This is obviously amateur and not meant to infringe on the rights of Anne Rice, Random House, and so on; neither is it meant to infringe on the rights of any, um, right-holders or whatever of any referenced quotes or whatnots that might be used.

***

"You had such a vision of the street
As the street hardly understands"
- Preludes (no. III), T. S. Eliot

***

"What do you call this?" he asked them in the English they understood. "Bunga raya," the tall one said in a husky voice, pointing at it. "Bunga raya," he repeated, and stared at this crimson flower in his hand. Hyacinthus rosasinensis, its long curved tongue tipped with nectar. It grew wild on the bushes along the well-worn paths, and every bright red petal gleamed under the brilliant moonlight. The girls laughed full, warm laughs; amused to watch him stare at the flower for the longest time, that strange pale stranger with light hair and eyes.
At last, he looked away from the flower at them. "Now, where do I go to for shelter?"
They discussed it at length. When finally satisfied with their decision, one of them, the pretty pouting one, beckoned to him. "We'll take you to the Temenggong," she said in slightly accented, but grammatically good, English. "He'll show you where you can stay tonight." They turned south, and started walking further away, deeper into the forest and he followed behind; here the main path was shaded by large rain trees, and on either side, where narrower footpaths branched out, grew mango trees, rambutan trees. Their leaves merged overhead to form a green canopy, and those individual leaves trembled slightly as a warm breeze brought salty smells of sea and monsoon. On the ground, thick lush leaves grew, dotted with yellow and red, some displaying the hyacinth and orchid and a hundred other flowers growing freely. He heard a few unseen night birds coo lazily, and rustles of foliage as various hunters darted and prey scurried.
The girls who had been talking and laughing steps before him suddenly stopped. The tall, husky-voiced one turned to him. "What's your name?"
"Marius," he said.
"Kenangan," she said. One by one they introduced themselves. There was tall Kenangan, about his height, and Bayu with the long loose curls. The pretty pouting one was Mawar, the slim one Chempaka. He was Marius - such a funny name, they told him. Where was he from?
"Rome. Europe." How did he get here?
"I came on an English trading vessel." What did he trade?
"Nothing. I'm a scholar."
Ah! A scholar, a scholar from Europe. Sometimes those did come to explore. He must have come to study the plants, the animals, yes? He must see the mangroves and swamps; and the birds - could he hear the annoying one that knocked but was not a woodpecker? Where were his books and pencils, papers to be filled with sketches of native wildlife, were they in that small case he carried? But never mind that, they were almost at the Temenggong's house.
The forest was thinning. It ended with a fringe of flame-of-the-forest; and the landscape beyond them was a grassy plain, gently sloping down to wet paddy fields which would be ploughed by worried-looking buffaloes in the morning. A few houses with triangular roofs sprouted haphazardly from the long blades of wet grass. They were built of wood, stained and darkened with time and age. The actual houses were supported on thick stilts with stairs leading up to their doors; and in the spaces beneath these houses were basements of a sort, containing chicken coops with sleeping chickens, and various household items. The curtains hanging in most windows were drawn, most doors shut, and only a few candle-lights glowed dimly through only a few open windows. Oil lamps hung from beams and rafters, or stood quietly on verandahs and windowsills. Armies of small insects hummed softly around wherever there was light.
"There's the Temenggong's house," said Bayu, pointing with her hand at a house that was bigger than the others, with a small money-plant growing by its door. They waved goodbye to Mawar and Marius, who waved goodbye back, and they dispersed to return to their homes.
"Come," Mawar beckoned, leading me to the door. She knocked on it once, twice, three times. "Papa! There's a European scholar here to see you." Her voice was sweet and thickly mortal.
There was a brief silence in the house, then a soft busy rustling of the opening of curtains and the lighting of candles and oil-lamps. The door was opened with a loud creak by a stocky, moustached man in a thin shirt and a sarong. He glanced briefly at Marius then turned his attention to Mawar, who gave him a slight but respectful bow. "You're late," he said to her.
