The Equen Queen (3 page)

Verris came into the anteroom to check on the progress of the organising committee. He leaned against the doorframe watching the barely ordered hubbub in the square.

‘What do you think, Vrod?’ he asked the troll, who was still propped against the wall just outside.

‘Sneakiest way of moving in an army I ever seen,’ Vrod grunted.

Tab looked up, alarmed. The sky-traders seemed so friendly, and the council so keen to trade that she had automatically taken them at their word. No wonder Verris had handed over the negotiations and the organising to others! Lord Verris wanted to keep his hands free to take care of a much bigger problem.

She looked around the square and saw that around every entrance to the Archon's Palace one of Verris's guards seemed to lounge, and a whole phalanx apparently engaged in betting on flugey stood just outside the Hub. Not one of them had taken a mood stone or eaten a sky-trader's snack.

In the middle of the square Verris's right-hand man Borges sent one of the marines some sort of complicated hand signal. She saw the marine nod in reply and then he headed off down the alleyway.

One look at her friends’ faces told Tab that they hadn't seen this possibility either. Philmon wiped the cake crumbs off the table thoughtfully.

Then Tab noticed something else. That sly trickster Fontagu Wizroth III lurked in an alley beside the Halls of Justice, absently rubbing one of the purple jewels against his cheek.

What's he up to? Tab wondered.

Tab had never been to a formal Quentaran feast before. There were six round tables seating ten or twelve, each with a huge cooking pot sunk into the middle of it, warmed underneath by a box full of hot coals.

‘What a good idea! It will keep our toes warm,’ Philmon said, rubbing his hands together. The bluestone walls made the palace's formal dining hall quite cold.

Tab straightened the sleeve of the dress Dorissa had lent to her. Dorissa had tucked it into folds with pins so that it fitted better, and some of them stuck into Tab's ribs if she slouched. It crossed Tab's mind that Dorissa might have done it on purpose so that Tab would sit like a lady. She squirmed under the fabric, realising that this is what she would feel like every day if she had been the daughter of a princess.

Tab stared at her dining card blankly. Storm, guessing that the three youngsters were not familiar with formal customs, ushered the three of them into a corner.

‘There is a course for every day of the week,’ she explained. ‘Root vegetables for Bursday, spices for Leshday, meat for Emmerday, fish for Gramday, leaf vegetables for Imbleday, cheese for Highday. As the night goes on the food in the urn will mingle together and become more soft and flavoursome.’

‘So hang back on the early courses,’ Amelia said.

Storm nodded. ‘The guests toss the raw food into the pot in order of the most important person to the least important.’

‘How do I know who is more important than me?’ Tab asked.

‘That's easy,’ Storm said. ‘You will always be the least important person at the table.’

‘Oh. Right.’ Tab reddened and her friends giggled.

‘Once the pot comes to the boil, you take the metal serving tongs in front of you and place a few items from the pot onto the plate of the person on your right. Then you take the wooden eating tongs and eat what has been placed on your plate.’

‘If you don't like the person you're sitting next to, you could give them a plate full of algoon root,’ Philmon joked.

‘That would be frowned upon,’ Storm told him.

Tab was starting to get lost. She decided that she would just copy what all the others did. ‘What is this number?’ Tab asked looking at her card.

‘This is your next table number. After each course you will move to your next table. The waiters will pass you a warm towel to wipe your hands and your table number for the next course.’

‘It sounds very complicated,’ Tab observed.

Storm smiled. ‘It has been this way for generations. All the guests eat from every urn. Nobody knows where they are going to sit next. The waiters look for signs of potions or powders on your hands when they wipe them after each course. It reduces the chances of people being poisoned. Also everyone gets an equal opportunity to talk to the Archon, or whoever happens to be making the decisions at the time.’

‘That makes sense,’ Amelia replied.

‘And the food gets better as the night goes on,’ Tab added. She had been paying attention to that part.

‘So nobody stuffs themselves like a pig,’ Philmon said.

‘So that a level of decorum is maintained,’ Storm corrected.

