More Players of the Game

In which more Dramatic Characters meet with a variety of movers, shakers, and schemers of the Great Game.

Olivia's Table

At another table, a quiet young woman observes the dazzling array of taffetas, velvets, silks, linens and laces with interest. The conservative, rather than à la mode, lines of her own dinner dress, with its modest lace trim, suggest financial limitations. This is contradicted by the quality of the twilled silk of which the dress is made, and the fine Valenciennes lace of the trimmings.  She smiles silently as she notices the interest that the Dragon Lord's table seems to attract among gossiping passengers.  In truth, the Dragon, the Faerie and the vizier fascinate her as much as they do everyone else.  But she is soon distracted when two gentlemen start approaching.  One of them, a portly man in his late fifties with an air of authority, steps forward and bows with elegance.  He is dressed in an extravagant dress uniform of the Austrian army.  His face is ruddy, sporting outrageous sideburns of the type that started going out of style about ten years ago, and his pale blue eyes twinkle with good humour.

"Madam," he salutes, "I beg your forgiveness for the intrusion, but you seem to be unimpaired by any table companions.  May we attempt to repair this error?  I am baron Oktav von Strolz-Mader, and this is my aide-de-camp Hauptman (Captain) Fredrick von Weissenbach."  He proffers two calling cards.

Taken by surprise and slightly flustered, the young woman nods and extends her hand.  "I... I am Olivia Libertad Díaz Rodríguez," she answers.  "Uh, please sit down."  She reaches in her reticule to find her own calling card and offer it to the baron.

The two Austrians promptly comply with the invitation to sit.  Captain von Weissenbach is tall and thin, with a soft voice, and never volunteers any comments, limiting himself to answering the baron.  Olivia smiles, suspecting that the captain's limited conversation skills may have prompted the baron to look for a table companion.  She does her best to make small talk to the jovial baron.  They have barely started discussing the menu and the respective merits of various national cuisines when a polite voice addresses them.  All three dinners look up to see a tall Daoine Sidhe Lord standing there.

"Excuse me, madam, Your Lordship, Captain," he says in a pleasant tenor, with the slight drawl of a British dandy.  "I find myself without table companions, and was hoping you might be convinced to forgive my audacity and allow me the pleasure of sitting with you.  I am Lord Árdghal Cianán Toirdhealbhach; here is my card."  He pulls out a small flat box of ancient-looking silver and enamel, and offers all three diners calling cards taken from the box.  "Most people call me Lord Árdghal, finding it easier to pronounce."  He smiles.

Lord Árdghal is a tall, slender, monocled Faerie who can only be a Daoine Sidhe Lord.  His eyes are a deep, pupil-less blue, and his hair is the pale colour of platinum, a nearly metallic tone a bit warmer than silver, which no human can approach by nature or craft.  There is a slightly bored drawl to his voice, but also an edge of something more.  The Faerie Lord is dressed like a British dandy, but his accent seems rather Irish, which far from unusual for Daoine Sidhe.  He carries a can, and has in hand a top hat and pale grey gloves, matching his grey suit.

In a dreamlike state, Olivia opens her reticule for her card case.  She feels as though she and Roberto are again in the moonlit garden, stealing a kiss while the damas de noche blossoms perfume the air.  Roberto's dark hair and eyes are completely different from this fair-haired unearthly being, yet they are one.  She fumbles for the card case, trembling.  As she glances down toward the reticule, she sees a young girl at the next table, gazing avidly, open-mouthed, at the Lord.  A vision of herself feeling the same although, hopefully, not as obviously, sparks Olivia's sense of humor and this restores her poise.  She is able to remove a card and, with apparent calmness, offer it to the newcomer with a smile she hopes is no more than polite.  As she places it in his hand, her gloved fingertips touch his ... surely by accident!

It occurs to her that her amusment at watching the men hover around the Lady of the Faeries has been unjust.  She is going to have to make a strong effort to give each man at the table the same attention.

Seton Jalgar

Entering the slowly filling room, making note that the room was drawing attention surrounding the Dragon Lord and his entourage as well as the several elegant women also occupying his table with their own respective company, Seton sees that he is slightly out of place here. Neither of the stature of Lord Swiftwing, nor the bearing of the Faerie in attendance, he simply moves to an unoccupied table, slightly withdrawn from the pomp and circumstance, but still within an earshot of any conversation or commentaries from fellow passengers.

