floor.
The band played more of the Irish-style music. The instruments were mostly woodwinds and strings; the standout performer, a dumpy man with nut-brown skin and a goatee, battered away at a hammered dulcimer with skill that Harris found amazing.
A waitress with sand-colored skin and an abbreviated dress of headache-inducing red seated them in the restaurant section. There were no menus; Harris asked for the house special, while Gaby ordered a drink by pointing and asking for “what he’s having.” On the tables were cloth napkins, two-pronged forks and sharp knives, nothing too strange to their eyes.
“So, you got me to Neckerdam,” Gaby said. “If it’s real. No, I’m not really doubting it. I’d rather enjoy it. But I was going to ask—what now?”
“I wish I knew. It really upset Jean-Pierre to hear that Duncan Blackletter is on Earth—on the grim world. So they probably don’t know what the hell they’re going to do yet.”
She made a face. “I was hoping you had some sort of plan in mind. Sic the police on the bad guys, put them in jail, and everybody go home.”
Harris’ gaze was drawn to a man at a nearby table. He was of greater than average height for the Neckerdam people, nearly six feet, and well-built; with his thick red hair, green suit, and pipe, he looked like a human-sized leprechaun who’d spent a few months on a Nautilus machine. He kept looking at Gaby as though he recognized her.
Harris tensed. Maybe Duncan’s people had caught up to them already. Maybe he should have told Jean-Pierre to stuff himself and that Gaby was a sort of prisoner for now; at least she’d be safe.
The red-haired man stood and came their way. As inconspicuously as possible, Harris slid his hand into his pocket and got a grip on Doc’s pistol. He was suddenly a little light-headed. Prefight adrenaline.
The redhead came up to the table and beamed down at the two of them. “Grace,” he said, and turned to Gaby. “Pardon my manners. Are you two lovers?”
Gaby looked at him, wide-eyed. “Excuse me?”
“Well, you don’t act like lovers. So I wanted to ask if you would join me on the floor.” He gestured toward the dancers with his pipe.
“Oh.” She glanced at Harris a little guiltily. “Well, thanks, but no thanks.”
The redhead spread his hands in a comfortably familiar “can’t hurt to ask” gesture. “Well, then. How about to bed? My flat is close,