“Pardon me.” The accidental assailant reached out to steady Finn, but Aristide had already caught him. Highly polished spectacles flashed in the golden light of the marquee. Aristide froze, assuming an expression of polite disdain.
“D-D-Deputy Commissioner Müller,” he said, extending a languid hand. “So p-p-pleased to see you. And how is Maxine? It was d-d-divine running into her at the baroness’s little party.” Müller’s grip was lackluster, and he drew away quickly. Aristide was accustomed to having his hand kissed, pressed to cheeks, wrung enthusiastically; he was underwhelmed by the deputy commissioner’s performance. “T-T-Tell me, did you enjoy the show?”
From Müller’s expression, he hadn’t been impressed with Aristide’s performance either. Still, he said, “It was all right,” and nodded, once.
“Mr. Makricosta,” said Cyril, drawing Aristide’s attention from Müller’s narrow, sunken eyes. He realized Cyril had been watching him this entire time, and wondered if he’d seen Müller take his collision course, seen where it would lead them, and hadn’t stopped it. “I didn’t realize you and the deputy commissioner were acquainted.”
Aristide knew when he was being mocked. But he also knew when he was being given a warning. And Cyril, hang him, had managed both at once.
“Only by reputation,” said Aristide. “His, of course, not mine.”
“I’m sure I’ve heard your name before,” said Müller.
Aristide graced him with a smile like a rabid dog’s.
“Mr. Lourdes,” said Cyril, defusing the situation. “I don’t believe you’ve met Alex Müller.”
“A pleasure, sir.” Finn’s earnestness was refreshing.
“Mr. Lourdes and I are coworkers,” Cyril explained.
Müller gave Finn an appraising look. “Are you—?”
“Oh no. Office of the Bursar.”
Müller let his hand be shaken. “It’s always a pleasure to meet another civil servant, Mr. Lourdes.”
There was an awkward pause, as conversation scrabbled to find a crack through which it could enter. Aristide looked at Cyril again, and caught him with his guard down. He was searching the crowd with shifting eyes, looking hunted.
Finn saved things by yawning enormously and putting his weight on Aristide’s arm. “I’m so sorry,” he said, “but I’m utterly bashed. Been traveling.”
“You’d better let Mr. Makricosta take you home,” said Cyril.
Tastelessly blatant innuendo. Aristide did not engage. “Indeed. Time to put your feet up and have a t-t-toddy.” He nodded to Cyril, and to Müller. “Gentlemen.”
Even after the crowd had separated them, Aristide felt two pairs of eyes on his back. He pulled the ribbon from his hair and let his curls tumble down, trying to cut the intensity of imagined scrutiny. Finn caught one of the ringlets and wound it around his finger.
“Are you really so t-t-tired?” Aristide tipped his head to the side, tugging his hair free of Finn’s grasp.
“Yes,” said Finn, leaning his head on Aristide’s shoulder. “But I’d rather not go to sleep just yet, if it’s all the same to you.”
“It’s t-t-two quite d-d-different things, in fact, and we’re in full agreement. Ah, but we might not be able to slip away just yet.” Because he was taller than most of the people on the footpath, Aristide could see a plume of peacock feathers swaying like glamorous semaphore over the crowd. Zelda Peronides had spotted him and was waving her hat to catch his attention. “There’s a friend I need to speak with, before I go.”
“Ari,” said Zelda, as she hove through the press of people. “Oh darling, this is the first I’ve seen of the new show. It’s simply marvelous. Even Mab thought so. Didn’t you, Mab?”
Zelda’s companion, a leather-faced woman in country clothes, laid a hand on Aristide’s free arm. “Pleased to meet you, and it certainly was.” Her pursed, immobile lips, the way her words crowded behind her teeth … Even more than Finn’s soft lilt, her dialect was intensely familiar to Aristide. This woman was mountain-born: the Currin Pass, or somewhere nearby. Her dark skin and darker curls said she was at least part Chuli, too.
“I didn’t get the chance to introduce you two during the interval,” said Zelda. “But Mab’s got a little bit of a problem I hope you might sort out for her. Mab, this is Aristide Makricosta. Ari, meet Mab Cattayim.”
“If you sort my problem,” said Aristide, shaking Mab’s hand but speaking to Zelda, “I would be more than delighted to sort hers.” They hadn’t got the details of the ivory worked out in the short minutes he’d spent at her table. Zelda’s fee was exorbitant, and Aristide was a ferocious haggler by nature. “B-B-By the way, this is Finn Lourdes. You didn’t get to meet him at the interval either. Because the silly thing actually waits in the q-q-queue for the washroom.”
Zelda shook her head, laughing. Her long earrings jangled against her neck. “Darling,” she said, kissing each of Finn’s cheeks. “That’s what the mime is in the show for. So you have a tidy five minutes to piss and you won’t miss anything good.”