"I met this man," she said, "who says he's a scholar. From Europe. I thought you could help him. He needs a place to stay."
"This man?" The Temenggong looked at him.
"Yes, his name is Marius."
"Marius, a scholar, you say? Well, come in, then."
Mawar motioned for him to enter as she removed her slippers and went up the steps. He, too, removed his black boots, and left them large and awkwardly stiff beside her light slippers, while he ascended the steps and entered the house.
It was simple and sparsely furnished; as soon as he stepped inside he was in the large hall, which had a bench, a low and long table, a large rattan mat on the floor, and a chest-of-drawers. That was all. It was separated from the other rooms - four of them - by some sort of thick brown curtain with a door behind. The door to the kitchen was open, and a faint light issued from there although its curtain dropped heavily from the beam above. The Temenggong sat cross-legged on the mat, and so, he did too, and laid his leather case and walking cane beside him. Meanwhile, Mawar had retreated into the kitchen.
Marius and the Temenggong sat in silence for a while, until the Temenggong said: "I suggest you lodge in Commercial Square. Although it is late at night, I will have someone accompany you there. It is quite near, and straight ahead."
"I thank you, sir," said Marius, "but I am searching for a place where I will be undisturbed in the daytime as well as the night, if I wish it so."
The Temenggong nodded. "You will find a few hotels there, and a few private residences which offer accommodation to such as yourself." He hesitated, then added, "May I ask, why are you here?"
"I find that I am fascinated with the East-Indies. I have heard tales, and read, and I have come to see this for myself. Perhaps explore its wildlife and geography." It had been ages since he was in Asia, and many things had changed.
The Temenggong replied with something innocuous, but he narrowed his eyes, and Marius knew he was being measured up, puzzled out. He had fed plenty before, and his skin was rosier, his face flushed with the blood of his victims, the lines on his face etched deeper, and he looked overall human. But still, the Temenggong found him not quite right, and the Temenggong looked, and thought, and wondered. Marius read his mind, smiled, and began an animated telling of articles he read about the East-Indies, maps he examined, books he studied, pictures he saw and copied. As his speech grew more animated, the more human he seemed; the Temenggong relaxed, and let the matter of Marius' elusive peculiarity slip his mind.
Mawar appeared from the kitchen, interrupting Marius' monologue, carrying a tray with water, rice, fish, and a bowl of soup. "Oh no," Marius protested. "This really isn't necessary."
"Come, do," Mawar said as she laid the tray down on the mat. "We cooked for *you*, you know." Her teasing eyes caught his, and she glanced down quickly with a smile.
"I really should be going. I need time to find my lodging and settle in before morning," he said.
"You won't eat?" asked the Temenggong in the polite tone of a good host.
"I'm afraid not," Marius replied apologetically. "I have got to go."
"Of course." The Temenggong stood. "I'll have Kasturi accompany you if you wish. You perhaps wish to wait here while I call for him.""I sincerely thank you," he said, and the Temenggong nodded and left. As soon as the Temenggong was gone, Mawar directed her gaze at him.
"Are you in such a hurry that you decline food? Ah, but I thought you would be hungry after the sea voyage and the journey you must have made on foot, we met you far from the shore," she said, not insulted or coquettish, merely and truly inquisitive.
"But I am," Marius replied. "I must acquire a place to stay before sundown, so I would get the rest I need after that sea voyage and that journey on foot."
"You wish not...to stay a while?"
Even without reading her mind, he knew, he recognised that catch in her voice. "You wish me, then, to stay a while?"
She looked away from him. "I shall say nothing more." She carried the tray of uneaten food back to the kitchen, and then emerged only to disappear into one of the adjoining rooms with curtained doors. A few quiet moments later, the Temenggong called for him from outside. He left, leaving the door open behind him, and put his boots back on. The Temenggong introduced him to Kasturi, who gave a quick half-bow and grinned.
