovanna. "juncture. Thank you."

"You must surely find this an educational experience." he ventured, still regarding the waiter. "Quite of a different sort from University classes."

Jovanna frowned, and made a small point of looking around the room. "Well... Everyone is well-dressed and recently bathed... Making small talk about everything short of the weather... and, oh yes... They're eating. About as far from campus life as you can get." She allowed a small laugh to get out before resuming her playing at being a good little server. "I'm sure it will be an education."

"Oh, the salon proper hasn't started yet," Giulian pointed out. "This is just the prologomena."

Now that he understood how the waitress and Giulian knew each other, Alexander rather envied the Anderon scion's indifference to social awkwardness. It would be a long afternoon, very long... Something of Alexander's discontent showed in the furrow between his eyebrows and the very slight droop of his shoulders. He said nothing.

"A prelude to the fugue?" Harry asks Guilian. "And we but poor notes arranging ourselves in the instruments, ready to be harmonized...or thrown into discord, together. But let us all muddle through the music as best we can."

He put a hand on Alexander's shoulder in fraternity.

Alexander straightened up at once, thinking Harry's move a mild rebuke.

Giulian chuckled. "A fugue indeed! And we're likely to get some good, lively counterpoint with today's topic."

"Oh, I can imagine we will..." Jovanna left the balancing of the tray to one hand while she pushed back her hair with the other. "Especially with all these furtive glances and elbow jamming. The Lady certainly picks her staff with care." Something glinted in her eye, something dark, lacking the young woman's usual humour. It was gone quickly, though.

"Lady Bahlmis," Giulian said thoughtfully, "is always open to hearing anyone's views ... if cogently presented."

"It's always like this," Alexander remarked, his expression still rather dour. "In a way, you have the easy job. I'm sorry, miss -- obviously you're a student, but I don't remember meeting you. What's your name?"

"Indeed, then you yourself were chosen with care." Harry remarked diplomatically, letting go of Alexander. He then he grew silent, awaiting her response as to the revelation of her identity. His head turned to regard and watch her for her response.

"Jovanna Starr." She offered her hand, the tray remaining aloft in her other hand. "Call me Jo. I'm studying at the Uni. Well, among other things."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At Petrie's instructions, Devon lifted the tray of drinks, pausing when the goblets wobbled faintly. He moved with careful purpose out into the salon, the tray anchored upon his shoulder.

He made his way to where Renata sat speaking quietly with Rosalor, and Alexander stood nearby. Upon arrival he lowered his tray, offering it with what might almost be a bow, his long bangs sliding forward to hide whatever expression his eyes might hold. "Would you care for a drink?" His tenor is carefully pleasant.

"Do you have any artesian - ?" Renata hadn't been looking at the waiter, but suddenly she recognized him. "You," she said quietly, but with irritation. With a quick glance at his tray she took a glass of clear liquid.

Devon 's smile slipped at her look of irritation. He readjusts the tray, managing not to let it slip as she takes her glass. "Yes. Me," he commented. His voice dropped low for her ears, the dry tone remaining. "If there's anything else you require, just let me know. I am, after all, here to serve. Think of me as a piece of furniture... a buffet table with legs."

Renata bit her lip slightly. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "You just ... startled me."

There was a flicker of surprise in his brown eyes at her apology. "And I am sorry for that... I was told I should be invisible. I'll need to practice more." The dry tone remained, but there was humour lurking in his gaze. "Will that suit," he nodded at the drink, "or would you prefer something else?" The question was offered in all seriousness.

"No... I mean, this is fine, thank you." She sipped at the clear liquid which was, as she had thought, artesian water. While her father had enjoyed teaching her about wine, and she had developed what he called quite a good palate, she rarely drank wine at this sort of event.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Following Devon 's example, Sasha lifted the tray of careful arranged canapes and followed him but - seeing Jo had the attention of the three younger men - moved instead to where Lady Bahlmis was standing with Lord Talaren and Lord Tremonatine. She lifted the tray for their perusal and, suddenly too shy to speak, offered instead a slightly nervous smile.

