His hand on the doorknob, Gastel tensed himself against the sound of the lieutenant’s voice. The lieutenant said nothing. He turned the doorknob, and the lieutenant said nothing. Gastel stepped into the dark and shut the door behind him.
The pastry chefs had just doused the big oven, and a warm fog lingered in the garden. “How’s the duke’s son?” Mastic called from the dark.
Gastel’s eyes slowly adjusted. “Still alive, last I saw.”
Mastic chewed her pipe in wonder. “With all those people trying to kill him. Must have been born lucky. Some people are.”
Gastel counted the crew. “About ready?” he asked.
Fladen was just checking the harness on the last mule. “About,” he said. His awful face was squashed into a wide grin. Every few minutes, he laughed like he couldn’t help it.
“What are you so happy about?”
“Right after you left me in the maze, some of the duke’s men found me. They’d heard about the plot and they gave me a hundred marks not to kill the duke’s kid.” He shook a heavy bag on his belt and cackled.
“They must have really been terrified,” said Gastel.
“Oh, I’m a dangerous man. I walk into a house and the milk goes sour.”
“And the wine goes sweet,” said Gastel. “If we find the gate locked, you’re bribing the guard.”
Fladen laughed. “I’ll buy him a farm.” He climbed into the front of the first cart and flicked the reins.
The Golden Damson Feasting Company rumbled through the dark, silent streets. Bruet was already nodding off at the reins of the second cart. Cassiette walked alongside, practicing her Commincer accent with Thera. In the seat of the third cart, Mastic and Rennet sat together—Rennet held the reins and Mastic advised. Orach sat on the roof and let his legs dangle over the road. Inside, Civvey sat on a crate of books beside Gastel, who lay on the floor. “There will be paintings,” she said.
“There certainly will,” said Gastel. “If the temple falls, we might get a whole ceiling somewhere.”
“A lot of famous subjects. Earl Ulvos, Lord Courmi, the duke.”
“Hidromel.”
“Do you think they’ll make room for us?”
“They’ll have to,” said Gastel. “We’ll be off in the corner, tearing out our hair.”
He was almost asleep when Civvey said, “You know, we could serve an Egardouce’s Pudding outside if we built it in a barn.”
Gastel didn’t open his eyes. “Where would we put the kitchen?’
“We’d build it. Or we’d cook in a tent. We’ve cooked in tents before.”
Gastel nodded. It was a striking image. They’d have the whole feast at ropes; hundreds, thousands of people, all pulling at the sides of the barn. It would fall all at once in four directions with an almighty crash, revealing the pristine temple within, sunlight streaming through stained glass. They could build it on a hill, like in the legend. Paint the inner walls of the barn so they’d look like marble flagstones once they hit the ground. Run the soup outside the temple, down channels to an aqueduct all around the hill. A different soup this time. Orach could make a saffron velouté that caught the light like gold.
The night was clear and the whole town smelled like pastry. The gate was wide open. In the back of the wagon, Gastel slept, and the hollow place in his heart that had once carried tonight’s pudding began to fill with new and wilder dreams.
© Copyright 2020 Ryan Eric Dull
Ryan Eric Dull - [BCS317 S02] Page 6
