Aurorarama - Jean-Christophe Valtat [41]
“Nothing serious, I hope,” he managed to grumble. He had decided not to add to Brentford’s trouble and said nothing of his own interview with the Gentlemen of Night.
“Well, they do not exactly invite you over every day, so I guess they want to convey the idea that it is serious. The reason is rather technical, a little litigation over hunting quotas between the army and the Inuit. But I expect they will take advantage of it to embarrass me some way or other.”
Gabriel nodded, but he was not in a state in which technicalities were of any interest to him. It would give too much credit to his mind to say that it was racing to find an excuse to get out, but, at last, it tried to.
“You seem a bit tired,” said Brentford, not wishing to dwell on his own problems.
“I met a girl.”
“You look like you met two or three.”
“Sort of, yes. She’s very energetic. She’s called Stella, but she should be called Tesla, really. High-voltage girl.”
“The Earl of Real versus Stella Tesla. It sounds good,” said Brentford, who wondered how long this latest fling, or his friend’s nerves, would last. “What does she do?”
“Pretty much everything.”
“For a living, I mean.”
Gabriel smiled at the motherly tone of the question.
“Oh. She’s a vaudeville artist, I guess. Relatively new to the city. She is now working for a magician.”
“Handyside?”
“What?”
“The name of the magician is Handyside?”
“I don’t know. She works at the Trilby Temple.”
“That’s the one. Sybil wanted a magician for our wedding and I’m supposed to see him perform there tonight. I guess I will see your Stella.”
“You won’t see anything but her,” said Gabriel, with a streak of pride that did not linger too long. The coffee had arrived and he lost himself in the smoke, eyes half closed, not exactly liking what he saw reflected through a cup, darkly.
“Speaking of coincidences,” said Brentford, “the Scavengers have found a dead woman in a sled in Niflheim. She held a mirror with Lancelot written on it.”
“Cracked from side to side?”
“Not yet. Maybe next time I quarrel with Sybil, who now owns the thing. Why do you ask?”
“For no reason. It reminded me of a poem. But then everything does.”
“I wondered if you might have a clue or simply feel concerned.”
“I do not date dead women as a rule.”
Oops, thought Gabriel, hoping he had not offended Brentford, whose longing for Helen, concealed as it was, nonetheless was well known to him. However, this time Brentford easily read his friend’s mind, as if in a comic book: the arched eyebrows, the pursed lips. He decided not to take offence, but discovered that, indeed, he wanted to speak about Helen. Gabriel was perhaps among the few persons who would not consider such talk as pertaining to alienism—and the only one among them whom Brentford himself would not regard as a lunatic.
“I think I have news from Helen, by the way.”
“Dream incubation?”
“Yes. She has given me an appointment on the North Pole for March the first. Geographical, that is.”
Gabriel nodded appreciatively.
“You’re going there?” he asked, a bit jealous.
“Well, I’m of two minds. I do not think I will risk it, but still I am getting the Kinngait ready.”
“Nice honeymoon trip.”
“Yes, you’re right. I do not think Sybil would be too happy with me going there right after the wedding.”
“By the way, this North Pole thing reminds me of something,” said Gabriel, who felt a sudden relief at having found a reason not to stay that was nobler than simply going to bed. “I have to go visit the Inuit People’s Ice Palace. I met a friend of Bob’s who is helping with the staging of it all. He invited me to visit it before the opening.”
“I do not think this palace is the best idea,” said Brentford with a frown.
“I recited the lesson you taught me about it. But you know how it is: curiosity got the better