Antonin had tossed a chair and small table onto the small deck on top of the upper salon. He sat there nursing a firevodka, reading the Sheik in the original Persian. He could see the path down to the dock where guest would arrive, and basked in the pleasant odors of elves cooking on shore.
When he heard Morag rummaging through the cabinets in the galley, he marked his place with a finger and leaned toward the open galley porthole. "There's another chair up here, if you'd like to hand your booty up and join me."