Vellum and Green Vitriol
Copyright © 2007, S. Y. Affolee
The Second Conjuration
Seal X
"Good evening, Miss."
Startled, I turned from locking the door to my hotel room and encountered an older couple heading towards the lift. They were perhaps in their fifties--the woman was wearing an elegantly flowing dress the color of pomegranates and a matching wrap, but on top of her head appeared to be something that was a cross between a brimless beaver cap and a turban. The man wore a thin lapelled suit complete with waistcoat and tie in a sort of dark gray. He tipped his boater in greeting, revealing a balding head.
"Um, hello."
"You must be here in Greenglass for a vacation," said the woman. But she frowned. "Are you staying here alone? If you like, you can join us for dinner."
"We're heading to the hotel restaurant," the man added helpfully. "However, I'm afraid you'll have to excuse us afterwards since we'll be attending the opera later tonight."
"Thank you, but no. I'm actually meeting a, uh, friend downstairs." I glanced at the lift. I had taken it earlier with Rhys and the bellhop, but the grinding noises of the gears made me rather queasy. One would think after all these centuries I'd be used to the rapid change in technology. But there was just something about being trapped in a small box that gave me the shivers. Possibly this fear stemmed back to the old days when I was hardly aware. I once had an owner who once kept me in a locked iron chest and took me out only for New Years when he had the urge to cast hexes on his visiting in-laws. Of course, since all of my spells were of the defensive sort rather than offensive, all of the spells he had used did not work.
"Very well. Aren't you going to be taking the lift?" asked the man when I headed towards the staircase.
"It's not that far down. Besides, I need the exercise."
The woman gave a snort as they stepped into the lift. She probably thought she was whispering, but I could hear her all the same. "Young women these days! All that exercise is bound to be unhealthy. And mark my words, she's probably meeting some man down there. I don't understand why these girls feel it is perfectly all right to flaunt their affairs in public!"
I found myself hiding a smile as I made my way down the stairs. Apparently the woman had lived a fairly sheltered life. If she had witnessed anyone really flaunting their affairs, she might as well be reaching for her smelling salts.
I managed to reach the hotel lobby before the lift opened. Rhys was sitting on a couch reading a wrinkled newspaper. The headlines declared a scandal involving the mayor of Greenglass and several mistresses.
"Shocking isn't it?" He folded the newspaper back and placed it on a nearby table that was topped with a fake plant. "The mayor had been visiting his mistresses for years. It helped that they all lived in different parts of the city--his wife never knew about the mistresses. The mistresses never knew about each other. Of course, until an intrepid reporter turned stalker and a disgruntled former employee at the mayoral office decided to exact some revenge from being fired."
"That just sounds so silly."
"Silly? It's a scandal of major proportions. The city council is calling for him to step down."
"I say it's silly because all of this could have been avoided if he hadn't married in the first place," I explained. "Then he could visit as many women as he wanted and no one would care because he would be a bachelor."
"I suppose that would work. But I don't think a public would elect a womanizer."
The lift chimed and the couple I had met earlier walked out, heading towards the clerk at the counter. The man inquired about a cab. The woman turned to shoot me a haughty look.
"What was that about?" Rhys remarked as he steered me out of the lobby and out into the night.
"The usual," I replied. "People are always disapproving of young women traveling about on their own."
"I wouldn't fault them too much. Just a few decades ago, young women weren't allowed to do anything on their own unless they were accompanied by a chaperone, a father, a brother, or a husband."
"Or if you worked as a companion."
"You worked as a companion?" he seemed surprised. "You seem so…independent. You don't strike me as someone who would willingly attach herself to an employer who would literally treat you as a servant."
"It depends on employer. Deaf old ladies don't really care what you do except that you always bring them tea at four." I looked about on the street. There was a fair amount of pedestrian traffic heading to various restaurants in the area. "So what is this pub of yours called?"
"Wellington's."
"Wellington's? Don't tell me. The proprietors are history buffs."
"Not really. The owner just happens to be a distant descendant of Wellington. And he just used the name because he liked it." He pointed out a two storey building on the opposite corner. In the darkness, it was all dark angles and lit windows. A talkative group emerged from the building to head down the street. "That's Wellington's. Come on. Sometimes it is a bit of a wait to get a table."
"It's crowded?" I quickened my pace to match his stride.
"You sound as horrified as a dowager duchess forced to mingle with hoi polloi. Since you seem so eager to find your 'sibling', one would think you would have no problem with people at all."
"Finding a book is one thing. I'm used to being around books. People are another. They're, I don't know, loud."
"Oh, poor Ana. You just wanted a quiet dinner, didn't you?"
"I suppose I won't get one as long as I hang around you."
"You make it sound like it's such a bad thing." He pushed the pub door open and almost immediately, a wave of heat rushed out, mellowing out the sting of the cold outside air. There was a tang of pipe tobacco mixed with food in the air. Low laughter and the sound of a confident clarinet drifted around like fingers, tugging patrons inside.
"Is that jazz?"
"Played by one of the local bands," he confirmed. "I find some of the recent music a little too loud, but the Renaldi Players are actually quite good."
"You don't usually like jazz? Then why do you come here?"
"As I mentioned before, Wellington's has a wider selection of food. Over there, I think I see a empty booth."
"All right." I weaved past some other diners and a harried looking waiter before sliding into a well worn wood booth pushed up against the back wall. Rhys slid in across the table and then tried to get the attention of one of the waiters. "So you come here for the food, not the music. Do you even like music?"
"Sure. I like Beethoven. He's rather intense. Some of the French impressionists are also quite good."
I didn't hide a grimace. "You're thoroughly inured in the classics, aren't you?"
"As you recall, I did say that I would be sick of Mozart after a week."
"Excepting Mozart then."
"You don't like Beethoven?"
"He's fine, I suppose. But I've always enjoyed folk songs better. I know this will sound a little odd and counterintuitive, but they're a bit more human, if you know what I mean. Freer. Not so constrained by rules. I like jazz because it's like that--more improvisational."
"I can see your point."
A waitress came by to rattle off the day's specials. At the moment, I was too hungry to really care what I ordered at an unfamiliar pub so I just chose the first thing she had mentioned. Rhys seemed to take his time debating on whether or not he wanted lamb or steak which made her tap her pencil against her pad impatiently. Finally, he decided on chicken. The waitress rolled her eyes and said bluntly, "If you were any uglier, I would have just left you hungry."
"Was that, just now, bad service and an insult?" he said when she turned away.
"I don't know. It was more like a backhanded compliment. And I think she was justified, really, to say that. You were being rather obnoxious. Do you always take so long to order?"
"No. But sometimes I like to see how far I can go before someone will blow up."
I raised an eyebrow. "I'll keep that in mind."
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