He wondered when the admiral and Cardinal Black would make their appearances, and it struck him that the term ‘cardinal’ could be used to describe the primary colors from which all other colors are mixed. Black would be the darkest color, a shade without light or hue. He had the thought that if black could be termed a cardinal color, it ruled in this room among those assembled here. Black: the cardinal color of death.

Matthew was interrupted in these musings by someone else entering the room. Not the bearlike admiral with the flame-painted beard, nor the dark cardinal of evil, but a lithe sinewy young woman with short-cropped brown hair, a pretty heart-shaped face, expressive brown eyes and a warm smile. Matthew guessed she was in her mid-twenties. She wore a deep purple silk gown with a stitching of bright yellow flowers at the neckline. Her hands and forearms were adorned up to the elbows by silk gloves the same color as the dress, and it was difficult not to notice a striking musculature in her upper arms, not overly so but there all the same.

“Good evening to all,” she said. “My name is Elizabeth Mulloy. Vice Admiral Lash wishes me to welcome you to his home.”

Vice Admiral, Matthew thought. Lash? He glanced at Julian, whose painted face was as still as stone.

She went on. “Samson will be joining you in the dining room in due time. For the moment, I’d like to announce that dinner is served.”

There was the name: Samson Lash. Again Matthew glanced at Julian to see if there was some recognition, but if there was Julian didn’t show it. Then Matthew happened to look at the Owl and saw those damned weird golden eyes staring holes through him.

The Owl abruptly stood up. “Please, everyone, follow Miss Mulloy to the dining room.” It was not so much a pleasantry as it was a command.

The dining room was festooned with greenery hanging from the exposed oak beams of the ceiling, along with a number of lanterns and naval signal flags. Logs burned in another marble fireplace. A long table was set with plates and silverware, but the food was not yet in evidence. Upon entering the room Merda stood next to Lioness, who was a true giantess in comparison. He pointed upward. “Mistletoe, I believe,” he said, giving her a hopeful grin.

“In my country,” she answered without a smile, “we kill under the mistletoe.”

Which brought a shrug but did not diminish his cheerfulness, for he sat down next to her and puffed his chest out as if he were next in line for the kingship of the world.