Moving so that he can see the door and any other entrances into the Hall, he courteously bows to the women in the room, regardless of their full attention to it. He then sits and enjoys the various table amenities, trying to cement as much sensory information about the ambiance as possible.

Perhaps, he thinks to himself, I will not be entirely out-of-sorts for the duration of this evening. Terrible thing to be this way, can't quite seem to get comfortable, as though everybody has got their own schemes waiting to spring. But to think that is just sheer madness, breaking a smile and ending the thought.  Unable to resist, he takes a small scrap of paper from his pocket and began to write, hoping to get past the fact that he is sitting alone in a large Dining Hall.

"The gun was visible under the gaslight, clearly enough so that he froze in his tracks. The cad had a firm hand on the woman's throat, as if all that caged her shrill tone were gloved fingers. Despite being still clad in one of his finer suits, the dashing Patrick Wayne appeared as haggard as an urchin." He paused for a moment and read under his breath. Scratching his chin, he continued, "Ragged from the chase, he was held solid, although he managed to straighten his jacket and tie as he waited for the villianous thug to make his next move."

Not trying to seem rude, he flashes his glance upward as he writes to avoid missing paying respects to an entrance.

Mateo Falcone's Table

Mateo Falcone has been holding a small table to himself for the last hour.  He sits adjacent to the Dragon Lord's own area, but obviously distinct from that august company.  In his present seating, he has an excellent view of the room and its occupants, however, he has undoubtedly smiled more than once at the ladies in the Dragon Lord's party.

In a fashionable French design dining jacket and vest, he has made some small effort to be well dressed but not excessively so.  He is thoughtfully tasting the wine recommended by the Steward and nodding his agreement to that person.

Realizing the situation is not as alluring to the ladies as might be, Mateo makes a hasty note upon his card inviting Jalgar to join him at his table for conversation and polite company.  Having read some work by Jalgar, Mateo will attempt to be intellectually captivating for the author... and socially companionable.

A steward approaches Seton's table and waits politely while the author is scribbling furiously.  After a moment, the steward clears his throat gently to attract the writer's attention.  Seton looks up, blinking.  "Yes?  Oh, I'll have a glass of, uh...  what did you recommend?"

The steward nods politely.  "The 1867 riesling, Herr Jalgar.  But I have been given a message for you."  He takes a calling card from his silver tray and places it in front of the author.

The card is printed with a name; calligraphed on stiff ivory paper with thick lines, it reads simply:

            Mateo Falcone

On the back, a hand scribbled in pen: "Dear sir, Please join me at the table for conversation and polite company.  MF".  Seton looks up at the steward.  "And who is the sender?" he asks.  The steward indicates a table across the room, where Mateo Falcone is sitting.

"Thank you for the message, sir.  There is no need for that riesling," Seton tells the steward and then places the card back on the tray.  "Inform the gentleman that I shall join him."

He rises from the table, placing the pen and napkin in his pocket for later. He moves from his table to that of Falcone casually, although pleased that he did receive such recognition.

Standing before him, Seton bows and warmly introduces himself.  "Capitano, it is a pleasure. I thank you for the invitation to your company."

He momentarily looks over to the Dragon's party, not with any specific intent, merely out of curiousity, and awaits the Captain to finish with the wine selection.

Falcone rises to address his guest as he joins him.  "I am most pleased to have a man of letters at my table, Sir.  I have enjoyed my brief sojourns into the salons of France and the academies of Italy.  After a fashion, I too, have become an observer of humanity as yourself.

"Perhaps you will find this a sociable wine," Falcone adds as the waiter has set a place for Mr. Seton, "and will lead us into an amiable evening meal."

After allowing Seton to rest himself a moment, Falcone leads the conversation with a few sincere praises regarding the author's latest novel.

Taking the Capitano's introduction, Seton takes a place at the table, soaking in still more of the atmosphere and noticing that there is stark contrast between sections of the Hall.

Now seated, Seton feels more at ease and more a part of the atmosphere, smiling and enjoying himself.  "Signorre, I am greatly honored by your praises of my work, I always welcome any comments, especially those from one of stature, like yourself."