He was a handsome, eager lad of about fifteen, with unruly black hair and bright brown eyes; one of those who smelled permanently of fresh mud and grass, sea and earth. As soon as he met Marius, he began a description of Commercial Square, and did not notice when the Temenggong left them and entered the house. At that point, Marius interrupted: "Shouldn't we start for Commercial Square now?"
"Sure!" Kasturi exclaimed (being one of those who exclaim and speak enthusiastically).
They entered the forest, past that fringe of brightly-flowered trees, then turned left, and continued downwards amongst the fluttering leaves and animal sounds, while Kasturi gave Marius an explanation of most things around. Once a mousedeer darted past them with glowing eyes. There were the fruit trees again, laden with fruits - the fat chempedak with its many staring eyes hung precariously, the heavy pointed green durian, the clumps of hairy red rambutans. The forest teemed with insect noises even when it was ending; such creatures flourished in the hot, wet undergrowth. Where it ended, they were faced with a town with colonial buildings strewn everywhere, hurriedly and untidily built, rickshaws parked along streets, carriages abandoned for the night. Here was the English post-office, police-station, hotel; further up and out began colonial bungalows amidst vast plantations, and rows of rubber waiting to be tapped in the early hours of the morning; even the small pub was there, enough to remind one of good old English home. There were only a few people around, mostly coolies on their way to the opium dens; and braying horses tied-up to trees.
Kasturi led Marius to a short thin building tucked between a police station and a colourless one-windowed brick structure. "Here, boss," he called, entering it. Marius stepped in and saw its new wallpaper already peeling, a pale and tired clerk at the counter. Kasturi was requesting a room for him, and when he went to the counter, the clerk handed him a heavy key with cracked and peeling hands, saying to him in a thick Dutch accent: "Room 2. The one across from Room 1. You pay for it when you leave. No meals, no discount."
He took the key and dismissed Kasturi nicely, giving him some Spanish dollars. He went up the narrow, steep stairs to the first floor, where there were only two doors facing each other; one had the tarnished words 'ONE EEN UN' on it, and the other had the tarnished words 'TWO TWEE DEUX'. He unlocked door TWO TWEE DEUX, and went into a small windowless room, obviously meant for scholars like him, with maps of South Sea islands on the wall and thick books of Eastern wildlife and legends on a shelf above a wooden desk. The bed was in a corner and neatly made with white covers and a soft pillow. A small wardrobe stood beside the desk, and Marius opened it to find a thin blue blanket, a blue robe, and a blue eiderdown, all folded cleanly and put away on the right. A Bible with a red cover was placed on top of them, and had sunk in their blue softness.
He put his case down, opened it, and began to unpack. He had brought clothes - a white cotton shirt and a white cravat; a pair of white gloves, a pair of black socks and a pair of grey; a grey coat and trousers, and a black coat and trousers. He had money with him, a sack of Spanish dollars, Italian lira, pounds, and gold bullion, enough to last him months although he planned to stay only a few weeks, a month at most. He had brought some paints too, and a slim brush. Everything had been carefully squeezed and slotted into the brown leather case, and now he meticulously arranged the items in the wardrobe. The clothes that could be hung were hung on the wooden hangers provided, everything else was put in its proper position, and the sack of money he slipped in the small space between the pile of blue lodging items and the back panel of the wardrobe. He took off his black top-hat and laid it on top of the Bible; his walking cane he had leant earlier against a wall. Then he exited the room, locked the door, and went down to the lobby to speak to the clerk.
"No one is to disturb the room," he told her in Dutch. "Not in the day nor the nighttime, for cleaning or anything."
The tired clerk looked at him wearily. No one ever cleaned the rooms but the tenants themselves. They hadn't any workers except herself and Klaus, and they weren't bothered enough to enter the two rooms day or night, but she nodded anyway. "No one will go to the room," she agreed.
"Might I inquire where the bathroom is?"
"There." She pointed at a wooden door with splintering edges.
