by Neely Dobbs
CHAPTER 29: Coalition
They remained in the privacy of their dark corner at the Tunnel Rats Pub. Briin had covered his confusion at Eebri's enigmatic comment by ordering a flaming spirituous dessert and more wine. Almost an hour had passed in increasingly relaxed conversation since they had savored the last bites of the intoxicating confection.
Still, he couldn't quench the image burning in his mind's eye. The hint of an inviting smile, a sultry warmth in those emerald eyes…and Eebri saying “If you ask nicely, Briin, at least one of those might be arranged.” He discreetly rubbed his napkin across his mouth, hoping she wouldn't notice the drop of wine that had slipped past the corner of his mouth as he once again absorbed those words. Thank goodness I wasn't taking a sip when she said it…I would have been wiping wine off of her all night!
Although the thought had begun as one of relief at the barely averted gaffe of spewing wine in her direction, the resulting image created a new sense of pleasure tinged with uneasiness. He shifted slightly in an attempt to relieve his discomfort. But how can I get more comfortable when every thought reminds me of her tantalizing hint? And which invitation is she ready to accept? Public gathering…or private quarters?
Eebri interrupted his thoughts with an amazing display of deep breathing followed by a three-part, gracefully uncoiling stretch that seemed to involve loosening every bone in her body— and in Briin's. Somehow, one side of her neatly mounded coiffure had come loose, and lustrous scarlet strands cascaded across and contrasted with the distracting expanse of creamy skin bared by her off-the-shoulder dress design.
He couldn't seem to rediscover the location of the muscles that would close his jaw, but the size of his eyes indicated he was intently focused on something.
She drained the last sip from her goblet, delicately replaced it on the table, and purred contentedly, “Aauhmmuun…Oooh, my! Briinie, it seems that all our wonderfully wicked wine is gone. Do we dare order more, or should we move on?”
Still lost in the reverberations of Eebri's purr, Briin only caught the “should we move on?” portion of her statement. Unwilling to admit how much he might have missed, and intrigued by what “moving on” might lead to, he quickly temporized. “Remaining longer in such a public place probably isn't wise, so let's move on.” He immediately paid the bill through the table's inset data terminal. “Let's go… and then, Eebri, we can discuss the possible alternatives.”
As he took her arm, she nodded deferentially and leaned softly and warmly against him. But her eyes— somehow softer and fuller than usual— remained locked on Briin's. “It's good of you to notice that I'm feeling the effects of the wine. With my inhibitions down, you never know what I might do.”
His boldness finally overtook his caution and, as he urgently ushered her toward the private exit, he said, “Don't worry, Brie…I’ll be happy to take very good care of you.”
Before he could discover how Eebri might respond, the private entrance/exit reserved for V.I.P.’s opened, revealing the startled faces of Lords Cjorll and Vstoch in the doorway. There was no way to avoid them, and both young Lords recovered their surprise quickly enough to recognize the potential value of confrontation versus avoidance.
Briin hoped that common courtesy might get them quickly beyond any potentially embarrassing encounter. Guiding the less than perfectly steady Eebri around the approaching youths, Lord Ptoriil nodded respectfully and attempted a politely formal dismissal. “Lord Cjorll. Lord Vstoch. Do enjoy yourselves…we were just leaving.”
“My, oh my! And what sort of surreptitious rendezvous do we have here? Do you see what I see, Kuuiz?”
“Why, I'm not sure, Vlagen,” replied Cjorll Kuuiz. “Is it the Chief of State merely meeting with an accustomed aide, or have we stumbled upon a notorious nobleman on a tete-a-tete with his trollop?”
“Oh, it can't be official, Lord Cjorll; neither of them are in formal uniform…”
“Although, Lord Vstoch, it does appear as though he might have attempted to extricate her from her informal dress!”
Briin roared angrily, “That's enough! You could have passed politely, yet you insist on committing slander. I will not tolerate such insolent breaches of protocol!”
Cjorll's response spewed venom. “Protocol? How dare you invoke aristocratic authority! You can't intimidate and harass peers of the Regency to cover your tawdry trysting!”
“That's right!" crowed Vstoch. "You got no special authority here,” he added while edging behind Cjorll’s shoulder to avoid Lord Ptoriil's possible explosion.
But Cjorll, seeing the attention they had drawn from the pub's patrons. chose to fan the flames. He stepped boldly forward, hoping to taunt the Regent Supreme into creating a potentially damaging public incident. Pitching his voice toward the gathering crowd, he jeered, “You threaten a Lord of the Realm and a member of the Advisory Committee? You wouldn't dare assault me, even to hide this dalliance with your doxy!”