Sipping the wine, and finding it much to his liking, Seton continues, "Your praise of my writing does leave me quite speechless, Capitano Falcone, it is not often I meet one who is both well-read and as well-presented as yourself."  His eyes move across the room, taking a moment's pause at the Dragon Lord's table and then to the musicians.

"I mean not to be impolite," says Seton, "but perhaps you may know something of our fellow guest the Dragon Lord?  Seems he keeps quite the company."

Seton waits a moment for Falcone's answer, but the Italian man suddenly seems distracted.  Following the Capitano's glance, Seton notices a small mustachioed man in a corner of the room, eating alone at a small table.  Well-tanned, with a prominent, well-kept waxed mustache, and lots of small wrinkles around the corners of his eyes, the man is dressed in a conservative dinner suit of relatively low quality, but showing little wear and tear.

Mateo continues his conversation obliquely as he returns his gaze to his plate and then raises his eyes to his companion, "Mr. Seton, what enterprise brings you to this voyage?  Perhaps you journey on to Bavaria as I do?  If so, that would be most wonderful."  He pauses for an instant, then continues.

"Tell me, please, my dear Seton, what do you make of this soirée of the noble Dragon, mmmm?  To tell you truthfully, I find myself distracted by more than one of them, eh, no?"
 

Belpaire

Now, appearing in the entrance is the figure, one recognises as the draughtsman from the promenade deck this afternoon. this time the person is wearing a costume, consisting of a pair of black trousers, together with a shirt and tie ensemble that could be called flashing, almost daring in an avant-garde, bohemian kind of way. His outfit is completed by his linen jacket, casually folded over his left arm.

Standing so close to the doorpost, it almost seems as if he is leaning against it; he scans the room, with a look like he is searching the best way to draw this composition. However, regarding more carefully, one can see that his eyes keep resting a little longer than usual on the table with the faerie lord and the two Austrian officers, then move over to the dragon lords table, there noticing the dragon lord and the two oriental figures.  Finally, his they rest on the persons of the captain and Fraü Ehrenberg.

To this last two, he makes a small gesture, that could be seen either as a nod of recognition or a bow of reference and then takes one step forwards into the dining room.

Belpaire takes in the scene in the grandiose Dining Room and looks in vain for his dinner companions of the night before.  None of them seem to have arrived yet.  As he decides to approach Jalgar, a steward brings a note to the Austrian writer.  Jalgar reads it, looks up in the direction of the Italian man, nods and smile.  After a few words to the steward, Jalgar walks up to Falcone's table and bows, then addresses the Italian.  Belpaire cannot quite make out the words, but it looks like an introduction.

Belpaire, recognizing Seton Jalgar, an author and journalist with whom he has had some acquaintance in the past, walks over to that table. As Seton makes some remarks in that direction, he offers his card to both Jalgar and Mateo Falcone, and prepares to join them at the table.

He notices that their attention is somewhat distracted by a table in the far corner.  This table is situated near the one where Jean-Michel and his dinner guest are sitting, but is occupied by a single person: a small, tanned man with a spectacular mustache gleaming with abundant wax.  Except for the mustache, the man appears unremarkable, and is wearing a fairly unexpensive suit.

Another man seems to be walking away from that table: tall, gaunt and without facial hair, but with the same tanned skin as the first one.  He is wearing a well-fitting, elegant but discrete dinner jacket, with an unusually plain waistcoat of dark blue silk.

"Mustache" reaches into a jacket pocket again, pulls out what, from this distance, looks like a siver cigarette case, and places it flat on the table.  "Gaunt Man" stops at his table without sitting down, says a few words, then picks up the cigarette case and walks away.

Louis Leopold Belpaire can't help but look in the same direction as the two others. However, his span of attention is rather short, and shortly after noticing the two strangers, he turns back to his table companions. A moment later, the waiter arrives, bringing the requested wine. On a nod of Falcone, the waiter fills three glasses and places them in front of Mateo, Seton and Louis Leopold.

As this also brings the concentration of Seton and Matteo back to the table, at least momentarily, this is the sign for Louis Leopold to ask Seton about his latest works.  Knowing some writers, he does not make the faux-pas of being to curious about what he is currently writing; instead, he asks if Seton is still using his 'Patrick Wayne' character, then switches over to the more general gossip about the writers he knows through his work for Hetzel's publishing company.  "Ach, by the way, gentlemen. Jules Verne is currently writing some novel called 'In the Land of Furs'¹, but there are rumors, that he will be writing the biography of this London traveller Phileas Fogg directly afterwards. Verne and Hetzel are already making negotiaiions with the man in question.  It could be interesting to see how it turns out..."

