- Rating:
- PG-13
- House:
- The Dark Arts
- Characters:
- Remus Lupin
- Genres:
- Action
- Era:
- Multiple Eras
- Stats:
-
Published: 06/04/2002Updated: 03/20/2004Words: 31,941Chapters: 24Hits: 3,504
Guardians
Rosemary Wanderer
- Story Summary:
- Takes place after the series ends. A new dark wizard wants to take over the world, and he wants Rose and her friend to help.
Chapter 17
- Chapter Summary:
- Chapter "17" "The Palace Royale"- Wow, is this an interesting chapter! A fair warning to all: involves bad French accents, even worse jokes, and a bowling alley. Please R&R, thank you (or more appropriately, merci beaucoup!)
- Posted:
- 12/22/2002
- Hits:
- 144
- Author's Note:
- Just one thing to say: I have nothing against French onion soup. Hehehe...
Chapter 17: "The Palace Royale"
The drizzle had grown to a downpour by the time we reached the Palace Royale, on the Strand. We had tried to make ourselves as presentable as possible, but we weren't prepared for the formal dress code that greeted us under the restaurant awning. Fortunately the dress standards were lessened for the customers inside. The Palace Royale could have been placed in France and nothing would have to be changed: so much French was being spoken. Stepping inside to leave the cold wet night behind, we walked up to the podium where a middle-aged gentleman stared down his nose at us.
"Pardon nous, monsieur," I started, thanking one of my professors back home for helping me to learn a little French, "a Monsieur Evrémonde is expecting us." Without blinking an eye, the Frenchman immediately gave his reply.
"Monsieur Evrémonde," he said somewhat sternly, "is a distinguished patron of this restaurant. However, he is expecting two visitors to join him, although he has neglected to tell me that you were to be children." He said the last word with disdain, as if it left a foul taste in his large mouth. Without warning he snapped his fingers, and a waiter appeared simultaneously.
"Jacques, please show these children to Monsieur Evrémonde," he said to the waiter and dismissed us. We moved briskly towards the other end of the restaurant, where a secluded corner table held a single gentleman.
"Monsieur Evrémonde?" Jacques spoke and bowed his head in respect. "These are the two visitors that you have been patiently expecting."
"Merci, Jacques," the patrician responded. "Asseyez-vous, sit down, please." We followed his instructions and waited for the game to begin.
"I am Monsieur Evrémonde," he said, although he must have known that his name had been repeated to us multiple times. "Is this your first time to the Palace Royale?"
"Oui, Monsieur," I answered for the both of us, deciding to use the same tactic I used with the master of the Brethren.
"There's no need for formalities here," he replied with a noisy laugh. "I own half of this place. Welcome to the Palace Royale, then. Now, as I understand, you were sent by the Brethren, n'est-ce pas? To put this bluntly, I was not expecting kids to join me, and I had ordered a bottle of Chardonnay as an appetizer. Is there anything that you would prefer to drink before dinner is served?"
"I'll simply have a glass of water, please," my friend said.
"Nothing for me, thank you," I added, unsure of whether to trust whatever was put before me.
"Suit yourself," he said, and he shrugged his shoulders casually. He waved a single finger at Jacques, who had been standing nearby all this time.
"Make it a glass of Chardonnay for me and a glass of water for le petit garçon," Evrémonde said, and Jacques vanished as quickly as he had appeared. I took this opportunity to scrutinize Monsieur Evrémonde. He was heavyset and balding, but he definitely had the scent of money about him. Wrinkles creased his face, marking his rather extreme mood changes. His eyes were pinpoints compared to the rest of his gluttonous face and especially his nose. He seemed to be a man who knew what he wanted and knew how to get it. In other words, my overall impression of Monsieur Evrémonde was that of an over greedy, spoilt child. It was all too soon before he started to speak again, perhaps enjoying the sound of his own voice.
"I have so far introduced myself," he said pompously, "but I am afraid I don't know your names."
"My name is Rosemary Jacques, and my friend is called Anonimo," I said cautiously, not wanting to reveal my true name. I didn't think he understood what my friend's "name" meant, but he did draw a puzzling look.
