I wasn't planning to introduce more characters from the show, but by toolazytologins's suggestion, I have included Nathan in this chapter. I present to you Nathan in his personal nightmare!
It was morning and Toki had overslept. The night before he had been up until the early hours, playing his fingers raw. He groaned as he pushed himself up against the pillows before collapsing again. He had had that dream, the odd one, and it stuck with him like a lingering scent. He would see Yolande, and then Skwisgaar, switching between one and the other until they became as one person, with a single voice. It had been eerie, skin-crawling at times, and yet filled him with a strange longing. He shook his body as though to rid himself of the sensation.
Bellanger approached the bed, carrying an envelope on a silver tray. Toki hesitated before opening it. It was scented with sandalwood and the handwriting was long and graceful.
My Dear Count Wartooth,
I hope you will join me tonight for a small party at the Petite Trianon after dinner. I hear you have been low in spirits- poor man!- but please don't deny me your company. It will only be a gathering of close friends.
Warmest Regards,
Marie Antoinette.
So she had heard he had been unhappy. Who had told her? He doubted she had noticed herself. Sweet as she was, she had a way of missing people's most essential features. It was a kind of blindness that could only stem from royal birth. Knowing that all her companions were subordinate to her, she had a bad habit of ignoring attributes that did not pertain to her. Perhaps that was why she had no many poor advisors, and was gaining a unenviable reputation outside the court. But she was still so young, and had good instincts: he had no doubt she would grow wiser with age.
Wiser with age- he thought of what Yolande had said two days before, that he was still childish. He had resolved not to brood anymore. The feelings lingered, and at times he such pangs that he only wanted to curl up in bed and shut his eyes. But for the most part it seemed as though he were a haze, that he was under the spell of strange apprehensions and feelings as inexplicable as his dream.
At any rate he would show himself before the court and dispel any rumors of 'low spirits' as best he could. They would only be attributed to the duel, which was two days away. He couldn't let them believe that he was afraid. Though the possibility was slim, he felt in the very marrow of his bones that there was indeed a chance for him to triumph. But for now he had to put on a brave face, and appear bold and clever at Marie Antoinette's party.
There were no courtiers lingering by the gate of the Petite Trianon. This was unusual for one of Marie's gatherings, and stranger still was the absence of any manservant at the door. He pushed it open himself, and stared into the long, empty hall.
"Hello?" he called, and his voice reverberated over the columns and chandeliers. Was this a practical joke?
But then he heard it- joyous laughter, loud and distinct, and he could have sworn it was Marie Antoinette herself, only it was so unrestrained, wanton even, that he doubted himself. He hurried in the direction of the voice, and reached a small salon decked with opulent sofas and mirrors with gilded edges.
Marie was dressed as a shepherdess, but in white satin with her bust festooned with blue ribbons. Her light hair was unpowdered and tumbled over her shoulders. She was pressed up against a very happy Cornichon, with her hip raised so that she was nearly sitting on his knee. Between them they held a large book and were reading it with so keen an interest that they didn't notice Toki. They made such an odd picture that he was tempted to watch them unobserved, and pulled back behind the door.
A pitiful bleating emerged from the corner of the room and he suppressed a laugh as one lamb, then another crossed in front of the sofa.
"And then," read Marie from the book, " he fell to one knee, sighing, and declared his eternal love. 'No,' she said, "My virtue is-"
"She talked about her virtue again." Said Cornichon. "Now you gotta drink." He held out a tray with small crystal glasses, no bigger than a thumb. They were filled with pink liquid.
"Ready?" asked Cornichon. "One, Two-" On the count of three Marie tipped back her glass but uttered a small cry of protest when the liquid failed to move.
Cornichon burst into laughter. "I gotcha there!" he said. "It's a gelatin shot. Ya gotta scoop it out- like this." He pushed his finger under the shot and it plopped into his mouth.
Marie Antoinette pouted. "How revolting!" She said.
"Well, my Queen certainly shouldn't eat with her hands." He produced a dainty silver spoon, and winking, handed it to her. She cried out, and in her enthusiasm, kissed his cheek. His face went scarlet.
"All right," he said, grinning. "One-Two-" Before he counted three, she had gobbled up the shot. "Oh, Cornichon!" She cried. "That was delicious! But now-" she frowned. "Now we're all out!"
"Don't worry," said Cornichon. "I gotcha covered. I had that servant of yours- what's his name? The black-haired one. I had him make more."
Marie's eyes widened. She picked up a small gold bell, and rang it. "Nathan!" She called.