Belpaire enjoys the atmosphere around him.  Adventures or not, the draughtsman knows to treasure a good meal and as his lifestyle more than often leaves him pennyless at the end of the month, a well-prepared dinner in an exclusive setting  like this is an event and an adventure on itselves. The fact that, untill recently, the man who is illustrator for the mayor magazines of editions Hetzel had been living on dry bread and cheap wine, only improves his feelings and he is determined to enjoy the excellent food untill the very last drop of café.

I think, we can forgive him this little weakness.

Those more attentive however can only guess what really is the topic of the discussion going on between Belpaire, Falcone and the writer Seton Jalgar.

In fact, while discussing various matters, due to the interests of Jalgar and Belpaire, the conversation soon drifts towards the exchange of information and gossips on various fellow travelers.  In this, Belpaire shows a sound interest in the baron Strolz-Mader, but since the baron is an ambassador in Brussels, more or less Belpaires hometown, this can only be called logical. In fact, when asked why he is interested, he replies some general answer about 'since long not visiting his native country anymore' and 'being very fond of gossips of the Belgian political and social life altogether'.

Meanwhile, he listens carefully to all information about the other passengers.  He especially watches the two, Falcone and Jalgar, for any signs of interest towards the little mustaccioed man sitting in the corner

Seton Jalgar drifts out of the conversation with his table companions, apparently seized once again by his muse.  He stares off into space for a moment, oblivious to his surroundings, then starts scribbling feverishly in his notebook.  After a bout of frenzied writing, he looks up at his companions, suddenly remembering their presence.  "Gentlemen, I must finish this scene before inspiration escapes me," he mutters.  He picks up his notebook and walks out rapidly.

Belpaire and Falcone exchange a glance and a shrug, and pursue their conversation, observing each other and the rest of the room guardedly.

Falcone smiles.  "My dear Belpaire, perhaps later in the evening you might join me in a game of cards?  I passed through the Card Room earlier and would like to return for some sport.  What do you say?"

"I have certainly enjoyed the visions which Mr. Seton has of the life of adventure.  Such fantasy lures one along so easily when matters press unreasonably in the course of the day.  However, there is little there that matches for intensity the moment of hardship, the emotion of fear for one's life, and the desperation over the safety of friends," Falcone remarks half distractedly as he slices another portion of pastry.  He tastes with relish light crust and delicate orange icing, then continues his revelations, "I often wonder if I simply bring more of myself to his novels than he gives out from his tale.  In many ways, the life of the Hussars is my trade, having no regiment at present.  Perhaps one day I shall invest myself once again in the military life, but for now I am without a flag to follow."

He pauses on this last to look at Belpaire directly for a moment, then passes his gaze on to the departing guests.  "Belpaire!  I am most insensitive to you, my most deep apologies.  You perhaps wish to attend the Show about to commence, no?  I should like to see it myself.  Yes, let us do that if you have a mind for it."

Chatting, Mateo Falcone and Louis Leopold Belpaire get up and finally agree to adjourn to the Smoking Room for a digestive, a smoke and perhaps a game of card.
 
 

Markus Kohl

Shortly after seven, a thinner man with blonde hair wanders into the dining room.  He is wearing an impecable yet rather flashy suit, charcoal gray with red and purple paisleyed accessories.  The man seems to be in a bit of a hurry, and looks around for a table to join furitively.  Those who have had the pleasure of his acquaintance earlier today, or have seen his show on a previous evening, recognize the genial Markus Kohl.

As Markus looks around for a table to share, his glance meets baron von Strolz-Mader's at a nearby table.  The baron smiles and waves the magician closer.

"Ah, Herr Kohl!  I was most impressed with your show last night.  Knowing that you must perform your feats without the help of Thaumic Science is no help at all; I could not figure out at all how you had made yourself disappear.  I intend to be more attentive tonight and catch you in the act, so to speak!"  The baron laughs at his on wit, then gestures towards his table companions.

