A Dream Deferred

[The Resurgent Dream]

Pantocratoria was a close, prominent, and sometimes controversial ally. Demonstrations in front of her embassy in Tarana were not exactly common but neither were they especially rare. However, for once, the gathering crowd was not angry, at least not at the Pantocratorians. People held up posters of crossed Pantocratorian and Caldan flags, commemorative images from the marriage of Princess Morgan to Prince Constantine and the Duke of Algha to Princess Theodora, along with messages like 'Sir Isaac Speaks for Me' and 'We Like Ike'. There were other signs, too, aimed at their own government, but those were for later. For the marchers, Sir Isaac Comnenus had gone almost overnight from a dangerous enabler of fascism to the lone voice of reason in the Atlantic after the Excalbians and their own government had surrendered shamelessly to South Epheronian fascism and Knootian imperialism. The crowd cheered and left flowers and cards as near the gate if they were allowed. Caldans had done this before, to celebrate births and marriages in the imperial family (especially those also involving Caldan royalty) and to mourn deaths. This was the first time, however, it had been done for a politician.

An hour had been set aside to gather in front of the embassy before the march properly began. It did not look like the sort of crowd that would normally gather to show love to Comnenus. It was sprinkled with elderly hippies and middle-aged punks, gruff looking trade unionists and clergy in full regalia. Most of the crowd, however, consisted of people of university age or a few years older. They were dressed as you might find them on any campus. Racially, they were more diverse than the Caldan Union as a whole but less so than Tarana or Narich. Men and women with megaphones moved towards what until now had seemed the back of the crowd. 'Are you ready to march?' they demanded in unison.

'Yes!' the marchers cried, slightly less in unison.

'Whose streets?' asked the leaders.

'Our streets!' the crowd shouted back.

'Whose streets?'

'Our streets!' The chant continued; its rhythm focusing the passions and energies of the marchers. It was not specific to the issues at hand but a general affirmation of the power and authority of protest. There were other chants, of course. One was quite popular.

'Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
Lola Foster's got to go!'

The leaders also used other call and response chants.

'I saw people; you say power!'

'People!'

'Power!'

'People!'

'Power!'

'Show me what community looks like!

'This is what community looks like!'

'Show me what democracy looks like!

'This is what democracy looks like!'

The leaders tried to keep everyone engaged during the march to St. Andrew's Park. They passed into the park itself between the towering Gothic Revival buildings that surrounded it. Most Caldans had heard patriotic descriptions of those looming palaces. They were Romantic or organic or particular or aspirational. There were always favourable comparisons to the cold, uninspired Neo-Classical buildings in Sargedaín. It was always pointed out that the ancient Greeks had actually painted their temples and public buildings in bright colours. Snefaldians did their civic business in polished ruins. The gaudy hodgepodge of discarded historical aesthetics that reigned in New Rome, the Medieval castle of Citadel Excalbia, the vulgar shells the Knootians used to protect them from their poisoned air, and Kasakia's dark tribal fortresses were given equally unflattering mentions. They did not feel that way to protesters marching past a security check point into the park. As spacious as St. Andrew's was, they were hemmed in by these brooding buildings which seemed very medieval to the casual eye, like cathedrals or castles. The might of the state and the grandeur of the church invoked in every arch.

A new call and response was added as the march entered the park. It started with a familiar chant.

'Show me what democracy looks like!

'This is what democracy looks like!'

Then those with the megaphones demanded, 'Show me what hypocrisy looks like!'

'That is what hypocrisy looks like!' the crowd answered, pointing at Kilburn House. This went on for several minutes. The crowd was democracy. The Ministry was hypocrisy.

