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Sepharcomputer hums cheerfully to itself, resting, plugged in, is good.
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Time moves on until it is probably a point to consider getting round to Jaleo's for one's dinner
reservation.
Aron turns to his computer and says, "I have a dinner engagement, I'm afraid. You are welcome
to accompany me, of course."
Aron says "I plan to watch Dr. Matthews afterwards."
Sephar says "Ah. Good. I'll come along with. Hitherby and I have been watching his store, and
are planning on following him home whenever or if ever he does go home..."
Aron nods. "I could take..." he looks around. "I could take this?" He pulls a small dictaphone
from his desk drawer.
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Sepharcomputer eyes the dictaphone. "That's not quite enough compute power, if you had a
laptop, or a winged creature would probably suffice, if that would not cause too much stir. A
mouse is more hidable."
Sephar says "But birds are easier to lure, up here, I think."
Aron considers. "I think I am supposed to have a laptop."
Aron punches up the intercome. "Mary, where is my, ah, laptop?"
Aron murmurs, "What an embarassing question."
Sepharcomputer politely indicates nothing at all at the murmur.
Mary says, chirpily, "In your desk drawer, Mr Riel, unless you've taken it home." She pauses.
"The second one down on the right."
Aron then remembers to take his finger off the 'talk' button.
Aron says "Oh, thank you!"
Aron carefully presses the talk button and repeats, "Thank you, Mary."
Mary says, "No problem. Will you be wanting anything else this evening, Mr Riel?"
Aron says "Dig up Miss D'Arco's last work, Mary. I'm to dine with her tonight."
Mary says, "No problem. Do you want the paperback or hardback?"
Aron says "The hardback, I think."
Mary says, "Will do." The intercom clicks off.
Sepharcomputer says mildly, "It would be good to check if the laptop has a charge if it's been left
a while."
Aron looks surprised. "Ah, yes, of course."
Aron stares at his laptop for some moments. Then, "How would I do that?"
Sephar says "Open it up and I think you can just press the on button on the side there..."
Sephar says "... simple to see if it comes up rather than anything fancier. Some of them have a few
meters and things on 'em when you open them, but this way one can be sure."
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Aron opens up the Thinkpad, and pushes the monitor back. The horribly cheerful chimes of
Windows 95 ring soon enough.
Sepharcomputer makes a small wincing sound, but wanders into the laptop.
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With ease, Sephar slides into the laptop.
Sepharlaptop sighs contentedly. "Hokay, I'm in."
Sepharlaptop asks, "Do you wish to do anything more with your main machine?"
Aron shakes his head. "You've done me a great service already. I think it should suffice."
Sepharlaptop then uses Remote Control to safetly shut down and then poweroff Aron's main
machine.
The computer whirrs to quietness and clicks off.
Aron says "Astounding."
Aron says "Off to dinner, then."
Sepharlaptop murmurs, "Yes. You can just shut the lid on the laptop without turning it off, and
I'll be on standby, in case you need me. I'll be listening but not too much more than that."
Outside, Mary has a copy of the latest Frances d'Arco book on her desk, Of Essential
Fire. The cover painting is of two vague knights crossing lances, and a coiling serpent/egg
above in flames.
Aron takes the book, waves it in thanks to Mary and heads out for the drive to DC.
Outside, the roads are no worse than usual, and the traffic is bearable.
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It doesn't take long to reach DC, and drive for Jaleo's.
Aron checks the fall of his clothing and heads into the restaurant. "Reservation for 'Riel'," he tells
the hostess.
The hostess, a bland young woman, nods. "Over there, sir." There's already a woman sitting at
the table.
The woman at the table has pale skin, and orange-gold hair in a thick fall down her back. She's
wearing a deceptively simple suit in silver-grey that probably cost rather a lot.
Aron steps over and smiles, faintly. He offers his hand. "Miss D'arco, I presume."
The woman looks up, and smiles. She has amber-brown eyes and a very faint tinge to her
complexion that suggests mixed blood somewhere in the distant past. She offers her hand in
return. "Mr Riel, I assume?"
Aron nods. "Just so." He settles down in the seat. "I hope you haven't been waiting long?"
