Paparazzi Burning
Part 5. Felicidad's Story
Felicidad de Fedorias was about to throw up.
She was having dinner with Yarov Urbaal, a former acquaintance from her Alphatian lover, Sir Magantine Aendyr, and now founder and proprietor of the skyship makers, Montgolfière & Urbaal, Ltd. The last thing she had expected was that her host would prepare for the hors d’oeuvres the delectable dish of giant frog’s legs—as a vicious reminder of that disastrous affair in Felicidad’s embarrassing past where her guests were magically transformed into werefrogs!
“So tell me, Felicita,” Yarov commanded, his mouth dripping with sarcasm and the sumptuous juices of frog flesh, “Why do you pretend to break bread with me?”
“B-b-bueno, Don Yarov, the Paparazzi Glantri—“
“The Paparazzi!” cried Yarov, all pretenses of gentility gone, blown away by Yarov’s volatile temper. “What? Are you selling me information about the true identity of my Boldavian mother? That is a matter that is long dead to me!”
In all timidity, Felicidad tried to speak up, but Yarov’s ranting and tirades continued, like a spring breeze blowing itself up into a windstorm.
“Perhaps you have some nasty gossip about that brother of mine? Well, I have given up caring for years. Let him inherit my father's title and whatever is left of Volnay in the Great Crater!”
“Or maybe you’ve come to investigate our little skyship factory? Trailing our principal financier is Sir Lathan Aendyr? Yes, he is financing us with his fortune—money he earned from selling zzonga to the Glantrian nobility!”
“Or perhaps, you were planning to trump up some scandal about me and my partner here—that we engage in unlawful sexual congress?”
“Urbaal please!” protested Jean-Louis Montgolfière, who until that time had been peacefully sitting at his end of the dinner table.
But Yarov was relentless.
“I assure you, Felicidad, that Madame Montgolfière is very much acquainted with her husband’s tastes in men, and any rumor you fabricate will come as no shock her.”
“With all due respects, Lord Urbaal,” interrupted Felicidad’s companion at this dinner, Kassar Krinagar (perhaps his first words for the night). “We of the Paparazzi Glantri have come here with totally honorable intentions. You see, our printers were recently burned down by arsonists, and seeing that your factory shared a similar misfortune, we were hoping to investigate any connections—if any between our twin tragedies…”
Kassar left the words hanging in the air.
Yarov Urbaal was in shock and beginning to realize just how much his temper had taken over him, and just how much he had revealed to the premiere coven of gossips in the Principalities.
He too seemed like he was choking and about to throw up.
“The Anachronics,” said Monsieur Montgolfière, speaking up from his own pit of shame.
“The Free Anachronic Society of Aalban. They had a hot eye on Urbaal and his flying inventions for years. They were responsible for the fire.”