"Thank you." Marius went in the mildewed bathroom. There was a bathtub with clawed feet, a sink, and a toilet. There was a huge red metal pail of water with a large scoop in it. Scholars would have to do with what they had, he supposed. He got out of the bathroom, passed the Dutch clerk, and retreated up the stairs to his room. What with all that sea-voyage and walking around, it was almost dawn.

***

When he awoke the next evening it was slightly past seven. After taking a quick bath and changing into his grey suit, he donned his black top hat. And with Spanish dollars in his pocket and his gold-topped black walking-cane in hand, he went out of the dismal building. After he was a good way down the street, he looked back, and saw it unhappily cramped between two equally sad buildings. Well then, no matter. Marius was in high spirits tonight.
This early in the night, the island still buzzed with life. The coolies carted goods to and fro, almost done with their day's work and about to return, sweating, to their cramped quarters. Large Englishwomen sat, carted about carriages by two or four horses with dirty teeth.
The moonlight shimmered on windows and in small puddles of water caught in cracks - apparently it had rained the warm heavy rain of the monsoon earlier on, and now the air was still and humid. Waves of heat rose from the ground, and the hot, slightly salty smell of after-rain hung heavily in the atmosphere. Beneath that, Marius caught mingled human scents; sultry and warm, musky and sensuous. Lovely. He would have to feed tonight.
He scanned the area for suitable possibilities, and as luck would have it, came across one almost immediately. The chosen victim was a coolie in an alley between deserted offices, alone just after work on his way to the dens. Not thin to the point of skin stretched over bones, but not particularly well-fed. Perhaps he would welcome death. Marius approached him and took him swiftly, fangs piercing the fragile flesh at the neck; first the blood sputtered, then flowed freely out, filling his mouth with its sweet, rich taste. The gush slowed to a trickle, and he let the body slump to the wet ground. Then, after straightening his cravat, he proceeded to extract a handkerchief from his right trouser pocket, and wiped away the victim's sweat from himself. That done, he emerged from the alley, and went on his way to the art store.
This very small art store, called simply 'A Shop of Western Art', was still open now and would remain open up till ten at night. Run by an ex-missionary from India, it sold both artworks and the materials Marius would need. Large sheets of canvas were piled on shelves, beside which stood slim containers of many-sized brushes and sculpting knives, pots of different-shaded paint. Hung on walls, and quite possibly in the boxes and parcels on the floor behind the counter, were copies of paintings and sculptures both new and old. Two English women were in the store; the younger of the two was mulling about, looking; the older who was talking to the shopkeeper stopped when he came in.
"Oh, hallo," she said.
"Hallo," said the shopkeeper.
"Hallo," said the younger, from the other side of the shop.
"Hallo," said Marius.
"You're English?" asked the older woman.
"No. Italian."
"I see," she said dismally, and looked to the shopkeeper.
"Italian," the shopkeeper repeated, and said, "what do you want, then?" But he said it in a nice way and didn't sound curt.
"Canvases. Ten."
While the shopkeeper went round to the shelves to get him ten normal-sized canvases, the younger English woman went over to Marius.
"Hallo," she said again.
"Hallo," he said.
"I'm Clara," she said.
"I'm Marius," he said.
"She's Beth," she said, pointing at the older woman. Beth nodded at them.
"What are you here for?" Clara asked him.
"I'm studying the natural wildlife."
"Oh," she said. "You're some sort of scholar."
"I am."
"So you aren't those Italians one sees about the marketplace in Florence and such," she said, then added quickly, "not that I mean any insult, of course."
Marius laughed. "No," he said. "I'm quite different."
"I thought as much. You don't look as oily as they do..." she trailed off, realising that she had said the wrong thing; but Marius smiled and she was comforted and more confident.
"What university are you from?"
"Padua. I was schooling there, but now I write, papers and such," he lied.