The succession of speakers was long familiar to anyone who had been to protests of this kind before. Everyone's cause was intimately tied up with fighting Apartheid. Women, LGBTQ people, labour unions, the environment, and Snefaldian dissidents all had a pressing interest in the real fight against Apartheid. Then there were the leaders of the little parties, most of which disdained electoral politics and more of which could never win even a minor seat. They were parties of a few dozen people, but all of those people were activists who worked on every protest like this to make sure their party was part of the united front. Not that the average protester could tell the difference between the Socialist Action Party and the Revolutionary Socialist Collective. By the third speaker, most were milling about and not really paying attention to the stage. This part always went on for a few hours.

The long list of speakers was followed by the heavy beat of hip-hop as, unannounced, the Caldan Union's most famous South Epheronian, Nicki Pall, took the stage. Her generous curves were displayed by a pink leotard and matching thigh high boots and her dark hair was worn straight and long. Her hips swayed as she made her way onto the stage, already rapping her hit song 'Queen'. The crowd went wild. Even those who passionately preferred countercultural and revolutionary political music and even those who had criticised outfits exactly like that Pall wore on feminist grounds were excited such a big star was here to join them in so clear a stand. It was five more songs before Pall stopped singing and, as the crowd applauded, she started speaking. 'Thank you and thank you all for being out here! I know, from deep and long personal experience, that you can't compromise with Apartheid. This agreement that our government is now party to, this agreement shoehorned awkwardly into a conference on Zamimbia's problems, does nothing more than give the Boers, the Boer nationalists, everything they've ever wanted. Most black South Epheronians pushed into Zamimbia! More permanently made foreigners in their own country, which is how they've always been treated! That's why I'm proud to stand here with you and with a man I think you all know, Dr. August Williams, MP for Shelburne Estates!'

Dr. Williams was a tall, lean man with dark skin and strong African or Epheronian features. He wore his hair naturally in a somewhat grizzled and greying afro. In contrast to nearly all of the demonstrators, he was dressed as if for Parliament in a dark three piece suit. 'Thank you, sister,' he said to the departing Pall before he turned his intense gaze to the crowd. 'Brothers and sisters! Comrades! We are here today to stand with the people of South Epheron and all the people of the world against Boer racism and Knootian imperialism! We are here because thirteen years ago Neo-Liberal fanatics murdered a man of God, manufactured a crisis from whole cloth, and threatened all of us with nuclear Armageddon unless we signed a treaty making them our allies and partners!'

Cries of 'Boot the Knoots!' erupted from the crowd, heard for the first time at a significant demonstration since 2006. Some of them held up signs with a picture of a boot kicking a little cartoon newt. The two words were pronounced the same by most Caldans.

'Brothers and sisters,' Williams continued, 'we are here today because those same fanatics have for thirteen years been a stubborn, false ally that only takes and never gives!' The cries grew louder. Unlike some speakers, Williams didn't pause to let them chant. He just spoke louder and relied on the sound system, his own rhetorical strength and the audience's interest to bring them back. 'In New Excalbia, those same fanatics asked that we grant the slavering, blood-thirsty, bigoted fascists of South Epheron an early Christmas! Every ugly, racist fantasy come true! And Dolores Foster said yes! Ashley Gordon-Robb said yes! The only person in that room who spoke for black folks in South Epheron was Isaac Comnenus!' He sighed dramatically and raised his eyes to the sky. 'God knows, I never thought I'd say that!' The crowd laughed.

It was around this time that there was a stirring near Kilburn House. An old man with unkempt white hair receding back from his forehead stepped through police with a few words and made his way towards the crowd. His grey two-piece suit was slightly disheveled. The top button was undone and he wore no tie. Williams looked that way. 'You know, a lot of people in the Labour Party like to play the identity game. They think we care more about having someone who looks like us than someone who stands with us! Is that what we care about?' There was an enthusiastic roar from the crowd. 'Dolores Foster is safe, nice, clean, articulate. She's the nice, educated, professional coloured lady at the office who takes care of everything and doesn't stand out too much. Not brilliant! We can't have that! But competent. Makes the Staalmans and the Gordon-Robbs and the well-heeled businessmen who love this new Labour Party feel a little less racist but never uncomfortable. Well, I'd rather someone who STANDS! WITH! ME! And here comes a man who's always been a friend of the people! He's stood by us in heart, mind, and body for decades! Brothers and sisters, Chris Rutledge!'