"I know that kids your age are curious more often than not," he continued, "and that you must have many questions forming in your minds. I myself am very inquisitive, so let's get acquainted with one another by playing a game. It is very simple: I will ask a question, and you will answer. Then one of you will ask a question, and so on and so forth. Let us begin then, shall we? One query is foremost on my mind: why did my friends the Brethren send you to contact me?" We looked at each other, and my friend gave the answer.
"We have an envelope for you," he said, taking the folded envelope out of his pocket and handing it discreetly to Evrémonde. I watched as Evrémonde thumbed through its contents, startled to see the pale blues, reds, and greens that designated currency. "And in answer to your question, we're special, I guess. The Brethren are using us for something, though we don't really know what."
"Fair enough," Evrémonde responded, placing the envelope in his breast pocket. "Now ask away!"
"Why are you interested in helping the Brethren?" I instantly asked.
"The Brethren and I... have mutual interests. If I help them, they help me, and we all go home happy, n'est-ce pas?" Evrémonde laughed again at his own little joke, not noticing our static faces. After his chuckles had finished, he asked, "I am very curious now. Why are you special?" I explained as best I could, and luckily I learned that Evrémonde was not a muggle, or we would have been there all night. It was now my friend's turn, but just then Jacques returned with two glasses in hand.
"Merci, Jacques," Evrémonde said and smiled. "It is too bad that you are not allowed to join me in this Chardonnay. The variety and quality of wines here are extraordinary. Only the best for the Palace Royale!" Before he could find another quality of his precious restaurant, my friend thankfully stepped in.
"Do you know why the Brethren sent us to see you?" he asked.
"I haven't the foggiest, though heaven knows there is plenty of that here in England!" Evrémonde remarked, making yet another "joke." "However, I do know that the Brethren were supposed to show me a demonstration of its influence and power. No offense to you, my friends, but I now believe they were joking! Perhaps you can explain this to me... are you to demonstrate your powers?"
"Perhaps sometime later," I quickly answered, saving both of us. "Right now I'm getting a little hungry."
"Ah, mademoiselle is hungry?" he cried out with joy. "Now it is my turn to show you what you have been missing all of your lives! The food here is made for a king; no, a god!" Evrémonde was clearly ecstatic about tasting the food from his restaurant. He ordered for us, and dinner passed by uneventfully. He got particularly exuberant when three bowls of piping hot soup were set before us.
"The Palace Royale is famous throughout the world for its French onion soup," Evrémonde bragged. There was one thing that kept me from eating the delicious smelsoup: I was allergic to onions.
"Mademoiselle," Evrémonde said, noticing my untouched bowl, "I may be mistaken, but I heard myself that you were famished." He certainly was mistaken; I had realized by now that Evrémonde had a tendency to exaggerate. I had only picked at my food (it wasn't as great as he had said) and was still hungry, but I didn't want to be sick either.
"Come on, Rose," my friend said, taking on the same flamboyant tone as Monsieur Evrémonde. "It's really good!" Evidently it had been, because his bowl was already empty.
"All right, I'll try it," I said, giving in to both their demands. The soup was delicious, but I knew if I had anymore, I would start breaking out in an ugly rash. Sneaking an empty glass underneath the table as Evrémonde started to tell a supposedly humorous story to my friend, I poured the onion soup into the glass and put it on the floor, underneath the table and hidden from view. When I was finished I looked back up and noticed something curious about my friend. Although the jokes were still of the same horrendous quality as before, my friend was guffawing heedlessly, as if it had been the best joke in the world. I also noticed that he was hiccuping as well.
"Maybe he thinks Evrémonde isn't as bad as he seemed to be," I thought to myself as I joined in with a polite laugh. By the time dessert had arrived, however, a definite feeling that something was wrong was nagging at me.
"So... so..." my friend tried to say, but he was laughing too hard. I perceived with sudden alarm that his eyes were glossy, and I knew for sure that he wasn't using the Othersight. He had also seemed to have lost sense of his balance and coordination. In fact he was having trouble sitting upright in his chair... I realized with a chilling feeling i pit of my stomach what was wrong with my friend: he was drunk!
