An equine snort came in answer. “Normally, it would be easy to track it. Yet, I think that I shall abide here and await your return. I wish to graze, and there are lots of impassioned thoughts to feed upon.”
“Here? In this tower?”
“No, mon ami, below in one of the halls. I believe the Royal Court must be in session. The thoughts there are not particularly complex. But they are spicy and pungent all the same!”
I could practically hear the pooka licking his lips in anticipation. I finally got the pack settled comfortably enough and half-staggered my way upstairs. Galen let out a tsk of disapproval and trotted over to help me. He stashed about half of my burden into his saddlebags and motioned for the others to gather close to me.
“Destry has indicated that he shall remain behind to graze,” the Wizard informed me. “We shall see him when we return, in time.”
“In time,” I said, shaking my head. “That’s what it’s all about now, isn’t it? Farewell, Destry, we’ll talk when we get back.”
He bobbed his head in agreement as Shaw and Liam sidled up on either side of me. I thought of Castle Quinton’s curved, green gardens and grabbed my silver medallion. An eye-frying flash, plus a three-count of ozone scented whiteness, brought us to our arrival point.
The morning sun was just starting to warm the fields as we arrived in the middle of a patch of candy-apple red flowers. Galen and Shaw quickly stepped to one side to stop trampling the plants. Liam followed suit after snatching a couple of quick bites.
We heard a distant shout. I turned, spotting the source of the noise. A couple of the local farm workers who’d spotted our arrival had dropped their tools were running for the safety of the castle.
“That’s a wonderful way to greet us,” I remarked.
“To be fair, we did arrive rather suddenly,” Galen pointed out. “We are familiar with our mode of travel from long experience, but others are not. And they may be under orders to report our coming to Lord Quinton.”
“I suppose.” I pointed off to the right, by the base of a copse of trees. “There’s a couple of the hives. Liam, would you mind having a word with the swarms to leave me alone when I go in?”
“That goes without saying,” the Protector of the Forest sniffed. “I shall remain with you, just in case any of the queens feel that they can ‘push their luck’ with me.”
“Bide!” Shaw said quickly. “Lord Quinton approaches. And his servants bring what looks to mine eyes like a honey pot!”
The barrel-chested nobleman huffed and puffed his way over to us. He was followed by a pair of castle servants bearing a large, double-handled pot. Instead of the scowl that normally etched the man’s face, Lord Quinton was smiling for a change. He motioned to the servants to place the pot down as he spoke.
“Dame Chrissie,” he began breathlessly, “I asked those of my demesne to notify me immediately of your arrival, for I have news. Yesterday at sunup, we followed your advice regarding the use of smoke to calm the bees. That allowed us to approach and harvest one of the hives.”
I nodded. The smoke was standard practice, and I’d even left Quinton’s people with instructions on how to harvest and purify the honey once the frames were removed. I suspected that Liam’s ‘helpful suggestion’ to the bee queens was helping even more. But at least it didn’t sound like anyone had been badly stung in the process.
“Once we took the honey from several frames and filtered the result, look what we have here!” Quinton dramatically swept the lid off the container, showing that it had been filled to the brim with golden liquid. “This pot is full, and there are two more!”
I did some quick mental calculations. Andeluvian honey pots held a bit more than seven gallons, so that was enough for me to work with as a start. I hefted my half-filled pack, which felt effortless now that I was filled with the excitement of anticipation.
“Excellent!” I enthused. A quick glance in the direction of the castle verified that the table they’d set up for my bee autopsy was still in place. “Lord Quinton, we need your help to try and work this honey into mead.”
“Of course, of course! Whatever you need!”
I nodded in the direction of the table. “I’ll need your honey pot placed over there. Oh, and I could use four or five jugs of the cleanest, freshest water you have. From a spring or stream, not a well.”
“You’ll have it, of course.” He snapped his fingers at his servants, who carried the pot towards its final destination. Quinton moved at a half-jog back up to his castle. We didn’t see him again, but after a while three more servants brought pitchers of water out to us.
In the meantime, I set out the pre-wrapped and sanitized tools I’d purchased for mead production. I set the five-gallon demijohn container on the table, along with a multi-chambered glass tube that brewers called an ‘airlock’. Once the water arrived, I started re-hydrating the packet of a specialized breed of yeast that came with my beginner’s zymology kit.
I slowly worked my way step-by-step through the process with the help of the instruction manual. I’d decided to follow the sledgehammer-simple version of making mead, known as ‘bucket fermentation’. Even so, the sun was threatening to crest the trees at the edge of the gardens by the time I finished the setup process.
“‘Tis nothing much to look at,” Shaw complained. He took a sniff of the newly-mixed contents I’d placed in the demijohn. “Nor doth it smell like anything a griffin would drink.”
“It’s only a solution called ‘must’ right now,” I pointed out. “Honey and water, that’s it. And I need to do two more things before adding the yeast.”
I checked the temperature of the must and then the specific gravity, using the pre-sanitized thermometer and hydrometer. Once I was satisfied, I mixed in the rehydrated yeast mixture and placed the airlock tube in the right spot. Then, I sealed the whole thing up. I gave the secured container a few back-and-forth shakes for luck and a little extra aeration.