"You know Hauptman von Weissenbach, but have you met these gentle folks?  Allow me to introduce Señora Olivia Libertad Díaz Rodríguez, and Lord Árdghal Cianán Toirdhealbhach."  The baron manages to roll the syllables of the two latter names without the least apparent difficulty, despite their foreignness to his germanic tongue.  He winks at Olivia and Lord Árdghal.  "Herr Kohl is a talented stage magician, from my own beautiful home town of Wien," he explains; "he gives a nightly performance on the Parsifal."

He turns back to Markus.  "Herr Kohl, will you join us for dinner?"

Olivia waits a moment to see if Lord Árdghal, the highest ranking person present, gives any indication of his desire.  Then she says, "Please do join us, unless you have another commitment, or desire solitude to prepare for your performance this evening.  We are enjoying this delightful voyage, and your company can only add to our pleasure."

Markus seems delighted by the invitation.  "My Lord von Strolz-Mader, Fraü Rodríguez, I would be pleased to join you, though you will excuse me I must leave by a quarter to eight to prepare for my performance.  My Lord Árdghal, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.  Hauptmann, I do hope you enjoyed the show last night as well."  Markus joins them at the table, "And may I say, Lord von Strolz-Mader, that the true magic is in getting you to believe without the use of Thaumic displays, wouldn't you say?"

The baron nods emphatically.  "You had me fooled, my dear fellow!  But I know the Sorcerous Officer, or should I say the Officious Sorcerer, would never let that pass!"  His booming laughter explodes again as he laughs at his own joke.  He waves at a soup tureen and looks at a nearby attendent.  "Steward, serve Herr Kohl!  He has no time to waste!"  The Steward complies with a deferential bow, pouring soup fragrant with herbs for the magician.

The baron takes a sip of red wine -- a generous sip -- and turns back to Olivia.  "So, Fraülein Rodríguez, will you be visiting our beautiful capital of Wien?  I am sure that Herr Kohl will agree with me when I say that there is no city like it in all of New Europa!"

"Yes, Fraülein Rodriguez, I do hope you will have a chance to see Wien during your travels if you have not already, it is a charming city.  If I may be so bold, may I inquire as to your destination?" Markus asks, then taking a small taste of the excellent soup.

"I am making the circuit.  My destination is Marseilles, where I boarded this morning.  And since I am expected as punctually as the Parsifal, alas, sir, on this trip I will not be able to stop over in Vienna."  She glances at the other three to offer them opportunity to speak, then continues, "I must depend on the kindness of others to describe it to me.  Even in Spain we have heard of the gaiety of Vienna --- the music, the theaters --- tell me, Herr Kohl, do you perform in one of them using Real Magick?  Is that the meaning of the pin you wear?"

Managing to barely pull off eating at a hurried pace and conversing at the same time, Marcus listens intently to the Spaniard's words.

"Well you will have to make another trip then to see Wien someday, eh?" he inquires while sipping his wine.  "And while you have interpreted my pin correctly, I am indeed a Sorceror, I do not claim use my Sorcery in my stage show.  Sorcery takes far to long to be truly entertaining, and why risk the chance of turning my audience into chickens?

"Oh, perfect! The duck has arrived!" he exclaims.

Olivia's table, and most especially her seat, allow her a good view of the Captain's table, and the Dragon Lord's table and those entering the Dining Salon.  During the meal she has glanced from time to time at those present and those entering, as movement has caught her eye.

Suddenly a look of surprise, followed by a warm smile flashes across her face.  She half raises a hand, and opens her mouth, as though to call to someone.  With a slight blush, she recovers her poise, and is again the pleasant dinner companion, trying to keep conversation going among a disparate group of strangers.

"I beg your pardon, Herr Kohl!  Are you referring to the duck you are being served or another fate for someone in your audience, if you were to use sorcery?"

Marcus smiles wryly... finishing his first bite before answering.  "Why, this lovely dinner of course!  My audience is there to be entertained, not made fun of."  He smiles again.  "But perhaps you should intorduce us to whomever the person is who has brought such a radiant smile to your face?"

Olivia nods.  "I will be most happy to introduce you to him -- tomorrow.  I, and others, owe our lives to his courage and skill, and that of his crew.  But as he is most charmingly accompanied this evening, I decided not to intrude."