Williams managed to time his introduction exactly for when Rutledge took the stage. 'Friends, I have just now come from resigning my post as Minister of Employment.' The crowd cheered. ''Lola Foster has betrayed the Labour Party and the working people of this country in a way not seen since the days of John Ryan.' The crowd hissed the name of the renegade Labour Prime Minister who had founded the National Party. 'I have informed her that I intend the challenge her for the leadership of the Labour Party. If I prevail, I promise it will once again be a party faithful to the working people of this country and to Atlantic values! If I prevail, the Labour Government will be one which cannot support this travesty of an agreement diplomatically!'

There was thunderous applause. Rutledge smiled. 'What we need is a political revolution in this country! What we need is to remember the socialist principles the Labour Party and the unions were founded on!' There was more thunderous applause and Rutledge stepped back from the microphone to let Frank Measha come to the microphone to sing his highly political brand of the Blues. This was closer to the kind of music the crowd was used to hearing at these events. After another set of songs, the organisers helped the crowd disperse peacefully.

[Excalbia]

Citadel Excalbia, Excalbia

Unlike Tarana, Citadel Excalbia had no spacious park convenient to the Imperial Senate. Instead, the domed edifice was flanked by an eclectic mix of 17th century building dating from the days of the Highland Kingdom and 19th century buildings from the first great building spree of the Imperial Age. The massive bulk of the Ministry of Defence stood across one street and the spires of a neo-Gothic church stood across the other.

Nevertheless, protesters akin to those in the Caldan capital had gathered to vent their opposition to the deal being concluded in New Excalbia. They marched down Chancellor’s Boulevard and turned on Senate Avenue, the roads closed to traffic by the Imperial Police. The crowd, mostly a mix of students, aging leftists still mourning the electoral demise of the Social Welfare Party and followers of Baroness Celeste de Frankopolis Skrastin's leftwing populism, was smaller than that in Tarana. With the Imperial Senate adjourned for elections and still awaiting His Imperial Majesty’s pleasure to reconvene, there were almost no politicians and few others, apart from a gaggle of reporters, to hear their protests.

One of the few politicians on the Island for the protest stood on the balcony of her eighth floor office with a cup of mulled wine. Although the Ministry of State was neither close enough nor positioned at the right angle for Lady Christina Freedman to see the demonstrators, she could hear their muffled shouts.

“They’re raising quite a ruckus,” Sir Adam Taurins, the Deputy Minister of State, said as he stepped onto the balcony.

“Children. Children and aging hippies who never grew up.” Lady Christina sipped her wine and turned to Sir Adam to give him a half-hearted smile. “I stepped out here to take a break from packing. I guess I was feeling a bit… emotional. End of an era and such.” She looked back over her shoulder towards the sound of the demonstrators. “But this makes me happy to be turning the reins over to you, Sir Adam.”

The Deputy Minister gave a wry smile. “Only until the Senate convenes and I can turn them over to Baroness Bodniece.” He watched as the Minister shrugged and sighed. He added, “I’m sure the press will ask about the demonstrations here and in Tarana…”

Lady Christina took a final sip of her wine and looked down at her glass. “As for these demonstrators, we say the usual boilerplate about freedom of speech, democracy, etc., etc. and the need to balance public opinion and public interests, blah, blah, blah.” She turned towards the Deputy Minister. “Have the press spokesman point out that this was Zamimbia’s agreement, not ours. We’re merely accepting what they themselves have negotiated. Emphasize that to do otherwise would be the worst kind of imperialism.” She chuckled. “Let the press paint this lot as would-be imperialists, imposing their will on a black Epheronian nation…” She sighed. “Let’s also note that we’ve avoided war, civil war, etc., etc.” She shrugged. “As for the tantrum in Tarana, we should say - and quote me on this: ‘His Imperial Majesty’s Government does not comment on the internal political developments of allied states, other than to say that we have the utmost respect for Her Caldan Majesty’s Government.’ On deep background, let it be known that Dr. Williams’ defection reeks of political opportunism.”

