With luck, a few more boys would soon have a place to belong, too.
After dinner Mrs. Pariseau paused in reading a chapter ofThe Arabian Nights’ Entertainmentsto her rapt audience in the sitting room to ask, “If you rubbed a lamp and a genie emerged, what would you do?”
As this seemed an earnest question, there ensued an obediently contemplative little silence.
“I think I would urinate all over myself,” Mr. Delacorte concluded somberly.
Everyone slowly turned to stare at him. Unanimously bereft of words.
“Stone terrified,” he clarified frankly, as if this was the reason for the gaping silence. “Is what I’d be, if I rubbed a lamp and an enormous man popped out.”
Kirke nearly levitated from suppressed hilarity.
“Mr. Delacorte...” Delilah began, gingerly.
“I used the fancy word for it!” Delacorte swiveled his head wildly to stare at the Epithet Jar. He didn’t want to lose another penny this week. “Didn’t I?”
“I might equivocate about ‘fancy,’” Mrs. Pariseau said tautly.
“Well, no one would believe you, either, would they, if you said, ‘there’s a man in my lamp’?” Mr. Delacorte was committed to his point. “You’d be taken straight to Bedlam. Bolt killed a pirate but I wager even he would faint dead away if he innocently rubbed a lamp and a man popped out.”
“Hold on now.” Lord Bolt was indignant. “You thinkI’dfaint?”
“It’s all well and good when you read about it in a book. Or dream about it after taking a headache powder,” Delacorte insisted. “But the real thing? Does anyone really want that? A large man springing out of a small lamp?”
“Ah, but think about it, Bolt,” Kirke said mischievously. “Mr. Delacorte has a point. You know what your enemies are. Meaning, you have the advantage of knowing a pirate has roughly the same number of limbs you have, and the same kinds of reflexes, and similar skills. You know they live on ships. Not in lamps. You know what their capacities are and you know what yours are. You’ll make decisions accordingly. A genie, on the other hand, is an entirely unknown quantity. You might begin your defense with what you know and fail dismally against its powers.”
Delacorte nodded vigorously, thrilled to be vindicated. “I don’t think there’s a sane man alive who wouldn’t—you’re the orator, Kirke. What’s the fancier word for...” He leaned forward and whispered a word in Kirke’s ear.
Kirke whispered helpfully in reply.
“—defecate on the spot if a man popped out of the lamp,” Mr. Delacorte maintained earnestly.
Kirke had seldom had a better time in his life.
“It’s true,” Kirke contributed. “People always fight against the unknown—any kind of change, forinstance—because they’re afraid of it. People fight what they fear. It’s the biggest hurdle in my job.”
“And it’s about the last thing you expect, isn’t it, when you rub a lamp. Imagine if you’re dusting one day in the sitting room and that happens,” Mr. Delacorte said. “I think Hardy might faint dead away, too. Or get his pistol out.”
“If I thought Delilah or anyone for whom I was responsible was in grave danger, yes, I would probably shoot it.” Captain Hardy was exasperated. “For all the good it would do me. I’ve never fainted in my life, Delacorte. For God’s sake.”
“Because you’ve never seen a genie,” Delacorte persisted.
Kirke never dreamed he’d be so entertained by hearing Bolt and Hardy defend their masculine honor against a fictional genie.
“What about you, Kirke?” Delacorte turned to him. “Do you think you’d faint, shoot, defe—”
“Mr. Delacorte,” Angelique interjected with a sigh. “Lord Kirke. Gentlemen. Jar words dressed up in more syllables are still jar words.”
She glanced uneasily at Catherine, who, as the youngest, was the one with the supposedly tenderest ears.
But Catherine looked absolutely delighted with the whole conversation.
“Is the genie handsome?” Dot wanted to know.
“Some of them are. Some of them aren’t,” Lord Bolt explained somberly. “And whether they’re nice or not depends on how well you rub the lamp.”
Angelique shot a wide-eyed quelling look at her husband.