"Maybe this evening we can make the war go away for a while."
"I guess I've been countin' on that, Wilf Brim," she said.
"What sounds good to you?" he asked.
"I don't know," Cartier said with a little smile. Then she laughed. "Compared to you, my guid Captain, I'm but a simple country maid from Carescria." Then she blushed. "Probably at my age we ought to forget aboot the 'maiden' part—but the rest is true."
Brim smiled and gently put his hand on her forearm. "There wasn't anything 'simple' about the Helmsman of a Starfury who came up with a way to save my life the other day," he said.
" An' your passengers," she added. "Very important people, eh?"
Brim felt himself blush.
"Do na' worry," she said, placing her own hand over his. "I won't ask now. But after the war, Wilf Brim," she continued with a grin, "I'm going to want to know who they were. Got that?"
"Got that," Brim chuckled.
She narrowed her eyes for a moment. "Can you at least tell me wha' in the name of Voot you were doin' flyin' around in that wee Gorn-Hoff 219? I mean, you're noted for bein' a bit unconventional, Wilf Brim, but... ."
"Well," Brim said with a frown, "would you believe I was taking it off to a Gradygroat monastery for use as a hymnal delivery vehicle?"
"That's wha' you're going to tell me noo?" she asked with an expression of feigned amazement.
"It's as good an explanation as any I can give right now," Brim said, feeling his cheeks burn a second time.
Cartier squeezed his hand, then let go. "If tha' is your story, I'll believe it," she said with a grin.
"But after the war, you'd better come clean aboot that, too."
Brim held his hands palm upward. "Eve," he protested, "Me? Come clean? Whatever can you mean?"
"If there's onything you haven't learned to do, Wilf Brim," Cartier said with a grin, "it's luik innocent. Besides, your reputation for trouble precedes you like some ge'at starship travelin' at LightSpeed."
"What can I say?"
"Hmm. Probably nothing. But perhaps you might take me somewhere for a guid supper." She paused a moment. "No," she added with a frown, "I should like to go somewhere for an excellent supper—with all the sophisticated trimmin's I've heard aboot in Avalon. I'll e'en buy."
"We'll see about the tab," Brim said with a smile and thought for a moment. "Now, there's an elegant little place a few streets off Huntington Gate that..." he continued, but Cartier interrupted.
"I've nae wish to hear aboot the place, Wilf Brim," she said. "I want to go there."
"And so do I," Brim said, indicating the Admiralty's elaborately etched Dommian crystal doors, through which the last gleams from the Triad were now streaming. "We can e'en— even—find transportation outside."
"Weel done, sir," Cartier said in a satisfied voice, again glancing at herself in one of the great Admiralty minors. "I'll go preen for a few moments while you see to the reservations...."
Only cycles later, they were seated in the roomy back seat of an immaculate Avalonian taxi, careening through the wild traffic of Locorno Square on their way to Gin Tobin Lane, a narrow street two short blocks off Huntington Gate. Brim smiled to himself as they sped past the usual CIGA demonstration— noticeably smaller than usual. It promised to be an interesting evening.
The Staff & Star was nearly impossible to spot from even so narrow a street as Gin Tobin Lane.
It was first necessary to enter a little cobblestone alleyway that looked more like a private sidewalk than a public thoroughfare. But if one followed that special pavement for no more than 150 irals along a sharp right curve (around a stately Trompian-era mansion that had been a camarge tobacco shop since long before Brim was a cadet), he would come to the entrance to what long ago must have served as a sizable mews-cum servants quarters. Protected from Avalon's often-rainy climate by an elegant lavender canopy, its spectacularly carved stone doorway depicted a whole panoply of beasts and birds peculiar to Avalon's literature from pre-starflight epochs. During peacetime, it was something that only the most fortunate tourists ever got to see.
The great, paneled door opened just as they stepped beneath the canopy, and a billow of warm, yeasty redolence replaced the cool damp of Avalon's early autumn. Before them in the tiny forecourt stood an elegantly bewigged maître d' attired in a style borrowed from perhaps ten centuries in the past.
He wore a long, highly ornamented frock coat buttoned only at the waist that extended all the way to his knees. Beneath, he had a black cravat-bow over a double ruffed shirt and satin knee breeches, long white silk stockings, and high-tongued, buckled shoes with low red heels. ''Captain Brim, Commander Cartier," he said, bowing deeply from the waist, "it is a genuine honor to serve both of you this evening. Your table is waiting."
"May I take your arm?" Cartier whispered.
Brim felt himself blush. He'd been stuffy because of their uniforms, and he knew it. "I should be honored," he said, suddenly aware all over again of how fundamentally beautiful this middle-aged Carescrian woman really was. He shook his head. A Carescrian. Just like himself....
Inside, The Staff & Star did credit to its historic reputation. Brim had never discovered (nor did he particularly want to know) if the decorations were original or reproductions. The interior looked precisely as it had the evening a cadet-smitten young debutante first escorted him to supper there (only to break off their relationship when her wealthy parents discovered he was a Carescrian), Over the years, he had enjoyed the grand, old restaurant's fare as often as he could, and was determined that Eve Cartier would cherish the atmosphere as much as he did so long ago.
The main dining room was lighted only by candles in baroque sconces and chandeliers that provided just enough illumination—neither too little for gazing upon elegant companions nor too much to incite the interest of neighboring tables. Great ruby-red draperies hung from tall, narrow windows that marched like ancient soldiers along one long wall; high mirrors, darkened by sheer age, adorned the others. And between them, elaborately framed representations of ancient, seagoing ships—not one of them depicted by a modern hologram—hung from the ancient plaster. The high ceiling was supported by elegantly gilded beams framing trompe l'oeil paintings of chimerical flighted beings that were almost lost in the hazy darkness. And the atmosphere was an altogether agreeable chaos of odors, from the delicious aroma of cooking food to the mysteriously foreign scents of camarge tobacco and the Bears' famous (or perhaps infamous) Hogge'Poa.
" 'Tis beautiful, Wilf," Cartier whispered as they followed the maître d' across deep carpeting to an intimately sized table located a comfortable distance from a quintet of musicians (also dressed in frock coats and pantaloons) who coaxed gloriously non-intrusive harmonies from graceful stringed instruments.
As she took her seat, Brim became acutely aware of the comfort her hand provided while it rested gently on his arm. Few women he'd encountered had been able to make him feel so... well, "kindred" was a word that came to his mind. But it didn't quite fit, because for a long time he'd had decidedly unsisterly dreams concerning his beautiful countrywoman. After the traditional Avalonian napkin ceremony, an ancient Meem Steward bowed and presented him with the restaurant's large meem list,
"Noo that is wha' I ca' a meem list," Cartier remarked softly.
"Would you like to look it over?" Brim asked, offering the huge book across the table.
Cartier smiled and shook her head. "I hae seen quite a few o' them since my assignment to Avalon. I should much rather you choose somethin' for us. Luik you did at FleetPort 30 that evenin'."