Since, with the exception of September, the humans were as tall as tran adults but not nearly as broad, any formal outfit was big enough to swim in.
Stitching and cutting at children’s clothing with near light-speed, the royal tailor had somehow managed to outfit them all.
September whispered back at Ethan. “Don’t worry about it.” He winked in a way Ethan didn’t fancy. “Just watch our neighbors and do as they do. I’m told that fighting for a choice section of haunch is permissible, so long as no one spills blood on his neighbor or gravy on the Landgrave.”
Du Kane plucked at his modified coat unsteadily, but Colette seemed to have him well under control. As to her own “gown,” it at least served to minimize her bulkiness—though it would pass unnoticed among the broad-beamed tran. As to its composition, all she could say was that it itched.
Ahead, sounds of Trannish chatter mingled with rough bellows of good humor, defiance, anger, outrage, enjoyment. Occasionally a sonorous belch would rise above all.
There was also music from stringed instruments, drums, and something close to a profoundly sick oboe. Odors of broiled meat and boiled vegetables tweaked other senses. Admiration and uncertainty at the presence of strange visitors apparently did not extend to waiting dinner for them.
Hunnar met them outside the entrance to the Great Hall. He appeared more nervous than Ethan could recall.
“There you are! By the great wild Rifs, what took you all so long? I was starting to believe that perhaps after all you had decided to… to go your way by another path.”
“Not a chance, Hunnar old man or whatever,” said September, clapping the knight on the shoulders. It didn’t faze the tran, Ethan noted with a twinge of envy.
Hunnar looked past the big man. “Where is the little quiet one?”
“Oh, Walther’s here too,” replied September, jerking a thumb to the rear.
Even in splendid silks and furs the kidnapper still managed a ratty appearance.
“I don’t think Hunnar means him,” added Ethan, looking over their little assemblage. “Where’s Williams?”
September had a glance himself. “Yes, where is—”
“Rest at ease, gentlemen, here I am.” The familiar voice came from the far end of the hall. The schoolteacher appeared with the wizard, Eer-Meesach. Williams smiled apologetically as he drew next to them.
“I’m sorry for my tardiness, friends. I hope I haven’t upset anything.”
“No, no,” said September. “Confound it, man, must you apologize for everything?”
“I’m sorry,” Williams replied automatically. “Malmeevyn has given me some information that could be of great import.” The wizard bowed slightly.
“Ya, sure,” grunted September, unimpressed.
“Tis time,” interrupted Hunnar, before the teacher could continue. “Follow me and be at your ease. I don’t believe many will stare at you anyway. In that respect your arriving late is beneficial. But those with interested eyes will note who you enter with.”
Malmeevyn obviously had standards of his own, because he’d left them already. As they started in Ethan sidled over to Williams.
“What’s your news?”
“What do you know of Rex Plutonicus?” whispered the schoolmaster.
“Rex Plutonicus?” Ethan’s brow crinkled. He looked knowledgeably at the other. “That’s the monster volcano they spotted on the first survey, isn’t it? Active, about eleven kilometers high? I didn’t know you’d taken a terrain tape.”
“I didn’t,” Williams replied. “That was broadcast as part of a general passenger orientation—to sell shuttle-down tickets, I suppose. It’s the most outstanding single topographical feature on the planet.”
“I must have been asleep,” Ethan answered. “I only remember it from the tapes.”
“Do you recall its location?”
“No. Wait… yes. It’s about four hundred kilometers due east of Brass Monkey.”
“Correct. Sight-seeing trips are run from the settlement.”
“I may be dense, but I don’t see the import yet.”
“The wind here blows almost continually from the west,” said Williams with carefully controlled excitement “Malmeevyn says that on very windy days great clouds of black smoke and ash descend on the earth. They darken the land and make the crops bitter. The smoke and ash come always from the same southwesterly direction. No one from Sofold has ever been there, but occasionally a trading ship will arrive that has passed near. It’s a great burning mountain. The Trannish name means ‘The-Place-Where-The-Earth’s-Blood-Burns.’ ”
“Damn! I see what you mean. Reach the volcano and from there to Brass Monkey is easy. Southwest and then we’re warm again!”
“There could be variations in the smoke pattern,” cautioned Williams. “But the wizard was quite insistent about it always coming from the same direction. Most of the time the wind blows due east, so smoke and soot from many eruptions would pass far south of here.”
Ethan was rubbing mental hands together. “At least we have a direction now for our raft… if we can get a raft.” Suddenly he found himself beside a chair. September was whispering in his ear.
“For O’Morion’s sake, young feller, sit down!” He tugged at Ethan’s jacket. “Sit down! Want ’em all staring at you?”
Ethan sat. Then he became aware of the Boschian scene he’d been drawn into.
They were seated on the outside of a great table shaped like a long letter “U.” Tran of all sizes and descriptions were seated both inside and outside the arms of the table. The Landgrave, his daughter, and Eer-Meesach were sitting at the base of the U, on the outside, facing three empty chairs.
“For the Landgrave’s ancestors,” explained September.
Hunnar was seated across the table from them, on the inside and several seats down the U. Ethan noticed that their little group was positioned well down the arm of the table, close to the Landgrave. A location of some honor, probably.
The richness of silks and furs was dazzling. Ethan saw neither fashion nor couture, only credit signs with lots of lovely zeros trailing behind like newborn puppies. The attire of Sofold's nobility offered every color. Gold, deep blue, and scarlet predominated.
Great metal and polished wooden platters piled high with smoking meat, baskets of breads and fruits, and cauldrons of pungent soup filled the tables to overflowing. Light came from huge, thigh-thick candles set on posts around the table. He took notice of the controlled war that took the place of plate-passing and reflected wryly that no one would put candles on the table for risk of total conflagration over a stuffed olive, or whatever those little green things were.
In addition, light came from baskets of oil burning in wrought-iron cups set into the walls. And the great fireplace sported a blaze that would have violated every fire regulation a humanx hotel manager could envision.
His own plate was wide and formed of some coppery material. He also had a cloth napkin not quite as big as a two-man tent and a knife more suitable for a cavalry charge than a dinner.
In spite of some lingering hesitancy over the alien cuisine, his mouth was beginning to water. At least, between his furs and the fire, it wouldn’t freeze.
Next to him, September was gnawing happily on a meat-laden bone with all the delicacy and comportment of a famished hyena. He nudged Ethan in the ribs, gently this time.
“Dig in, young feller. By the Dying Dead Red, these people know how to cook.”
“Pardon me if I don’t share your enthusiasm. It’s my tender unbringing and respectable charge account holding me back.” He turned to his other side.
Williams was nibbling absently on something that looked like a cross between a carrot and a stick of emergency space protein. Next to him, Walther seemed to be displaying about the same amount of gusto in downing his meal.