“What if that chunk surfaced a mere six weeks ago on the land of my good friend Tommy Kirkenhazard. One of our own faithful members.”
Tommy stood to take a bow, waving his Texas gray wolf Stetson. Though his teeth were smiling, his eyes were shooting daggers at Kronski. It was obvious to the entire room that there was bad blood between the two.
“Then it would be possible, outrageously expensive, and difficult, but possible to transport that chunk of ice here. A chunk that contains a sizeable shoal of yellowfin cutthroat trout.” Kronski drew breath to allow this information to sink in. “Then we, dear friends, could be the first people to eat yellowfin in a hundred years.”
This prospect even had a few of the vegetarians salivating.
“Watch, Extinctionists. Watch and be amazed.”
Kronski clicked his fingers, and a dozen kitchen staff wheeled the ponderous trolley into the center of the banqueting area, where it rested on a steel grille. The workers then stripped off their uniforms to reveal monkey costumes underneath.
Have I gone over the top with the monkey rigs? Kronski wondered. Is it just too Broadway?
But a quick survey of his guests assured him that they remained enthralled.
The kitchen staff were actually trained circus acrobats from one of the Cirque du Soleil knockoffs touring north Africa. They were only too glad to take a few days out of their schedule to put on this private show for the Extinctionists.
They swarmed up the huge ice block, anchoring themselves on with ropes, crampons, or grappling hooks, and began demolishing it with chainsaws, flaming swords, and flamethrowers, all produced seemingly from nowhere.
It was a spectacular indulgence. Ice flew, showering the guests, and the buzz of machinery was deafening.
Quickly the shoal of yellowfin poked through the blue murk of ice. They hung, wide-eyed and frozen in midturn, their bodies caught by the flash freeze.
What a way to go, thought Kronski. With absolutely no inkling. Wonderful.
The performers began carving the fish in blocks from the ice, and each one was passed down to one of a dozen line cooks, who had appeared from the side doors wheeling gas burners. Each individual block was slid into a heated colander to steam off excess ice, then the fish were expertly filleted and fried in olive oil with a selection of chunky cut vegetables and a crushed clove of garlic.
For the vegetarians there was a champagne mushroom risotto, though Kronski did not anticipate many takers. The nonmeat eaters would accept the fish just to stab it.
The meal was a huge success, and the level of delighted chatter rose to fill the hall.
Kronski managed to eat half a fillet, in spite of his nerves.
Delicious. Exquisite.
They think that was the highlight, he thought. They ain’t seen nothing yet.
After coffee, when the Extinctionists were loosening their cummerbunds or turning fat cigars for an even burn, Kronski instructed his staff to set up the courtroom.
They responded with the speed and expertise of a Formula One pit team, as well they should after three months of being whipped into shape. Literally. The team of workers swarmed across the grid where the melted ice sloshed below like a disturbed swimming pool, a few stray yellowfins floating on the surface. They covered this section of floor and exposed a second pit, this one lined with steel and covered with scorch marks.
Two podiums and a dock were wheeled into the center of the hall, taking the place of the ice trolley. The podiums had computers on their swivel tops, and the wooden dock was occupied by a cage. The cage’s resident was masked by a curtain of leopard skin.
The diners’ chatter ceased as everybody held their breath for the big reveal. This was the moment everyone had waited for, these millionaires and billionaires paying through the nose for a few moments of ultimate power: holding the fate of an entire species in their hands, showing the rest of the planet who was boss. The guests did not notice the dozen or so sharpshooters placed discreetly on the upper terrace in case the creature on trial displayed any new magical powers. There was little chance of a subterranean rescue, as the entire hall was built on a foundation of steel rods and concrete.
Kronski milked the moment, rising slowly from his seat and sauntering across to the prosecutor’s podium.
He steepled his fingers, allowing the moment to build, then began his presentation.
“Every year we put a rare animal on trial.”
There were a few hoots from the audience, which Kronski waved away good-naturedly.
“A real trial, where the host prosecutes, and one of you lucky people gets to defend. The idea is simplicity. If you can convince a jury of your unprejudiced peers . . .”