Calliope felt oddly nostalgic as they made small talk with the nobles. It reminded her of old times when she had entertained the Great and Good of Callaverde and they had all danced to her tune. Before they had all turned on her of course. Something primal rumbled in the back of her mind and for a moment she thought she smelled something like fire crackling over rock. Like all such moments it passed quickly and faded from her mind. Markus proved himself a man of hidden talents, though perhaps it should not have surprised her that so capable a swordsman found the less improvised footwork of the dance a natural fit. They shared a pair of dances, a slow waltz and a spritely sarabande before other partners drew them away. There was much talk of pirates and piracy, mostly of the ridiculous demands of one Markus Flintbrook whose vessel was currently prowling these waters. Did she know that they had captured a score of his men and planned to hang them on the morrow? Would she be attending? Did she want an escort to such a beastly business?

There was no formal feast, instead plates of food were circulated among the crowd by servants in party coloured livery. It was quite the display of culinary skill. Small ships made of mashed potato crusted with sharp cheese with little pennants of sauteed green onion.  Elegant little roses made of slivers of beef or bacon. Little faux apples made from candied pork with gold leaf. Coiled and recooked noodles woven into patterns of trees with sauted meat for trunks and vegetables for leaves. Lime tart and custard pies,  little mandalas made of nuts encased in brightly coloured sugars, butter short bread and almond crisp. Calliope wasn’t sure she had ever seen or tasted its equal. Drinks were served in a similar fashion and judging by the amount of wine circulating Calliope knew that many a noble cellar would need restocking in the morning. Claret and champagne flowed freely, as did crisp whites with an appley finish which was apparently a specialty of the islands.  The drink was less to Calliope’s taste, her sensibilities having been eroded by the cask rum mixed with lime juice and gunpowder which was the sailors daily comfort. The apple brandy they served seemed a poor tipple in comparison, and she had to be careful not to toss it off to quickly lest she give herself away.

 

“May I have this dance Lady?” A nervous looking man with pinched cheeks and a receding hairline asked. Calliope extended her hand and took his.

“Callypsa Haukenbrook,” she introduced herself, performing a slight curtsey before lifting her fingertips to the proscribed position..

“Marcel D’amarlane,” he replied, touching his fingertips to her and beginning to circle as the orchestra took up the tune.

 

“I am not familiar with the Haukenbrooks, are you a local family?” he asked, making polite conversation. Calliope gave him the same vague account of overseas travel that she had given her other dance partners.

“Calypsa, its a strange name, have you ever been to Callaverde by any chance?” he asked.

“I’ve heard of it,” Calliope responded with understatement that didn’t amplify the statement. They curved and reversed direction, switching hands with easy grace.

“I had the pleasure of visiting there some years ago. I even attended a feast with the potentate there, Call… something was her name? A terrible sorceress, her own people rose up against her later that year, though I heard she escaped and cursed the city as she fled,” he pressed. Up until this point he seemed to be making conversation but something in her manner must have given him pause because he suddenly gave her a very appraising look.

“Calliope,” she supplied for him. “A very terrible woman I am given to understand.” Marcel missed a step but quickly recovered, though looking a little pale.

“My Lady I…” he began but she continued speaking over him.

“Can you imagine if she were here now,” she told him lightly, spinning through the dance step and coming in close for the stylized embrace.

“Walking here among us in secret?” she tittered as though this was the most wickedly entertaining thing she could imagine.

“Can you imagine what a woman like that might do if someone were to expose her like that? Why I bet she would flay a man alive! Perhaps burn his intestines alive. Maybe even rip his mind from his body entirely,” she tittered again, though judging by the now pasty white complexion of her dance partner, it wasn’t quite the light giggle it had started as. She blinked her eyes, her pupils suddenly slitted and serpentine, then, in the next heartbeat back to normal. Marcel made a choking sound and stumbled, colliding with a waiter who expertly kept his tray aloft while disentangling himself from the guest. Such accidents of drunken gracelessness were certainly common at this late hour. Marcel snatched a glass of brandy and downed it in a single gulp before casting her one more fearful glance. Calliope waved a gloved hand and waved with her fingers. He fled the dancefloor.

“What is wrong with that poor devil?” another woman asked as she took a glass of wine from the waiter.

“Always a mistake to attempt a dance you can't finish,” Calliope told her in a slightly disappointed tone.