Dragons Deal (38 page)

"You look great, Big Brother!" she exclaimed.

"Val?" Griffen gulped. He had been checking out his own sister! He hoped no one else had noticed. "Wow, you look absolutely amazing."

Val primped her hair with a careful palm. "What do you think of the updo?" she asked. "And they did my makeup at the salon."

"It makes you totally unrecognizable," Mai said. "I mean that in a good way." Val wrinkled her nose at Mai, who made a face back.

"I love your wrap," Fox Lisa said, fingering the edge of the shawl.

"Isn't it lovely? It's from Gris-gris," Val said, pulling her date forward.

"My aunt sent it," Gris-gris said. "Val and Ms. Mai impressed her plenty."

Val and Mai exchanged glances and grins.

Griffen had to do another double take. The slender man, who had never worn anything fancier than a polo shirt around Griffen, had on a Brooks Brothers tuxedo that framed wider shoulders and a narrower waist than Griffen ever would have suspected him of having. The white shirt gleamed in the muted lighting of the anteroom, and his silk bow tie was more perfectly knotted than Griffen's. Griffen would not have known him at all except that he was escorting Val.

"Looking good," Griffen told him. Gris-gris ducked his head shyly.

"It's the lady on my arm that makes it all work," he said. "I never done nothin' like this before. I worked a bunch of krewe parties in days past, but I never came to one."

"Neither have we," Griffen assured him. "Come on, let's go find our table."

All but Gris-gris donned masks, and they entered the room.

"I love my dress," Val told Gris-gris, holding on to his arm. "That was one of the most fun experiences I've ever had."

"Aunt Herbera said she'd be happy to fit you out again anytime."

"Local talent is all very well, but the real cutting-edge fashion comes from New York couture," Mai began. Griffen nudged her hard. Mai started to give him a dirty look, then ducked her head in shame. "But she does impeccable work, I must admit. There is not a stitch out of place, and this is the second time Val has worn it. It is a classic that will last many years." Gris-gris looked pleased.

"My aunt, she been making dresses for kings and queens of Mardi Gras for forty years," he said. "This the first time I've seen 'em bein' worn. She will be thrilled."

The huge ballroom was even more dimly lit than the anteroom, but enough to see the decorations. Around the perimeter and flanking the amazingly long head table were white pillars with gold dragons perched on top. The dragons' tails wound down the columns, almost to the spotlights that shone upward, projecting the winged shadows on the ceiling. Softly rippling banners hung on the walls. One of them, fringed in heavy swags of old gold tassels, looked old enough to Griffen to have been made before World War II. The others were newer but just as beautiful. Round tables filled most of the room around a large dance floor.

An archway made of trelliswork crawling with dragon figures stood at one edge of the dance floor. A photographer stopped them as they reached it and snapped several exposures.

"Trying to go incognito?" a stocky man asked them when the photographer let them go. "It won't work."

Griffen smiled at Detective Harrison. He touched the mask on his face. "I don't know what the mask is for," he said.

"Plausible deniability," Harrison said. "Consorting with known criminals."

"But here you are," Griffen said. "You look good."

"Thanks. Cost me enough to get here, between the ticket and tuxedo rental. Mine wasn't fancy enough for this blowout."

"You have your own tuxedo?" Griffen asked, unable not to sound astonished.

Harrison frowned at him. "You think you can live in New Orleans and never get invited to a Mardi Gras party? Thanks a heap."

"I don't mean to be offensive," Griffen said. "You could fill a library with all the things I don't know about Mardi Gras."

Harrison waved a hand. "Never mind, Griffen. Anyone can tell
yours
is a rental. But the rest of you cleaned up pretty good."

"Didn't know we could do it, huh?" Gris-gris asked, grinning. Harrison did the same double take that Griffen had.

"Gris-gris? Well, I will be damned. But this is the season for costumes. For everyone, I guess."

Gris-gris was enjoying himself too much to be offended. "That's right, Officer. I hide my inner prince most days. But today I had to reveal myself to take this lovely princess on my arm." He patted Val's hand.

"Enjoy yourself, Detective," Griffen said. "They're signing to us to sit down."