Antioch's Arrival

Meanwhile, yet another straggler walks into the Main Dining Room, this one alone. From his stature and silhouette, five feet tall and solidly built, he is clearly of the Dwarf people.  His dark brown hair is cut short and parted down the middle; he sports a close-cropped, freshly trimmed red beard and well-groomed mustache with no trace of grey, marking him as a relatively young member of his race.  His dinner jacket is traditionally cut, with straight lines and simple cuffs. It makes him look rather formal, like a University professor, and the practiced eye will recognize the hallmark of Scandinavian fashion.  His pants and jacket will, at first glance, appear black. Upon careful inspection, however, the true colour will be revealed as the deepest of green. His vest is slightly out-of-fashion striped pattern of green, gold, and red which offsets his beard and the cut of his coat. His shoes are overly ornate in glossy black. Although they have no buckle, the leather is has been worked extensively with subtle patterns and swirls.  He carries a top hat in hand.

He hovers for a moment at the door, taking in the glittering sight of elegant society in the luxurious hall.  His face is a little hesitant as he looks around, perhaps searching for a known face.  He looks down at his top hat, then at the diners, perhaps not sure whether he should be wearing it or carrying it.  He finally reaches a decision and jams the stovepipe hat onto his head, then starts walking into the Dining Room.

Olivia has noticed the newcomer's hesitation, and bites her lower lip,  She understands what it is to see a room full of people enjoying themselves and not know how to fit in.  She turns to her dinner companions with an eager look.  "Forgive for interrupting for a moment, but I notice a gentleman freshly arrived, who seems bereft of dinner companions.  Might we not invite him along, as we still have several seats available?" she says entreatingly.

Baron von Strolz-Mader glances in the direction Olivia indicates and notices the Dwarf.  "By all means!" he exclaims.  "That sounds only courteous.  Does Your Grace concurr?" he adds, turning to Lord Árdghal.

The Faerie Lord smiles and nods.  "Indeed, I had just noticed the fellow and was about to make the same suggestion."  He gives a warm smile to Olivia.  "The more, the merrier, they say!"

"It's settled, then," concludes the baron.  "Hauptmann von Weissenbach, please ask the fellow if he would consent to join us."

Von Weissenbach bows.  "Of course, Your Lordship," he acquiesces.  He gets up and walks up to the Dwarf, offering the baron's calling card.  "Good evening, sir," he salutes the newcomer.  "I am Captain von Weissenbach, aide-de-camp to His Lordship the baron Oktav von Strolz-Mader.  On behalf of His Lordship and his guests, I would like to ask you to share his table for dinner, if this is convenient and agreeable to you."

Antioch hesitates for a moment, scarcely believing he would be invited to another's table so quickly. Recovering as best he can, he nods to the hussar and smiles briefly. Following behind the Hauptmann, he moves toward the table.

When he arrives, there is another moment of apparent confusion as Antioch looks first toward the Faerie Lord, then the Baron, then the only woman at the table. Who to acknowledge first, he wonders briefly as his hand moves toward his jacket pocket and his calling cards. Hauptmann von Weissenbach intercedes, "May I present..." Antioch removes a thin bronze plate from his card case and presents it to Hauptmann von Weissenbach. The hussar takes the metallic calling card and announces, "Mr.. Antioch of Stockholm."

Antioch bows to the table in general an begins handing out his card, moving clockwise for lack of a better decision. Each card is created from flattened bronze, carefully worked to a polished luster and filed to avoid sharp edges and corners. There are only two words on the card. "Antioch," which is written in a flowing script with the word "Stockholm" underneath. Each letter is composed of evenly spaced dots, pressed closely together to form the illusion of a smooth line. The back of each 'card' is perfectly smooth, despite the metal's thinness, mute testimony to the card-maker's skill at engraving the name. "Your servant, ma'am," Antioch says. "A pleasure, sir.  My Lord, thank you for inviting me to join you." Antioch slips the card case back into his jacket as Hauptmann von Weissenbach pulls out a chair. "Thank you, sir. You are too kind." As Hauptmann von Weissenbach returns to his seat, Antioch surveys the table, still speaking to his companions at large.

"You are too, kind, really.  I must thank you for your generosity to a stranger. I must confess, I feared I would be dining alone this evening, despite the number of passengers aboard ship. You all do me a great service.  Food eaten alone is never agreeable to the palate."

"Then we must believe your dinner tonight will be delicious," says Olivia, smiling, "as you are a
welcome guest among us.

