There were six couples and a handful of individuals at Edgar's casual party, all gathered in the Amber Room, which was adjacent to the Mahogany Dining Hall, where they would be dining. The sun was blocked by clouds that evening, the sky a gray glow with only the barest hints of red as the sun reached the edge of the horizon. But the room was warm and well-lit, counteracting the dull light and its chill well enough.

The couples were all old friends of his father's, and while they knew him, and he knew them, the gathering was more for memory's sake than because Edgar wanted or valued their opinions. The individuals were more of an age with Edgar, political allies, although Edgar hated that his life now included political allies. Thelmin was there as well, having invited himself along to see Cyrphon's reaction to learning Edgar's full name.

That all meant that there was an odd mix of guests at the dinner party, and a weird tension that lay over it, brought on by the politics of the various attendees.

Edgar was used to all that.

What he wasn't used to was the sudden frosty air that blew over him in response to what he could only assume was Cyrphon hearing his name. Clearly the warning and plea hadn't been enough to make up for tricking the egg-singer into committing a social taboo, and Edgar kicked himself in the head for it, wishing once again that he'd had the guts to tell Cyrphon the truth before they'd entered the room. Now he could only hope that Cyrphon wouldn't cancel their contract over this. Because Edgar had no desire to find another egg-singer. Especially given his current track-record with keeping his own secrets.

"Did you know, Dr. Saige," Ms. Verondaphia interrupted his thoughts, "I've heard the most unsalty things about a certain banker."

"Oh, yes, " Mr. Dondathea cut in," I believe I've heard the same, and I've been wondering what you think of all this."

"Well," Edgar said, carefully, "Due to my position I can't really speak of the situation."

"But surely you're allowed to have an opinion about it, even as Head of Finances," Ms. Verondaphia said. "Besides, I'm practically in the same branch as you, surely there's no harm in explaining."

She was rather high-up in the Customs office, but Edgar would hardly consider it to be the same branch as him. Still, it wouldn't do to naysay her, so he smiled politely. "I'm still not at liberty to explain or comment until the matter is a bit more resolved. I have teams seeking out more evidence, but until it's found…"

"There is more to it, then?" Mr. Dondathea added. "I knew he was suspicious. Will he be brought up on charges of fraud, do you think? Or will the bank itself be charged?"

Mr. Dondathea had invested heavily with the bank in question. Edgar didn't think he had anything directly to do with the fraud, or other suspicious activities, but it certainly didn't encourage him to speak up about the subject. "All I can say at the moment is that my office is investigating, and may press charges."

Mr. Dondathea started to ask another question, but the doors to the Mahogany Dining Hall opened just then, and Edgar went to usher his guests inside, more grateful for the diversion than his staff would ever know.

Cyrphon was seated on the far side of the table from Edgar—seated as a client, rather than a personal guest—but that was for the best, since beyond one single frosty glare, he paid Edgar no mind. Or more correctly put, Cyrphon went out of his way to avoid even looking at Edgar.

"Your egg-singer is giving you the cold shoulder," one Dr. Cumin-Therphaith said, leaning in a bit too close—an effect of the drink, and what he must assume was a clever secret.

"He's not here to be my bosom companion," Edgar said, matching Dr. Cumin-Therphaith's posture and volume. "Just to sing my egg and get paid."

"I've heard that could take months to do," someone else said—Edgar didn't quite catch who.

"It depends on the singer and the egg," Edgar replied.

"Well, if he's stiffing you this much, then perhaps you'd better hope his skill is high, and you're not stuck with him long." That was Professor Oll, whose name Edgar had always been envious of, though his personality did not invite closer acquaintance. Nor did his politics. Even Edgar's father had been unfond of the man, and had kept him around only for the company of his wife.

"And this was the egg you'd found in your treasury, correct?" Professor Oll—who was Professor Oll's wife—said.

"Yes," Edgar agreed. "The Western Hillside Treasury."

"The one with the golden pillars?"

"No, the—" Edgar rubbed his face. "The green one, outside of Ephershire. Where we stored the Emperor's Green Tea Set."

"The one that got broken into?"

Edgar shook his head. "That was the Eastern one." Cyrphon had scoffed when Edgar tried to explain how and why his family might have lost a whole treasury for five centuries, but really, it wasn't so strange. Of course, the Professors Oll were making it difficult for him, since they knew full-well that the "one with the gold pillars" was a vault with little more than precious metals, and the Eastern one held mostly sentimental garbage. "This one held mostly gifts of state, or personal gifts."

"And an egg."

"An ancient one, from what I hear," Dr. Cumin-Therphaith added. "Any idea how your family came to get a hold of it?"

"And even if I did, it's not like someone else could repeat the trick," Edgar pointed out, smiling ruefully. "It's just one of those times when having a family that holds on to everything—including shiny green rocks—is a benefit."

"Oh, I don't know," Professor Oll said, "There are plenty of families that have rocks as heirlooms, given all those shrines in the hills."

"'Look, Ma, I robbed another grave,'" her husband mocked, "Let's put this rock on the mantle; maybe the grandkids will like it."

Professor Oll laughed. "Wouldn't it be funny if it turned out that all those rocks were aethereggs, too?"

Edgar's answering laugh was weak—it might even have sounded like a sob, but the Professors Oll didn't seem to notice. "Yes, funny is the word for it." He turned to his plate and focused exclusively on cutting his steak.


Hey, guys! waves hand, smiling weakly. I...uh...my cat stole most of the month and hid it under the couch. So it totally wasn't my fault that I vanished again. The time was just gone-POOF! And how 'bout that National Novel Writing Week, hey? It was a pretty intense seven days, wasn't it?

Well, if you like this story (or would like to curse me out for being unreliable yet again), there's an ultra-convenient submission box below this for just such purposes!