Infernal Investigations

By the time we got to the coffee shop, the snow had gone from a gentle drift to a thick falling blanket. You could see perhaps twenty feet in front of your own face before being swallowed in the swirling flakes.

Not just the snow, someone had made the clouds in the sky so thick that the sun’s light could barely reach down here.

I was more grateful than ever for how my skin had changed as I trudged through the ankle-deep drifts. Being stuck with adjusted clothes never meant to be worn by Infernals meant holes and a lack of coverage. It typically meant having chills and trying to layer clothes on in a futile attempt to keep the cold at bay. I’d gotten a winter coat on, pulled some tubes up my legs, covering most of my hooves.

It was a lot less than what my companion had on.

Gregory was less of a human being and more of a walking wardrobe by this point, looking to be twice his size from the sheer number of clothes he had covering him, all of it contained under his own coat and one more he’d borrowed from Tolman.

Smaller than he should be. I’d deliberately steered my eye clear when I’d noticed he’d gained some muscle the time he and the association of priests had burst into Father Reginald’s church. Then hadn’t commented when it had vanished, seemingly into thin air. Then again, when it was back. And now it was gone again.

I did not know how to bring it up, but I needed to talk to him about taking temporary form adjusters. Be proper about it and have a biosculptor shift your guts around instead.

His head was as equally blanketed as his body, a thick woolen scarf wrapped tightly around his head from the top of his collar to the brim of his hat. Green eyes stared at the world from a tiny gap a quarter inch tall.

I’d stopped giggling whenever I turned around to see him. Finally.

Gregory tried to say something, but his thick scarf swallowed the words. The wind had died down to make normal conversation possible, and I could make out the gist with my enhanced hearing. The only other noise at the moment was a slightly squeaky wheel down the road that had been trailing us for the last half hour. Still, I didn’t want to have a conversation where I had to puzzle out what half the words might be, so I feigned being unable to hear him. Annoyed, he tore it off and spoke again.

“We should get a carriage,” he yelled.

“Please keep it down,” I said back to him. “I can hear you, and if there’s anyone out and about in this weather, I don’t want them hearing us.”

Only the truly desperate would be out. The truly desperate, those willing to endure this kind of cold, would take on suicidal odds at a chance for just a little coin. What was a little cold compared to the gnawing pain in your gut from hunger, after all?

I’d heard a couple laying their ambush sites and had steered us deep enough into the falling snow to sneak past.

And of course, there was the squeaky wagon. It could always be someone transporting something across the city. In the snow. Following the same path as us for five blocks. Slowing down so they would be out of sight when our own pace slowed.

A little mystery, how someone could be so incompetent at this but also have a way to find us through the snow.

“Sorry,” Gregory said apologetically, cheeks flushed either from the cold or embarrassment. “Didn’t realize it was this quiet. Either way, my point stands, we should flag down a carriage as soon as we find one?”

“Do you think we will?” I replied, inclining my head up at the clouds above. Personally employed drivers might have to endure this cold at the whim of their masters, but I didn’t see the ones who did this for money willing to put up with no visibility and the cold for some extra coins. Also, it would not be that much warmer inside unless it came with really thick curtains on the doors.

“There are ones that have magically heated and sealed compartments for the passengers and the driver,” Gregory said, already wrapping the scarf back around his head as he shivered. “Not too many of them about, but we might find one.”

‘Might’ was being optimistic. Especially with visibility cut down. Also, another key issue.

“You’d have to pay,” I told him, patting one of my pockets. “I don’t have the money to toss around on luxuries.”

Gregory raised an eyebrow just in time for a flake to blow into his eye. With a muffled curse, he began wrapping the scarf around his head once again.

“I still have some coin, but not a lot of resources,” he admitted. “Disowned, remember?”

“Is there really no one willing to spot you money?” I asked as he decided to just leave the scarf around his neck. “Or are your high-society friends so fickle?”

He hesitated, not answering straight away, cheeks flushing a little.

“Oh. They have offered, but you’re being too proud to accept?”

He whispered a little thing about me being one to speak about being prideful before raising his voice. “No, I have not. When it was just my father’s money, it was easier than a friend’s.”

“Money is money,” I opined. “And before you say anything about the source, I’m hardly comparing blood money from a murder to…can you even earn money from charity work?”

