“What do you mean none of us will be leaving?” Sean’s voice was spiked with tension.
“This is Mr. Jalen Jones,” Wadsworth said. “Who seems to be the last guest to arrive.”
“There was another guy on the boat with me, some gamer,” Jalen called up to the speaker. He turned a dimpled smile to Sofia. “Why do y’all want to leave?”
The conservatory door banged open as Jude came out, a wide smile of welcome on his face.
“Wadsworth, did you hear my question?” Sean spoke with the slightly raised voice of someone addressing a toddler.
“If you would be patient, sir.” Wadsworth put the tiniest sliver of insulting emphasis on the last word, so subtle you could almost pretend you didn’t hear it.
Was that a programming trick? To have the virtual butler insult them based on their own tone of voice?
“I merely meant,” Wadsworth continued, “that no one would be leaving, as the last boat has just left. There won’t be another until tomorrow morning.”
Sean let out a stream of curses.
“Wait,” Sofia called. “Do you mean nobody else is coming to Pyre Festival?”
“Not today, no, miss,” Wadsworth said.
“Did I come at a bad time or something?” Jalen asked. “What happened, the toilets all back up or something?”
“No,” Plum explained, “it’s just that it’s not much of a festival.”
“Oh my God, can you believe it!” Jude whooped, missing the previous sentence and clearly hearing only the last word. He pumped his arm in the air and shouted, “Pyre Festival!”
The rest of them stood, staring at Jude. No one joined his cheer.
Jude let his arm slowly drop. “Um, set the night. Like. On fire.”
Wadsworth’s voice fell from the stairs. “Melt your face off.”