He escorted both of his ladies to the long table at the end of the room. Several people in domino masks were already seated there. All the men rose as the ladies approached. Griffen recognized most of them in spite of the nominal covering, and introduced them to his party.

"These are the dukes and maids," Etienne explained, giving everyone's name. "Lieutenants and committee heads are out dere." He gestured toward the sea of round tables.

"A pleasure," Griffen said, bowing over the women's hands and shaking hands with the men.

The dukes followed suit, in "pecking order," as Mitchell might have put it. The ladies all curtsied to him and shook hands with the others. He had heard some of the names. They were prominent in business or society or both in town. He felt proud to be titular head of a group like that.

"What are the masks for?" Mai inquired.

"We reveal the members of the court later on in special introductions," Etienne said. "After you are so obligin' as to assist us in the tableaux. I know y'all are all ready to go on dat."

"We've been practicing," Val assured him.

"For what?" Griffen asked, feeling like a rug had been pulled out from under his feet. "You're presenting a tableau?"

Val winked at him from behind her mask. "You don't know everything that's going on, Big Brother." She let one of the masked dukes lead her away

Etienne's seat was at the center of the table. Griffen was at his right hand, and an empty chair was on his left. The rest of the court spread out boy-girl-boy-girl on either side. Griffen took a moment after sitting down to look at everything.

Etienne had kept his promise: Fafnir could hold its masquerade ball up beside any of the krewes, super or not, with pride. The decorations featured the same masked dragon that had been on the Fafnir invitations. He--or she--had been made into wall hangings like medieval tapestries that hung suspended all around the walls, etched into the champagne flutes at each place, and printed on the name cards. A white card with the sequence of events printed on it was propped against the pristine white napkin folded on his plate. Two bands would play that evening, one jazz and one orchestra. The jazz band was playing at the moment off on the side of the room.

"Canapes, sir?" asked a waiter in black tie. He extended a silver tray to Griffen. Griffen accepted a small plate and napkin. The waiter used a small silver tongs to fill it with a pastry shell an inch across filled with pink crabmeat and topped with a dollop of remoulade, a single perfect shrimp on a black-and-white crust made of sesame seeds, and a globe of salmon paste with a flag made of cucumber sticking out of it on puff pastry. He kept doling out tiny sculptures in food until Griffen held up a hand to stop him. The lady to his right, Regina Bellaut, owner of three trendy exercise studios, exclaimed over her morsels.

"That is just the most delicious thing!"

"It's the best food I've had at any of these parties," Griffen said. He had become quite a foodie since moving to New Orleans and was pleased to be able to identify the delicacies to his seatmate.

"Well, I am mightily impressed," Regina said. "It's so nice to have Fafnir up and around again after all these years. My great-granddaddy was a duke of Fafnir."

"Really?" Griffen asked. He realized that she was a dragon and wondered if she knew it. "Did he know a man named Mose?"

"Yes, of course he did! A fine gentleman. He and Great-granddad used to chat about once a week. Probably still do though I don't know. Great-granddad is in Arizona for the climate."

Griffen noticed that beside his water glass was a china figure of a dragon with the date and the name of the krewe on a banner snaking down its chest. The dragon was wound around a treasure chest made of real wood banded with metal.

"What is this?" he asked.

"It's the favor," Regina said. "I think it's a little jewelry box, a ring box, for little valuables or paper clips. This is so much nicer than most of the table favors at other balls. Very pretty, Captain," she said, raising her voice so Etienne could hear.

He offered her a seated bow. "We do it all," Etienne said. "It's got a witchin' on it so you never lose half of a pair of earrin's or have you necklace clasp break. It's good luck."

"Well, thank you, Captain," Regina said. "I will treasure it."

"Me, too," Griffen said.

"Quality's what we aim to offer," Etienne said.

The meal followed suit. Griffen enjoyed a shrimp etoufee that rivaled any he had had at the best restaurants in the city. All the courses were, he thought with a self-deprecating grin, fit for a king.

