XVII

The Jubilee Ball

The entire fortress was ablaze with life and music. Torches flared outside, lining the bridge brightly for newly arrived guests. Alongside the outer walls lined more torches, bringing the entire outer curtain of the castle to light in a very dark night. Among a sea of dark suits and pale gowns stood Rathbone. His suit darker than the rest, adorned with a crisp faded gold cravat and matching waistcoat.

"His Majesty the Maharaja of Nevada…" Called the man at the top of the stairs. Rathbone looked up, his eyes locking onto the green robed, dark skinned man in the enormous turban bearing an even larger feather arrangement. "…And the general Sherlock Holmes."

His eyes narrowed. There was absolutely no possible reason why he should forget names such as that on his list of invitations. However, a general and a maharaja were not something to be taken lightly… even if they did appear to be peacocks in a sea of penguins and pigeons.

The two men stepped down the stairs, widely grinning as they approached to join the crowd. But Rathbone watched their tall hats, seeing them move clearly over the tops of the crowd.

"I say," Gilroy said, stepping to Rathbone. "Nelson, doesn't their clothing remind you of Lord Diggory and his wife's costumes from the last masked ball?"

Rathbone looked to him curiously.

"Oh. I'm sorry." Gilroy said, suddenly frowning. "I forgot you were in China." Chuckling then, he raised his champagne in a small toast. "Here's to coincidence then."

Stepping away from Gilroy, Rathbone sharked his way beside the inspector, locking his gaze upon the two in the ridiculous costumes.

"How are the security arrangements here Inspector?" Lord Rathbone asked, looking keenly, cautiously over the crowd of faces.

Inspector Doyle set aside his plate and wiped his hands together, lacking in all proper manners. "Swimmingly, my lord." Even though Rathbone stood a good four feet from the man, an air of wine drifted from the inspector. "And if I may say so…on behalf of Scotland Yard it is an honor to be guarding your lordship." A notion of pride or smugness seemed to bring a faint smirk to Rathbone's lips at the words even though he kept his eyes peeled to the crowd.

"I know I speak for everyone when I say, that, no matter how far you are from the throne, you'll always be number one in our hearts." Grinning as though he had just paid the lord the greatest compliment, he awaited a reply.

Rathbone's faint smile slowly melted into a thin-lipped expression as he turned an annoyed gaze to the inspector. Like a dog with his tail between his legs, Doyle fell sheepish and silent. "I think you've had a bit too much wine." He snapped at the man discreetly before he set off into the crowd.

"Oh Nelson!" A woman's voice chimed through. He turned to the pale gowns that gathered besides their playing quartet. "I want to thank you for the ride this morning. We absolutely enjoyed seeing the country. Splendid! I've never witnessed quail hunting. I never imagined it to be so much fun!"

Graciously he bowed, "My pleasure Lady Francis. It is always a treat to ride with you and your charming daughters." Charming being the key word to him. "If you'll excuse me, Lady Francis." He offered her and her surrounding conversationalists a polite bow before pressing to the buffet table.

Following the path of a passerby, Rathbone made his way to the buffet table, pausing beside the maharaja. "You should try the quail." He said, eyeing the man carefully… however uncertain what to think of him yet. The maharaja slowly turned from his cutting into the pork, gripping a long knife in his hand. "I shot them myself this morning." Rathbone clarified, sounding prideful.

The maharaja did not react with enthusiasm. Instead he returned the cautious glare. "How do you do your lordship?"

The accent immediately brought Rathbone to think of Lin. An identical accent if he ever heard one. "I'm not at all familiar with the… Nevada province." No immediate reply. Wishing to avoid a scene, Rathbone shrugged casually, turning to a friendly note. "But, then I haven't been to India since '81. I spend most of my time in the Orient."

The maharaja was struck with vague familiarity. He responded distantly, "I hear you have just returned from China."

Acting impressed, he replied, "You are well informed maharaja. It is my dream that the Chinese will follow India's example and one day embrace British rule."

Quietly defiant, the maharaja replied. "The Chinese are very proud. They place family and honor above all else."

Family and honor, he mused in that beat of silence… Chon Wang, who abandoned his family to dishonor them only to arrive as a threat to Rathbone now…and Rathbone was not pleased. It irked him to hear the words, and a cruel slip of the tongue brought him a guilty joy in seeing the man's grip upon the knife tighten. "Well, I'm sure we can break them of that."

Knowing he had to leave before he trapped himself in a very embarrassing situation, he removed his pocket watch. Fifteen minutes until the meeting. "If you'll excuse me, I have a little matter to attend to?"

The Maharaja of Nevada gave a falsely respected bow, in which Rathbone returned the favor and quickly left.

"Whoops." He said under his breath as he entered the hall, lined with armored guardsmen. A hand pressed to his waistcoat as he felt the rush of letting his snide remarks get the best of him at the worst possible moments.