"Finished your soup, have you?" Evrémonde directly addressed me. "See, I told you it was the best. Only the best here!" I had to think quickly. Since my friend had eaten the same things I had, there must have been something in his water from earlier... or his soup. Thinking ahead I pretended to take on some of his symptoms.
"The best I've ever had!" I agreed, smiling foolishly wide. I gulped down some of my drink quickly to force myself to hiccup. A half hour passed by, and even though everyone else had left the restaurant, we were still left, laughing louder than ever. Now Evrémonde and my friend were engaging in a belching contest, and though I joined in sometimes to keep the pretense of drunkenness, I was shocked and disgusted by their behavior.
"Oh my, look at the time," Evrémonde said as he pulled a gold watch and chain out of his pocket. "It's even past my bedtime! We simply must do this again. I'll have my chauffeur drive us home."
"That's all right," I replied quickly before my friend could answer, "but we'll get a cab, thanks."
"Nonsense, I insist on driving you home," Evrémonde said, a little more forcefully than before. "London is a dangerous place for two young people like you." His face was now more sober than it had been the entire evening.
"Thanks, but we'll just get a cab," I repeated.
"Your friend would like to go home with me," he said, using a different tactic. "Wouldn't you? I'll show you my cars, and I have a bowling alley in the basement."
"A bowling alley?!" my friend cried out, too intoxicated to realize the danger we were "Come on, Rose, please? Let's go to the bowling alley!" I tried to give him a secretive warning look, but he was too smashed to take a hint.
"You don't even know what a bowling alley is!" I protested, to no avail. I knew I was in trouble. One girl against a three-hundred pound man wasn't much of a contest. He got up from the table and started to pull my friend with him, who was still pleading to go to the bowling alley. I grabbed my friend's free hand, forgetting any charade of insobriety, and braced for a tug-of-war with Evrémonde. Suddenly two hands grabbed me from behind and forced me to release my grip.
"Merci, Jacques," Evrémonde thanked my captor. I struggled, kicked, and screamed, but the hands refused to loosen.
"She's too loud!" Evrémonde cried out at last. "Do something to make her shut up, would you?!"
Without warning the doors that led to the kitchen burst open, and two figures stood there. I was astonished to see Kari, in her phoenix form, but the other was a huge wolf, bounding towards us. At any other time I would have laughed to see the look on Evrémonde's face as the wolf stood inches from him, a bloodcurdling growl in its throat. Evrémonde instantly let go of my friend's wrist and ran out of his beloved restaurant, screaming unintelligibly in French. The wolf turned to us now, and as I met those eyes, I knew I was going to be next. With a shriek Kari flew between us, attempting to stop the wolf from eating us, no doubt. At this point while they were distracted, Jacques began to pick me up off the ground, throw me over his shoulder, and leave discreetly.
"Uh, Kari?!" I shouted, and she wheeled around, allowing the wolf to jump around her and leap onto us! There was a scuffle, and I was thrown to the ground, but I had my eyes shut tight. I f huge weight fall on me, and despite my better judgment I opened my eyes. The wolf and I were nose to nose. I wanted to scream, but couldn't. Its breath was rancid, smelling oddly of garlic, but I couldn't breathe with it on top of me. Fortunately when Jacques began to run, it drew the wolf's attention away from me, and the wolf hurdled off. I struggled to find my wits as Kari forced the wolf's attention from Jacques to herself, causing it to chase her around the restaurant, chairs flying everywhere. I had a feeling that Kari had already been exhausted before she came in, and now she must be undergoing torture. Spotting a door nearby, I skirted the pair and opened it. A large garage, with a delivery truck as its only occupant, greeted my eyes.
"Quick, Kari, in here!" I yelled to the phoenix, who must have understood my plan because she dived inside with wolf in tow. Veering back out again, I slammed the door shut, trapping the wolf inside. By the time I turned around, Kari stood behind me, already back in human form. Her face and hair was haggard from her flight.
"Do you always have to wait until the last minute to rescue us?" I asked jokingly. "What in the world was that wolf doing here?"
"That wasn't... a wolf," Kari said, still trying to catch her breath. "That was... Lupin."