Talaren took a small roundel of bread, salmon and sour cream and then, as Sasha turned to serve Lucien, mouthed to Roslar ~The revolutionary?~

Rosalor, who had just turned back from taking a drink from Devon 's tray with a word of thanks, caught Talaren's query. However, after a brief moment of thought, which brought the faintest of frowns to her angular face, shook her head slightly. No, Giulian had said "Miss Starr," and that was the other young woman. She tilted her head toward where Jovanna was busy serving Harry, Giulian, and Alexander.

Talaren followed her gaze and gave a brief nod. Something in Jovanna's stance as she confronted the young men seemed to amuse him.

"Thank you," Lucien said, taking a small savory and biting it with satisfaction. "Lady Bahlmis, if I ever have the opportunity to steal your cook, I may forget to be a gentleman. The food here is so good I wonder at Lord Lagoran's reputation in the field..."

Talaren, his attention caught, turned back.

"Have you ever dined with Lagoran?" he asked. "I've not had the privilege myself - but then I've been off-world quite a bit. I understand his step son is expected shortly - or already arrived. Has anyone seen him yet?"

"I have never had the firsthand experience of Lagoran's table," Lucien admitted. "We are not... intimates. As for the other Decuma, no I haven't seen him yet. I'm rather hoping to..." He wondered what would happen, if anything, when the half-brothers came face to face.

"I'm intrigued the Lagorans let him have an offworld education," said Talaren thoughtfully. "I'd've thought they would keep him here, under people's noses. Still, I daresay Lady Lagoran is prominent enough to keep the whole issue in people's minds. Every time I open an Aquilan broadsheet - and I don't just mean Aquila Awake! - there's an etching of her opening this hospital ward, cuddling that sick child or taking nourishing soup to some other poor old grandmother. And still very easy on the eyes too ... "

He gave an unrepentant grin at his Aunt.

Lucien smiled enigmatically. She could have been mine, he told himself, still certain he could have successfully wooed Nira Anderon. Ah, roads not taken... He had abandoned his pursuit - a pursuit barely started, yet he had felt he was gaining her favour - when Delan Anderon had delivered his startling warning. I'd have been a fool not to listen to him... and then there was Anna, re-emerging amidst the chaos, as Anna had been wont to do.

He shook his head slightly. Regret was for men whose lives were far less comfortable than his. He had a good wife in Lilly, and she'd given him two remarkable children - no, three, for he could not help but love Harry as if he was his own. There was an irony for you - had he captured Nira for himself, he'd have raised 'the other Decuma' and instead he had been stepfather to Atropos Maun's child by his second wife - or concubine, if you believed some of Nira's more radical admirers. Another little smile. If there was a woman less like a concubine in all Aquila than his Lilly... hm, maybe Bella Rostay. He chuckled to himself. They called Nira "the good duchess". What did that make Lilly? The bad one? The mob was a strange thing...

He took another canape from a passing tray, and a glass of wine. "Does anyone have a 'reading' on this Papal Legate? How much trouble can he cause?"

"It depends," said Talaren, "on how much we let him.

"He's here to investigate the legitimacy of the Duke's second marriage - yes? Say - worst case possibility for you, Tremontaine, and the Legate finds the marriage to Lady Lagoran valid and the marriage to Lady Tremontaine invalid. That would effectively make Harry illegitimate, yes?

"But it doesn't necessarily mean he shouldn't be Duke. Not if he has the support of the people of the nobility."

"Or he might decide that neither marriage was valid," Rosalor pointed out, always one to test all hypotheses, "since Atropos' marriage to Nira Anderon was not sanctioned by her parents. Or that both marriages were valid and both young men legitimate. The case of which would make the best Duke would still then have to be settled on its own merits."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Talaren turned at the sound of Petrie's voice.

"Ahhh ... Oswestry."

Roderigo, Lord Oswestry, entered - and surveyed the assembled company with something of a jaundiced eye. Then he advanced to where Rosalor stood with Lucien and Talaren.

"Hello," he said. "Looks like rain. Again. Still, the pigs will be happy."

The prospect did not seem to remove his own settled gloom.