"Well, we're having tea tomorrow afternoon, and my brother's coming along, he's a university student," she said. "Wouldn't you like to come? You could talk with my brother, his name is James. He's here for the hols."
"Tomorrow afternoon?"
"Five. It's high tea - we have scones and pudding and sandwiches..."
"Yes, I know what high tea is. I don't think I could, really. I'm only staying here for a little while, and I want to make the most of my time."
"Oh, that's quite all right," said Clara sportingly, but her voice betrayed that it was not quite all right after all. "Maybe you would come for dinner?" she asked hopefully. "Well, not dinner really, it's more of a supper. At eight."
"Eight? Maybe I will."
"Good then. I can meet you here and take you there."
They smiled at each other. They stood talking about high teas and suppers and mismatched plates for a little while more, and the shopkeeper came back with the canvases.
"Goodbye," he said to Clara, and she said 'goodbye' back.
"Was that Italian man nice?" he heard Beth as soon as he paid, before he was barely out the door.
"Quite. I asked him for dinner."
He could still hear her from outside.
"Clara, you shouldn't ask strangers to dinner! Who is he exactly?"
"A scholar."
"He looks a bit old for that."
"No, he's one of those people who writes scholarly papers, like Uncle Henry." Then, "Do you really think he looks old?"
"Not *old* as in *old* old. Rather regal, I think."
"I think so too. He's quite good-looking as well, in an inhuman statue-ish sort of way."
"Clara, darling! You shouldn't say such things!"
Marius smiled on his way down the street.

***

He had thought that he would like very much to paint the scenery here - that was his main purpose in coming, other than seeing the changes in the region. But as soon as he was a few steps away from the Shop of Western Art, he thought he sensed another vampire about. Lo and behold, there he was coming out of the shop opposite the Shop of Western Art - a Shop of Fashionable French Fashion named Le Parisien, or something of that nature.
The other vampire smiled, and waved. He was tall, and young, both in mortal and vampiric terms, with long dark eyelashes against his alabaster-white skin, and dark brown hair.
"Allo," he called out, obviously pleased to see Marius. Marius waved, and continued on his way, but the other vampire caught up with him. "It's marvellous to see another of our kind here, yes?"
"Certainement." Marius allowed himself to be drawn into another conversation.
"Wonderful, you speak French!" the other vampire exclaimed (in French of course). "I'm Julien Loiseau. And you are?"
"Marius Romanus."
They shook hands.
"You have fed, I can see you have," said Julien. "I have not. Do you wish to feed again? With me, perhaps?"
"Perhaps."
"Good. There are places I will take you. Come." Julien slipped his hand in Marius', and took him through the dark street past unblinking structures, until they reached an inconspicuous low building with stained and chipped red brick walls, tucked away in a little corner.
"The best restaurant in the region," Julien whispered in his ear as they entered.
The air was smoky, and a sort of dizzy miasma hung in the room. People were seated on chaise longues, men mostly, or sprawled on cushions. A soft, thick carpet lay on the floor, muting their footsteps, and the footsteps of the staggering opiated phantoms.
"They're ghosts," sighed Julien. "Regard them. Even we aren't real to them."
Marius regarded, sighed. Julien's soft touch drew away from him, and he watched as Julien advanced towards a bronzed man, and with eyes half-shut embraced him and sank down in the cushions.
Nobody noticed. Nobody saw.
Still nobody saw when Julien rose from the bronzed man and left him lying there, dark curls falling around his face, hands limp. Julien returned to where Marius stood, and looked at him questioningly.
"No after-dinner snack?" he asked quizzically.
"I think not tonight. None of them...appeal to me," Marius replied.
"Ah," he said knowingly. "Then maybe *that* will." He motioned towards the door.
"Certainly not," said Marius, turning and looking. "I know them."
A group of four local girls had entered the den and were hovering around the door, unsure of whether they should turn back or go ahead. One had softly-curled coal-black hair that was tied loosely and tumbled down to her shoulders; another was tall, with skin the colour of honey and a high, slightly turned-up nose; another was of small build and slight, a satyr with long-lashed eyes; and the last one had caramel skin and a pouting mouth.