The servant appeared, and he could not have looked more miserable. He was a hulking man with a broad chest and thick arms. His jet-black hair had been curled, but it was naturally straight, and so it simply fell into loose corkscrews around his scowling face. He was dressed as a shepherd with a short coat and breeches, both in satin, with blue bows on his buckled shoes. To make things worse, he wore a small apron lined with lace and blue ribbon.
"You, uh, rang, your highness?" he said in low, gravelly voice, his dark brows pushing together.
"Nathan, another round of shots," ordered Marie.
"The pink ones, like I told ya." added Cornichon.
Nathan shuddered. "Yes, your Highness," he grumbled, and stumbled gracelessly out of the room.
It was then that Marie noticed Toki. "Oh, Count Wartooth! It was so good of you to come!" She rose to take his hand, and giggling, fell back directly onto Cornichon. The drummer could barely believe his good luck, but with a short laugh, she pushed herself off of him, onto the sofa. "Cornichon has finally introduced me to shots!" She hiccupped, and placed her hand delicately over her mouth. "It's the most delightful thing. And we've been reading "The Perils of Constantia." Whenever Constantia says anything-hic!- about her virtue we have to take another shot. "
"And that means a lotta shots," said Cornichon.
Toki smiled and sat on the dense sofa facing them. "I didn't realize the party ams, well, so smalls." He said, looking around him.
"I told you it would be a imtimate, I mean inmit, um, a small gathering," she slurred. "Join us!" she said, handing him one of the shots.
"Nah, he's a real man," said Cornichon, laughing. He pulled out a bottle of cognac, and slammed a shot glass on the table in front of Toki.
"Nooo, Cornichon," wailed Marie. "He wants a pink shot!"
Actually, Toki would have much preferred the gelatin shot- he loved anything sweet and was really curious to try it. But he remembered his resolution to be more grown up, and nodded toward the cognac.
"Ya gotta catch up," said Cornichon. He poured glass after glass, and Toki downed them, though he wasn't in mood. Perhaps it would help him relax. Marie clapped her hands as Toki fell back against the cushions in a whirl.
"Feeling good?" asked Cornichon, lifting an eyebrow.
Toki nodded, but he wasn't sure. He certainly felt relaxed. The world seemed less concrete, and it gave him a sense of freedom.
"Well if you feel good now, wait 'til it really hits you!" said Cornichon. Toki spread his arms over the couch and studied the couple with amusement. They were truly mismatched: the low-born Cornichon with his coarse accent and receding hairline, and the elegant Marie Antoinette, Queen of France. Drinking really was a great equalizer. Cornichon snatched up one of the lambs and put its face to Marie's cheek. It gave her a lick and she screamed.
"My goodness!" She said, holding her hand to her breast. "I thought it was you!"
"I wish it was." He said slyly, and she pushed him over onto the sofa. The lamb pranced onto his chest, and began to lick his face. "Oh, your highness! I couldn't possibly!" said Cornichon with an exaggerated sigh and Toki and Marie burst into laughter. Toki plucked the lamb off Cornichon's chest and placed it on his lap. It bleated happily, and he couldn't resist the urge to hug it.
The sun was setting and golden rays ricocheted off one mirror to the next until the room was cast in dazzling light.
"Am I interrupsing something?" Skwigelf was standing on the door, his hands on his hips and a look of amusement on his face. He was dressed in pure white, and in the stark brilliance of the room, light seemed to emanate from him. Toki looked up in a stupor, feeling the alcohol go straight to his head.
"Who ams that?" asked Skwigelf, motioning towards the lamb in Toki's lap.
"It it ams… nothing," said Toki quickly. He blushed and set the lamb on the ground. It lifted its head to Toki and bleated.
"He has no name?' asked Skwigelf. "How sads for him." He knelt down, and touched the creature's head. It seemed strange to Toki to see Skwigelf on the ground. He was so used to the tall, towering figure. But he still looked noble, as though he were preparing to be knighted.
"You got a name for him, your Highness?" asked Cornichon, leaning back with his arms over his head.
Marie shook her head and hiccuped. "I've got so many of them, if I started giving them names I'd forget all my courtiers."
"Can I suggests a name?" asked Skwigelf, rising.
"Of course," said Marie. Her face had a rosy glow, both from the light, and the alcohol.
Skwigelf lifted his walking stick, a masterpiece in ebony with a golden hawk at the tip. "I dubs thee," he said, tapping the lamb with the stick. "Thunderhorse!"
Marie clapped and burst into laughter, but Cornichon scowled.