"Lord Oswestry. We are so glad you could attend," Rosalor greeted him, with more politeness than enthusiasm. She often found Roderigo Oswestry amusing, but mostly at other people's social affairs. "I thought -- that is, I had heard you were out of town."

"Doubt you'll see Bella this afternoon," he added. "Not with the Dragon about to drop off his perch. Or whatever dragons have. They'll all be in a frenzy with obituary editions at the paper. And if I know Bel, she'll be doing her damnedest to get into the palazzo and get the inside gen."

He spotted the trays of canapés and a faint hope illuminated his face, like a weak and watery shaft of sunlight on a bleak winter's day.

"Are there any squelch eels?"

"I think," said Talaren blandly, "you might just have missed them."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sasha, seeing that all this group appeared well supplied with canapés, moved on to where Devon was taking rather a long time (in Sasha's opinion) to offer a drink to a rather pretty girl.

"Would you like something to eat?" she asked.

As she did so, Petrie announced sonorously from the doorway: "Lord Oswestry!"

Renata took a puff pastry with salmon creme filling and looked at the server. She thought she knew her from one of her classes but she wasn't sure. The other girl who was serving, she was pretty sure she'd seen her around the campus.. "Thank you," she said. She glanced at her father, who was deep in conversation with Lady Bahlmis and her nephew. Alex and Harry were talking with Giulian. This whole evening was going to be a crashing bore....

"The ham and pickle are rather yummy," said Sasha. "We sampled some in the kitchen - don't tell anyone."

As she was speaking, Rogerigo came over and subjected the platter she was carrying to a baleful stare.

"Got any squelch eels?" he asked, in a voice devoid of hope.

"I don't ... think so," responded Sasha cautiously. "What are they like?"

"Oh never mind," said Rogerigo, seemingly giving up the squelch eels as a lost cause, and staring dolefully at Renata instead.

"Hello, Lady Renata. How's your Mother?"

"She has a touch of the flu, Lord Oswestry, thank you for asking." He was a harmless creep, rather a squelched eel himself. She'd heard the stories about how he'd tried to court Aunt Iolanthe. "Did I hear you say Lady Bella is trying to get into the Palazzo?"

"Bound to be," said Roderigo. "The Dragon about to stick his spoon in the wall - bound to be the biggest story of the week, and Bella will be after it like a pig after truffles. Unless young Decuma's back. Supposed to be, y'know. You heard anything of that?"

"I heard he might be here tonight, but I haven't seen him or heard anything more," Renata said. She was curious about 'the other Decuma', who she hadn't seen since she was a little girl. He was practically an off-worlder, and Harry's nearly-twin half-brother at that. Plus, the way her father looked whenever anyone even mentioned Lord Lagoran, who had raised Decuma, just as he'd raised Harry, was plenty of reason to be curious.

Roderigo gave a sound rather like a snort.

"Daresay he'll be back now there's all this talk of a Papal Legate coming to decide the case," he agreed morosely. "How's your brother taking the news? The Duke, I mean. Daresay your other brother ain't that worried. He was born the right side of the sheets at all events, eh?"

Sasha, seizing her opportunity, moved away towards where some of the faculty from the Women's College were discussing a volume of illuminations that Rosalor had set out on display on a table. These familiar professors, Sashja thought, would be less intimidating than the nobility.

Although, if Jo remained deep in conversation with the young men, it looked as though Sasha was going to be circulating with canapés all by herself ...

As Sasha moved away, Mercurio, who had been dislodged from Lady Bahlmis' lap when she rose to greet Roderigo, scampered over to Renata and sat up to lay his front paws on her knee. He gazed up at the pastry in her hand with imploring sky-blue eyes and trilled loudly.

"Oh, aren't you sweet..." Renata knelt down and fed a bit of her ham and pickle canape to the creature.

The shanalythe sniffed at the treat, its nose wrinkling at the smell of vinegar from the pickle, but it daintily nipped up the roll of ham. It trilled more softly at Renata as if to say thank you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Devon glanced over at Sasha's arrival and moved back, away from Renata. He nodded politely and carefully rebalanced his tray once more. If he could make it over to the other small knot of students, without dropping it, he'd be doing fine.