Sir Adam nodded. “Yes, Minister.”

“No,” Lady Ashley said looking down at the diamond covered watch on her left wrist, “I’m officially out of office in less than half an hour. So, thank you, Acting Minister.”

[Excalbia]

Somewhere Over Knootoss

Lord Tariq of Mezciems was far from his usual buoyant self. Although he was cheerily dressed in a pair of designer skinny jeans, a bright orange shirt and a tailored grey jacket, he sat glumly alone in his First Class row. Anyone who knew him would know that he was not himself; he had not flirted with either the attractive stewardess or the fashionably dressed young woman across the aisle.

After picking at his meal, Tariq picked up the tray and moved over to the empty seat beside him. He just was not hungry. His latest paramour, the deliciously exotic Charity Amupanda, had unexpectedly broken off their affair, deserting him in the middle of the night. The one before, the delicate and young Xirniumite he’d taken to Landing, had also left him with little explanation.

If he were honest with himself, something he tried to avoid, it was James’ absence that he felt the most. Between his best friend and cousin’s new, terribly middle-class job and his hot, commie girlfriend, he simply had no time to spend with Tariq. For the first time since they were pre-teens, it was no longer James and Tariq. It was just Tariq. And without the young prince, Tariq was lonely. And bored.

The young noble had hoped that a trip to Providencia, with its sun, sand and bikini-clad young women would provide sufficient distraction. And, for a time, it had. Then, Charity had abandoned him. So, Tariq had decided to try something different. He booked the first available flight to a Western Atlantic capital. It just happened to be Tarana. Of course, Tariq was oblivious to the demonstrations taking place or the reasons for them; politics had never particularly interested.

As the plane approached Caldas, he took out his smartphone and began searching the reviews for the best clubs in Tarana. He hoped that something would provide a distraction. And some fun.

[The Resurgent Dream]

The Oberon
Tarana, Caldan Union

Guests walked along a green carpet as they entered The Oberon through a pair of huge double doors. The line went around the block and three out of four were turned away when they got to the door. Too old. Not dressed fashionably enough. Not attractive enough. A little creepy. Lacking some subtle factor. The burly men in black leather jackets who guarded the entrance didn't explain themselves and they didn't have much patience for argument. The Oberon reserved the right to refuse service to anyone for any reason. This process did not apply to people like Lord Tariq or like Lise Charest and Prince Annibal or even to a mopey Claudia McGarry who was not at all dressed for the night. If she weren't a famous actress and Prince Andrew's girlfriend (or mistress, depending on the outlook of the tabloid one read), she would have been about ten kilos too heavy to get through the door even without the black jeans and white pullover. They were not the only very important persons to arrive that night but happened to arrive at the same time and were met together by a slender brunette in a black cocktail dress who walked them past the line. 'Welcome to The Oberon. My name is Cordelia. Please let me know if there's anything I can help you with. We do still have some exclusive booths available tonight?' There was never any thought of charging any of the four the price of the booth or even of ordinary admission.

The ground floor consisted of rows of round tables and an open kitchen. A handful of people seemed to be eating full meals. More seemed to have ordered hors d'oeuvres. Mostly, however, they were sitting and drinking. There was an air of a temporary resting place to the first floor. It was not uncommon to see people leave their table to eagerly head for an unobstructed stairway to the upper floors of the four-story club or to see exhausted people pour down the stairs to slump into chairs to recharge. A few, however, did seem to have been seated long enough to get into heated conversations. It was hard to make out much clearer over the pulsing music and the dull roar of conversation but a few words were repeated often. Epheron. Rutledge. Foster. It was hard to escape politics in Tarana.