"You know them?" asked Julien, but Marius was already walking up to the girls.
"What are you girls doing here at night?" he asked sternly.
"Leaving," Kenangan retorted.
Marius raised his eyebrows.
"We are. We got lost," said Mawar confidently.
"I might tell your father, you know," he said.
She crumbled. "Don't! You mustn't, you cannot. I won't let you."
"We aren't here now," said Bayu. "Nobody saw us, and if we aren't here you aren't here either."
"If you tell you'll never see the sunlight again," threatened Kenangan.
"Threatening me with that won't work," said Marius cynically.
"We are capable of things you never thought of," said Chempaka.
"Indeed." Marius beckoned to Julien, who came willingly enough without further encouragement. "Well, so are we."
"Are you threatening us, sir?" asked Bayu in an overly polite voice.
"Are you threatening me?"
"We're merely persuading."
"I'm merely stating."
"I'm glad we both know where we stand on this matter," said Mawar. She gave Marius a look, then said to her cronies: "Come. Let's leave."
They left.
There was a slight pause, then Julien asked: "Friends of yours?"
"Acquaintances. I know one of their papas."
"Wonderful. Little girls shouldn't be allowed in here. They could end up in trouble."
"Or dead." They smiled at each other, and this time it was Marius who slipped his hand in Julien's. It was he who led out, down the street, and into the lonely building, past the sleeping clerk at the front desk.
Such that went on behind the closed door TWO TWEE DEUX that night is best kept secret.

***

Julien awoke only when Marius made a rustling fabric sound, a loud rustling fabric sound very close to his ears, that he had to open his eyes. He found that Marius was directly beside him, and dressing in a black suit, and wondering aloud: "Should I buy a cloak or should I not?"
Julien shut his thickly-lashed eyes and imagined Marius in a cloak. "You should. Black with white lining."
"I shan't," said Marius. "I shall go as I am."
"Go? Where?"
"A dinner party."
Julien opened his eyes. "You cannot be serious."
"But I am. A Clara and Beth invited me." He straightened his cravat.
"Those English women? You do not want to be in with them and their circle of friends, I assure you."
"I already declined a first invitation, it's only polite to accept the second."
"As you say. You *are* the gentleman." He yawned and stretched on the bed. "When was it that cloaks were the very height of fashion? I remember I had an exceedingly fine and expensive one. It was blue, I believe."
"Good. Then it matched your eyes." Marius bent and picked up the grey suit that he had discarded carelessly on the floor the night before. "Julien, do you know where I can get my clothes cleaned?"
"The dhobis."
"Get it cleaned for me, will you, doll?"
"Certainly. Have I got anything better to do?" He propped himself up on the one white pillow and stared at Marius; blond hair tied with the same black ribbon, light blue eyes. "You look amazing."
"Thank you," said Marius, putting on his hat and picking up his gold-topped cane. "Remember to get my clothes washed." With that, he went out the door.
The air was as still as the night before. The flame in the oil lamp which hung dangerously from a string beside the door did not waver a bit. Limp leaves hung from the branches like thick arms that split from the center of tree trunks. Once again, he saw a familiar figure for the third night, and he caught up with her and turned her around roughly. "Where do you think you're going?"
"Home." Tonight her hair was braided.
"Oh, really? Don't lie to me. I haven't told your father yet, but it doesn't mean that I won't tell him."
She stared at him for a moment, then lowered her eyes. "By the way, thank you. For not telling on me."
"Don't thank me yet." He had no time for this exchange, he had a dinner party to attend. And he realised that through his eyes she was yet irresistibly warm, and her fitted clothes clinched at her small waist and swelled gently at her hips, and her lowered eyes were yet glancing up at him coquettishly. He had not fed, he realised with a shock. He shook his head. She had done nothing to deserve death.