“If you run the charity,” Gregory said drily. “Something that the leadership in Tarver’s followers discussed many times regarding our own efforts involving it. But we stray from the topic. If I don’t have money and you don’t, no carriage then?”

“Seems that way,” I said. “Besides, I want our tail to have a simple time keeping up with us.”

Gregory stumbled, and I grabbed his arm to keep him from falling over. I restrained myself from smacking his head with my tail. For now.

“Seriously?” I asked as I held onto him. “Could you not give away when I’ve delivered startling information? Please?”

To be fair, the person trailing us must be using some other method besides sight. They were too far back to even see us as two figures in the snow, let alone see us clearly.

“I’m sorry,” Gregory groused. “I’m used to most of my potential surprises not involving life and limb danger.”

“Really? No family members of your latest fling having you tailed to make their displeasure known?”

“Okay, perhaps,” Gregory admitted, and anger now gone from his voice. “There is a difference between that and this.”

I suppose that was fair. Trysts rarely involved devils or diabolists. Well, most trysts. I knew at least one noble diabolist.

“Should we go back and confront them?” Gregory asked, looking back through the snow. This time, I sent my tail to wrap around his head. I pulled him closer and forced him to look at me instead, face inches from mine. The scarf finished falling off his face.

“Gregory,” I said sweetly. “I know they probably can’t see us through this, but from now on, when I say someone is tailing us, don’t look at where they are? Or where do you think they are? Please?”

“Okay,” he said, voice muffled. “What is this?”

“Me teaching you a lesson?” I said, looking back towards where the squeaky wheel had halted.

“And what part of that involves you doing what you just told me not to?”

“The bit where you already gave it away,” I told him. “If they can see us. Or hear us. I suppose we could set up some kind of scenario to make him think we stopped.”

“One like the last time we needed to disguise what we were doing?” He asked me.

What had been the last time-oh.

“Maybe not,” I said a tad hurriedly. “Anyway, they aren’t very competent. Even if you assume the two of us are limited to a human range of senses, bringing a cart is an unnecessary risk. I imagine the horses must be freezing, and they must be very well-trained not to make noise. Larger silhouette, too. It’s not like they need to keep up with us; even the most primitive of magical trackers aren’t that limited in range. They save themselves some exercise. That’s about all they get.”

I had a suspicion of who it was, but I could be wrong. I’d prefer to be wrong. I’d like this to be actually helpful instead of just infuriating.

“Anyway,” I said, using my tail to direct him back to the path. “They seem to have settled for just observing us. Also, unlike the Intelligence agents, Black Flame, and whoever the churches have set tracking us, we can actually keep track of this one.”

“Any chance of evading any of them?” Gregory whispered to me, his eyes darting around. I really needed to get him trained about this. And half a dozen other things if this continued longer than a week.

“No,” I said back to him. “More resources, more people, would take you getting trained by me for half a year at the bare minimum and for me to have the time to hide my new, eye-catching features. No, best that we focus on what we can control instead. If they can hear us.”

Knowing we had traveled to certain places would help them some. Knowing the people we’d helped would give them more. But not knowing what was said would give us some cover when people started asking questions.

“Won’t be too far past the Quarter’s edge,” I told him. “Hopefully, we aren’t too early.”

“Impatient?”

“The staff always gives me the runaround if I arrive first,” I muttered to him. “If my uncle doesn’t leave instructions he wants to meet with me? I am politely stonewalled until he arrives. Hopefully, they will let us wait in the lobby instead of outside.”

“Which coffeehouse are we heading to?” Gregory asked.

“The Grand Temperance,” I replied. I’d never understood the name. There was nothing temperate about coffee, or those addicted to it.

“Then don’t worry about it,” Gregory said with a cocky grin. “We will definitely not be waiting in the lobby.”

***

I breathed a sigh of relief as I opened the door to the Grand Temperance. Cold-resistant was not cold immune, and the chill felt better as I shut the door behind me.

As soon as I did, a member of the staff was heading our way.

I knew this one, a brown-haired fellow with haughty cheeks and a thin nose that often was upturned whenever I came in. Probably the worst we could have encountered.

The server paused as he approached, his sneering expression turning to shock and confusion as he took in my new appearance. His usual spiel about how I couldn’t be seated died in his throat. Then it choked as he saw my companion.

Gregory had swiftly gotten most of the extra layers off, handing his assortment of coats and other clothes off to another of the staff.