Turning slightly, he made his way to where Jovanna spoke with the others. He lowered the tray before the collected young man and asked in polite tenor, "Would you like something to drink?"

Harry paused from responding to Jovanna to turn to Devon .

"Something light." Harry said, looking over the glasses. He selected one and gave a nod to him. "Thank you." he said.

Devon nodded politely.

Harold then returned to regard the university student.

"I'm Harold." he smiled. "Harry. But you likely knew that." he said confidently.
 
Giulian also took a drink from the tray, almost without looking, and accorded Devon an absent word of thanks, meanwhile watching the byplay between Harry and Jovanna with interest.

And another polite, silent nod. Invisible.

Behind the three men, Devon raised one eyebrow where Jovanna could surely see him. A half-smirk sat upon his lips and his eyes drifted to Harry and Giulian to indicate that his humour was caused by the men, not by her cause.

"Doing other things? Like what sort of things?" Harry said, as if to draw out her conversation like an Ariadne's thread.
 
"Like the STA," she replied easily, "Students for Technology and Aquila . You've heard of it?"

Alexander had, to judge from the way his attention suddenly fixed on Jovanna. He wondered whether Lady Bahlmis's salon had chosen Jovanna, or the other way around. How many of the others...?

So engaged, he took a glass of Tremontaine white from Devon without even seeing him until he turned his head to offer the same polite thanks he had given Jovanna. "Oh! It's you, Byeroth. I left the booklist at your library carrel a couple of days ago. Did you get it?"
 
Devon schooled his expression swiftly, back to invisible and innocent, the tray wobbling precariously in his hand. He brought up his other hand, gripping the edge of the tray to settle it once more, pressing the edge back into his chest, and nodded curtly. "I've got it. Thanks."

"You're welcome. I hope it helps. Anything else I can do, let me know. Just think, we could *both* be home studying for our econ midterm."

And instead, Alexander thought, we're stuck here. This whole evening was going to be an epic social apocalypse...

Harold looked pensive for a few moments at Jovanna's question. "I am not that intimately tied with University life, although not hearing of the STA would be probably be quite a trick." Harry admitted. "You're *that* Jovanna." he added, smiling.

"No doubt you will have some very pointed opinions about the topics to be discussed today." he added, offering a smile.

Harold looked pensive for a few moments at Jovanna's question. "I am not that intimately tied with University life, although not hearing of the STA would be probably be quite a trick." Harry admitted. "You're *that* Jovanna." he added, smiling.

"No doubt you will have some very pointed opinions about the topics to be discussed today." he added, offering a smile.

"Well, it rather depends on the opinions that are going to be given," she replied sweetly. "And, of course, if those opinions are going to be asked for. I am, after all..." She twisted the tray on her hand just enough get it a moment of attention. "Hired help.

"You wouldn't happen to have any opinions on the matter you're going to share? After all, you know enough to know I'm *that* Jovanna Starr." She had a little colour in her cheeks, and Devon could swear that the emphasis on 'that' pleased her more than a little.

Harry chuckled. "I think that I would be tipping my hand unnecessarily to reveal my own thoughts on the matter prematurely. I have been off-world, however." He smiles. "And that has influenced my opinion on such matters."

His eyes continued to regard her, sipping the light wine.

"You've been off-world?" Her head tilted to the side, and the regarding was narrowed to just him. "To some sunny resort sipping funny looking cocktails? Or somewhere... different?"

"I've started in a study group," Devon said to Alexander. The tray under control again, he lowered it and with one hand rearranged the remaining drinks on it. "Between that and the references, I think I'll pass the semester. Tell me it gets easier once they're done convincing the first years they want a different course of study." He rolled his eyes.

"You're econ?" Jovanna's attention swivelled again. "You could join our group, you know... We have some real sharp types there. That is, if you could be seen with *That* Jovanna Starr." She half-smirked.

"I doubt he needs *our* help," Devon says drily. "The prof's held him up as the perfect example to follow in economics. Helped me get acclimated to the library."

