“By all means,” Dejah Thoris agreed with a thin smile.
One by one they took their seats and their tankards were filled with wine. Even Dakota’s.
“Mom, is it all right?”
Ekka nodded.
“Thanks, mom.”
“Just the one,” Billy said. “I’ll not have my son a drunkard.”
“What sort of wine is this?” John Carter asked. He was seated at Dejah Thoris’s right elbow.
“It is the fermented root of the winthorne. The golden fungus that covers the floor of the canal.”
Each tested theirs, and there were nods of approval all around.
Dakota coughed. “Ooo. Strong...stuff. Uh, ma’am.”
Dejah laughed. “It is a warrior’s drink.”
“Pardon my askin’,” Bixie said, “the golden plant, it be’s your big secret, now ain’t it?”
Dejah’s composure was penetrated. Motion at the table ceased.
“We do not speak secrets here, dark lady,” Dejah said cooly.
“Bixie,” she said. “De name be’s Bixie. It is no big secret. Master Billy was goin’ to ask yah ‘bout dat Atmosphere Factory anyways.”
Dejah Thoris turned from Bixie to Billy.
“She does that, ma’am. She’s a seer.”
“What is this ‘seer’?”
“A mentalist of some kind,” Edgar Burroughs said, holding up what looked to be a sausage link and using it for emphasis. “But...spiritual. Of the soul, as opposed to of the body. Bixie saw you, just like I did, long before we got here.”
“And how did you see me?” Dejah asked Edgar.
“You talked to me. In my dreams.”
“I think,” Avi said, “you somehow spoke to all of us. You had...dire need of us.”
Dejah Thoris lifted her tankard of wine, sipped, then placed it gently back down.
“I do have need,” she said.
“Out with it, lassie,” Ian said. “If you’ve need of us, dinnae hesitate to ask.”
The Martian Princess’s eyes slitted.
“None of that,” Bixie said. “The lie that you would throw on dis table would sour the meat.”
“Would you please, Lady Bixie, stay out of my head?”
“I be pleased to, Miss Thoris, so long as your head stay close ta your heart where it belong.”
“Yes,” Billy said. “Tell us. And after you do, we will tell you about our need. About why we came here.”