Cold moonlight streamed into the room through the unbroken window.
In the room with red hardwood floors and green wall lamps, the desk, armchair, and other furniture had all vanished, replaced by a long table draped with a dark green runner.
The figures seated on either side of the table looked somewhat strange.
The first wore a police uniform, broad-built and stern-faced.
The second had a pair of enormous wings, blond hair, blue eyes, and a beauty that was both handsome and exquisite.
The third wore a suit with a red poppy pinned to his chest.
The fourth wore a long purple suit, his face smiling even without an expression.
The fifth wore a woolen trench coat and a beret, dressed like an English gentleman, but looking distinctly ill at ease.
The sixth was thin and slight, pale-faced and cold-looking, with a thoroughly unpleasant hooked nose.
The person standing at the head of the table wore a dark green suit and a red tie, holding an empty wineglass.
Schiller's expression could not exactly be called cold. His facial muscles were relaxed, yet no one could relax because of it. When he began pacing slowly around the room, the echoes of his dress shoe heels striking the floor were deafening.
"I know what you may be thinking. Why was I so rude as to invite you to my banquet without preparing any dishes?"
Schiller suddenly stopped, turned toward the table and the people seated beside it, gently swirled the wineglass between his fingers, and said in a low, breathy voice:
"I know there are many of my kind in this world, but once they begin breeding out of control, I grow weary of them, just as you despise pigs raised on an industrial scale."
"For that reason, I had to take