Maddeningly, Naitachal seemed to consider this.
When he cast a brief glance in Alaire's direction, Alaire thought he sensed the hint of a devious smile.
You wouldn't! Alaire thought, although he knew that the Bard would, if he thought it amusing enough.
After considering this, Naitachal said, indiffere "No, I will be requiring his presence for secretarial work. Allow me to introduce Alaire. Although he is my assistant, he is near and dear to the King's heart"
Naitachal let this last statement dangle in the air for just the right amount of time, with just the right amount of inflection, suggesting innuendo. Near t King's heart? Could he be implying to His Majesty that I'm a royal bastard? The ruse seemed to make sense. That would explain my clothes, and why I'm with Naitachal. Otherwise, it would look odd.
The King gazed thoughtfully at Alaire, then, with a knowing look, nodded in his direction. "I see. We will be most hospitable to you both."
Naitachal didn't seem to hear this. "If it is conven- ient, could we put him in an adjoining room? If not, he can sleep on the floor of my room."
What?
"Certainly, certainly," the King said. "Paavo, would you please show them their quarters?"
As they filed out of the royal chambers, Alaire thought, indignantly, hoping that Naitachal would somehow hear the thoughts -- On the floor? Really!
Master, we are going to have a little talk very soon!
Chapt Alaire was glad to find a comfortable, if lumpy, goose- feather bed tucked away in a corner of his room, which turned out to be the antechamber to Nai- tachal's quarters. The walls were the ubiquitous stone; the floors, as they seemed to be everywhere in the palace, were reddish-gold planks of a wood he couldn't identify. This explained the pleasant, spicy aroma that permeated the rooms. Naitachal had a plush room with plastered walls and ceiling, painted with elaborate scenes of buxom wood nymphs. The room, unlike Alaire's, had its own fireplace, with a chimney of carved stone, and an ample supply of fire- wood. The enormous canopied bed could have accommodated a family of ten.
"I might want to sleep on the floor, anyway," Alaire said, standing in front of the fireplace. He shivered in the chill that already filled the apartment, although it was still early in the evening.
"I doubt that dragging the mattress in here would raise any eyebrows." Naitachal frowned, in a way that was particularly disturbing to Alaire. "They probably expect bizarre, eccentric behavior from both of us. I must be the first elf of any color most of these people have ever seen. I knew that intellectually, of course, but actually dealing with it is irritating."
Alaire wanted to quiz him more on his first impres- sions, but a knock sounded on the door. A young servant informed them dinner was ready, and tha Majesty King Archenomen requested their presence at the table.
Naitachal's look seemed to say, We'll compare notes later, as they walked down the torchlit halls to the din- ing room, where Alaire smelled the overpowering aroma of cooked meat and potatoes.
Eating with the King and his court turned out to be a complicated affair. A multi-tiered floor held several long tables, each one at a different level. It looked rather as if someone had carved narrow platforms into the side of a hill, and dropped a section of table onto each one. The lower tables were less decorated than the ones atop. The one at the apex had a huge cooked pig as its centerpiece. The King presided over the event like a judge, scrutinizing everyone who came in.
No queen was in sight, and Alaire made a note to find out if there was one, or if the King had a harem of con- cubines, as sometimes happened in other distant lands. The servant led Naitachal to this higher tier, and automatically Alaire went after them.
"No, no, no!" one of the kitchen wenches admon- ished, waving a wooden spoon. She was hauling a kettle of gravy that probably outweighed them both.
"Only the ambassador dines with the King. You sit down there," she said sharply, as if he was an idiot, and went on with her task.
Alaire didn't like the sound of the phrase "down there" one bit. She led him to a section of tables almost a story and a half below the King's. Naitachal continued to the head table without him. Oh well, he thought. So be it. Perhaps I can learn something useful down there.
Those of the lowest social order ate here, he soon learned. Even Paavo sat a tier above him. The head servant sneered down at Alaire as he took his seat, a miserable little stool at a bare wooden table.
Bad manners at the dinner table are ill-adv Alaire seethed inwardly. Particularly when everyone has knives.
Alaire found himself at a table lined with Suinomen natives who evidently did not speak his language, although some of the servants bringing food to the table did. Alaire appraised their clothing with a knowing eye, and guessed that these folk were the servants or secretaries of those above. Except for one thing; every one of them had a cape or cloak of fur. The dining hall was a bit drafty, but didn't warrant the use of furs he saw around him, and he wondered if there was something no one had told them about There always is.
He saw a flock of young girls at the tables two levels up. None of them were particularly attractive, at least by his standards, and some he even cringed at. They watched his table eagerly. He glanced up, far up, where Naitachal was sitting, and saw right away that the Dark Elf was too far to offer advice or distraction.
Some of the young women were discreet, but oth- ers stared openly at him. Alaire was afraid to return the looks, at least too directly. Even flirting could be dangerous. They can't know I'm a prince, he thought frantically. I hope Naitachal is covering my tracks up there. I wouldn't want to become part of a deal. Now it wasn't only the girls near him who watched him from under their long, coquettish eyelashes. Some of the girls sat at the topmost table, with his Master an King. They must be his daughters. If they find ou I really am, I could become some sort of bargaining chip! Aaaargh!
Halfway through the meal Alaire noticed an empty wooden cup near his plate. Occasionally a servant would come by and drop a single flower petal into the vessel, and when he looked inside it was half full. The petals had something -- names? -- written delicately on them in an odd script. He shuddered, considering the possible meanings and ramifications.
Could these petals be a trysting invitation? He guessed about thirty petals were in there now, and they were still coming. Gods! There wouldn't be any- thing left! he thought in horror. He took extra care not to touch the cup after that. Better to be cold and dis- tant than get into something there would be no getting out of!
Besides the petals, the situation was hardly com- fortable. Paavo had claimed they were the guests of honor, but he was eating with the kitchen help. The food was terrible, since the meat was unidentifiable, and nearly raw, the bread burned or still doughy, and the rest all seemed to consist of variations on dried peas and beans cooked in fish-oil.
He was here to observe, so he did his best to ignore the food and the girls and keep his eyes open. He noticed surreptitious glimpses towards Naitachal from the greater nobles, some even overtly hostile, and he wondered if this was because of his Dark Elven heri- tage or if it was because he represented a co Suinomen had chosen to make into an enemy.