The Introduction To House Turolt in Badger Down
I thought I would do a post to let you see how the book is coming along and where that famous quote of mine is used. See if you can find where I used Loren Turolt’s line.
In a plush Victorian room overlooking the Santo Stephano bay, Madame Gwendolyn Turolt surveyed her holdings sheet in the ledger before her. She sat, arrayed in blue silk on an over-stuffed duvet, the salty air from the open portico drenched her in longing. She was tired of the endless business. She strove in her heart to be young again. Of course she knew that was impossible.
“Carlisle, bring me Tania.”
The older gentleman at the door bowed and let himself from the room, his full white robes billowing out behind him. In less than a second, a girl of eight in deep blue robes rushed into the room. Madame Turolt surveyed the girl’s reflection in a window pane but did not turn toward her.
“Si, Signora.” The girl replied.
“Ready the practice room for tonight. I’m bored.” Then she added, “And have Kindel come from Rome, as quickly as possible.”
“Si, Signora.” The girl turned and spirited away in a flurry of her robes, her bare feet making a quiet slapping sound on the cold marble floors in the hallway. The older man closed the massive door behind her, shutting himself, the attendant, and Madame Turolt in her antechamber.
“Carlisle, the new Adoma we purchased? Is she worthy of a good show?”
“Penelope, Ma’am?” He poured a canter of brandy into a tumbler for his liege and continued, “I am told that she was well trained, yes.”
Thoughtfully Turolt paused the conversation, then said, “Penelope, yes.” She stroked her cheek knowing the older Adomas were always at a disadvantage to the younger, more agile ones. This would be a good show indeed, “Put her and that wretch Carmine on the card for tonight shall we?”
“Yes Ma’am. Shall it be a private affair?”
“No, invite our Jordanian friend for a friendly wager on the out come.
“Yes, Ma’am.” she regarded her English butler closely. These many years had not been kind to him. He was beginning to stoop and he had a limp from an old injury when he was young. When he turned to exit the antechamber himself, pulling the door open, she noted his pained expression. She felt bad for him. Someday soon she would have to put him down and replace him. She was not looking forward to the prospect of finding someone to pamper her the way Carlisle Trovato had all of her life.
She held out her fingers and the girl in the yellow robes place the lit cigarette in a long white holder in her waiting fingers. The girl coughed lightly from inhaling the smoke while she lit it.
Madame Turolt back-handed the child in the face, “Mind your manners.” The girl said nothing in return.
While Carlisle held the door open to extricate himself, a young man strode into the room as if the butler were holding it open expressly for him. “Mother this new tailor is atrocious. He ruined my lounge jacket.”
His dignified tousle of blond made him a desirable young man. In most cases, Madame Turolt was eager to call him her son, however he had been marked with a widely known addiction that was a very disruptive habit. Society had marked him, but feared him as well. So, while they invited him to the parties, they quickly found ways to get him to depart their company.
His penchant lie with children. In fact, he had a severe hatred of anyone older than middle teen. He merely brooked in her because she was his mother. More often though, Carlisle was the victim of many bullish moves designed to embarrass or hurt the old butler.
“Loren, are you not supposed to knock first?” She lathered her best annoyance.
The young man tossed her a look of indignation, “Shall I close the door while I piss as well?”
“Do not talk to me as that!” She waved to her manservant, who still stood wary of Loren’s intrusion with out a guard present.
Carlisle slapped the younger man on the head, to which Loren turned to Carlisle, fluffing the maladjusted hairs, “When she dies I will drink my wine from your skull.”
“That will not be anytime soon.” The white-haired man growled, “Sir.”
“Won’t be soon enough.” Loren spun back toward his mother, “Now what are we to do with this jacket? You are having a fight tonight are you not? I wish to look my best for the Sheikh’s grand-daughter.”
Surprised by his studious assessment before she had announced it to the house. Which meant he either forced it from Tania or he overheard the orders. She still faced the open window to the bay and sighing she said, “She is already spoken for.”
“That religious bullshit again. How much was paid for her? Two goats and an ass?” Sometimes he made her wish she had borne a girl instead.
“We are becoming favored in that region, we cannot afford a tryst of yours to interfere.”
“Tryst? I have no intentions of a tryst. I will have her and we will be finished.”
“Oh, of course. How childish of me to think you would have any scruples about you for anything political.”
“You are the one who said childish, Mother, not I.”
“Are you so desperate? You find yourself buried to the hilt in a new Tsahov nearly every night, yet you still think you must steal innocence from the ten-year-old grand daughter of a rich man?”
“This is to be my region someday. All of it. I will be their king. It has been promised by the Magestra.” His haughty words bit at the air, but fell to her feet, powerless. No matter how much he shouted them. “It is their will, and no one can refute it.”
“That is,” she turned to face the room finally, “Only if you remain in their good graces.”
“Bollocks with their graces.” He spat.
She chanced a worried glance at the child in yellow next to her duvet, who remained expressionless about the exchange. Her eyes were still a dull hazel. Good. “Stop that Loren. You know the walls have ears. You will die before twenty-one if you do not show more respect of the Magestra.”
“The hell you say, Mother. I care not for a bunch of wrinkled old men thinking that they can control me.”
“Loren!” Her voice distorted by the sheer pressure of air against her vocal chords. Her graveled tone vibrated the chair beneath her. She noted, finally, a echo of fear in his eyes and he stopped his next line before it left his mouth. Perhaps she didn’t raise her voice to him enough. “Do not speak of the Magestra like that in my presence again.”
His wistfulness and bravado returned all too quickly. He groaned, “The jacket, Mother?”
She shook her head, feeling the blond curls caress her shoulders. Carlisle, have Tania to kill the tailor and bring Loren a new one from the Market. But let her finish her present task. I do not wish her going to Penelope with blood on her hands.”
Posted on April 28, 2012, in Maraude, writings and tagged Adoma, Badger Down, Book Two, Carlisle, Council of Magestra, excerpt, House Turolt, Loren Turolt, Madame Turolt, Maraude, Penelope, Tania, Tsahov. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.