Fishing

 
 
"Why would I have a fishing rod?" Laila asked impatiently, pushing past Florian to get to the cupboard where the flour was kept. She was in the middle of a new recipe and didn't need distractions. It wasn’t until she was halfway back to the counter with the flour that Florian's question actually registered. "What do you need with a fishing rod anyway? We live in the middle of Paris."

"I know that but..." Florian was blushing - not an uncommon occurrence, but he seemed particularly flustered this time. He was pulling at his shirt cuffs the way he usually did when he was unsettled.

"Stop that," she chided, setting the flour down with a thump and turning to give him her full attention. Better to hear him out and send him on his way than have him planning one of his half-brained schemes. He really was hopeless - had he lived in a tower his whole life before meeting Ray?

"You know it's Ray's birthday tomorrow."

"Yes?" She laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of the thought. "You're planning on catching him a fish for his birthday dinner?"

"No. That hadn't actually occurred to me and I... are there places in Paris where you can fish?”

Laila shook her head, waving away the thought. "It's called the market, Florian. We don't fish, we leave that to the people with boats.”

"Yes, of course. But... it sounds interesting."

"If you say so. But that doesn't explain why you need a fishing pole."

"Well," Florian blushed even deeper and turned, exiting the room quickly and returning so fast he almost collided with Laila who had set out to follow him.

"I needed a hiding place and it seemed like a good idea. You know how Ray is with presents."

Laila nodded - Ray was a terror if he thought someone was hiding a gift for him. He'd peek in every cupboard and closet trying to find the hiding place. It drove the entire household to distraction. Still... Laila realized what the object was that Florian was now holding - a bed knob.

"Where did you... your bed?"

"I noticed it was loose some months ago and thought of it when I needed to hide Ray's gift, but the package fell down into the bedpost - it's hollow - and I need something to retrieve it. I thought a fishing pole might work.”

Laila shook her head and laughed - only Florian. How the man always managed these ridiculous mishaps she'd never know.

"Take that back upstairs and keep trying. I'll go get Pierre and see if he's got something that might work."

"Thank you, Laila." Florian looked very relieved as he hurried off to his room. Laila cast a glance back at her barely-started recipe. It could wait, she decided. Better yet... a few words with the cook and Laila left the recipe in her hands while she went off to talk to Pierre. At one time she would have been too irritated by Florian's demands on her time to get involved with this but she'd come to a sort of peace with the man, and his place in her life as well as Ray's. Besides, she was curious what he might have gotten for Ray that could be hidden in a bedpost.

 

XXXXX
 

“It’s caught,” Pierre said, muttering something that might have been a curse under his breath. Florian pretended not to notice, and Laila didn’t care. She just shoved the lantern at Florian and reached for the fishing pole.

“Let me try.” She climbed up onto the bed where Pierre was kneeling and took the pole from him before he could protest. Pierre, shifted back a bit, glancing between her and Florian nervously. It wasn’t proper for him to be in the aristocrat’s private chamber. Especially not on his bed. Pierre usually did grounds maintenance and helped Ray with some planning for his adventures as Noir, but he rarely ventured beyond the first floor of the mansion. And never, before today, had he even considered setting foot in private chambers. He’d tried protesting when Laila dragged him into the house, but, as usual, she wouldn’t hear a word of it.

“Damn it!” Laila swore, earning a shocked stare from Florian.

The man bit down on a smile at Laila’s fierce expression. He was used to her challenging look and had learned not to respond to it. Instead he reached for the fishing line and gently tugged it, trying to help unstick the hook. It held fast.

“It really is caught.” He glanced down into the darkness of the bedpost’s interior wishing he could see what it was caught on. He hoped it was the gift.

“Perhaps if I…” Without finishing that thought, Florian set down the lantern and climbed up onto the bed with the others, reaching for the fishing pole. “We could all pull at once,” he suggested, suiting words to actions and grabbing the fishing rod. Reluctantly Pierre reached for the handle too.

“Sir…” was all he had time to say before three things happened in rapid succession:

The fishing line broke with a loud snap sending Laila, Florian and Pierre backwards onto the bed.

The bedframe gave way with an ominous crack.

Ray walked into the room.

 

XXXXX
 

Much later, after Ray had stopped laughing – mostly. After a red-faced Pierre had fled with his broken fishing rod. After Laila had flounced off to cook something. Florian and Ray returned to Florian’s bed chamber where Ray reached down to the now-tilted bedpost, removed the castor and easily retrieved his errant gift.

He wrestled Florian down onto the mattress and kissed him before opening his gift - a pair of black silk gloves. Afterwards, he and Florian bid a proper farewell to the broken bed before retiring to the suite where they usually slept.

Florian was so content the next morning that he didn’t even protest when Ray added the cost of a new bed to Florian’s debt. And when Laila presented him with a fishing rod of his very own, Florian thanked her kindly and laughed right along with Ray.

It wasn’t until evening that Florian demonstrated his newly acquired technique with the fishing rod. In private. Neatly caught and reeled in, Ray wasn’t laughing anymore, but he didn’t utter a word of protest.

::end::

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