I kept my coat. Outside of feeling comfortable with it on when I was in places like this, I didn’t trust the staff with it.

“Mr. Mailland,” Gregory said cheerily, shaking the waiter’s unresponsive hand. “It’s a pleasure to be at your establishment again, sir, a genuine pleasure. I believe I was last here with-”

Physical contact and prompting brought life back to the shocked waiter. “Lady Ordelia’s party, Lord Montague.”

“Mr. Montague, these days,” Gregory said, voice just as warm as before. “It has been that long, hasn’t it? Apologies for not coming again sooner; you know how time tends to escape us when we don’t keep our eyes on it.”

“Indeed,” the waiter said, eyes still flickering between Gregory’s warm face and my own. I smiled widely, and he wasn’t looking at me anymore.

“Are you here with this…person, Mr. Montague?” He asked.

“The usual table the lady sits at,” Gregory said.

The waiter’s face betrayed what he thought of my being called a lady for a few instances before it disappeared under forced professionalism.

I followed at the back as he led us to the booth, pretending to be toying with one of my pockets while I focused on listening. Whispers started flying from the moment we stepped inside.

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By the time the waiter had led us to our normal booth, I’d caught every word.

“Do you wish to order, sir?” The waiter said, cloyingly obedient and polite.

“Just tea for now,” Gregory answered. “For me at least. Malvia?”

I wanted something sweet to bite into, but etiquette demanded waiting for the others. And I was trying to be more polite with the Xangs, as much as I wished etiquette could be damned. “Tea as well.”

Despite his newfound affability now that Gregory was here, the waiter could not completely hide the look of befuddlement at the idea that we would both order tea instead of coffee. Like most addicts to that bizarre drug, he seemed incapable of understanding not having it constantly. Completely mystifying.

I cocked my head as he left, listening in on the conversations going around. “Seems no one was here expecting us. If anyone is here to spy, they’re keeping their mouths shut or will come by later.”

“What is everyone talking about?” He asked me curiously.

“The stuff that I don’t feel is worth keeping private?” I responded. “Mostly my appearance. Strangely, not the tail or the fins, it’s mostly the hair they’re all obsessed with.”

People were talking about plenty besides my appearance, but as much as I was sure they’d gossip about anything they’d overhead, I wouldn’t gossip about their more private lives. Standards were important. Also made me feel a little better than them.

“The hair’s eye-catching,” Gregory said. “Striking, and it works. Trust me, I’ve seen some attempts at hair dye passed among noble circles, but ones like this rarely work anywhere near as well as yours does. Honestly? I’d say grow it out if you want to.”

“It’s not hair dye,” I replied. “Also, you think I should grow it out?”

“I think it would make it look even better, but that decision is up to you. It works quite nicely already.”

I…hrrm. Longer hair was more of a risk in a fight and would make me easier to see. I could still…see if he was telling the truth or just messing with me. On my own.

“So, you happen to have been to this eatery before?” I asked him.

“Malvia, you wound me,” he said. “I’ve been to pretty much every eatery in the city. Well, the only ones that mattered, anyway. I know everyone.”

“Hrrm,” I said as I sat down at the booth, moving up against the wall. “I might start dragging you around more then. I thought you were disowned?”

“Disowned, but never forgotten,” Gregory replied. “I travel in the same circles as the upper crust, if perhaps just a little less well than I used to. I’m not just a pretty face, Malvia.”

I bit back a comment about doubting that. Don’t be an idiot, Malvia.

“Sit next to me?” I asked him.

“Not across?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’d rather we presented a united front,” I replied. “Besides, they’ll insist on sitting together as well.”

A small smile from him. “Certainly.”

He sat down, keeping a respectable distance from me. Only to be expected.

From my bag, I produced a tall red candle. I’d carved symbols into the sides of it every inch, outlined their shapes in copper metal frames pressed into its surface. I lit it, the smell of citrus filling the booth.

Gregory glanced down at the candle, frowning. “I can detect magic in that. Is it something to put your relatives at ease?”

“I wish,” I replied. “Certainly would make these easier for me. But mind-affecting compounds are some of the most restricted materials in the entire Empire. No, it’s a sound-dampener. Not as good as my uncle’s charm, but it’ll do until they get here.”