After dessert was served, Griffen sat back with a full stomach and a sense of well-being. People came up to take pictures of him, alone or with the spouse of the camerawielder. He felt like a minor celebrity. This was a lot more fun than the conclave had been. There he had been a curiosity, one of a kind. Here, he was among fellow dragons. His mask limited his vision to what he could see ahead of him, but that was a minor annoyance.

Etienne stood up and banged on the side of his water glass with a fork. His lean, sharp face was lit with eager energy. Griffen could see how that enthusiasm had inspired a new generation.

"Attention, folks! I want to welcome y'all to the revival of the Krewe of Fafnir and our Masquerade Ball! In a moment, we'll see a tableau of this year's theme, which I'll tell ya, just to whet your appetites, is Dragons Rule!"

The diners burst into wild applause. Etienne held up a hand. "All right. But first, I wanna introduce you to the court of Fafnir. These are your royalty, ladies and gentlemen. I want you to give dem all your respect. Let's start with our pages!"

Three small boys of about ten or eleven years of age stood up at tables throughout the room. They were wearing satin dinner jackets and gold silk bow ties. Their hair was firmly slicked down, as if their mothers had gone to work on them with a comb just before they were introduced. Etienne reeled off their names, to tremendous applause. As each boy's name was called, he took off his mask.

"Dat's great! We're proud of 'em. Next, give a big hand to our gorgeous ladies of de court, the Maids of Fafnir!"

One by one, the women at the head table rose and removed their masks.

". . . And, finally, Miss Valerie McCandles!"

Val stood up, looking shy, and got the biggest round of applause. Griffen pounded his hands together and whistled loudly. She blushed and sat down in a hurry.

"Our honored dukes!"

The nine men whom Griffen had just met stood up and bowed, revealing their faces. Griffen realized he had seen a few of them before. They were leaders of the community, one a noted journalist on the
Times-Picayune
, and another the owner of a jazz club off Bourbon Street.

"Next, her fiery majesty, who is second only in our krewe to the king, I am forthrightly honored to introduce you to Mrs. Melinda Wurmley!"

Griffen clapped madly as a strongly built woman in fire gold satin stood up from the chair on the other side of Etienne and lifted her mask. His hands froze in midair. She turned to accept the accolades from the crowd and glared at Griffen.

M. Wurmley was
that
Melinda.

Griffen realized that he had not known Nathaniel and Lizzy's last name. He had seen the name "M. Wurmley" in Hardy's guide and not thought anything about it except that it sounded like a dragonish last name. Never in a million years would he have associated it with the dread Melinda.

Val rose and rushed out of the room. Mai followed her. Gris-gris shot a look of concern toward Griffen, who gestured to him to go. Gris-gris rocketed away, weaving among the tables and servers like an oiled snake. Griffen barely heard his own name. Etienne shoved his right foot into Griffen's leg to get his attention. Still reeling with shock, he rose to his feet.

"Our king and honoree at our parade on the twenty-fourth of February, the dragon who rule the Dragons Rule, dis is Griffen McCandles!"

Griffen lifted his mask and did his best to smile at the crowd. His head was spinning as he sat down. How in hell did she come to be Mardi Gras queen? He leaned toward her.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed.

Melinda looked indignant. "I was asked by him!" She tossed her head toward Etienne's back. "What are you complaining about? I told you I would abide by a truce with you, at the very least until the baby is born. Don't you trust my word?"

"Well, yes . . ."

"Then shut up and act like a king, even if you have to pretend! This is not the time to have this discussion."

Griffen felt rage throttling him. "No! The time was months ago, when I could have refused to be here!"

"Don't be ridiculous," Melinda growled. "We both need to be here. I am not a threat to you or your sister!"

"
She
doesn't see it that way."

"She's not hurt--she's only surprised. Both of you need to
grow up
!"

"Me, grow up?"

Etienne, seemingly oblivious to the verbal sniping going on behind him, went on to introduce the dozens of lieutenants, heads, and members of the various committees. After the last round of applause, he held up his hand for silence.

"So, now we come to the fun part y'all been waitin' for. I turn y'all over to Mrs. Lucinda Fenway, who will present our parade tableaux. Then you can tell people you saw it here first. Ms. Lucinda!"