Alexander shrugged. "It's only because I've taken classes from him three semesters in a row," he demurred. "Pumps up his enrollments. But if you get past him, Devon , nobody else is going to get in your way. It's not that kind of place. Except for him. Thinks he's God's gift to galactic macroeconomics, or something." This was a long speech for Alexander; he clammed up then, knowing beyond a doubt that he'd made an ass of himself.

Harry had not gotten a chance to immediately respond to Jovanna before the dry and dull subject of economics had been fostered upon the group. His eyes flickered back and forth between Jovanna, Alexander and Devon .

"Anyway" he interjected once Alexander had his uncharacteristically long piece of exposition. "To answer Jovanna's previous question." He looked to everyone, trying to make everyone comfortable. "My trip offworld is not something to *brag* about, but I'll certainly talk about it, if people are interested."

"It's got to beat the minutae of economics professors." he offered. "A welcome change of subject?" he ventured.

"Absolutely," Alexander said with relief. "Sorry, Harry; didn't mean to stomp on you."

Giulian's mouth twitched, just a little, at the idea of Alexander 'stomping' on anybody.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Lord Oswestry moved away to speak with Lady Renata, Petrie spoke again.

"The Lord Regent!"

There in the doorway was the tall, lean figure of the Regent, Delan, Lord Anderon. Now in the prime of his middle age, he was still the same dark, saturnine figure that he had always been. His dark hair was touched with grey at his temples, and there were more lines around his eyes, but his gaze was still as keen as ever. He glanced around the room, his keen gaze surveying those already present. A nod of his head - half recognition to his son, half a formal greeting to Harry, and then he was moving through the room to give a more formal bow to his hostess.

""Lady Bahlmis," he said, in his rich mellifluous voice. "Lord Talaren ... Lucien.

"Lord Anderon," Rosalor murmured in greeting, offering her hand.

"Well, you are promising an interesting evening, Rosalor."

"I hope so," answered Rosalor, not, however, allowing herself to glance in Miss Starr's direction, and hoping indeed that the evening would not become 'interesting' in the ancient Chinese sense. "I'm sorry to hear Bea couldn't come. This wretched influenza!"

"My Lord," Lucien said with a proper nod of his head. "It does look to be a stimulating evening. How is Lady Anderon feeling? I know the servants have been carrying remedies in both directions..."
 
"Indeed," agreed Delan. "She is over the worst, Dr Gomast assures me, and she feels well enough to be very disappointed to miss this evening's event. I have had to promise that Giulian and I will take back a very full account of the discussion.

"I hope Lady Tremontaine is similarly on the mend," he added, with punctilious politeness - the punctilious politeness, devoid of any emotion, with which he habitually referred to the erstwhile Lilly Clover. They had had long years to mask their mutual antagonism - and the bond of Lucien to aid them - but neither really regarded the other with more than civility.

And yet it was clear that Delan had genuine affection for the son of Lilly whose Regent he had become.

At this point, Harry opened his mouth to speak, but then heard the commotion and bustle of the arrival of the Regent. He turned from Alexander to face the entrance. He returned the formal greeting that Lord Anderon gave him.

Giulian also returned his father's nod, and raised a hand briefly in greeting.

Delan's thin lips curved in amused response ...

Jovanna caught his sudden silence and solemn nod, and turned herself to see what had caused it. Spying the Regent not so far away, she greacefully bent at the waist, somehow keeping the tray perfectly even and aloft.

"Lordship," she murmured, though there was a glint of humour there shooting over at the Harry. "Canape?"

Delan regarded her thoughtfully, taking in her appearance, her youth, the minute signals of her body language ... A long, cool, enigmatic look.

This interchange immediately drew Giulian's attention. His father tended to know a lot more than people expected, and he wondered...

Harry cocked his head at Jovanna's offer, furrowing his eyebrows briefly but then he gave a smile, awaiting the results of her gambit.

At least Delan spoke.

"Thank you," he said, and took a small mushroom tart. "However, perhaps you had better call me 'my Lord' rather than 'lordship'. 'Lordship' suggests a certain easy cameraderie, and I would much dislike feeling obliged to reciprocate and address you as 'wench'."