It would be proof against anyone pressing their ear against the booth’s walls or door, and I would hear people doing that.

“Our friend outside?” Gregory whispered.

“Among others,” I said. “That reminds me, regardless of whether or not we get hold of them, I’ll want to go through our things later. More likely, we were tracked by something planted on us than someone finding a hair from you or me.”

“Well, since we are probably safe from eavesdropping. You mentioned wanting to talk about me meeting with them?” Gregory ventured.

I couldn’t really sigh with half a pastry in my mouth, so I settled for a reproachful glower while I finished chewing.

“I mostly wanted company,” I admitted. “But also yes. I wanted to do that while they were here, though. Why?”

“Why talk to them?” He asked. “I had questions. Ones I didn’t think you’d be willing to answer after..what was said right after the mess with the shape-changers.”

Because of what he had said. I managed not to glare at him. Mostly.

“Would you have answered even if I hadn’t said those things?” he asked me.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “Were you willing to give me a chance?”

Nothing but silence, then Gregory opened his mouth to say something.

“Waiter’s coming in.”

Two seconds later, there was a rap on the door, and the waiter from before came in with our tea. I immediately turned to it, taking a long sip, letting the soothing sensation down my throat ease the tension in me.

Okay, the Fey Xang version of me might have had a point. Drinking tea at least was a healthy way of dealing with stress.

“I don’t know,” Gregory admitted, and I almost groaned into my tea. I didn’t want to talk about this. “And that’s my fault. I didn’t even try. I just wanted to find an alternative perspective to mine.”

The urge to snap at him was high, but I forced myself to wait, not bite, just to punish curiosity.

“Gregory, they tolerate me,” I said. “My least hostile aunt, in her kindest moments, I am at least attempting to live above the blood tainting my veins. Worse, she probably thinks that is a compliment. The ones who just outright hate me are easier to deal with, I think. I know where I stand with them. I don’t have entirely normal conversations with them before the words that stab me in the gut. Worse, they don’t even seem to know they wounded me.”

Gregory was quiet throughout my tirade, then uncertainly nodded. “I suppose you would know better than I.”

“Also,” I added as an afterthought. “They tried to kill Barnes last night to provoke a reaction out of me.”

Gregory’s teacup nearly fell from his hand. “They what?”

“I probably should have led with that,” I said apologetically. “My aunts were apparently testing me, and they decided the best way to do this was to engage in some foolish attempt to murder Barnes.”

He was quiet for a moment, setting his teacup back down on the table.

“Malvia, I have to apologize,” he told me soberly. “I have, in my weakest moments, entertained the idea that maybe your descent from the Hells might have contributed to your tendency towards violence.”

“It’s not the worst I’ve heard,” I admitted after a second. It still felt like a stab. And I shouldn’t get into the details of the studies done showing that was not the case. Especially not if we were going to eat. “Apology accepted, just don’t think that in the future.”

“No,” he said seriously. “Because I think I’m right, I just picked the wrong side of your family to be responsible for it.”

My lips twitched as I kept myself from laughing. Knowing my luck, an invisible Aunt Diwei would reveal herself to be hiding in this room the moment I did.

“I would prefer keeping my decisions mostly my own,” I told him. “Others contributed, but I pulled the trigger. Same as whoever gets me in the end.”

He didn’t answer that, instead finally drinking his tea, sipping from it instead of his characteristic gulps.

“So you can drink tea properly,” I observed.

“I’ll admit I did it to rile you,” he replied. “I quickly learned not to do that around the Xangs. Your aunt is definitely an intimidating woman.”

“Diwei,” I said with a frown. “I’d say be careful trusting what she said about me. She’s wanted my head mounted on a wall since I was young.”

“Why do you want them involved, anyway?” Gregory asked. “Their relationship with you seems strained at best.”

“It’s not a question of if we get along; it’s knowing what they want,” I said. “Well, mostly what they want. What do they want to do with me? Besides Diwei, I couldn’t guess. In terms of what they’ll do with this? They do like killing monsters. An entire tradition of helping take down vile beasts and murderous mages. As Her Majesty has tightened her grip on that aspect of their lives, some of them would love to sink their teeth into an actual monster.”

“Delver’s guild not an option?”

