'I asked my chefs to prepare something truly special for us tonight in your honour,' said Enrico. 'We have piping-hot sea slug soup, the finest oysters a la marmalade, and crunchy strawberry-marinated octopus served with steamed seaweed and freshly picked mountain-tree roots. Enjoy!'
There were a few seconds of silence as everyone stared at their plates. Nicola noticed that Sean was extremely pale.
'Yum!' said Shimlara, rather unconvincingly.
As Nicola reluctantly picked up her knife and fork she saw that Enrico was looking at Shimlara with interest.
'You remind me of someone,' he said. 'You're not an Earthling, are you? I notice you're much taller than the others.'
'I'm from Globagaskar,' said Shimlara.
'Ah,' said Enrico. 'Many years ago, during my army days, I knew a very nice woman from Globagaskar. Her name was Mully.'
Shimlara said, 'That's my mother. She remembers you too. She asked me to pass on her regards.'
Nicola took a tiny sip of her sea slug soup. Actually it wasn't too bad. She took a larger mouthful. It was really quite delicious if you didn't think too much about what you were eating.
Enrico was smiling broadly. His wife Carmelita was smiling too, although her smile looked more like a snarl.
'Tell me, Shimlara,' said Enrico. 'I seem to remember learning from your mother that the people of Globagaskar have an interesting skill: they can read minds. Can you read minds, Shimlara?'
'No, I can't,' said Shimlara.
Nicola knew from personal experience that Shimlara could read minds. She wondered why she was lying. It wasn't like her. Normally Shimlara was embarrassingly truthful and said whatever came into her head.
'We don't learn how to read minds until we turn eighteen,' explained Shimlara, as cool as a cucumber.
'Ah, what a pity.' Enrico looked pleased.
The twins, Josie and Joseph, didn't seem especially interested in anything except Katie.
'What are the poporozzi like on Earth?' asked Josie, running her fingers through her hair as if she was auditioning for a shampoo ad. 'Do they drive you crazy?'
'Poporozzi?' said Katie blankly.
'You might have a different word for them on Earth,' said Joseph. 'It's the photographers who follow you around everywhere trying to get photos of you for the magazines and newspapers.'
'We call them the paparazzi,' said Greta. 'But they don't follow Katie around. They try to get photos of real celebrities, like actresses and models - and you might be interested to know that some of them have hair exactly like mine.'
Josie and Joseph looked at Greta with complete disdain, blinked their big goldfish eyes, then turned straight back to Katie.
Josie said in a low, confidential voice, 'I expect she's very jealous of you. That's why she's making that stuff up.'
Joseph leaned towards her. 'Why do you spend time with these ordinary people? Don't you feel more comfortable with other hairities?'
Before Katie had a chance to answer or Greta had a chance to explode, Enrico spoke again. 'Well, Space Brigade, perhaps it's time I explained why I've asked you here?'
Nicola swallowed a mouthful of steamed seaweed (quite tasty in a strangely disturbing way) and said, 'That would be great.'
Enrico pressed his fingertips together and said, 'My story begins with a very dangerous young girl . . .'
11
The word 'dangerous' made Nicola's heart thud. She leaned forward expectantly.
'The girl's name,' continued Enrico, 'is Topaz.'
His wife and the twins shuddered.