"Sir?" He had gazed at her too long, and now she raised her eyes and he saw that her forehead was finely wrinkled with worry. "Are you quite all right?"
"Rather. Do run along home now, and we'll say no more about it."
She looked at him questioningly; questioning, perhaps, his strange manner, or that change in the timbre of his voice, though it tried desperately to retain its authoritative, schoolmasterly tone. She stood, and maintained her curious gaze.
"Do go on now," said Marius, and walked away from her.
She hesitated, then ran to him. "And where will you go?"
"Dinner." He slowed his step in time with hers.
"With who?"
"With *whom*, you mean. Actually, it's no business of yours."
"You're right," she said, somewhat dejectedly, then turned and walked away.
He paused , then turned to watch her go, her hips subtly swaying with her every step. She, too, paused, turned her head slightly, and her eyes met his.
There was a prolonged silence; that was finally broken when they averted their eyes and continued their opposite ways.
He arrived at the Shop of Western Art late, after feeding. It was just past eight, and Clara the young Englishwoman had apparently been waiting for at least half an hour for his arrival. But she was very pleasant and said she hadn't minded at all; in fact, she had not noticed the time, it had been quite interesting to wait in the artshop. So they went to dinner after all, at a new bungalow that looked ramshackle and rather empty, but one could faintly see a light through its thick velvet curtains. A vast garden surrounded it, tended to grow roses and irises, and had garden hedges trimmed in the shape of hedgehogs (which must have been tricky, but hedgehogs are well suited to hedges). A swing was suspended from a sturdy branch of a large tree, a type of tree which was common and dull enough, and so its name was easily forgotten. A path of broken and mismatched bricks led from a low and creaky gate to a solid oak door. Clara knocked on it, and they were let in by a sullen, clerical-looking man.
Marius entered after Clara, and was presented to a constantly polite and self-possessed company of people, and only after he was seated did the native servant serve the first dish, which was a clear fish soup.
Their seating arrangement was as follows: first,there was the esteemed uniformed Major Cyril Cardington; then, going clockwise, was Beth Cardington (or Mrs Cyril Cardington if you will), who, with pursed lips, remarked that the soup was quite cold and slightly odd; then Marius Romanus, who quietly listened to Clara Cardington's Italian travel-tales; then Clara Cardington who chatted on quite a bit about tourist Italy, and didn't eat a bit of the cold soup; she was followed by Michael Pennywise, who discussed plans for term-break with James Cardington; then Cornelia, or rather, 'Connie' Clays, who was engaged to Michael and sat sedately sipping a spoonful of soup (which never seemed to empty) while he discussed term-break with James over her head; then James, who was really more interested in Loretta Webb than term-break or Michael; then Loretta Webb who did nothing more than flutter her eyelashes and swirl her spoon about; and beside her was Major Cyril Cardington. It was a round table, where there was no head and no tail and everyone sitting around it was more or less equal, and all equally not eating the soup, more or less.
More nearly inedible food followed; a plate of fish done in what was apparently supposed to be a French style - boiled and covered with a queer sauce, and adorned with parsley and sage and what have you; and it was while the diners (except Marius) were trying to digest the main course that Michael put down his fork and knife and announced that he had invented a song in his mind, and wished to sing it.
Of course, everyone clapped at first, and so Michael took a small bow, and announced: "It's called: Le Poisson Poison, or, The Fatal Fish."
The native servant (Marius supposed he was the cook), retreated into the kitchen with an offended look on his face, and a hush fell over the room.
"Hear, hear!" The Major applauded suddenly. "The lad's got his mind - or rather, his tastebuds - on the right track."
"Michael!" Beth gave him a baleful stare. "How dare you behave like that!" The poor Michael lowered his eyes. "If you don't like your dinner you ought not have any!" Michael retreated from the room, upsetting a chair and fumbling to straighten it again. "And you, Cyril! A grown man like you, I would have thought you knew better! It isn't like the cook can't understand English!"