Frances shakes her head. "Not at all. And this is a tremendously vivid place."
Aron nods. "It is, at that. Their squid is tremendous."
Frances chuckles. "Please, order. You clearly know the menu, and I trust the expert."
Aron, when the occasion presents itself, orders several tapas: squid stewed in its own ink, ham
fritters, a cheese platter, chirizo sausage, lamb medallions. For drink, a pitcher of Sangria.
The waiter takes all the orders, and smilingly promises quick service.
Frances says, "So tell me. What did you think of the latest one I did?"
Aron sets the book on the table and leans back. "It was a departure from your earlier work, but
I enjoyed it. Your grasp on history is crisp and engaging."
Frances glances at the cover, and smiles. "Thank you. Actually, I've been considering working a
bit more in that area, and broadening my base, but I wanted to talk about it with you first."
Aron nods. "I appreciate that. What inspired the change?"
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Frances folds her hands, interlacing the fingers. "I suppose you could call it one of those mid-life
things. You look back at your life, and you feel it's time for a change. A new maturity."
Frances says, "Partnership, children, property, that sort of thing."
Aron smiles. "Congratulations. Yes, I quite understand."
Aron says "Would you like to stay with us through this change?"
Frances blinks. "Oh. Why, yes, I didn't want to *leave* your firm. You've been one of the most
ethical groups of publishers I've ever run into!"
Aron sips his sangria. "Writers do valuable work. We like to enable them to continue."
Frances laughs. "Is that the royal we?"
Aron chuckles. "More inclusive than royal, the pronoun in this case. I mean the company."
The food gets brought across to the table, and carefully placed on it.
Frances says, amused, "I could work with that. The lost heir to an European throne, royal blood
related to the Knights Templar and all the way back to the Sangreal, sang real, working in a
publishing house in America, till his destiny comes..."
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Aron laughs. "No destined knight am I, but rather a humble purveyor of the words of others." He
raises his glass. "Shall we toast this new chapter, then?"
Frances says, "Certainly," and taps her glass against his. "To maturity and new beginnings."
Aron says "Hear, hear."
Aron sips. "Have you any ideas what your next work might be?"
Frances sips from her own glass. "I'm not entirely sure yet, though I have some ideas. I'd like a
historical basis, even if I do put some fantasy into it."
Aron nods, slowly. "Something symbolic of the crusades might not be bad. Perhaps something
will come to you - I'll certainly be interested."
Frances says, "Perhaps a treatment of Savonarola's bonfire of the vanities might be interesting.
Suitably changed, of course. If I did have fantastic elements, one could be the love interest." She
thinks. "Crusades, hm."
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Frances says, "What sort of symbol of the crusades?"
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Aron says "Something imperialistic, I think. Japan's cultural theft from China, perhaps, or
something more fantastic."
Frances says, "The typical crusade-against-sorcery thing might be overdone. Let me think about
it."
Frances says, thoughtfully, "Japan and China - how do you see a crusade fitting in with that?"
Aron says "There were elements of greed in both the crusades and the occupation of Manchuria,
and also a sentiment of nationalism and pride. They were both complex movements."
Frances sips from her sangria. "Do you see those as the main elements in the crusades, then?"
Aron shakes his head, thoughtfully. "Not the main elements, perhaps, but elements."
Aron says "Sometimes a good sentiment can have too much weight and thus build up a terrible
momentum."
Frances gestures with her free hand. "You see the masses overtaking one man's vision, for
instance? The weight of popular opinion or stupidity?"
Aron says "I would not say that people are stupid. I have some store of optimism about such
things."
Aron says "But if enough people share a vision, that vision can sometimes grow unmanageable
- whether for good or evil."
Frances laughs. "Point! Very well, then, popular misconceptions. False beliefs. Mistakes."
Aron raises his glass and nods. "Indeed."
Aron says "Any good tale requires a certain amount of failure, after all."
Aron says "Heroism is not a creature born solely from success."
Frances eats some of the food before she speaks again. "We can't just consider the crusades as
a "tale", though, if we want to learn from them and use them. They existed. They aren't just a
convenient story to suit us."
