I was about to drop my head in my hands when there was a rattle at the door—a very prolonged rat-tie. One that said "here I come" as clearly as if the person had shouted it through the door.
"Ah, my housekeeper," Robin said with amusement, rocketing to complete alertness in a heartbeat— the kind of alertness that seemed to spring straight from the son of a bitch's crotch. "Seraglio is reluctant to be a spectator to some of my more exotic entertainments. She doesn't seem to approve of nudity either, certainly not mine anyway." He put the coffee mug on the slab of rock crystal masquerading as a table and stood. "Considering her name means harem, that's rather curious, but to each her own. If one cannot appreciate the muse-inspired work of art that is my body…" He held his arms out to indicate the glory of it all. "Then I must respect their mental pathology and get on with my life."
He tied up his robe and flashed Seraglio a brilliant smile as she came through the door. It bounced off her impenetrable fa?ade without effect. "You're looking…professional as always, ma'am. Why, the very air sparkles with your unmatched efficiency." He gave Niko and me a wink. "Seraglio has always made it very clear that compliments of a personal nature are not welcome and that she has four protective brothers who would be ecstatic to tutor me on the concept. So, as difficult as it is, I behave myself."
I could tell he thought it was a pity, though, as he watched her begin to work. With her flawless peach-colored skin, enormous ageless black eyes, and glossy dark hair that she wore piled high on her head, Seraglio was beautiful in all the ways there were to be beautiful. I would've guessed her to be thirty-five, but I could've been a decade off in either direction. She was also a little person, but not Goodfellow's kind of little person. She was a human one, barely four feet tall—medically speaking, a person with dwarfism. And if she wasn't proof positive that once in a while Mother Nature got something right, I didn't know what was.
"Why, are you looking at me, Mr. Fellows?" Her voice reminded me of orange blossom honey, Spanish moss, and the thorns of a wild blackberry bush. Georgia or somewhere down that way. We'd lived in a trailer park there once; I recognized the broad drawl and faded Rs. Her words drifted over her shoulder as she bent over to retrieve cleaning supplies from the bottom half of the pantry. Robin's lips curved into a wicked grin as he watched her uniform pants pull taut over her rounded backside.
"No, ma'am," he lied gravely. "I would sooner pluck my own eyeballs out than show you such disrespect."
As I rolled mine, other skeptical ones pinned the puck. "Well, sir, if any assistance is needed in that area, you just let me know. I have ice tongs that would be just the thing," she offered matter-of-factly before turning back to her task. "Now, run along, children. I have work to do." A bejeweled hand flapped impatiently to hurry him and us on our way.
So we went elsewhere for the whole seven-hundred-tops discussion. After dressing, Robin decided lunch would be a great forum for cannibal tales and picked the restaurant, because after one three-ninety-nine buffet, he would never let me choose again. This place seemed interesting, though, and I let the thought of a tasty twenty-five-cent eggroll go. The restaurant didn't look too fancy from the outside, a few dingy windows and a faded striped awning, but the inside made up for it. The tables were old, dark wood with mosaic tile tops, and the chairs…they were just ugly as hell. With claw feet and worn velvet seats, they looked like props from Count Dracula's castle. From the ceiling hung several non-matching chandeliers. Some were looping metal, some whimsical blown glass, and some looked like they'd been banged together by kindergartners with a lot of enthusiasm and absolutely no talent. Everything in the place did have one thing in common, though—it was all old. Antique, and I could see how Robin would like that.
He ordered for us, some dish called Tavuk Gogsu, and then got down to business. "Turkish." He waved off the waiter before Niko or I could even take a look at the menu. "It's magnificent. Trust me. You'll bring offerings to my altar in thanks. Now, what about dusty old Sawney? Oh, and by the way, he wasn't a cannibal, as he wasn't—"
"Human. Yes, we're now aware," Niko interjected. "Promise's acquaintance at the museum filled us in regarding that, at least that he wasn't human. She didn't say precisely what he was."
"A Redcap," Robin said absently as he accepted a drink from the returning waiter. "Try this. Kahlua, soy, honey, very much like a mead I had in pre-Nero Rome. Quite tasty."
Niko and I exchanged looks of tolerant resignation, gave in, and drank. Robin operated on Goodfellow time and mere humans, or human-Auphe hybrids, couldn't change that. After a polite swallow, Niko put his glass down. "Sawney's a Redcap? I didn't know they were that powerful. And why the human-style name?"