As Related by Prince Lugh Carrick, Twice-consul and Most Magnificent Engineer of Skarsia
We search for Aran until nightfall. He’s somewhere in this area and he’s alive; Marius says so. But the projection Marius is monitoring is inadequate for pinpointing a location.
I’m wondering if the best thing might be to rendezvous with the other team and have Owen repair that mecha? Ethan or Barnabas could do it too, but we have no way to communicate with them.
We go back to the Moth and Lamp. The interrogation has gotten nowhere. Dermot is dead drunk.
« How many has he had? » I ask.
« Six, » says Lorcan.
« Six? I can’t keep time, but that seemed like at least three hours. »
« He’s neither a big drinker nor a big guy, » says Solomon. « We should’ve thought it through more carefully. Of the choices we were given, Seth would’ve been best. Sloane or Mickey would’ve been ideal. »
« Let me do it, » says Lorcan. « I can hold my liquor. »
« You just want to get out of doing the self-portrait, » says Solomon.
« Someone else can do it. You can do it. The point was to get me recognized, right? Not to make me suffer the agony of the damned. »
« What’s the point of being beautiful if nobody loves you? » moans Dermot.
« Oh no, » says Lorcan. « He’s a sloppy drunk. Wasn’t the legendary Dermot supposed to have a beauty spot which made everyone fall madly in love with him? I can’t believe I and I left that out. »
« Who says I don’t? » Dermot challenges.
« I’ve never seen it, » says Lorcan. « Obviously, as I’m not in love with you. »
« If you had something like that, would you show it to everybody? »
« Yes, » says Lorcan. « Without hesitation or equivocation. »
Dermot takes a tiny sip of beer and slams his fist on the table. « I always end up with unenviable tasks which get me in trouble with Tara. »
« Why, God, why? » asks Lorcan.
« Thomas gets the shit jobs too, » says Owen.
« Owen’s early life wasn’t a tree of roses, » I add. « We all have our burdens to carry. »
« But Owen has you, » says Dermot. « I don’t have anybody. »
« Don’t be silly, » says Solomon. « Beauty spot or no, you could have any branch you wanted. »
Dermot brings his hand to his brow, as if scanning the distance. « I don’t see a line forming, » he says.
« You’re being ridiculous, » says Solomon petulantly.
« Man, if it weren’t for Daniel and Davy, you really would’ve ended up a Cu’enmerengi, » says Lorcan.
« Gimme one exshample, » slurs Dermot.
« Now you’re being mean, » Solomon snaps. « End of conversation. »
« What? » says Dermot.
« Moron, » says Lorcan. « He’s got a cross-pollination request in for you. »
« Really? Why didn’t I know? »
« Maybe it’s because you’re too naïve to snoop through Tarlach’s quote-unquote confidential files, » Lorcan replies. « Maybe it’s because you never get laid, so you never get pollinated. »
« Oh no, » says Dermot, stumbling off the barstool. « Solomon, I’m sorry. I was wrong. »
“Dermot McRath, Minister of Aesthetic Affairs. 25th to emanate, 85 in the color scale, resonates to 439. 1.765 meters tall, cock size 15.75 cm when erect, apparent age 25. Philosopher. Totem is Laurus nobilis, the Grecian or sweet bay laurel, fixed star is the Methuselah Star. Esoteric symbol is the Minchiate trump La Bilancia, Libra. Dessert is Nau’gsh Belle Tara (nau’gsh poached in honey and brandy with chocumber syrup and ice cream). Function is creative attainment, proto-conscious tendency is seduction, designated Beauty. Blazon is celadon, flaunches argent, an estoile or.”
« That was #80, » says Cüinn, « “Realize that you were wrong.” Welcome aboard, Dermot. »
« We’re back to square one with the Beers of the Galaxy, » says Lorcan.
« I’ll do it, » says a voice from the doorway. « After what I’ve seen, I could use a drink. »
It’s Aran.