Sustenance by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro Page B

can be done, but I want everything done that can be should it turn out she can recover,” said Allanby, taking his place in front of the fire. “Well. Enough of that.” He smoothed back his disordered hair, then looked over the gathering and cleared his throat. “Thank you all for being here. Now then, let’s get down to it. Who has the—”
    Before anyone else could raise a hand, Charis leaped up from her chair. “I think we should have Grof Szent-Germain speak first; then, if you like, he can leave us until the meeting is done. I know you’ll all be interested in what he has to say, and a few of you don’t like to talk in front of strangers.” Then she blushed and sat down.
    Moira seconded the idea, then offered, “I’ll ask Dudon to bring some cognac. Give yourself a little time to compose yourself, Joe.”
    “And order some pastries while you’re at it,” McCall requested.
    “Only if you’ll pay for them,” said Julia.
    Allanby thought for a moment, then nodded. “All right. Unless someone objects, let him talk. Moira, do you mind if we start while you’re—”
    “Yes. Go ahead,” she said, leaving her husband’s side and opening the door. “I won’t be more than a couple of minutes.”
    “All right,” Allanby said. “The floor’s all yours, Szent-Germain. I’ll wait on the cognac; Pomeroy, you can take over for me.” He relinquished his place in front of the fire.
    “Okay,” said Pomeroy, trying to hide his anxiety at having an outsider address the Coven.
    Szent-Germain nodded to Allanby as he passed him, seeing anguish in his face. “I wish I could help you,” he said quietly, and saw a startled look in Allanby’s eyes. As Szent-Germain turned to face the room, he saw several closed expressions on the faces of his audience; in spite of doubts, his presence was undeniable; dressed in a black suit of a wool-and-silk blend, his dark-red tie standing out against the white of his shirt, he had an air of capability and self-containment that held the attention of everyone in the room. “Thank you for this opportunity.” He wanted to be both thorough and brief, and set out to put the Coven at their ease. “I’ll try not to take up much of your time; you have more to deal with than me and my publishing company,” he said, and saw the surprise felt by some of his audience. “First let me say that I am sympathetic with your situation here, I understand how being an exile feels, being one myself. It is no easy thing to restart a life in a new place, away from your families and colleagues and friends.” He did not allow himself to think of the hundreds of times he had done that—although none of his family remained, and he had lost more friends and colleagues than he could number—and the wrench it was to him, every time. “Exiles and orphans lose their contexts, and that is … profoundly discomposing.” He felt the skepticism that greeted his statements. “Since I left my country, one of the things I have done to make my way in the world is my publishing company; it has proven to be a durable investment as well as giving me a way to sustain my ties to what I have left behind. Eclipse has branches in several cities in a number of countries, and distributes widely where it is permitted.”
    Moira, who had been standing by the door, turned to take a snifter from their host, then closed the door before she took the cognac to Joseph Allanby. “Pardon me, Grof. Please go on.”
    Unflustered by this interruption, Szent-Germain continued. “My contracts include translation rights for a dozen languages which are handled by Eclipse, and appropriate advances paid for all such translations. The translators consult closely with authors so that the translation accurately reflects the original text.”
    Russell McCall raised his hand. “You mention advances. Tell us more.”
    “God, McCall.” Julia made his name a curse.
    “I pay generous advances, and report royalties quarterly.”