‘What about the course for Lowday?’ Amelia asked.

‘After the Highday course is served, the broth is drained from the urns. Each guest takes a bowl out to the steps where the palace guard will have assembled a group of the poorest citizens from lower Quentaris.’

‘Isn't that nice?’ Amelia said.

Storm raised an eyebrow. ‘Nice for the poor, and a sobering reminder of the situation you could find yourself in should the ruler be displeased with something you've said during the evening.’

Just then a group of six sky-traders, including Captain Kel and Chak entered the room escorted by the Archon's nephew Florian Eftangeny. Vindon Nibhelline and Tab's old friend Fontagu Wizroth III came in close behind them.

Storm was not the only one who bristled. Florian was only a boy, but he insisted on attending formal events and sitting at the council table to represent his uncle. The Archon spent much of his time in his rooms. So far the members of the Grand Council tolerated Florian's presence, but mostly they ignored him.

Florian stood on a small dais in the corner. ‘Please take your seats. Bursday is about to be served,’ he said with a flourish.

‘This should be quite a show,’ Storm sighed, consulting her card.

Tab left her friends to find her seat for the first course, only to discover she was opposite Chak and on the left of Chief Navigator Stelka. Oh no! Tab thought, sure she was going to spill broth all over the sorceress's elegant emerald gown.

She noticed that the sorceress had already had her Loraskian mood stone made into a striking clasp for her shawl.

The waiters came around the table with the bowls of food, just as Storm had described. Stelka almost carelessly tossed her bowl of vegetables into the bubbling pot. Chak did the same. Tab noticed several of the other guests at the table looking at each other, cranky at Chak's rudeness.

‘After you,’ said the representative from the Undertakers’ Guild to the delegate from the Murderers’ Guild.

‘As it is in life,’ the murderess replied, inclining her head.

Tab waited until they had all taken their turn and then carefully tipped her bowl into the pot. Already the smell wafting up from the broth was enticing.

‘And how do you enjoy our sports so far?’ Stelka asked Chak.

‘It has been such a wonderful day,’ Chak enthused. ‘Some of the sports are variations on games we have seen before. Baubles has been called “tonks”, “nuts”, or “marbles”. Hooey seems to be a mixture of a number of ball sports that we know, although your scoring system is unique. Lokey spokey is new to us. We're very excited about it and looking forward to learning more tomorrow.’

One by one the diners used their serving tongs to place chunks of vegetables onto the plate of the person next to them. Tab was nervous but managed to serve Stelka without spilling anything. Tab nibbled her serving slowly, glad that the low simmering of the broth and the buzz of conversation covered the sound of her stomach rumbling.

‘We rarely receive such a cordial welcome. Quentarans are a generous people,’ Chak added.

Stelka smiled. ‘It is kind of you to say so. Perhaps in the spirit of goodwill you would allow some of our navigators to observe how you manage to manoeuvre your sky-city with such agility?’

Chak put a hand to her chest, as though she had choked. ‘Dear me! It's not often asked. Let me think of an equivalent in your culture.’ Chak used her wooden eating tongs to grasp a strand of honickle fungus out of the broth. ‘Such a request is the same as asking whether a small group from our city might be allowed to see your undergarments.’

‘I see,’ Stelka replied, smoothly. ‘And in our culture such a request is akin to serving oneself out of the communal urn.’

Chak let the fungus drop and it landed back in the broth with a
sploosh.
‘Oops! So does this mean I have to show you our bridge, or my undergarments?’

The diners all laughed.

‘Your bridge will do just fine,’ Stelka assured her. ‘We shall make arrangements on the morrow. It has been a great pleasure.’ Stelka stood, indicating that the first course was over.

Tab joined her friends in the corner between courses. The waiters took the opportunity to refill the coal boxes under the pots, replace the tongs, refill the goblets, and clear away the empty plates and bowls.

‘I'd always thought a formal feast would be the best meal in the whole world, but I'm so nervous about doing something wrong that I'm hardly eating anything. I'm still starving!’ Tab complained.