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 hu
rry.
"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!"
Lucinda, gorgeous in rich, Prussian blue satin sewn with rhinestones, stood up and gestured to the members of the court, who followed her out of the room.
"Now, I'll just turn you over to our master of ceremonies, Mr. Matthew Winger." Etienne stood aside as the slender man came forward to take the microphone.
"Evening, everybody!" he called.
Griffen took advantage of the bustle to excuse himself from the table.
Forty-one
In the anteroom, the other ladies of the court and other women, each designated by the float captains to represent a float's theme, laughed as they helped one another to don flowing, open-fronted satin cloaks over their dresses and put on hats the size of those worn by Las Vegas showgirls. Most of those had a dragon in some position, some heroic, others comical, but all recognizable by Griffen as representing one of the giant floats in the den.
Beyond the place-card table, Val stood against the wall with Gris-gris on one side of her and Mai on the other. Her careful makeup was streaked on her cheeks from crying.
"Why is she here?" Val demanded. "I was ready to put up with seeing her once in a while when I had to."
"I don't know," Griffen said, upset for her sake. "She said Etienne approached her months ago, even before he talked to me. She said he saw her in a vision, standing on a parade float."
"Everything he does is for that damned parade!" Val snarled. He realized that she was over being shocked and was just angry. She looked around for something. Gris-gris whisked a handkerchief out of his impeccable suit pocket and handed it to her. She dabbed at her eyes. Mai took it from her and cleaned the mascara off her face. "I can't go back in there."
"You'll have to," Mai said. "You can't let her win."
The first of the maids got her headdress in order. It depicted a dragon lounging in an airline seat with a drink in its hand, watching a small television set on a bracket. Her escort, one of the dukes, took her arm and led her into the ballroom. The jazz band struck up a fanfare, which resolved into a peppy, cheerful melody. Griffen heard Matt's voice boom off the ceiling.
"Ladies and gentlemen, Flying First Class!"
Roars of appreciative laughter greeted the maid.
Fox Lisa, dwarfed by the massive sculpture on her head of a short, stout red dragon holding a gigantic quill feather, hurried up to take Val's hands.
"What's the problem?" Fox Lisa demanded. "You shot out of there like you were on fire!"
"The mother of the man who knocked her up is here," Mai said.
Fox Lisa looked around, an impressive feat considering her headgear. "Where? I will kill her!"
Griffen held her back. "You can't do that. She is the queen of the parade."
The little redhead's face was set in grim lines. "It doesn't matter. She's going to wear a mask anyway. Now she will have to."
"My, my, she's fierce. I can see why you keep her around," Melinda said.
Fox Lisa spun on a dime and went for Melinda with her nails out. Melinda merely shoved backward on the towering hat. Fox Lisa staggered back. Griffen caught her. She pushed away from him, ready for another sally. Luckily, Lucinda arrived on the scene with a handful of hairpins and ribbons.
"Ms. Lisa, are you ready?" she asked, smiling at all of them. "Come on, dear, it's almost time for your entrance!"
She gestured to a tall, very slim dark man, the journalist Griffen had met. He bent to offer her his elbow. Fox Lisa gave a dubious look to Melinda, but allowed herself to be escorted away.
"You better not miss me," she called over her shoulder.
"I want to see," Val said, her voice thin but firm. She cut Melinda dead and sailed past her. Melinda raised her eyebrows but didn't protest. Gris-gris kept his arm around her. Mai and Griffen stayed close.
Matt held the microphone close to his mouth.
"Ladies and gentlemen, you all know that history is written by the winners in any confrontation. That'd be why we have to make sure we got scribes who are worthy of the feats of dragons, and who better to tell the story than one of our own? So, here is Arthur, Pen-Dragon!"
The contrast of a very tall man and a very short woman struck the eye amusingly enough, but the stout red dragon had been made with such a knowing, sly expression on his face that Griffen found it hard not to smile. Fox Lisa carried herself like a queen. She sailed gracefully along in her kimono-like cloak, dipping her shoulders but keeping her head straight. She got to the area below the podium.
"They say that the pen is mightier than the sword," Fox Lisa said, making it sound incredibly suggestive. "But I'll try either one on for size."
The audience roared with laughter. A few men at the front tables rose and whistled with their fingers in their mouths. Fox Lisa beamed. Mai adjusted the huge golden snapdragon headpiece and marched in in her turn.
The jaws of the flower moved, chomping closed with an audible sound effect that had the audience rolling on the floor.
"Yes, sir, you gotta watch where you put your fingers," Matt was saying. Mai pretended to snap her own teeth at him. He waggled his hand as if she had nipped him. She delivered her lines to applause and shouts.
/> Val watched, but she kept muttering to herself.
"Val, you have to calm down," Griffen whispered. "There's too much glassware here."
She gave him a pained look. "I'm trying," she whispered back. "I'm telling myself she's nothing to me. But why didn't we know?"
"I don't know, but I will find out," he promised.
Lucinda came over and tied a huge and ridiculous-looking hat on Val's head that looked like a turtle with a slab of granite on its back.
"Honey, you have got to go," Lucinda whispered to her. "It's all right. You look wonderful. Ben, sweetheart?"
One of the dukes, a big, broad-shouldered man silvering elegantly at the temples, glided to Val's side and put out an elbow to her. She slipped her hand onto his arm and allowed herself to be drawn out into the room. The applause that greeted her was as loud as thunder.
"The Nine Sons of the Dragon!" boomed Matt's voice over the public-address system. "The ancient Chinese knew that dragons were the wisest of all the legendary beasts. Looks like old Pappy Dragon got around, because a whole lot of these nine sons don't look a lot like the traditional one. But the wisest of all the children was the tortoise. He brought him some reading matter with him." That got another big laugh.
"Is she all right?" Melinda asked, coming up to his side.
Griffen let himself tower over her.
"You did this. You ruined this event for Val."
Melinda shook her head. "No. If anyone did, it was the captain of this krewe. I was tremendously impressed by his prescience. He told me things that no one else could possibly know. A genuine talent like that is precious. I went along with his request because it seemed like a good way to look after you and your sister."
Dragons Deal Page 29