"In Barcelona," she continues, "I met several of your people who work with a family connection.  They told me they work on large steam engines but I must confess I never thought to ask if they had other, personal projects.  Certainly their cards were of the general printed kind, as is mine.  I must say that your card is a work of art.  Be assured I shall treasure it as such."  As she speaks, she hands him her card.

Antioch takes the card in both hands and carefully reads the name, committing each detail to lasting memory. After a moment he looks at Olivia and smiles. "Thank you greatly for the compliment, ma'am. In truth, the pneumatic-tipped etching device is something of which I am rather fond, however, I am still finding my way in the matter of scripting, if you will."  Antioch's smile broadens and he places Olivia's card in an upper vest pocket with his left hand. "I find that such a card helps in overcoming my 'awkwardness' in new social situations.  Surely a refined woman of such taste and elegance as yourself does not have to worry about such contrivances..."

Olivia inclines her head graciously.  "Sir, I thank you for your courtesy.  Truth to tell, I believe every thinking person must be uneasy when alone among strangers.  It is that unease, or discomfort, which no doubt inhibits many from leaving the familiar in order to travel."  She interrupts herself suddenly and shakes her head.  "Forgive me!  While I talk, the steward waits to hand you the menu.  Everything is most attractive.  I can personally recomend the trout; Herr Kohl will no doubt do the same for the duck; --- and each of us his choice!

Reasons to Travel?

Markus finishes chewing a bite of duck before joining in, "Yes, the duck is quite exquisite in fact, very well prepared.  And this claret is first rate.  Would you not agree, Baron von Stroltz-Mader?"

Caught with his mouth full, the baron nods approvingly.  The Sidhe Lord smiles at the sight and glances at Olivia with dancing eyes.  Perhaps feeling it is now up to him to pick up the conversation, he waves in the direction Antioch's and Olivia's cards, still on the table.

"You, madam, are apparently travelling for business.  Fashion and ornaments, I see; this would explain your exquisite taste in clothing.  You, sir," he adds, turning to Markus, "are of course performing your arts on board.  I will add to the list and admit that I am travelling for far less worthy purposes, having no useful motive to redeem them, since I am merely visiting a cousin of mine, and thought I would at the same time enjoy this new mode of errance."  He gestures at his surroundings, then grins at Antioch.

Finishing a sip of the claret in front of him, Markus turns to the previously silent Faerie Lord.  "In my humble opinion, your Lordship, visiting one's family is a very worthy purpose indeed."

Antioch returns the Sidhe Lord's grin. "I share you enjoyment, my Lord. This ship is truly a marvel of craftsmanship and sorcery. It would be a dream come true to some day be linked to a creation as grand as this.

"I confess that my reasons for traveling are, perhaps, but most ignoble of all. I truth, I'm traveling to Bayern for no other reason than the prospect of employment." Antioch blushes slightly and shrugs his shoulders. "I was unable to find 'suitable' engagement in Paris." Antioch pauses for a moment, then reconsiders. "On there other hand, there were plenty of diversions..."

Olivia smiles politely.  "From what I have heard, in Bayern we will find many opportunities for both business and diversion.  I wish you good fortune in your quest for employment as I desire the same in my quest for business."

Markus nods, finishing off a piece of duck before speaking.  "Bayern has been very good to me as far as employment goes.  May I ask what sorts of opportunities you are both seeking, if that is not prying?"

Antioch rubs his beard for a moment before speaking. "To be honest, I'm not really sure what I'm looking for. I guess I always thought I'd know it when it appeared." Antioch smiles and shrugs. "It just hasn't appeared yet."

Olivia takes a sip of mineral water, as she considers how to present her business purposes.  "My business is to see into the future.  As you can see from my card, I am a Purchasing Agent for a wholesale business dedicated to providing materials --- no! that's not quite right.  I am looking for special items for a division of that business ... Perhaps an example would be clearer for you gentlemen, rather than a description."  She glances at them and then continues.

"Let us suppose that your parents consent to your sister's engagement.  Before it is announced publicly your mother and sister will have consulted with their preferred modiste.  The bridal gown and accessories for a fashionable wedding easily take a year's work for several persons.  And, in addition, there is the bride's trousseau.  Recall that I said 'fashionable' which means that at the time of the ceremony and for the wedding trip and for the social season following the wedding the bride and her husband --- and all their relatives --- will want her to be well-dressed:  in fashion, not out-of-style.  My responsibility is to have what will be in fashion next year in stock this year, which means I need to see at least a year-and-a-half into the future."