Another stairway was set apart with green velvet rope and Cordelia had already taken a half-step in that direction as if she took it as a given that was where all four of her special guests would want to go.

[Excalbia]

The Oberon, Tarana

Tariq’s critics, of which there were many, often said he was a young man drifting through life with no sense of purpose or responsibility. Rather, he felt his responsibilities quite keenly. He knew that sooner rather than later he would need to take over management of his mother’s considerable assets. With no brothers or sisters, he would eventually need to care for her - and her wife, Janet - just as she had cared for him. Eventually, too, he knew that his uncle’s patience would wear out and that he would be expected to marry well, settle down and play his part as an upstanding member of the ever-upstanding Imperial Family.

So, it was not that he had no sense of responsibility; rather, he was simply trying to delay its onset. And far from lacking purpose, his purpose was clear: to enjoy himself and indulge in spontaneity while he still could.

Unfortunately, Tariq had grown used to having his cousin and best friend, James, as a companion and alter-ego in his quest for fun. With the young prince now moving inexorably, in Tariq’s mind at least, towards premature monogamy with Sunnie Hoogaboom, the pretty young commie from Anahuac, Tariq found himself alone. He had never liked being alone and had not really been alone since Princess Christiana had adopted him from the slums of New Constantinople.

In his quest to not be alone, Tariq had come to Tarana and had found himself drawn to The Oberon. He had shown up simply assuming that he’d be granted VIP access, which, of course, he had been. It was a fortuitous accident that he’d encountered Lise Charest on the way into the club. He had recognised her right away. He did not know the fellow with her, though he carried himself with the air of an aristocrat - causing Tariq to remind himself that he was royalty, after all. After being greeted together by Cordelia and ushered into the club with Lise’s second companion, Tariq eventually managed to place her as that Caldan actress linked to Prince Andrew.

Tariq smiled at Cordelia and bowed to both Lise and the actress - Claudia, he seemed to recall - as they entered. He was dressed in his trademark slim-fit black designer jeans, expensive-looking ankle boots, and a curry yellow silk shirt under a sports coat and scarf. His recent weeks in Providencia had darkened his already olive-brown complexion, making his brown eyes appear brighter than usual. His smile was broad and gleaming, and, as always, looked completely sincere.

As Cordelia led Lise and her friends and Tariq towards the roped-off stairs, he turned and said to the people he had just met, “My friends, shall we indulge our lovely guide and see what awaits us above?” He bowed slightly again towards the two women. “By the way,” he continued, “I am Tariq, Lord of Mezciems. In Excalbia. Nephew of the Emperor. Sorry for crashing your party. I hope you don’t mind.”

[The Resurgent Dream]

Prince Annibale Neujnôry liked the Lord of Mezciems immediately. Partly because the young man seemed so likeable and easy-going, but just as much because Annibale tended to get along with most people. There were several reasons for this. Though neither unintelligent nor incurious, Annibale was not a man with any particularly strongly developed political, economic or religious beliefs. Instead he observed enough good judgement to reserving his most opinionated comments for those topics which were safe lingua francas of male banter — Shrove-tide football, hunting and women.

Annibale gave Lise a smile intended to communicate to her that he was fine in the company of her new friends (since they were in her country they were her friends, even if she knew them no more than he did), but would also go along with her if she chose to feign some excuse and take her leave. “You first,” he said to her, which communicated much less.

Lise, for her part, was curious about Tariq. She couldn’t quite decide if his manner of speaking struck her as courtly and charming or archaic and stilted. Still, he seemed friendly enough, like a potentially useful connection, and, perhaps most importantly, interesting. Claudia on the other hand, was a known quantity. If Lise didn’t particularly want to be subjected to her moping, neither did she want to simply abandon the woman. So she smiled at both. “I’m Lise and this is Annibale. You’re welcome to join us if you want.”