Harry stifled a chuckle at this, his eyes flickering between Delan and Jovanna.

Giulian also had his lips pressed tightly together, though his amusement showed clearly in his eyes.

Jovanna straightened, but there wasn't a hint of embarrassment in her features. Indeed, it seemed a smile was trying to work its way onto her face.

"Oh, my lord, I've been called much, much worse."

"I daresay you have," he said gently. "But not by me."

He smiled at this - and his austere face was transformed for a moment. Then, as he ate the tart, he grew grave again. "Miss Starr, isn't it? I'm not surprised in your interest at the topic under discussion this evening."

Rosalor threw Talaren an exasperated look that plainly communicated, =Does everyone know about this young woman but me?=

Talaren's broad shoulders lifted in a shrug, but he was grinning. Clearly, he was as surprised by the revelation as his aunt was.

"Is she the only revolutionary present, do you think, or do we have an entire nest of them lurking among the silver salvers? That young man with the drinks tray, for example. He has the brooding look of a young Robespierre, don't you think? Or a young Varvatin on Stellos?"

"Whatever views they hold on the subject, they're welcome to expound them if they do it in form," answered Rosalor in an undertone, at the same time giving Talaren a quelling look.

"Interest?" Jovanna feigned a faint surprise. "Why, I'm just the hired help, as you see." She brandished the tray before her. "Though I have to say I am intrigued by what opinions this -lovely- group might have."

"Lovely? Perhaps." Delan glanced around the room - now starting to fill with the intelligentsia of Aquila - or at least that propostion of it selected by Lady Bahlmis. "But for someone holding your opinions, Miss Starr, this group - or certain elements within it - could also be very dangerous."

"Within these four walls," Giulian put in, serious now, "is sanctuary for all sorts of opinions, provided they can stand up for themselves, no matter who expresses them. Outside..." He
lifted a hand, palm up. "...that's a different matter."

The smile on Jovanna's face faded to nothing. What was left might have been close to a servant's polite bland stare, but the fire dancing in her eyes betrayed her.

"Worried about me getting my throat cut in a dark alley? Or maybe shot by a poison tipped arrow from on high? How touching. But being silent is a wonderful road to getting nothing done, and it's a terrible way to treat what you believe in."

"As Regent," said Delan mildly, "it has been one of my aims to see that the alleys, no matter how dark, are relatively safe. Poisoned arrows from on high ... " His head turned, almost involuntarily it seemed, to look at Harry. "Such deaths not only await those who make most noise, Miss Starr. They also lie in wait for those who make an effort to effect change." His dark eyes rested on her, intent.

Not only had such an assassination killed Harry's father - another attempt on Delan's own life had crippled Giulian.

"And do you want to shout, and make a great deal of noise, Miss Starr? Or do you want to make a real difference?"

Harry's visage showed him involuntarily wincing at the Regent's remarks about attempted assassinations. Harry Decuma closed his eyes briefly, as if in silent prayer, opening them up again a few moments later.

Alexander had meant to take his arm off Harry's shoulders, but he changed his mind and left it there. He turned on his inside heel to face the room foursquare, a touch of defiance in his vigilance.

Lucien noticed this and gave his son a small, discreet smile of approval.

Giulian, by contrast, did not react outwardly to the reminder, but continued to watch Jovanna intently.

"Shout?" Her stance shifted slightly, keeping her light on her feet, relaxing from the moment of repressed anger. "Oh, everyone shouts, Delan... Some use their influence. Their privileged blood..." She cast a meaningful look around the room. "Some show off their contacts and material means.

"But I'm just a poor cit. All I have is my voice. So that's how I shout. And it seems I have made a difference. After all, I've never seen my name enunciated with so many curious emphasises before..."

"A difference?" Lucien, who had been watching and listening with interest, turned towards the girl. "You've made your name known. And that is something. But it is, in my experience, only a prelude to actually effecting change."

"After all, it isn't really yourself you intend to promote in the public eye," Giulian put in, adding with a quizzical tilt of his head, "Is it? But rather, your cause, and its merits."

