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Elle's words, spoken with a kind of hushed awe, hang in the air for what seems like an eternity. “First of all, that's impossible,” you reply at last, when it becomes clear that nobody else is going to speak, “And second of all, even if it wasn't, it wouldn't make any sense. My father had no love for the Godhead.”
“But you said it yourself, you never really knew your father,” Elle insists, turning to Alex, “Master Seidel, um, was Master Pale ever a faithful man? In his youth, perhaps?”
“Quite the opposite,” Alex shakes his head, “When we were young, Gideon was... well, I suppose he was what you'd call a decadent these days. A libertine. I remember spending long nights with him and his circle, back in our student days. He'd drink, write poetry and happily blaspheme to any who would listen. There were always women, and sometimes...”
But he cuts himself short here, to your vague disappointment. This is a side of your father that you never saw, never even imagined.
“Well, it's not proper to speak of such things. Especially in polite company,” Alex concludes, nodding respectfully to Elle, “And we're getting distracted. Gideon only really straightened out when his father died, and he was forced to assume the mantle of responsibility.”
“And that was when he worked with King Albrecht,” you recall.
Alex's brow furrows at this, and he doesn't reply straight away. “That's another long story,” he says at last, “And we'll be talking all night if we get into that particular subject.”
“Then perhaps you could give us the short version,” you suggest with a frown. Unless you're very much mistaken, he seems somewhat reluctant to talk about it – and you're sure that you're not mistaken.
“The short version. Hmm. Well, he was sent to work overseas. Colonial work,” Alex pauses, carefully phrasing his next words with a grimace, “Resource extraction.”
Resource extraction – it's fascinating, the kind of strange alchemy that can turn two perfectly innocent words into something horrible.
“I should make a start on cleaning up,” Alex continues, lurching to his feet and hastily gathering up the dishes, “I'll have to see about bringing in some of my staff to help around the estate. Until I can get that arranged... well, you two go on, I'll take care of things here. God knows, I've washed enough dishes in my time.”
-
“Before we get started,” Elle asks, as you're leaving the dining room, “I was hoping to send a telegram, if that's okay with you.”
“That all depends on who you're sending it to,” you reply, only to wave away the look of sudden concern that descends upon her face, “I'm only joking. Do what you've got to do.”
“Thank you,” she replies, “I just want to send a quick message home and ask them to send some of my things over. Some extra clothes, a few of my books...”
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