“Lise,” Tariq said with a bow and sweep of his hand, “a pleasure to meet you in person.” He nodded to the pop star’s companion. “Annibale,” he said, “pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise,” said Annibale.

Claudia smiled. “I’m Claudia McGarry,” she informed the group.

“Claudia,” Tariq smiled and bowed again, immensely pleased with himself that he had guessed her name correctly, “truly a pleasure.”

Lise leaned over to kiss her boyfriend on the cheek before heading up the stairs, leading the way. “Thank you, darling”.


Tariq stood aside and gestured for Claudia to follow Lise and Annibale up the stairs. Since Lise seemed to be with Annibale, he began, as he was want to do, to reevaluate Claudia. She seemed a little… quiet. Perhaps a little sad. But not unattractive. He gave a slight silent shrug of the shoulders. At a minimum, it should be an interesting evening.

“So what’s the Emperor like?” Claudia asked as she preceded Tariq up the stairs.

“My uncle is a very, very kind man,” Tariq said, momentarily adopting a serious expression. “A good man, really. My mother, his sister, brought home a sickly, skinny, Pantocratorian Turk orphan boy, a Muslim no less, and he never treated me as anything other than a member of his family.” The young prince’s smile returned quickly. “However, he is also very, very Christian; I don’t think he’s ever drunk too much or partied too hard or done anything even the least bit… scandalous..” He gave a pleasant laugh. “I don’t think he even visited clubs like this when he was my age.”

Cordelia led them up to a floor made up of a series of booths, each largely walled where the music was not quite so loud and it was difficult to see any the adjacent booths except at the most awkward of angles. “What would you like?” she asked the party.

Tariq looked from Cordelia to the others. “Champagne? We should celebrate our new friendship, after all!”

‘If that’s ok with you,’ Lise said.

‘Champagne sounds good,’ Claudia echoed.

‘So what brings you to Tarana?’ Lise asked Tariq. ‘Annibale and I are here for a literacy fundraiser.’

“Nothing quite so noble,” Tariq said with a smile and a slight shrug. “The truth is that I’ve gotten bored in Excalbia.” His smile faded and he paused, started to speak, then paused again. “So, I’ve come looking for new experiences and new friends.” His smile returned. “Now, if I could do something to contribute to your worthy cause, I’d be more than happy to support the cause.”

‘You’re welcome to make a contribution. The group is Literacy Is Fundamental,’ Lise started.

“Anything for a good cause,” Tariq said. “Tell me about the fundraiser. Is it some star-studded gala?”

“Not really, no,” she answered him but she was grinning. “I get to read to bunch of kids. I’m really looking forward to it. Mission to the Arctic. It’s about Sir Paul Taschereau’s expedition to the North Pole.”

“Well, I hope the children are attentive and enjoy the reading; I know I would have appreciated such a beautiful woman and accomplished singer coming to read to my class when I was in school.”

“My understanding is that boringness, such that it is, is one of the charms of Excalbia,” said Annibale. “It’s so consistently pleasant,” he explained, apparently unaware of the local controversy with which Excalbia’s recent actions had been met.

Lise could not help but laugh at her boyfriend’s assessment of the situation. “Stability,” she clarified. “Let’s call it stability. The Excalbians are always the adults in the room, it feels like.”

Tariq chuckled. “My uncle would be pleased to hear you say that! But I must confess that while Excalbia’s reputation for… being, let’s say, sedate… is well-earned, there are,” he paused and narrowed his eyes, “certain excitements, even decadence, to be found, if one knows where to look.” He sighed. “However, I seem to have experienced them all. Hence my boredom at home.”

“So you came here to find decadence beyond the wildest dreams of Excalbians?” Claudia asked, leaning over with a wry, knowing smile. “Well, I think you’re at the wrong club for that. One hears rumours, even in Tarana…”

“Rumours?” Tariq raised an eyebrow. “Now, you’ve peaked my curiosity.”

