The Ale Boy's Feast (46 page)

“Do we have any more of the water?”

Say-ressa hurried into the kitchen and stopped as the heat stunned her. She might as well have stepped into an oven.

Pushing through clouds of steam, the healer surveyed the long, stone counters. Emeriene, Luci, Margi, and Raechyl were listening to two streams of instructions from Adryen, who darted about intently and unpredictably, like a dragonfly, and Stasi, who stirred a pot of thick batter like an oarsman rowing upstream. Before each of their helpers, a stone pot shaped by one of the stonemastering sisters was filled with some kind of concoction. Beside them, piles of berries sparkled, wedges of honeycomb glistened, and flat fry cakes were stacked fifty high.

Fires crackled in a broad, low stove, and Batey stood prodding shreds of bird meat around a sizzling pan that spat splashes of grease.

Stirring sauce in a bowl, Adryen marched up to Say-ressa with all the authority of a queen. “A custard of cream from the rock goats’ milk.” The button-nosed cook, no taller than the young sisters, had to lean back to meet the gaze of the willowy healer. “We whip up the cream with wild blue garlic and a dash of ground hajka peppers. Then we mix oil and peppers into a sauce to pour over the custard, and we serve it with wedges of fried bread. Make sure the bread’s made with blue grain. The colors are important.”

“Water?” Say-ressa repeated. “The decanter of water you brought up from the river below the house, it’s empty. And I’ve got nothing else to ease our wounded through their pain.”

“The king wants that water for the feast,” said Adryen, gesturing to three
crude stone pitchers sitting in the corner away from the heat and the spattering grease.

“And he asked me to try to make sure that everyone attends the feast. That’s going to take some healing magic that my hands have never delivered.” Say-ressa stepped aside as two small boys came running through the kitchen, wielding sticks and shouting.

Emeriene flung herself into her sons’ path, grabbed their arms, and dragged them aside. “What did I tell you about running through here while we’re cooking? Go back to the corner and play with the toys that Luci and Margi made for you.”

“But we’re hunting a beastman!” shouted Cesyr.

“No, a Seer!” shouted Channy.

“There are no dangerous beastmen here,” she snapped. “And the Seers are far away. Go back to your corner.” She grabbed Cesyr’s chin. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

“That stove looks like the one Papa jumped in,” he said.

Emeriene let go and stepped back. Then she grabbed him by the shirt. “Don’t you bring that up within these walls. You hear me? We’ve left that all behind.”

“So if we can’t hunt beastmen and Seers, who can we hunt?” asked the younger one.

“Tomorrow you can play outside and pretend those sticks are viscorclaws.” The sisterly looked up at the healer with an exasperated apology. “They’re upset. An unfamiliar place. And they’ve seen … they’ve seen terrible things.”

“I wish I could help,” said Say-ressa. “Some wounds are hard to reach.” She walked to Batey by the stove. “Would you take me down to the river?”

Batey sprinkled seeds across the sizzling meat and a spicy fragrance thickened the air. “Soon as Adryen says that this bird is cooked enough.”

“I can manage,” sighed Adryen. “Go ahead.”

Batey took a torch and led the healer out through the back of the kitchens, down a steep crooked stair, through winding corridors, muttering as he sought to remember the way.

They walked a long distance, and Say-ressa had time to observe that this passage was not adorned with statues or any other signs that it had been part of Tammos Raak’s kingdom.

“It’s amazing,” Batey mused. “Those sisters. They’re making something for the feast, and they say they’re following directions from their lost sister, Madi. A recipe from another world.”

They moved down another stairway, and she could hear it now. The hair on her arms stood.
Dear Robin, if only you could see what I’m seeing. A waterfall under the world
.

They stopped abruptly. Cal-raven was climbing the stair.

“Why are you down here? And alone?” asked Batey.

“I hoped to glimpse this white creature … this thing that defended you on the river.”

“It was magnificent,” said Batey. “You’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I have,” said the king. “As my mother fled from its destruction, she fell into my arms, and the creature watched her die.”

Say-ressa felt as if she’d been struck. Batey uttered a fisherman’s curse. The rush of the falls filled an awkward quiet. “How fare the wounded?” the king asked.

“They suffer, but I am hopeful. The smoke and ash from the dragon’s forest fire has given some a horrible cough. Several needed new bandages for injuries. The captain may be able to join the feast if I give him something to muffle the pain. He can’t eat yet, but he can swallow this water. He’ll be showing off quite a scar after the brace comes off.”

“I should get back,” said the king. “The bells—when we hear them again, we assemble.”

“We’ll gather some water and go back with you,” she said. “The water will help with the healing. You should drink some.”

He bowed his head and moved past her, ascending.

