Page 22 of Hijack the Seas: Seismic

He looked like he’d be more at home in Malibu on a surfboard than here, but maybe the Alorestri had those. I mean, why wouldn’t they? Too bad he was drinking wine and pretending he couldn’t see us.

But his hand, sporting the largest sapphire I’d ever seen, had just clenched on the bowl of his goblet, so I was pretty sure he’d heard me. He wasn’t ordering us off the platform, though, so I supposed that was something. I glanced at Pritkin.

“Feltin, Nimue’s old lover,” he told me in a low voice. “He’s part human, too, although he denies it. She plucked him out of obscurity centuries ago and elevated him to royal favorite. He enjoyed a good deal of power when she was alive and isn’t happy about losing it.”

“Is he challenging?”

“No, he can’t. He has no standing without a blood tie. But whoever he backs will have a definite advantage.”

Probably shouldn’t be antagonizing him then, I thought, and looked away.

I didn’t have a chance to ask anything else, as the momentary silence was interrupted by the arrival of Lord Bling. At least, I assumed that was his name; if not, it should have been. And like all true showmen, he made an entrance.

There was a blast from some guys with huge, sea-shell trumpets, who I’d noticed framing the main doors when we came in but who hadn’t made a peep for us, and there he was, pausing on the landing at the top of the stairs so that we could all feast our eyes. Or gouge them out because the light coming off him was blinding. And not just because he was covered in about an acre of emeralds, aquamarines, and sapphires.

But because all the chandeliers had suddenly turned to spotlight him.

Guess he knew the magic worker controlling them, I thought wryly.

The light show left the rest of us in shadow, even on the dais, and him in dazzling solitude. Frankly, he deserved it, considering that his Liberace outfit made even Antlers down there look shabby. For a moment, I just took it in.

As usual around here, he had opted for a caftan open to the waist to show off his nice chest muscles. But his weren’t pierced, tattooed, or draped in jewels like half of the guys’ here. They were bare and were literally the only part of him that was.

Other than for that vee of perfect skin, he might have been some jeweled creature come to life because he glittered. Besides the fantastic caftan, which was so heavily encrusted that I couldn’t even tell what material was under there, he had on see-through gloves spotted with precious stones, a sash around his waist with huge, clear cabochons of some crystal that clustered together gave the appearance of seafoam, and then there was the cape. Or no, that wasn’t right.

It was a cape. It was at least fifteen feet long, and unlike the rest of the outfit, which was designed to mimic the colors of the ocean and the breaking surf, the cape was fiery red since it was covered in golden crabs with ruby-encrusted shells. It was held up by six-page boys, three on each side dressed as mini-me’s in short but equally jeweled tunics, probably because it weighed a ton.

Several looked to be having trouble just heaving the thing in the door.

Their boss posed like a supermodel for a long moment, giving everyone time to take in the magnificence before slowly beginning to descend the stairs. He took it easy to allow the spotlight to follow him, but not easy enough. The crabs were spelled to move about, I guessed to make their stones glitter even more since that was definitely what that outfit needed, but they got a little too feisty.

They kept crawling onto the pages, several of whom started batting them back down, which ruined the elegant effect somewhat. And not just for me. I heard tittering in the audience, who had forgotten about us in favor of making fun of whoever the hell.

“What is that?” I asked, as the vision was tripped up by some of his crabby accessories but recovered just in time. The titters grew. Pritkin drank wine.

“Lord Algaut. Wealthier than Croesus and about as lucky. Not a problem.”

I’d already figured that out by the fact that he’d tripped up two more times just getting to ground level or sea level or wherever we were and was now snapping at his train of boys about something. Probably the fact that the small, jeweled crabs had broken loose from whatever enchantment had bound them and were now crawling everywhere. Including over the lord himself, where they were pinching his aristocratic skin.

“Then what was that entrance for?” I asked as the servant girl came hurrying back with cutlery, better plates, and fine golden goblets that she exchanged for our sad pewter things.

“Politics.” Pritkin shot her a smile and she blushed to the roots of her fire-engine red hair. And curtsied before being summoned by an unhappy voice from a nearby table.

“Politics?”

He nodded and leaned closer so that I could hear him. That was harder than you’d think because the crabs had spread to nearby tables, causing a ruckus. Some lady with pale, silver-green hair, which made me wonder what she was doing with the upper crust, started screaming; the pages were running around, trying to scoop the bitey miscreants back into their own smaller capes; and a few men were attempting to crush the escapees underfoot, which wasn’t easy shoeless and was making Lord Algaut even less happy as he’d probably paid a lot for those.

“This isn’t just a contest,” Pritkin told me. “It’s an election. The contest gives people an idea of who they want to vote for. Consider it a very bloody stump speech.”

“I don’t understand,” I said because I really didn’t.

“Take Algaut over there,” Pritkin said, nodding at the angry fey lord, who had lost all dignity and was scrabbling around on himself, trying to throw the crabs off. Only they’d gotten under his magnificent caftan and appeared to be trying to eat him. He screamed, but nobody went to help him save for his beleaguered pages.

“Somebody tinkered with the spell to have that happen. To embarrass him and make him look a fool in front of the rest of the nobility.”

They got value for their time, I thought, as Algaut gave up, ripped off his priceless attire, and went running back up the stairs in the fey version of tighty-whities, namely a very unblinged-out loincloth.

“Why bother?” I asked as he disappeared back through the door to raucous laughter. “You just said he wasn’t a problem.”

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