Claudia looked away, embarrassed. “It’s not like I have a recommendation or anything.”

“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you, Claudia,” Tariq said, not looking slightly amused, despite sounding sincere. “Just some harmless banter. Beneath the facade, I fear that I’m probably as boring as the rest of my kin.” He paused as the champagne was delivered to the table and served.

“It’s okay,” Claudia allowed, still blushing ever more deeply. “This is about the wildest I get too but the same stuff that’s legal in Knootoss is generally legal here.” The fact that she didn’t even want to name said stuff showed how different cultural attitudes were, however.

Tariq raised a glass. “To my new friends and noble endeavours.” After taking a drink, he turned to Claudia. “Tell me, Claudia, are you joining Lise and Annibale in their literacy fundraiser?”

Everyone raised a drink and toasted. Claudia, however, shook her head. “No, I just happened to walk in at the same time. Same as you.”

“Well, then, my dear,” Tariq said, raising his glass again, “it is both our lucky nights!” After taking a drink, he leaned towards Claudia. “So, I know that Lise is a humanitarian, making the world a better place; so, Claudia, tell me about you.”

Claudia laughed and leaned in as Tariq did. “Well, I’m an actress. I play Amy on Doctors and I’ve been in a few other things. I’m in Elegance’s Campaign for Real Beauty which is going really well.”

“Lise introduced me to Caldan programming and now I can't get enough of it on CineNet,” Annibale said graciously, referring to the popular Eternal Republic film and television show streaming service. Actually, though, it had probably only been one or two.

“We do like Doctors,” Lise confirmed.

Tariq smiled. “I will need to check that out; I’m afraid that I’m not too familiar with Caldan television programming. And the CineNet service,” he nodded to Annibale, “FlixNet seems completely filled these days by period pieces, high fantasy and space shows.

“But I must say,” he continued, letting his gaze sette on Claudia, “that Elegance chose well for its campaign.” He shifted slightly. “So, tell me about your character.. Amy?”

“Well, Amy is one of the newer residents at the hospital. She’s fresh out of medical school and she actually graduated young because she skipped some grades as a kid. So she’s the brainy one, a bit shy and socially awkward and slowly coming out of her shell,” Claudia explained, smiling at Tariq and no longer seeming nearly so mopey.

“She sounds impressive,” Tariq said. “I will certainly need to search out this show. Is this your first leading role?”

“It’s not really a leading role,” Claudia said modestly.

“It kind of is,” Lise disagreed. “I mean, it’s not like the lead but it’s an ensemble cast. You’re part of the main cast.”

“And I’m sure that you steal the show, Claudia.” Tariq smiled and sipped his champagne again.

“CineNet is overrun at the moment with noir crime,” Annibale explained to Tariq. “Every show's about a corrupt mayoral candidate, dark winter nights and knitted jumpers.”

Tariq laughed. “Sounds nearly as dreadful as FlixNet.” He raised a glass to Claudia. “At least it has a worthwhile series.” He shook his head. “Corrupt politicians. Dragons. Whatever happened to romance? Drama? Fun?”

Claudia laughed as she raised her glass. “I suppose there are still some of those things around.”

“I think some people care more about their interests being seen as serious than they do about what actually amuses them or holds their attention,” Lise opined.

“Being taken seriously seems to me to be the preoccupation of the bourgeois and the hoi polloi,” Tariq replied. “For good or ill, those of us who are the nobility or the rich or the famous or all of the above, are taken seriously whether we merrit it or not. No?”

“Some people are fortunate to receive a unique opportunity to create change,” said Annibale, diplomatically. “I think it's important to make the most of those opportunities.”

Lise looked like she was about to say something else but she just smiled at Annibale and leaned slightly against him. “This is why I like him,” she announced to the table.