Continued from §.01.
“Ah, we arrive at last!” Aldwyn Blythe declared with triumph as the four aristocrats reached the first floor lobby of Mazrak’s Grand Theatre, which hummed with conversations and the busy footsteps of its numerous and well-heeled patrons.
Oeric wasted no time in greeting the elderly clerk who stood behind a stout and well polished reception desk to the left of the corridor.
“We’ve reservations for Destrali’s concerto.”
“Names?” The concierge inquired apathetically.
“Blythe. Boyce. Kyne. Adair.”
The man’s brows moved progressively higher at each utterance. He checked a large, leatherbound ledger set before him, whereupon his ennui melted to fawning adoration.
“I-I’d no idea… ah, yes… tickets.”
The pepper-haired clerk swiftly removed four tickets from underneath the desk and then snapped vainly several times in succession.
“Geoffrey. Geoffrey? Geoffrey!”
The concierge, irked and embarrassed, returned his attention to the four young gentlemen with a sigh of exasperation.
“I’m dreadfully sorry, I’ve no idea where the scamp scuttled.”
“No trouble at all,” Adair assured him, removing his coat, “We’re perfectly capable of hanging up our own-”
“No, no, that just won’t do! A moment, but a moment!”
The clerk sped off into the room directly behind the counter. Moments later, a young valet, dressed in red, descended the upper landing which let out to the concert hall and bowed cordially to the four theater-goers. He was lithe and wan, with hair the color of obsidian, immaculately combed back to reveal a sharp, angular face and keen, green-gold eyes.
“Salutations,” the valet said warmly.
“Ah, thou must be Geoffrey.”
“Aye. Shall I take thy coat, my comitem?”
“Certainly, lad,” Adair replied as he handed his coat off to the valet. Blythe, Boyce and Kyne swiftly followed suit, whereupon the pale valet bowed once more and stepped aside as the party headed up the stairs.
As the four men vanished over the landing, the valet flashed a crooked smile.
Continued in §.03.