"Why did the Rüstringen noble follow his chef's example?" I asked, then paused to allow a dramatic beat. "Peer pressure." The newcomer fround for a moment and then groaned. He was a handsome enough man, with a swagger and selfconfidence that would have been to gauche for any noble. Nobility as a breed believed they were superior to the common folk, but it isn't my experience that they know it deep down. 

"Rasa Blanc," I introduced myself, thrusting out a hand. The newcomer took it and shook it firmly. He had a good grip but didn't try to crush my hand or any such foolishness. The callouses on his palms confirmed my initial impression that he wasn't some limp wristed nobles by blow. Or at least he wasn't only that.

"Nelson Beauford," he lied, so smoothly that I couldn't tell at the time. I released his hand and turned to look at the orb he had been pondering. It was a gaudy thing among a room of gaudy things and I wondered what his interest was in it. A waiter passed and I took a flute of wine and sipped at it. The anti-ethanol drugs I had taken before coming made it taste like mud, but then you couldn't be sure the natural flavor was much better than that. I suppressed a wince with practiced ease.

"Does it remind you a bit of the Illium Coteric form?" I asked. The Illium Coterie had been a wide spread cult in these parts during the Wyrdsmiths time, although the common name was the tragically unimaginative 'Circle of Bones'. Any adept beyond a street corner cultist would recognise the term though.

"Oh yeah, totally," Beauford lied, nodding his head. So much for a break through. Still I couldn't help but feel there was something familiar about the man. He glanced over his shoulder and I thought he was looking for an excuse to make his escape but when I followed his glance I saw he was looking at the main door where a pair of livered guards with force poles stood as motionless as statues. It occured to me that he was waiting for something to happen. As though on que the doors flew open and a phalanx of local law enforcement, or noble's toughs with the badges and kit of law enforcement. The music came to a screeching halt and all eyes turned towards the door, the haughty nobles looking at the armed intruders very much as one might look a turd found floating in the punch bowl. The leader of the group was silent for a second, obviously a little stunned. I watched him consider his options for a moment.

"We have intruders!" he shouted and he and his men shoved their way forward into the crowd.