I've never liked parties. The Gala of the Clash did not change my mind. Parties are all about foolish people doing foolish things for foolish reasons. I couldn't care in the least about the latest fashions out of Thaecia; I'm not interested in the identity of Admiral Thessaday's bed-partner and I don't care whether it was a man, a woman, or something else entirely; the last time I wanted to dance I was six years old and too stupid to know any better.

For a smart man parties are about business. Deals are made in the receiving line. Alliances are formed over appetizers and partners betrayed after a Sultan's toast. Whispered words on the dance floor make and break empires. I don't deny the wisdom of going to parties. I just don't like them.

The Gala of the Clash, for me, was business. Chapel was getting his beloved face-time with the nobility. I couldn't guess where Dismal was -- probably entertaining the brat holding the end of Grinner's leash. I don't doubt the Grinner was zombied out in a world of his own. As ever, only I was working.

It wasn't hard getting to the tournament stellae. I used a bathroom window to reach the roof. The guards were alert but looking in the wrong places, and I skipped across the tiles to the Fountain Wing with little trouble. Another window provided access to the wing's upper halls, which were infrequently patrolled. For a moment I thought I might have to strangle one of the guards, but eventually he shifted his gaze away from where I crouched in shadows and moved on.

The stellae -- little clay tiles marked with a number from 1 to 256 -- were hardly worth guarding. Right before the start of the tournament the stellae would be drawn two at a time to determine the first round pairings and set the tournament brackets leading to the final bout. Ultimately every fighter needed to win that final battle to earn a penny -- so who would bother to tamper with the stellae?

Only someone who needed to give his fighter a smooth path to the fourth round, in preparation for a tragic defeat.

It took me longer than I expected to locate the tiles I needed, but once I did I quickly replaced them with Dismal's altered stellae. Outwardly identical, Dismal's tiles were...lucky. Imbued with talismantic magic these sixteen stellae would be the first ones drawn, and the Grinner's route to the round of 32 would be smooth as a windless sea.

As I pulled the drawstring on the stellae bag, I felt a presence. I wheeled about, knives out, and saw nothing. I'd been watched. I knew it. But there was nothing.

When I got back to the ballroom, Calliope had caused us more trouble. One day the bitch would turn my blood into scalding venom and then I would carve a second smile under her pretty chin. Right after the Grinner made me richer than I could ever dream, she was dead.

Chapel was arguing with a handsome young Zandir, while Calliope looked helplessly between them. The young man was cold but heating by the moment, and Chapel looked ready to do real damage. Getting closer, I caught the words "husband" and "pretty-boy punk." Then the Zandir made a challenge. Calliope yelped, "No!" and leaped between them, trying to restrain the Zandir and warn off Chapel at the same time.

Pride and respect made it Chapel's fight. Women fail to understand such things, so it was no surprise to me when one intervened. She was Thaecian, with hair a rich blue, very pretty and all the more notable for the Vice Chancellor attached to her arm. She spoke soothing words in a calming voice, and swayed the Zandir and my weak-willed partner in a matter of moments.

Somewhat stuffily the young Zandir withdrew, mustering as much grace as he could. Chapel, always a fool, took the time to kiss the lady's hand. He made fluffy, flirting, pointless conversation, fawning over the Thaecian. The Vice Chancellor scowled and the bitch Calliope fumed. She grabbed the arm of Chapel's handsome challenger and stalked out of the ballroom, while Chapel smiled in triumph and let the Thaecian be on her way.

With the entertainment done, I was ready to approach Chapel about the stellae, but then the hairs on my neck tingled as though brushed with cobwebs. I spun, knowing -- KNOWING -- there was someone watching me, stalking me, lurking in my own shadow. But there were only revelers, smiling and drunken. My every sense told me there was nothing there, but I KNEW.

But there was nothing there.

The gala continues...

Malachai, Calliope, and Chapel are my PCs.

Zaranth, the handsome young Zandir, is Mustafa's.

Korinne Pfar, the Thaecian, and her Vice Chancellor pet are Adam's.

This story takes place prior to Adam's Chapter Four.

DRB

I Don't Believe the Hype
II A Matter of Pride.
III Beauty and the Beast
IV A Quiet Little Celebration with a Few Friends

NEXT: Memory and Fireworks

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