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Aron nods. "True enough."
Frances says, "Does life require failure, then?"
Aron nibbles on a bit of squid. "Not life, though I would be surprised to find a life without failure.
Greatness, certainly, requires failure."
Frances says, interested, "Why? To learn from before success?"
Aron nods. "And there's a certain tempering that comes from failure; a broadening of perspective
and a particular sort of wisdom."
Frances sips from her sangria. "Which you would say is *necessary* for true greatness?"
Aron nods. "Perhaps I am hindered by my inability to conjur up an exception."
Frances smiles. "No, that's fair enough. I don't mean to be grilling you, but this is interesting. You
don't mind?"
Aron shakes his head. "Not in the least; it's engaging conversation."
Frances eats some more of the food, then says, "Very well. So what was the *purpose* of the
Crusades, in the end? Whose purpose should we remember?"
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Aron is silent for a long time. Finally, he says, "I would like to believe that the purpose of the
Crusades was to celebrate God." He removes his spectacles and rubs the bridge of his nose. "It
was a purpose, certainly."
Aron says "But, I must admit, not all of it; not even, perhaps, the greater part of it."
Frances considers the statement as if it were a tangible thing. She says, thoughtfully, "I can
understand that sort of burning emotion, perhaps, even if I don't actually feel it as faith or
certainty in the same way."
Aron nods and then closes his eyes. He rubs at his eyes one more time, and is silent. Then,
"Forgive me, Miss D'Arco. The crusades were, in the end, a sad time, and I forget, sometimes,
the enormity of that tragedy."
Aron replaces his spectacles.
Frances shakes her head. "No, I should apologise. I didn't have the right to press in any case, and
especially not somebody who actually *thinks* about it."
Aron smiles faintly. "It's always been something that has seemed personal to me." He sips the
sangria. "Whatever subject you pick, I am confident your book will excel."
Frances smiles in return, her face lighting up. "Thank you. Let's change the subject. Tell me
something about this city? I haven't been here in *years*."
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Aron chuckles. "Well, it was designed by a Frenchman, and so while our traffic is horrendous, the
museums are reassuring."
Frances says, "Are there any interesting new collections in or exhibiting at the moment?"
Aron says "There's the Van Gogh exhibit, which is quickly coming to a close. It's supposed to be
quite extraordinary."
Aron says "How long are you here?"
Frances says, "It might be a few months."
Aron smiles, surprised. "Splendid. Why the move?"
Frances says, "Hm. Artists. A crusade of artists, to fix their laws of how art should be created..."
She pauses. "I felt like a change, a lifestyle break. Here seemed like a good idea, and I could speak
with you."
Aron nods. "Indeed. And life here is quite a change, indeed."
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Frances says, "Sounds excellent. Just what a woman in a midlife crisis needs."
Aron laughs. "Is that what this is - a midlife crisis?"
Aron says "Would that all crises be so productive."
Frances snorts, amused perhaps. "You tell me a better word for sudden feelings that you should
be living elsewhere, bringing up children, and doing mature things with your life."
Frances says, "Or do you already have a wife and children, Mr Riel?"
Aron begins to say something and says, instead, "A son, but no wife." His lips imply a sad
smile.
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Frances drops her eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."
Aron shakes his head. "There's no harm done, and no misstep made."
Aron says "Fear not, Frances."
Frances asks, carefully, "Is he at school locally?"
Aron says "Oh, he's out of school and abroad. He works with artists."
Frances blinks. "Really? That's wonderful."
Aron smiles, suddenly. "I'm very proud of him." There remains something sad in his eyes, but the
smile is true.
Frances nods. "Perhaps you can understand why I'm thinking about children, then. Wanting one's
_own_ children, not wanting a family to die out, wanting to hold them..." She breaks off.
Aron nods, quietly. "I do understand, Frances." His smile is gentle, as is his touch when he briefly
clasps her hand.
Frances returns the clasp, her hand warm. "Thank you. Aron."
Aron says "You'll make an extraordinary mother, I imaigne."
Frances smiles. "Thank you. I'll remember that."
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