further orders, this slave is going to continue serving wine to other Children of Heaven, who have
also
disregarded the Father of Heaven’s request to dance.” And he moved away, back as stiff as a ramrod.
“Goodness, that was awkward,” observed Lewis. “But cheer up; soon enough we won’t have passive-aggressive members of a vanished empire to order about anymore.”
“Three cheers.” Mendoza leaned back wearily. “And I’m not getting up to dance, even if a whole priesthood of Mayans disapproves of me.”
“Good evening, all,” said a voice, seemingly from under the table. A moment later our fourth chair was pushed back, and a little figure clambered up into it.
Lewis nodded. “Good evening, Latif. I assume you have permission to stay up this late?”
“Naturally.” Latif settled back into his chair. The candy-box costume was gone; he wore now the school uniform for the neophyte class, with pleats pressed razor-sharp. “Any of you opening that champagne, by the way?”
“Oh, why not?” Lewis peered into his empty martini glass. He pulled out the drippy bottle and prized up the foil and wire with fastidious care. When the cork finally blew, he poured fresh drinks all around, and we sat for a while watching our fellow immortals dance.
Something I’ve noticed over the years: we don’t dance well, on the whole. None of us are clumsy on the floor, or anything like that; just the opposite. We’re too … smooth. Too perfect. Well, you can’t avoid saying it, we look mechanical. Like big sharks gliding around and around. Never a missed step or beat. Mortals move with a difference, with an awkward something that makes their motion beautiful. Maybe it’s passion. I don’t know. I only knew one immortal who danced well, and she won’t anymore. But maybe it’s just the heels she wears nowadays.
As the level in the champagne bottle grew lower, Lewis began to look green.
“Oh, dear,” he said faintly. “I don’t think I ought to have eaten that last helping of Theobromos mousse.”
“You were drinking martinis before the champagne, weren’t you?” Latif pointed out in his bright little voice. “Theobromine and gin don’t combine well, you know. Try metabolizing sucrose.”
“I haven’t taken in enough starches. Oh dear.”
“Here.” Mendoza pushed back her chair, and Lewis sort of toppled over into her lap, where she fed him sugar cubes from the little dish on the table. He lay there pale and wan. I ordered more champagne, which I shared with Latif. Mendoza just watched the whirling dancers as she stroked Lewis’s limp hair, her face sad and cold.
Hmmm. I looked at them out of the corner of my eye. Had they had a relationship or something, at one time? Lewis was hardly her type. On the other hand, he seemed funny and kind. I found myself hoping she’d made at least one friend during all these years and realized I was in for a lot of trouble on this next job if I let myself worry about the state of Mendoza’s heart. I looked away.
“You’re a lot more presentable in the uniform,” I told Latif. “How’d you get Houbert to let you out of the Hindu prince suit?”
“Nothing he can do.” How could a baby grin wolfishly? “A communication came through this morning. It seems my time-table’s been moved up. I’m to be posted to Labienus ahead of schedule. I leave day after tomorrow. Tell me, sir, have you ever been to Canada? Should one pack a heavyweight wardrobe?”
“Thermal underwear and flannel everything,” I advised. “And plenty of blankets and waterproof shoes. They won’t want you freezing if they’re in such a hurry to get you up there,” I told him. I wouldn’t have put it past him to have intercepted and altered a couple of transmissions to facilitate things, and I wouldn’t have blamed him either. What a cool little customer Latif was. Just like I’d been, once. What would he be like in twenty years?
“Well, we’ll just see, won’t we?” he remarked
also
disregarded the Father of Heaven’s request to dance.” And he moved away, back as stiff as a ramrod.
“Goodness, that was awkward,” observed Lewis. “But cheer up; soon enough we won’t have passive-aggressive members of a vanished empire to order about anymore.”
“Three cheers.” Mendoza leaned back wearily. “And I’m not getting up to dance, even if a whole priesthood of Mayans disapproves of me.”
“Good evening, all,” said a voice, seemingly from under the table. A moment later our fourth chair was pushed back, and a little figure clambered up into it.
Lewis nodded. “Good evening, Latif. I assume you have permission to stay up this late?”
“Naturally.” Latif settled back into his chair. The candy-box costume was gone; he wore now the school uniform for the neophyte class, with pleats pressed razor-sharp. “Any of you opening that champagne, by the way?”
“Oh, why not?” Lewis peered into his empty martini glass. He pulled out the drippy bottle and prized up the foil and wire with fastidious care. When the cork finally blew, he poured fresh drinks all around, and we sat for a while watching our fellow immortals dance.
Something I’ve noticed over the years: we don’t dance well, on the whole. None of us are clumsy on the floor, or anything like that; just the opposite. We’re too … smooth. Too perfect. Well, you can’t avoid saying it, we look mechanical. Like big sharks gliding around and around. Never a missed step or beat. Mortals move with a difference, with an awkward something that makes their motion beautiful. Maybe it’s passion. I don’t know. I only knew one immortal who danced well, and she won’t anymore. But maybe it’s just the heels she wears nowadays.
As the level in the champagne bottle grew lower, Lewis began to look green.
“Oh, dear,” he said faintly. “I don’t think I ought to have eaten that last helping of Theobromos mousse.”
“You were drinking martinis before the champagne, weren’t you?” Latif pointed out in his bright little voice. “Theobromine and gin don’t combine well, you know. Try metabolizing sucrose.”
“I haven’t taken in enough starches. Oh dear.”
“Here.” Mendoza pushed back her chair, and Lewis sort of toppled over into her lap, where she fed him sugar cubes from the little dish on the table. He lay there pale and wan. I ordered more champagne, which I shared with Latif. Mendoza just watched the whirling dancers as she stroked Lewis’s limp hair, her face sad and cold.
Hmmm. I looked at them out of the corner of my eye. Had they had a relationship or something, at one time? Lewis was hardly her type. On the other hand, he seemed funny and kind. I found myself hoping she’d made at least one friend during all these years and realized I was in for a lot of trouble on this next job if I let myself worry about the state of Mendoza’s heart. I looked away.
“You’re a lot more presentable in the uniform,” I told Latif. “How’d you get Houbert to let you out of the Hindu prince suit?”
“Nothing he can do.” How could a baby grin wolfishly? “A communication came through this morning. It seems my time-table’s been moved up. I’m to be posted to Labienus ahead of schedule. I leave day after tomorrow. Tell me, sir, have you ever been to Canada? Should one pack a heavyweight wardrobe?”
“Thermal underwear and flannel everything,” I advised. “And plenty of blankets and waterproof shoes. They won’t want you freezing if they’re in such a hurry to get you up there,” I told him. I wouldn’t have put it past him to have intercepted and altered a couple of transmissions to facilitate things, and I wouldn’t have blamed him either. What a cool little customer Latif was. Just like I’d been, once. What would he be like in twenty years?
“Well, we’ll just see, won’t we?” he remarked
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