Ostrich Feathers

 “Ostrich feathers?” Maggie raised an eyebrow.

“I had no idea,” sighed Juniper.  She was clutching a martini glass in one hand and the olive, tidily impaled on a cocktail stick, in the other.  “They looked glorious for ten minutes after I arrived.”

“It’s the sea breeze,” said Maggie, trying to sound knowledgable.  She had been in Ferkala for nearly a year and had rapidly tired of having everything explained to her by the older expats.  “It uncurls them cruelly.  They’ll not recover.”

“Oh,” said Juniper mournfully.  She made a delicate moue with her lips, which were rather too full for the proper effect and then tossed back her martini.  She scrunched up her face and shuddered, then looked about her.  “Where’s the man with the drinks tray?”

Maggie looked about the room as well, as her own glass was nearly empty.  They were in the Ice House, which had once been an actual ice house storing huge blocks of ice sailed in from the near continent.  After electricity had been introduced and refrigeration improved to the point where everyone had their own fridge the Ice House had gradually emptied and now was used by the Oompah of Ferkala as an events venue.  Tall, thick walls towered over them with light filtering down from high small windows.  The room was essentially circular and the floor, once covered with straw, was now laid with a sparkling mosaic that depicted the liberation of Ferkala.  It was filled with the best people that Ferkala had to offer, if you believed the invitations that the Oompah issues.  Maggie suspected that it was really filled with the bored and the boorish; those people with nothing better to do than eat and drink at someone else’s expense.

“There’s a cheterry over there,” she said, pointing.  Chetteries were uniformed men who carried out the indispensable services necessary to the civilising of Ferkala.

“Over here!” shouted Juniper, waving an arm vigorously.  Maggie carefully chose not to observe the sweat patch that had formed under Juniper’s arm.  “Over here!  Damn him, the man isn’t listening.”  She looked at Maggie as though expecting her to do something.

“I’m sure he isn’t,” said Maggie, feeling a touch superior.  “He’s not a servant, after all.  But he probably knows where one is.”

“You mean I have to approach him?”  Juniper looked aghast.  “But he a cheterry.”

Maggie smiled, thin-lipped and mean.  “You could cast about for a servant,” she said.  “They usually pass through no less often than every half-hour.”

“Half an hour!”

Juniper stormed off, pushing her way through the thin crowd of people dressed in wilting finery as the heat of the evening soaked through the thick walls of the Ice House.  Occasionally a head turned as she forged ahead like a vander-boat on the river, looking to see what novelty might be happening, but for the most part the crowd were already feeling desuetude settle over them and though the band was playing upbeat numbers still the dancing was slowing and the conversations were slurring and Maggie felt that people would be departing soon.

“What have you done now?” asked a voice behind her, and she turned to find Lieutenant-Colonel Kittiwake strolling towards her, a half-drunk glass of Negroni in one hand and a fresh mint julep in the other.  He offered her the mint julep with a minimal inclination of his head and she grinned mischievously and took the negroni instead.

“Juniper was being tedious,” she said. “I directed her to the cheterry.”

“Drink!  I said, I want another drink!”  Juniper’s voice was harsh and abrasive and cut through the muted hubbub of the senescing crowd like a hot knife through butter.  Heads turned in earnest now, sensing drama, and expectations rose.

“She doesn’t know they’re all mute?” Kittiwake frowned at the mint julep and tasted it experimentally.  “Hmmph, you drink this?  It tastes like medicine.”

“She’s not been here long, and she’s not one for learning,” said Maggie.  “It’s sweet in its own way, but I think I’d prefer to be a spectator more than a player where she’s concerned.  I’d say she’ll be returning before the year is out.”

“You’re still determined to stay?”

Maggie sipped the negroni, wishing that Kittiwake hadn’t already drunk half of it, but preferring the bitterness to the astringency of mint.  “Yes,” she said.  “The Oompah is over-reaching, I’m sure of it, and I think there are opportunities here.  Modest ones, of course, but a sharp pair of eyes and a thoughtful demeanour can achieve a lot.”

“The Oompah believes that the governors lack ambition,” said Kittiwake.  He set the julep aside on a tray as a servant passed by.  “He wishes to expand.  There will be expeditions made to the Allaba foothills in the next two weeks, and scouts send out beyond them.”

“Are you even listening to me?”  Juniper sounded furious and Maggie was keeping her eyes averted from the scene even though most other people now had stopped everything and was watching with fascination.  Even Kittiwake, who was standing side-on to the proceedings, was darting glances when it wasn’t impolite.

“The foothills?” Maggie pretended to think for a moment, but this was old news to her.  “How would an expedition venture up into the mountains, or beyond them, though?  They are high, and airless from what I hear.”

“The Oompah believes that they are not as airless as is made out,” said Kittiwake.  “But I really require another drink before continuing our delightful conversation, milady, and I fear I shall need to find one myself.  The evening grows hotter and I think the Ice House is starting to empty.

There was a ringing slap that punctuated his sentence and Maggie now allowed herself to look over at Juniper and her harangue.  The cheterry appeared to have slapped her, which could only mean that she’s struck him first.  Their regard for protocol was legendary.

“I should accompany you,” she said artlessly.  “Or rather, you should accompany me.  I shall let you take me to dinner, perhaps at Spencer and Co.”

Lieutenant-Colonel Kittiwake shook his head very slightly.  “I see,” he said.  “The master criminal departs, having wrought chaos and achieved her ends.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Maggie with the most insincere smile she owned.