Retribution Falls - Chris Wooding [80]
“And you must be Gallian Thade!” Crake suddenly exclaimed. He took up Thade’s hand and pressed it warmly between his palms, then gave the older man a companionable pat on the hip. “Wonderful party, sir, just wonderful.”
Vexford almost choked on his drink. The others looked shocked. Such familiarity with a man who was clearly Crake’s social superior was unpardonable. The worst kind of behavior. Nobody expected such oafishness in a place like this.
Thade kept his composure admirably. “I’m so glad you’re enjoying it,” he said frostily. “You should try the canapés. I’m sure you would find them delicious.”
“I will!” said Crake enthusiastically. “I’ll do it right now. Come on, Bethinda, let’s leave these gentlemen to their business.”
He took her by the arm and marched her away toward the canapés, leaving Vexford to face the silent scorn of his peers.
“What was that about?” asked Jez. “I thought you wanted to find out what Thade was up to.”
“You remember this?” he said, taking a tiny silver earcuff out of his pocket.
“Of course I do. You showed the Cap’n how they worked. He didn’t stop talking about them for two days. I think you impressed him.” She watched him affix it to his ear. “Looks a bit tacky for this kind of party,” she offered.
“Can’t be helped.”
“Where’s the other one?”
Crake flashed her a gold-toothed grin. “In Thade’s pocket. Where I put it when I patted him on the hip.”
Jez was agape. “And you can hear him now?”
“Loud and clear,” he said. “Now let’s get some canapés, settle down, and see what our host has to say.”
Chapter Nineteen
CRAKE’S STEREOTYPES—JEZ IS BETRAYED—A DARING SHOW OF CHEEK—DREADFUL INFORMATION
n hour later, and Crake had begun to remember why he’d been so bored with the aristocracy. He seemed to be encountering the same people over and over again. The faces were different, but the bland niceties and insipid observations remained the same. He was yet to meet anyone more interesting than the clothes they wore.
The guests fell neatly into the pigeonholes he made for them. There was the Pampered Adventurer, who wanted to use Father’s money to explore distant lands and eventually set up a business in New Vardia. They had no real concept of hardship. Then there was the Future Bankrupt, who talked enthusiastically of investing in dangerous projects and bizarre science, dreaming of vast profits that would never materialize. They were often attached to the Vapid Beauty, whose shattering dullness was tolerable only because they were so pleasant to look at. Occasionally he spotted a Fledgling Harpy, spoiled daughter of a rich family. Unattractive yet intelligent enough to realize that their fiancé was with them only for their money. In revenge for thwarting their fantasies of romance, they intended to make the remainder of his life a misery.
These, and others, he recognized from long experience. A procession of stereotypes and clichés, he thought scornfully. All desperately believing themselves to be unique. They parroted their stupid opinions, plucked straight from the broadsheets, and hoped that nobody disagreed. How had he ever communicated with these people? How could he ever go back among them, knowing what he knew?
They’d moved into the magnificent ballroom, with its swirled marble pillars and copper chandeliers. The floor was busy with couples, some of them lovers but most not. They exchanged partners as they moved, men and women passed around in a political interplay, gossiping and spying on one another. Crake stood to one side with Jez, talking with a pair of brothers who had recently bought an aerium mine and clearly had no idea how to exploit it.
Gallian Thade and Duke Grephen stood on the other side of the room. Crake listened. It was hard to concentrate on two conversations at once, but luckily he needed less than half his attention to keep up with either. Jez was fielding the Aerium