“Some of my cousins tried them, despite the older relatives’ disapproval,” I replied. “Groups formed temporarily to kill monsters? Fine. Closer relationships than that are supposed to be kept inside the family, and the others who came over with us. I think my existence would have been tolerable if it weren’t a foreign devil my mother had a dalliance with.”

The expression of incredulity on Gregory’s face was too much, and I chuckled as he tried to get an answer out.

“I’m sorry, the sticking point isn’t that your mother was seeing a devil, but that it was an Anglean devil?”

“Just a theory of mine,” I said. “I could easily be wrong. Speaking of groups involved. Get anything from our mutual friend the bishop, earlier?”

Gregory snorted lightly. “Very little. He has decided that the way to try to stop this now is to confiscate any way of transferring souls in the city. He has people from all the involved churches trying to collect as many of them as possible.”

“I encountered that earlier today,” I mentioned. “Except it was Derrick trying to seize a device to be used for that, not Bishop Gallaspie.”

“It’s foolishness,” Gregory said. “Even if we ignored how being this overt runs contrary to wanting to keep this hidden? They can’t get every tool across the entire city.”

“Who do you think decided on that?” I asked.

“No idea,” Gregory told me. “I only encountered Gallaspie, and he seemed to be irritated by having to do it, but if it’s Derrick or the third member, I didn’t get a hint.”

“Any idea who the third member of their group is?” I asked.

Gregory grimaced. “Unfortunately, I am kept firmly at arm’s length, although Slayer Derrick is a little kinder about it than Bishop Gallaspie. Still, it’s quite clear the only reason they agreed to have someone from Tarver’s church along is hoping I could give them insight into Mr. Voltar, Dr. Dawes, and you. Outside that, my opinion matters little.”

“No respect given?”

Gregory’s smile turned bitter. “For a god as frivolous as Tarver? Never. Derrick is kinder, but Gallaspie considers nothing made by a follower of his to be worth anything.”

“Not even music?”

“Since Gallock’s followers started taking over the music considered art? No.”

“You’re bards,” I said incredulously. “Isn’t music your entire deal?”

“Yes, but the bard has always been associated with the solo performance,” he replied. “And are often associated more with taverns, inns, and adventuring groups. Rural places are falling out of favor as time goes on. Gallock’s followers have taken over the idea of music in the minds of people, at least in larger performances, the song you find now in the opera or theater. And it makes Tarver weaker.”

I blinked. “It does? Sorry, but how would it make him weaker?”

Gregory looked at me as if I’d declared I wanted to kiss Bishop Gallaspie. “Sorry, what?”

“How does it make him weaker?” I asked again, and seeing his dumbstruck expression barely shift, added, “I genuinely do not know.”

“You’ve studied magic,” he said exasperatedly. “You’re an alchemist!”

“Yes, I’m an alchemist,” I replied. “And a Biosculptor, and I studied arcane theory because it was useful. Not studying the use of magic that hurts even to use. And I barely know any theology outside the basics. For most of my life, the only priests I’ve dealt with have been of Halspus, and I’ll let you guess how many of those conversations involved metaphysics.”

“Fair,” Gregory said, expression gone pensive. “First thing you should know, apply nothing you know of the Diabolic to the divine. They don’t really work the same way, as much as some people might think of them as two sides of the same coin. What a deity is, it’s what they represent to the people. If what those things are falls out of favor among the populace or gets stolen by another deity, it can rip pieces out of them. I make it sound more violent than it is.”

“Deities fallen out of favor,” I muttered. “Does that explain why some might have been fine with their priests signing onto this planned trip into diabolism? Chasing some kind of relevance before they are ground by the empire into dust?”

Gregory snorted, began to answer, then paused as a frown appeared on his face.

“Not in Tarver’s case,” he said slowly. “We’re not as relevant as we once were, but adventuring will pick up again, even if just in the underground. Outside that, the aim of Gallock’s worshippers is at the upper class; it’s not all-encompassing. But some of the other deities, well, Kersov is still important where the colonies are, but here on the home islands, his importance shrinks rapidly.”

“Baltaren?” I asked him.

He frowned. “Night seems a tough concept to wound, doesn’t it? But no, you’re right. With more street lamps, fewer shadows in the dark.”

“Less danger,” I commented.

Gregory raised an eyebrow. “Criminals are still quite active, as I’m sure you’re aware of yourself.”

“Of course we are,” I said. “But we’re a downgrade to devils, monsters, and other reasons being outdoors used to be a danger. There used to be many more dangerous things in the night. Any others?”

