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The young man is fascinated by even the simplest of things, the feel of the wood-grained paneling, the appearance of the metal, all of it draws his attention as a child stares at confections. He walks no more than a mere five paces before scribbling notes and making rough sketches in his journal.
Looking to see that no one is staring at this odd behavior, he moves further until he can find a comfortable seat at an unoccupied table. Looking to his left through the large crystal portholes, he is dumbstruck by the aerial view. This further warrants more notation in his book. He keeps his head down in his work, trying not to arouse the attentions of anyone walking about or those in conversation.
Looking quickly about the room to see if any eyes have affixed themselves to his writings, he scans his eyes over the page and begins to double-check his work by reading a small sample aloud as he writes.
"Caught by nothing shy of an awesome experience, our hero, the dashing Claude Mollan finds himself on holiday following his most recent escapades with the rogue arch-villain, the nefarious Sultan Tenorah."
Apparently pleased with his writing, he leans back in his chair slightly and looks about the room. He realises that nearby, some conversations have stopped or at least slowed down. Diners who were close enough to overhear his utterance raise questioning eyebrows and exchange smiles. "Oh, a writer..." whispers someone. "Is he talking about the vizier Sefìk?" asks another murmur.
Although is back is to Markus, the Magician could swear he knows this mop of unruly hair. A wry yet enthusiastic smile crosses his lips. "You will excuse me a moment, my lady. I believe an old friend is on board. Please allow me the courtesy of inviting him over."
Constance smiles her acquiesence to the magician's request, and watches him with interest as he heads over ot the shaggy haired mortal, with the notebook and the peculiar ways. She picks up a small fruit, and takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully as she waits to see if the fellow will join them. Her eyes dart to the entrance of the dining room, perhaps to catch the return of Fiona or Jean-Michel.
Markus walks slowly across the room, barely containing himself. When he is right behind the man, he speaks in a hushed tone. "Excuse me, sir, might I enquire if you were the man who played second to Markus Kohl when he fought the despicable Adderly-Fox?"
Following a pause to recall the voice, Seton turns and looks upward at the gentleman addressing him. Darting glances about prior to affixing on the man's face, he then says, "Yes sir, I bore the responsibilities of second in that described nefarious duel. And may I add, it is good to see you, Markus."
Now smiling, he closes the notebook. Rising from the chair, Seton Jalgar looks over at the table across the room, and at the lady seated there.
"I must say, sir, that you have always been one to keep good company. I do trust that you will be so good as to introduce me to your lady friend. Also, I must apologize if my actions of prior have caused a scene within, I was again absorbed in my own endeavors. Ahh,but it is good to see you. Perhaps if you are not indisposed later we can speak, for it appears that at present I may be the cause of some interruption." Seton leans a quick glance toward the table again.
His tone turns a bit dry and familiar as he continues, "The lady appears
most anxious to resume conversation with you, good man. She waits now,
fruit in hand; however, if I may be so bold with you Markus, might I intrude
and join you? My current seat, although profitable for some draft
work, is a lonely one and I seem to have attracted a handful of whispers
and glances from the others, not something I sought."
Attempting to dissemble his growing sense of unease, Jean-Michel approaches the Fairy. Now that he has been made aware of her rank, he bows rather more deferentially to her; he addresses her in a low tone so as to foil possible eavesdroppers.
“Lady Constance, Miss Rohling has spoken to me rather sketchily of a certain situation you have found yourself in. She further informed me that I must needs inquire with you for the details. As you are both correct in assuming I am a rather cautious man, please understand my reluctance to speak any further in this matter until I am better informed.”
Constance turns her attention to Jean-Michel as he enters, smiling softly as he approaches her table. She motions for him to join her once again. However, at his words, her smile falters, and her eyes narrow a bit. She nods as her finishes. "It is true I have a problem of some magnitude, concerning a Faerie artifact of grave power. This item has been taken to your world, by a most unfortunate series of circumstances."
She looks at Jean-Michel, her eyes taking in his, as she tries to judge how much to tell the handsome mortal. The help of one such as he might prove most useful. Finally, decided, she continues. "Know that what I tell you is of the gravest consequence. It concerns a secret of considerable magnitude to my people, and must not pass farther than you and I.
"My people, the Dames Vertes, have for millenia been the guardians of a font of great wisdom, an oak tree of incomparable size which speaks with the wisdom of untold aeons, and from which the Seelie gain great power and knowledge.
"In the fullness of time, the Oak reaches the end of its lifespan, and at that time, it produces a single Seed. This artifact is planted with great care by our people, and the Oak lives again, with all the wisdom and power of the original. Thus the knowledge of the Fae survives eternally.
"But now something terrible has happened. My half-brother, a full blooded human and powerful sorcerer, has aligned himself to the Adversary, to gain vengeance against me and my mother for the death of his Father. This tragedy was my brother's own fault, but he blames us. The Adversary gave him the power to pierce the Veil, and make his way into the depths of our forest, and steal the seed
"But as he fled with his prize, he was struck down by elf shot. His blood somehow tore awat the Veil, and the Seed and my brother were thrust into the mortal world. Now he and I seek the Seed. His blood, spilled between the worlds, calls to me, and allows me to track him. I must find the artifact before he does, and before some mortal learns to use its power.