"It is," she said, adjusting her stance to take in all gentlemen before her. "But a cause, merits or no, needs people behind it. And sometimes those people need a bit of a name for themselves." Her eyes landed on Lucien. "Canapé?"

"Thank you," he said, helping himself to a small filled pastry. "Not all names are created equal, in the sense that not all reputations are equal to all tasks. If you are looking to establish yourself, take care to insure that the name you acquire is one that will serve your cause." He smiled and turned slightly towards Rosalor. "Lady Bahlmis, it seems your salon is off to a faster start than usual."

"Though not quite on topic," commented Rosalor, who had moved close enough to hear the last few exchanges.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Devon 's attention turned with the others as Jovanna offered her tray to Lord Anderon. His brow furrowed, expression twisting somewhere between a frown and sharp humour. Shaking his head, he took a step back, beginning to turn away.

A glance down at his tray, he remembered his duty. The furrow grew deeper as he realized it would be rude to turn away from the Regent. And rude to interrupt. With a soft groan of frustration, he stood his ground, the tray held carefully, and waited for an appropriate moment to offer drinks. He threw a look of wry humour at the others standing near.

"Thank you," said Delan politely, taking a glass of white wine, with another of his keen eyed looks at the waiter. Then he turned back to Rosalor, Lucien and Talaren.

"I'm glad to see the younger generation is in attendance. This issue is something that they will have to deal with in their time, I suspect. The people will need to be prepared for the changes that will come - and not all Aquilans will be happy - to put it mildly.

"But there is another matter we should be giving some thought to - especially in the light of recent events. Perhaps not here, though. I'd suggest we meet at my office at the Nest at the earliest opportunity.

"We need to discuss the advisability or otherwise of Harry's marrying."

Rosalor's eyebrows went up. "With Harry in attendance, or not?" she asked Delan, her voice similarly pitched to carry only to their small group.

"Possibly not initially," said Delan. "I haven't canvassed his thoughts on the issue yet. Have you, Tremontaine?

"But an alliance with the right House could prove ... useful."

"I am at your disposal on the matter, my lord," Lucien said quietly. "Did you have any ideas on the matter?" He had one of his own, though it held some pitfalls...

"Perhaps this will be better discussed at a later time," suggested Talaren. "Or at least where we might have less chance of interruption."

Rosalor nodded in agreement. "Like Lord Tremontaine, I shall hold myself at your disposal to talk of this, where and when you will."

"Then until tomorrow, if it will be convenient for you all," said Delan.

"It will be convenient for me, yes," Lucien said. "We were going to leave for a few days at the vineyard, but until Lilly is feeling better, I should rather not subject her to the rigors of a carriage ride unnecessarily."

Rosalor nodded her assent, saying, "I have no other plans."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Having delivered a drink to the regent, and for once, succeeded at invisble, Devon turned. There were still a few drinks on his tray, and no one looking thirsty just yet. He drifted back towards the tables, with the intent of getting a fresh tray.

Sasha, having ensured that all the professors were served, now replenished her tray and moved to start a second circuit around the room, arriving first at the grouping of Harry, Giulian and Alexander. She hesitated a second, unsure of whether Jovanna had adopted this group as her particular charge, then took a deep breath and asked, "Would you care for anything to eat, my
Lords?"

At this point the Lord had departed the group, and Harry turned to Sasha and her own set of offerings. "What do *you* have to offer?" Harry said with a smile, turning back briefly to beam at his companions before returning to the pressed into service waiter and looking over her wares.

Sasha looked at him for a second, startled, so that he saw the flash of her unusual kingfisher blue eyes before, blushing, she ducked her head and started to stammer her way through a description of the tray.

"There's ... erm ... smoked salmon and ... these little sausage-y things and ... erm ... "

Alexander flinched at the opening for innuendo Harry had unintentionally left; he did not think Giulian entirely above a sly dig at a pretty girl. "Another of these, I think," he said quickly as he picked up another empanada, hoping to focus attention on the girl's tray rather than the girl herself. "That history seminar -- I don't know who schedules seminars, but I wish he came to fencing club. Had to skip lunch today, as usual."

