There was what they call, a foggy silence. Dense. Slow. Moving. silence.
Some of them were sipping on their whiskey, while the rest were huddled around the mahogany table. Dresses and uniforms. Their family sigils embroidered on their shoulders and pockets. The women carried purses and gloves. White gloves and black. They were drinking wine. The best that could be found in all the lands.
— But this is PREPOSTEROUS! Young Luke, looking at everyone, turned. A faint ray of light through the fog. Silence again. Stern. Strange. Scared. Silence.
Luke was younger than the rest of the masks that had huddled in this grand mahogany chamber. He was a fresh 24. The age when the mind and speech should be divorced.
But...
— Is it? Dolomer asked still looking at the paper in front of him. Is it young man? You think what I have to say is preposterous?
The ladies shrank a little in their seats and shoes. Whiskey glasses wanted to slip and drop. Anything would be a good distraction. Some suits trembled in their bones. Luke, the son of Genmah, knew little. He met all the eyes and was oblivious. He stood there trying to understand. Looking and waiting.
— Is it young master? He asked again. Slowly looking up from under his eyebrows. A faint smile on his lips. Preposterous? is it?
Luke turned. Facing Dolomer again.
— A little bit? he said sheepishly.
A faint laugh. Very faint. As if in the other room behind the door. But it came again. Louder. And louder.
His old head fell backwards as Dolomer started laughing to everyone’s surprise. He laughed a full laugh. The surety of humour. Not a sinner’s laugh but the devils'. Laughter.
Pause.
Silence.
— And what is your opinion on walking in the garden young master? Dolomer asked still amused.
Lady Dee’s fingers touched the back of Genmah’s hand form under her wrap. Disguise. A diamond slid from her eyes. On a different chair a vertebrate shivered.
Eventuality.
— Mr. Dolomer, Sir! I love walking. All earnest.
[The Plains of Nora — SK — ST02DR01–261216]
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