A wan smile appears on Markus' lips.  "You have an interesting way of describing your business; almost as if you were creating your own reality.  You are quite artistic with your words.  Remind me to introduce you to my friend Seton Jalgar, the writer, later this evening.  Perhaps after my performance?"

Olivia inclines her head.  "No doubt after your performance you will be surrounded by many admirers seeking your attention.  I will be among them, and will be honored to meet Mr. Jalgar, if not inconvenient for you or Mr. Jalgar.  And if not tonight, why, there is always tomorrow, when I have promised to introduce you to someone.  I am sure we will both find an opportunity to keep our promises."  Olivia gives Herr Kohl a friendly smile, before taking another bite of the delicious trout.

Markus seems to be thinking, trying to remember who it is you speak of.  "Oh yes!"  he exclaims, "The gentleman with the long blonde hair, correct?  Actually, I did meet him earlier today, but we were not formally introduced."

Markus takes another bite of the wonderful duck, swallowing before continuing.  "And as for my 'many admirers', I have to admit I am still not used to dealing with their adulations.  An excuse to slip away would be greatly appreciated.  Perhaps the four of us could meet in the Main Dining Room around 11:30?  That will give me sufficient time to 'press the flesh', as it were, and then be able to slip out?"

Antioch nods in agreement.  "I, for one, would love the chance to explore more of the ship. 11:30 sounds like the perfect time."

"Yes, 11:30 in the evening in the main Dining Room should be a convenient time and place."  Olivia speaks her agreement.  "Oh, may I ask, is your friend the correspondent who has been writing of the society in Vienna?  The name seems similar but I am not sure, as I am used to a different pronunciation.  However, in newspapers from Madrid, my family and I always looked for a most interesting recital of the events in Vienna.  The author was --- we said señor 'Halgar' --- but that is because the 'J' in Spanish is pronounced like the 'H' in English ... "  She looks to Herr Kohl for clarification.  Then, belatedly considering that he wants to eat, she also asks a question of Antioch.  "Are you familiar with any of the writings of Herr Kohl's friend?"

The conversation continues gaily for several moment.  Shortly before he is due to appear in his act in the Small Dining Room, Markus excuses himself and takes leave of the company.  The baron quickly swallows a bite and promises to go see the show; Lord Árdghal smiles enigmatically and nods, his eyes following Markus as he leaves.

Antioch waits until Olivia places her napkin upon the table. When his table-companion signals she is finished with her meal Antioch places his napkin on the table.

"A truly regal meal, wouldn't you agree, ma'am?" Antioch delays standing until Olivia responds, or indicates she is ready to leave. His left hand idly toys with the cigar clip in his vest pocket. Intent observers take him for a dwarf who likes his after-dinner smoke. Smoking in the presence of a lady, however, is out of the question.

A steward is quick to pull Olivia's chair back for her to rise.  With concealed amusement, she notices Antioch fiddles with a cigar case.  The courteous Dwarf no doubt longs for a smoke.

She smiles at all her dinner companions and asks, "Will one of you be so kind as to escort me to the performance, if you have no other commitment?  Our pleasant conversation and delicious food and wine has caused us to linger.  I fear that, since I do not know the way, I might arrive late, and I do not want to disturb Herr Kohl nor his audience."

Her attention perhaps lingers a trifle longer on the Baron, who has previously expressed his intention of seeing the stage magic of Herr Kohl.  Rising with crisp precision, and a twinkling smile, the Baron offers his arm to Olivia.  "Senorita, if you would so honor, me I would be pleased, no, enchanted, to act as your escort this evening.  You will find Herr Kohl's preformance to be quite amazing, I assure you."

Lord Árdghal smiles as the baron offers his arm to Olivia.  "I have heard many compliments on Herr Kohls' mastery of prestidigitation," he agrees.  "I hear it is nearly impossible for an observer to discern his legerdemain.  With your permission, I shall join you to see the show."

He gets up to accompany them.  With a smile for Antioch, he adds: "I hope we shall see you soon, dear sir.  We shall save you a seat."

Without a word, von Weissenbach gets to his feet as well.  Under his arm is a thin leather-bound document-holder that apparently sat on his knees for the entire meal.