Certainly, and he could hear and comprehend perfectly everything she was saying as well.
"Why would you call him a *cook* if he can't *cook*? Ha ha!"
James audibly and forcibly choked back a laugh.
"I will have no more of this behaviour in front of our Guest!" Beth's voice descended into a fierce whisper. "Is that clear?"
They all nodded (except Marius, the Guest) and squirmed uncomfortably in their seats.
"Le poisson poison indeed," she muttered.
"I'm awfully sorry you had to go through that," Clara whispered, leaning towards Marius. "But Mother has been a little offish lately."
"Ah," Marius nodded. "Offish, of course."
"Yes, and how do, Marius?" bellowed the Major (he always spoke loudly apropos of nothing). "How's Italy been lately?"
"Charming," replied Marius with a charming smile.
"Oh really? What about all that trouble with peasants, then?"
"Then the peasants should be allowed to migrate, what?"
The Major had a vague disconcerting feeling that he was being somewhat mocked by this sweet-smiling fair-haired gentleman, but he doubted if he had any actual notion of it, for the chap looked so amiable and well-meaning. Thus, being the Major, he bellowed again as he always did when he didn't know what else to do or what to make of the situation.
"Have you been sightseeing? Or have you come here to make yourself useful?"
"I'm actually just studying the flora and fauna. Sketching and so on. I have heard, and read, wonderful things about the wildlife here."
"It's quite lovely," said the so-far quiet Connie. "You came up River Valley Road, of course, on your way here. You must have noticed how well-shaded and cool it was, and how much it reminds one of Devonshire."
Marius said that most unfortunately, he had not noticed.
"Oh," said Connie, with an air of finality and disapproval. "You should be driven by so you could take a look."
"Yes, you should," Beth chimed in. "James, do go with him to point out places of interest."
James nodded reluctantly; prior to this, he had been glancing surreptitiously at Loretta Webb.
"On a native jinkrickshaw," added Beth. "It remains busy in town long after dusk."
"Colonies have no sense of time," remarked the Major, but no one paid any attention to him.
Beth went on and said, "After dessert, of course."
So it was all arranged before dessert arrived at the table. James and Marius were to depart immediately after dinner, before it was to become too dark, and the native servant with an unpronounceable, unexpected, unsuitably long and grand name, was to drive them about in a carriage.
The carriage was new, and better than a jinkrickshaw, Beth proudly informed. The Major rolled his eyes. "Perhaps," he said to Marius, "you would want to consider working here. St. Joseph's Institution has closed down for want of workers. Italian - Roman Catholic, aren't you? They'll accept you soon enough."
Marius shook his head. "I'm afraid that I don't think I can."
"Don't bother him," said Beth sharply. "Where's our dessert?"
They waited a little while more and chattered idly about where the Catholic boys were to be educated in religious matters, although none of them were Catholic and none of them really cared but the Major (a strong believer in Proper Education), but the dessert still had not come. Finally, Beth stood up.
"I'll see what's up," she said, and walked through the kitchen doors, only to walk through a moment or two after. "They've all gone home," she said, sounding slightly surprised. "It isn't even ten yet."
"They aren't live-in, you see," Clara whispered to Marius. "They're supposed to leave at ten, but instead leave whenever they aren't happy, but they're the only ones we could get. The natives demand exorbitant wages, you know."
Beth who had sat down, started slightly as though she had just remembered something. "The dessert's in the kitchen. Should I go and get it?"
"Oh, I'll get it," said Loretta, rising from her chair, but Beth stopped her.
"Don't, Loretta, you're a guest. I'll get it." Beth went into the kitchen again, and went out carrying a tray with eight glasses of chocolate mousse, which she served to each person.
"Their main courses are bad, but their desserts are amazing," Clara whispered to him after one mouthful, her voice slightly sticky. "Have you ever tasted a dessert this sinful?"
"Of course," Marius replied with a smile. "Sinful desserts are my daily staple."

***

to be continued