"You can't name a lamb after your own guitar," he said. "How boring can you get?"
"I think it ams clevers," said Toki, though he was laughing too. They all looked at him in surprise, especially Skwigelf, whose eyes were wide open. It was the first nice thing he had said to the Swede, and he could hardly believe himself. But under an alcoholic daze, he felt warm and generous, and he continued. "He's like a little horses. It's funny because he's so smalls and weaks. I likes it."
"Ok," said Cornichon, lifting his glass. "If Count Wartooth likes it, who am I to object? Skwisgaar, you haven't had a drop to drink today."
"I must remedys that," said Skwisgaar. He glanced at Toki, and smiled, almost secretly, before accepting a glass of wine.
The room darkened, and Nathan was called in to the light the chandelier and the candelabras. Shadows flickered, and everything took on a mysterious glow.
There was only one seat left, on the sofa beside Toki. Skwisgaar looked down dubiously, and Toki nodded at him. He couldn't exactly refuse him.
Marie and Cornichon seemed lost in their own world, reading the insipid novel and laughing over it. Skwisgaar downed the wine quickly and frowned.
"I prefers something stronger." He said, reaching for the bottle. "In Sweden we has this drink called Brännvin*."
"You means Brennevin?" asked Toki, excited in spite of himself. He had gotten drunk for the first time off of Brennevin. His parents had viewed all spirits as evil, so Hjalmar had taken him to barn and let him try it. He liked the fierce, fiery taste, and missed it. He had never really thought about how he and Skwisgelf came from similar cultures.
"No," said Skwisgelf briskly. "I means Brännvin."
Toki grimaced, and Skwigelf must have noticed, because his voice softened. "I thinks we just calls it something different." Skwigelf turned to Toki with a look of concentration, then, pressing his forehead he turned away. He lifted up a third glass of wine and gulped it down.
"Careful," said Toki. "You ams going to choke."
"Pfft," said Skwigelf. "I won'ts be careful. Why shoulds I?" The Swede's profile looked strange and haughty in the candlelight. His full lips were pursed and his cheekbones were thrown into sharp relief. "You knows," he said, pouring himself a fourth glass. "I ams like that little lambs there."
Toki resisted the urge to laugh. Skwigelf could be many things, but certainly not a lamb.
"Thunderhorse- it was a good names, Ja?" Swigelf chuckled lightly. "You laughed. It was a good to hear you laughs."
Toki was silent, but felt his face glow.
"But that little lamb, he was nameless - like me."
"But you're-" Toki frowned.
"I'm Skwigelf. But that's my mother's name, not my father's. What does that makes me?"
Toki knew better than to say.
"A bastards," continued Skwigelf. His cheeks were now flushed from the wine. "Why do I tell you this?" He took a swig of wine. "You already despises me."
Toki winced. He didn't know how to answer Skwigelf, but no- he could not despise him. He had despised the cold man he had first met, he had despised the heartless seducer, but Skwisgaar- he was neither of those things. It took a kind of bravado to admit his origins in such plain words. It would have embarrassed any other aristocrat, but to Toki it revealed a wider world- that Skwigelf was a man with an origin. The aching power of his guitar, his unnatural beauty- it stemmed from an inner turmoil, and that brought Skwigelf to the living realm. But Toki said nothing, and the Swede's next words were hard and bitter.
"It ams not a nice worlds for a boy with no name." He said. "Not like a rich young Counts in his mansion."
Toki frowned. "It was nothings like that."
Skwigelf turned to Toki, and his lips were trembling. "You grows up in ease and plenty. You should be ables to admit that."
"I won't admits it, because it ams not true!"
Skwigelf's mouth fell open, and Toki realized he had been shouting. Marie Antoinette and Cornichon were both in a stupor, but they looked up at him in alarm.
"Forgives me," he said, turning from them.
"No," whispered Skwigelf. "Forgives me. I do not knows what you have lived, and yet I judges you. But I feels that I must haves something, because you look at me and you're always judging, as though you've lived some perfects life." He grabbed Toki's wrist and Toki froze. Their eyes were fixed together as though in some fatal contest, before Skwigelf pulled away.
"Forgives me," he said again. He removed his hand from Toki's wrist, but Toki felt a burning where the fingers had been. "I has too much to drink. Forgives me." Toki opened his lips to speak, but Skwigelf grabbed his cane and hurried from the room.
*Brännvin is a Swedish word for liquor made from potatoes or grain. It includes, but is not limited to vodka. Brennevin is the Norwegian word.