"If this Seed falls into the hands of the Adversary, he will plant it in Unseelie lands, and all the powers of the Oak will be turned to purest evil. Then the Adversary will gain the power to tip the balance in his favor, and might even be able to crush the Seelie, and even the mortal world itself.
"This is the quest that drives me. And now that you are informed, perhaps you can tell me what, if anything, you know of the situation?"
Jean-Michel shakes his head. “I regret I have no knowledge of any Seed or Adversarial plans. In fact, throughout all my travels I had not met any Fairy, or Dragon for that matter, until my arrival in Paris. You see, with a very few exceptions the New World native spirits prevent Fairy immigration; why the Dragons generally avoid the New World as well is not known to me. Therefore I am woefully inexperienced in the ways of the Fairy and Dragons as well as the correct etiquette regarding these beings.” He grants her a slightly embarrassed look in apology for his earlier familiarity.
He knows what his next words should be yet he finds he cannot bring himself to speak them. Duty demands he offer his assistance however he also knows what the cost shall be and, in a moment of weakness, he cannot bear to face it. If it were merely himself he would accept the consequences without a second thought however there are others to consider…
Assailed by doubt, he recalls something Yves had once said to him: “Duty and faith are alike in that they are words easily mouthed on sunny days when all is right with the world. They are not ideas to cling to when times are easy then discarded when trouble arrives, however. The true test lies in living them when you are weary and alone and hope seems far away.” At this memory Jean-Michel smiles faintly. Yves always had an answer for everything; perhaps one day he, too, shall be as wise.
“Forgive my unusual request, Lady, however there is another matter I must bring to your attention which has a bearing on this topic. As it cannot brook eavesdropping, is there somewhere we may speak privately?” There is no indication of his previous playfulness towards her, in fact there is a slightly haunted look in his eyes.
Constance watches Jean-Michel struggle with his heart, knowing the internal struggle he is fighting, and also knowing there is no word she can speak to ease his dilemna. She waits, hoping he will resolve it within himself. When he finally reaches a decision, she smiles encouragingly, her eyes sparkling, ruby lips twisted in a true grin, quite unlike the rather vapid and cheerful smile that normally marks her features. Wordlessly, she conveys her satisfaction at his inner strength, as she listens to his words.
"I believe that Fiona told me I have a room in this flying device somewhere. Perhaps one of the kind fellows who take luggage about can help us find it? I fear I have not been there, nor had I even considered going, but it should be private enough for a chat that hints at the need for great secrecy. And as I have entrusted you with my secret, I assure you that yours will be safe with me as well."
With that she signals one of the eager lads that always seems to be poised to offer her something, and says, "My dear fellow, might you be able to tell me where I might find the cabin I have been assigned to occupy? I would be most grateful."
She puts a provocative lilt in the words "most grateful", and seems quite unaware that she has done so.
The Steward bows deferentially to the Dame Verte as she speaks her request. A faint flush may be creeping along his collar, but he remains impeccably polite. "If I may have M'Lady's full name, I will inquire with the Purser," he answers. Upon hearing the answer, he repeats carefully: "Lady Constance de Forrest, Mistress of the Woods. Very well, Fraülein, I will be back in a moment with the information."
He walks away, and the Faerie can hear him repeating softly: "Constance..."
After a short while (the Purser's Office is on the same deck as the Dining Room), he comes back and bows to Constance again. "My Lady, it appears you are lodged in this cabin," he says, offering her a card with a number on it. "Your luggage has already been brought there, and I will be happy to guide you."
Constance smiles slightly at the Steward's discomfort, and stands up gracefully. "Yes, please sir, I would be most grateful if you could guide me to my room. I fear I have had little opportunity to acquaint myself with the corridors of your marvelous flying machine." She follows the Steward, glancing back to make sure that Jean-Michel has risen and is walking along with her.
Well, this is deucedly inconvenient. Quickly Jean-Michel takes to his feet and interjects, “Lady Constance, there is no need to delay the Steward as that area is known to me. If I may be so bold…?”
He offers his arm to the most beautiful woman he has ever met, with the idea of escorting her to her quarters where the two of them shall enjoy absolute privacy…. and it is not an Assignation. Under other circumstances he would be inclined to laugh at the prank Fate has played upon him; perhaps someday he shall, but certainly not in the foreseeable future.
Constance turns and smiles at Jean-Michel. "Why thank you, gallant
sir. I would be honored to accept your guidance in finding my room."
With that she turns back to the steward, and offers him a slight bow and
a promising smile. "Thank you for all you have done for me, good
sir. I shall not delay you any further from the many very importnat
duties a man of your status must surely have." Then she takes
Jean-Michel's arm, and allows him to lead her to her room.
To
Be Continued...