"The military has better communications, but they're real tight-lipped about it. 'Operational security,' she says, 'Who says the Neuroi aren't spying on us?' Bah. They don't talk."

"Still, can't be too careful. And even if the Neuroi aren't listening in, who really know who else might be?"

"I suppose I wouldn't be very surprised if one could get up to various nefariousness with access to the military telegraph network. And frightening rumors can turn into panicked mobs if one is not careful. Still, all the secrecy rubs me the wrong way."

"Yeah, and it's not like lack of information stops panicked rumours--"

"Perhaps. It's all a bit moot from my perspective - I'm nobody of real power, just a bit of money and some audacity and a connection or two."

"I mean, you can turn those things into real power, if you know what you're doing. "

"That sounds like hard work. Having enough power to push people around is such a different thing than having enough to not be pushed around too much, yourself. Though it makes me sound like a layabout - why would I want to?"

A few of the rich people listening to their conversation seem a bit uncomfortable at this, though one young man nods agreeably. "I don't want to manage my pa's land and business. I'd screw it all up."

"Yeah, that's sensible. No point chasing after power if you don't want it, or think you'd be bad at it. That's a recipe for unhappiness. 'Enough not to be pushed around' is enough for most people-- but it's worthwhile knowing your options, you know?"

"Perhaps, perhaps. I will say - exotic luxuries and the chance to travel in relative comfort are the ticket to happiness, for me."

"I'm guessing the war has made both of those tricky to get."

"Tricky, yes. Impossible, no. I will tell you, soldiers and fighting Witches appreciate my knowledge of... Procurement."

"Ahh, I see--"

"But such matters are not fit for such mixed company, no?" He winks.

"That's the shame about mixed company, isn't it? It's so delightful other times, but in this case--"

"Indeed. My ways of getting spices, salt, good silk, medicine and such, and sturdy boots by the crate are a bit too boring for a dinner party."

"Such a shame trade is such a dull topic, even when it's goods so important for saving people's lives."

"I'm sure there are people here who would appreciate that conversation, but telling adventure stories to pretty girls is much more fun."

"I'm glad it's so enjoyable! Adventure stories are so delightful."

He also winked at some of the other ladies listening in, but Marena's getting some (frankly unsurprising) jealously.

Rost starts another adventure story about Liberion, the continent across the Atlantic Ocean, and nearly getting sacrificed to the gods by some particularly warlike native tribe. (This one sounds a bit more fake than the others if you're much experienced with made-up stories.)

Yesss, jealousy. On the one hand, it's not very sporting of her to appreciate that, but on the other hand: yesssssss.

She listens appreciatively, and doesn't comment on how fake the story sounds. (Not that human sacrifice never happens, but it's not that often.)

(She also makes a note to herself that next time she gets some paper, to draw a really bad map of these places. It's getting complicated.)

Well, there's a map on display on the little stage where some fat man is making a pretentious speech about industry and hard work. It shows the town she's in now and a few cities, including London to the southeast. The path of the railroad line is in bold red on it. She could probably buy a real map somewhere.

Rost continues socializing with people. He makes a show of drinking a lot but is actually tempering his intake quite a bit. The fancy lunch is served, dominated by elaborately prepared meats and desserts.

Food!

Also meat! She does her best to eat in a vaguely lady-like way. And also maybe manage to sit next to Rost.

One of the gentlemen questioning Rost about the cities of Egypt (which is, apparently, near but not in the Middle East) is eager to show off his pocket watch to the pretty lady! It's 12:37. They wanted her to fly back at 1:30.

She can manage to sit next to Rost at the cost of getting the other ladies who also wanted to do that to make a couple of snide comments.

Wahey, most of an hour to eat and socialise!

She's okay with snide comments. More than okay.

Little do they know 'so forward' is actually a compliment.

Rost runs out of stories and expertly deflects attempts to get him to tell more, getting the locals to tell their own tales instead (like the runaway train prototype that wrecked a fence, freed a whole bunch of sheep, and took two days to round them all up again.) He asks about peoples' homes, their businesses, their families. He eventually slips away from the crowd, into the gardens.