Margi and Luci, singing the Late Afternoon Verse, entered the royal hall through the two entrances at the back, one on the northeast corner, one on the northwest.

They smiled and waved, for the vast hall was empty. Then they looked at the raised platform between them.

Where choirs will sing
, thought Margi.

Where actors will perform, and reports will be given to the king and his council
, thought Luci. They descended the five tiers.

Cal-raven had insisted that the hall be arranged in reverse, with the king’s table set at the lowest, rain-darkened level instead of on the heights.

At each spread of mats, they arranged plates for the diners, so every company could see one another and look down over the descending tiers to a view of the king and his company.

Seventeen plates were arranged around the king’s spread. The girls smoothed the mats, then straightened a special span of cloth prepared for the king himself—a patchwork made from scraps. The travelers had agreed to cut strips from the cloaks they had worn through Fraughtenwood, and Nella Bye had sewn them together so the king would see before him a sign of their gratitude, their bond, their story.

A window above the mantel opened. Irimus leaned forward and hung an ornamental drape above the fire. Then he reached through with a flagpole and set it in a slot that had been carved there. The flag itself was bound up, yet to be revealed.

The king will not believe it when the trays are brought from the kitchen
, said Margi.

Nor will he believe what he tastes
, came the answer.

Luci shrugged. That thought had not come from her.

The sisters felt a thrill, a charge, another affirmation that their sister, Madi, was nearby, reading their thoughts and responding.

You’re here?
they asked together.

Yes. Tonight a great deal will happen. And I’ll be watching.

A feast!
thought Luci.
I wish you could taste it
.

I speak of much more than a feast
, came Madi’s quiet thoughts.
I’m told great things will happen. But I don’t yet know this chapter of the story. I’ve come to be a witness. Be careful, sisters
.

There are many other Northchildren in this house tonight. They say that everything changes. Be gracious to everyone
.

“Why?” Margi shouted. “Why must we be gracious? What’s going to happen?”

When there was no answer, she scowled and counted the plates. Luci, narrowing her eyes, removed candles from the crate she carried and set them out in a line.

“It’s too quiet in here,” said Margi. “I miss Lesyl. She’d give us some music. It’s a shame the king lost his true love.”

He hasn’t
, came Madi’s answer.
Not yet. But if he’s not careful, he will
.

t the second sounding of the bell, Cal-raven rose from the bed that Emeriene had made from the pelt of a bearcat. It was time for him to put on the ceremonial garments that Mousey had provided. The former slaver, eager to please, said she had found them among prizes in the shredders’ cave and had kept anyone else from discovering them. She’d known she wanted to present him with this gift.
As an apology
, he thought.

He undressed and unfolded the white shirt, the green trousers, and the brown vawnskin cape, but as he laid them out across the pelt, he hesitated.
These are a king’s garments. But I am not ready
.

The thought of Mousey’s stolen kiss—a lifetime ago, in that slaver’s wagon—turned his mind in a different direction. Cal-raven wanted understanding. He wanted to fall into the arms of someone who would accept what was left of him, and demand nothing more.

But Tabor Jan’s example cautioned him. To open himself to the possibility of another loss, another wound, seemed foolish.

Every time I meet Emeriene, she meets a different man in a different world. She should learn what I’ve become. And so should I
.

He felt a breeze brush his ankle, like someone teasing him with a feather, and he knelt down.

Air was rushing from a crack in one of the pillars.

Looking at the mural depicting Tammos Raak’s escape over the Forbidding Wall, he noticed, for the first time, in this particular angle of light, that the stone on which it was carved was not centuries old like the rest.

He put his hand upon the picture and let the restless magic stir.

The mural melted away.

A keyhole
.

As he fetched the keys, Cal-raven felt that familiar pulse of curiosity that had led him out from Abascar’s walls.

A bird with a tail of red ribbons soared high above the dining hall, followed by two frantic chicks. She landed on a balcony rail, and as her two followers alighted beside her, her breast expanded, red feathers flaring out, and she performed a trilling melody that made Warney think of sunlit fountains in springtime.

He watched the bird, studying the exquisite textures of its vibrating feathers. He smiled to see that all the diners around him were staring with similar delight. Only Krawg, seated just two plates to Warney’s left, seemed despondent. So he seized the clay goblet from the mat before him and raised it in a silent toast. Krawg, seeing the gesture, reluctantly did the same.

“The king made these cups, you know,” said Warney. “Shaped them with his own hands. Just for this.” He sipped the water. He could swear that the drink was improving his vision. And judging from the whispers of the guests, it affected them the same way. For that bird was far above them, and yet they praised her smallest details.

“Lookit us, Krawg,” said Warney. “This is the king’s table. And we’re at it.”

“The Midnight Swindler and the One-Eyed Bandit.”