Briin's justified but imprudent attack was averted by a slight figure deftly spinning him off balance and shouting, “Lord Ptoriil! No! They're not worth it!”
All eyes in the suddenly quieted room turned to the source of the warning.
Her eyes flashed like emerald lasers as Eebri glared at the posturing young lords. As if hotly seared, each shrank somewhat from his pretense of regal bravado. Provoking the Chairman of MAC was one thing; taking on an angry— possibly inebriated— female officer of the Realm was another. Still, this opportunity to embarrass the Chief of State in front of such a motley assembly proved too enticing.
“Ooooh, look at him,” brayed Cjorll. “Hiding behind his strumpet's skimpy skirts.”
“Yeah, just like he hides information from the Committee! I wonder what else he's wantin' her to hide tonight?” laughed Vstoch suggestively.
Briin, barely in control, stepped forward and growled, “That is intolerably venal effrontery! Contests of armed combat may be centuries out of fashion, but to punish such vulgar and cowardly behavior, I would gladly revive the practice to challenge you!”
Again he was drawn back by Eebri. Her voice sliced through the fast filling room, assuring that all would hear. “No, Lord Ptoriil. They are beneath your dignity. Do not allow their empty epithets to arouse your anger. They are insulting idlers incapable of integrity. Physical combat may be out of fashion, but the Coalition's tradition of the Verbal Duel may serve just as well.”
The Rang Tonk band had ceased its playing. Eebri's last words had echoed loudly, carrying to the farthest periphery of the restaurant. The buzzing of the curious crowd continued to grow. Unable to resist the opportunity to accept her challenge and perform before such an audience, Cjorll Kuuiz stepped forward and shouted, “Does the doxy do her duty? Might the mistress master the Master?”
Now incensed and formally challenged, Eebri played the growing crowd as the brash youngster could only have hoped to do. Turning to face Cjorll, she spat out caustically, “You had no hesitation in unsheathing your contemptible commentary and slashing me with sharply slanderous statements. Now you will ruefully regret rushing into carelessly crossing cutting words of woe with me!”
The crowd, sensing the strength of her skill, cheered her attack.
Dropping theatrically to one knee, she held Briin's trembling hand and spoke in a projecting stage whisper. “Nay, my Lord, nay. I beg you to stay, not slay, these scrofulous, spineless simpletons. Have pity on them! They wish they were wags and wits, but know they are only nags and nits.”
The laughs now issuing from the audience rang hotly in Cjorll's ears. Yet before he could essay a rejoinder, Eebri continued. “Noble Lord Ptoriil, do not stoop so low as to banter with blubbering babies. You should not care to converse with such contemptibly callow cads. They profess to be noble Lords, but it is not nearly so; their hostile Houses are hotbeds of ignoble inbred idiots, and they are empty execrable
excuses for excellence. They are fallow facades of facile foolishness.”
At this, both Cjorll and Vstoch stood stunned, mouths agape. Appreciative shouts were called out by pub patrons: "Inbred Idiots!" “Huzzah, huzzah!" "Excuses for Excellence!” Now the entire room began to resonate with shouted refrains and coordinated rhythmic clapping, the traditional Coalition accompaniment for a telling attack. They were calling for the coup de grace.
Eebri didn't disappoint them. “Nay, nobleman, nay. Do not stain your hands on these inept ignoramuses imitating intelligence! They merely mimic men, but are beneath you, acting as animals— absolutely abysmal and asinine aaxlotl! Both these babbling bastards believe they have brains, but they're barely better than burdensome beasts! Do depart from the profound pollution and pestilence produced by these bawdy boneheads' base and bilious buffoonery. Let us pass from the putrid presence of such poor pusillanimous peons posing as palpably proper people.”
Before Briin or the humiliated Lords could react to the thunderous cheers and raucous laughter echoing throughout the Pub, Eebri pulled Briin through the private entrance and slammed the door behind them— still muttering something about “woeful weakling whelps of wallowing warty waalruhz” as she went.
As they reached the cool air under the star-flecked sky, Briin impetuously spun her around and quickly kissed her. “Brie, you were wonderful! But, you know, you made two enemies today.”
Eebri, brushed a fluttering kiss across his cheek, stepped back with a sly smile, and toyed with a stray curl. “No, Briin. They were already your enemies. It's just that they now know they are also mine.”