Passing by at that moment, Devon 's head swiveled to look at Alexander. He paused, about to say something, when a rattle caught his attention. Swearing softly under his breath, Devon hurried past, trying to right the two remaining glasses before they toppled. Or at least get out of the range where he might dump them on someone other than himself.

Giulian, however, had answered Harry's smile with a minatory, I-don't-believe-you-said-that look. The young woman was a stranger to him, and while he couldn't help noticing she was a very pretty stranger, she was only doing her job and was therefore not subject to attack as far as he was concerned. He selected a morsel from her tray almost at random, with a quiet, courteous "Thank you" pitched to be heard without interrupting Alexander's flurried attempt at conversation.

Sasha raised her head and gave him a brief, shy grin. In other circumstances, she might had initiated conversation but, mindful of her chores, she simply continued to hold the tray steady for their perusal.

Meeting her gaze, Giulian returned Sasha's smile, just as briefly, but with a warmth that momentarily illuminated his dark eyes and pale face, before turning his attention back to Harry
and Alexander.

Harry chuckled at seeing Giulian and Alexander's reactions to his gambit. Instead of answering verbally, he reached for an empanada. "I think *this* will do nicely." he said. "There are those who no doubt would see me keep my mouth shut and full of it." he smiled, in a self-depreciating fashion. "And they wouldn't" he cocked his head at his companions. "even be far wrong."

He took a bite of the treat.

Sasha let out a tiny relieved breath, then held the tray steadily to see if any of the young Lords wanted more. If not, she could continue her circuit - and perhaps even sneak a furtive sip of wine.

Alexander gave her a nod that said she could go. No harm done, for once, but just as well to remove further temptation. Without a glance for Giulian, Alexander put a comradely arm around his half-brother's shoulders. "Planning to startle the whole salon with revolutionary brilliance, is that it?" he asked easily. "Mmm, yes, a few of us here might want to gag you for that. Take Oswestry, for instance. Don't think I've ever heard him pronounce a word of more than two syllables that wasn't his own name."

"There's no real harm in Oswestry, though," Giulian said easily. "Now, if his sister were here, you'd really have to watch what you said if you didn't want it all over the pages of Aquila
Awake! tomorrow, or possibly Living Aquila next week."

Sasha looked curious, as though she wanted to say something, but then decided to take her cue from Alexander's nod of dismissal, and carefully carried her tray away.

"Revolutionarily Brilliant?" Harry blinked his eyes and then chuckled. "Oh, no, Alexander, I don't consider myself such. I doubt that I will stun the assembled guests." he said.

"As for Oswestry...sometimes people do feel the need and desire to hear themselves. I don't bear them any ill will for it." he finished.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Devon had made his way to the back tables as quickly as possible, setting down the tray with a rattle and a thunk, his hands capturing the glasses to steady them. He looked for a new tray, whether drinks or canapes, and took a moment for a breather, out of the way of the crush of people.

Sasha meanwhile had made her way back to the buffet, where she set down the heavy tray with a little "ouf!" of relief.

She rotated her shoulders and smiled at Devon . "I hope we get a break when the salon proper starts," she said. Those trays are heavy - and you have to hold yourself so stiffly too!"

"I'm just trying not to dump things all over the place," Devon said drily. He glanced back across the floor at where Jovanna still was. "Looks like Jo's fitting in well. I'm still working on invisible." Another glance swept the room, and his voice lowered, "We can probably rest a few minutes... they all look pretty fed for the moment."

Sasha nodded. "It will be interesting to hear them all, won't it?" she said. She surreptiously snagged a particularly tempting salmon puff and nibbled on it. "I thought we were meant to fade into the background," she added mischievously. "But Jovanna doesn't seem to be doing that."

"Jo's not one for fading," Devon agreed, with a soft snort that might have been laughter. His gaze followed Sasha's fingers to the pastry, but he does not take one of his own.

She glanced over at the small group of Harry, Alexander and Giulian. "Do you know any of them?" she asked.

Devon shrugged. "Jo, obviously. I've met the Tremontaines... Alexander and Renata. Seen the rest from a distance." He shrugged again. "Do you?"