“Lareran doesn’t have the same issue that Baltaren does,” Gregory mused. “As much as the Watch has gotten better, crime in this city is still on a high note. Savareth has always been the odd duck out of them all; she’s neither moving up nor down. Zavan is less than he once was, but he’s also new. None of them has anything another deity can start taking parts of.”

“So, from what you say, Gallock is robbing Tarver of part of his nature?”

“Gallock’s church,” Gregory corrected me. “I have little idea if their deity is involved in this. And it’s not like I disagree with them on music being art, just on their decision to rip a chunk out of their friends to make it their own. That, I disagree with.”

“You didn’t seem that vitriolic involving Breather Ryle earlier today,” I noted.

Gregory scoffed. “There’s a difference between church and priest, and being upset at a church for trying to supplant your god and being upset at some poor artist for dying like that.”

More than fair, I had to admit as I took another sip of tea.

“Also, Captain Walston was just disrespectful,” Gregory continued. “You’d expect some sense of decorum from a Watch officer.”

“I don’t think it was personal,” I said. “She’s probably upset that I’m still alive. And upset that she wasted her shot on that.”

Gregory’s expression turned confused for one second, then immediately morphed into horrified realization the next. At the same time, I realized he did not know about my little standoff with the Watch Captain.

“She tried to kill you?”

“Not so loud,” I said, shushing him. My sound-dampening candle could do little to muffle irate yelling.

“Is she insane?” Gregory said, volume lowered just a little in concession to not causing a stir.

“Not in her own head,” I replied, getting an annoyed look from Gregory. “Listen, do you think the Watch would appreciate me not being in the Coffin?”

“I expect them not to kill people helping them! And I’d expect you not to be so resigned to it!”

“Gregory,” I said tiredly. “This can not shock you. It took what, a week of experiencing what I’m like for you to come into my store and… berate me, I suppose, but it wasn’t anything besides saying what I’ve done with my life. I’ve maimed, I’ve killed, and I’ve done worse in the past. And I screwed up in handling your brother. I think it speaks more to you that you decided I shouldn’t be suffering beyond your shunning for that. And that’s hardly the worst thing I’ve done in my life.”

“We’re circling back to it again,” Gregory noted.

“Of course we are,” I replied. “You can’t hang something above someone’s head and expect it not to be on their mind. You and I both. And having perspective has helped some on my end.”

“Perspective from where?”

“I was stuck in the Fey realms,” I told him. “The entire time I was asleep. Barnes’ way of helping me, trying to give me time to prepare for what I’d swallowed. Let me go around inside my head for a bit. You could say it helped some. Realizing that there aren’t excuses for some things, among other realizations”

“I don’t think it helped you enough,” Gregory said. “Because the way you talk about yourself at times is unhealthy, and I’m not the only one who noticed. We should talk about this-”

“When?” I asked, gesturing outside with my hand.

He looked out with an expression of utter frustration, one I understood all too well. It had been the cause of my trying to see if sleep was an optional part of life.

“Needing to find time to talk, but having a ticking clock over our heads, second hand moving inexorably towards doom,” I mused. I had at least two other people I needed to have talks with. Long ones. One would be difficult. I doubted Melissa would be receptive too much of what I had to say.

“Maybe we should take after our superiors’ examples,” Gregory said. “Act like nothing is wrong at all, except something very much is.”

He was looking directly at me when he said that, and something approaching acid would have bubbled up in my throat if not for the concern on his face.

“You can’t just handle a whole lifetime’s worth of issues in a few hours in a fey realm, Malvia,” he said bitterly. “It can help. But it doesn’t fix everything.”

Had he known someone who’d gone through something similar to me? I opened my mouth, hesitated, tried to figure out what to say, and while I thought, I heard something else. Familiar voices answered the waiter as the door opened.

“Shite,” I said tonelessly, looking at the entrance to the coffeehouse. “The Xangs just walked in. Later?”

“Later,” he agreed, and within moments the darkness had vanished from his face.

He was startlingly good at things like that for someone who had a distinct lack of competence in other areas of subtlety. I mastered my expression while the Xangs talked with the waiter, asking if I had arrived.

Horrible timing, but it was almost precisely the mentioned time in the letter.

Maybe this conversation would be less difficult.