“Okay, now it’s your time to shine,” I said to Galen. “Can you velocitas this container for a period of…say, six months?”
“Indubitably,” he replied. We all moved out of the way as the Wizard lay one of his massive hands on the edge of the container. He closed his eyes, murmuring under his breath, gathering in his power. His palm glowed blue as he cried, “Kan tiden ga raskt, nar vi trenger det!”
The air swirled violently for a moment as a gray shimmer passed through us and surrounded the demijohn. Galen raised his head, exhaling sharply, as if he’d come up from deep water. The airlock tube belched gas once, twice, three times, before the shimmer faded away.
The Wizard staggered back a step. Shaw extended a snowy-white wing to steady him and Galen nodded his thanks. “My pardon, drake. The spell took more out of me than I realized.”
“Is it done?” Liam whispered.
“Well,” I said, “There’s really only one way to find out.”
I moved a mug over to the demijohn’s dispenser spout. I pressed the button, and a rich, golden liquid poured out. I sniffed it, picking up the sweetness of fermented sugar, underlaid with froth and flowers. It certainly didn’t smell like anything that would kill me.
I raised the mug to my friends.
“Bottoms up, wish me luck,” I said, as I started to tip it back.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I began to tip my mug back when Shaw let out a squawk of alarm.
“Bide!” he cried.
I froze with the edge of the vessel no more than an inch from my lips.
“Thou art too valuable to risk,” the drake urged. “If thy Wizard’s spell hath miscarried–”
“Unlikely in the extreme,” Galen sniffed, but Shaw didn’t hear him.
“–then the forces of Light will have lost thee to poisoning!”
“Hold on,” I said, as I put the cup down. “Maybe you’re right.”
I considered Shaw’s concern. He had a point. After all, I was about to down what we used to call a ‘scoby’
in college.
SCoBY was an acronym standing for ‘Symbiotic Culture of Bacteria and Yeast’. And in truth, any brew mash was a mixed colony of live bacteria and yeast that grew in a low-oxygen environment. Harmful bacteria could have a field day in there.
“Okay, Shaw may be on to something,” I said reluctantly. “I’ll have to retrieve a toxicity kit from the OME in the next day or so to test this liquid.”
“Could it really be that dangerous?” Liam asked. “As in, could this substance realistically kill one of us?”
“It’s remote, but yes, death is a possibility.”
Shaw let out an eagle’s cry that raised the hair on my neck. He snatched up the mug before I could stop him. Then he held it aloft triumphantly.
“I dub thee ‘liquid glory’!” he declared. Shaw opened his beak and tossed the contents down the hatch. I stared at him as my face flushed with fury.
“Oh dear,” Galen fretted. “That was quite rash.”
“You…you featherbrained griffin!” I shouted. “That could kill you!”
“I suspect that was the point,” Liam murmured.
“Aye, I do feel faint,” the drake admitted. He extended a talon to press the dispensing button and poured himself another mugful. “Methinks the dose was not enough to finish me off.”
I threw my hands up as Shaw downed his second portion. I tamped my sudden anger down enough to think halfway clearly. Spoilage of any sort would have changed the smell, texture, and taste of the mead. This had smelled fine.
Also, I knew that bacteria had a tough time growing in solutions with more than ten percent alcohol. I went back to the hydrometer readings I’d taken before sealing the must in the demijohn. That told me the specific gravity of the honey/water mix. From that, I could figure out the percentage of alcohol created by the fermentation process.
I flipped through the guidebook to find the right entries. Then I did some math on the back of an empty page, checked my results against an index in the back, and let out a sigh of relief. My liberal use of honey had turned the must into a very strong mead with an alcohol level exceeding fifteen percent. That didn’t hold a candle to hard liquor, but it was easily triple the strength of the average cup of ale.
“It should be safe,” I allowed. “Especially considering that Shaw wrangled a way to taste-test it. Let’s all give it a shot.”
Liam made an irritated deer noise. “Despite your science, and my avian friend’s bravado, all you needed to do was ask me to use my magic.”
The Protector of the Forest knelt and touched the tip of an antler to the demijohn. His antlers glowed faintly for a moment. Then he stood and gave me a nod.
“I sense no corruption within,” he announced.
I broke out and filled three more mugs, while Shaw went in for thirds and fourths. To be fair, both the drake and the centaur massively outweighed me or Liam, so I doubted that they were getting as much of a ‘kick’ from the drink. And ‘kick’ was the right word.
“It is strong,” Liam coughed, after licking up his portion. “I could not finish a whole jug of that.”
“Nonsense,” Shaw chortled. “Drink up, ‘tis the stuff that shall put fur on thy chest!”
“I have plenty of fur on my chest already, thank you very much.”
“Whooh,” I said, after taking my own sip. The sugary sweetness caressed my tongue, right before the mule in the mix showed up to kick me in the head. “Nothing’s going to be able to grow in that, believe me.”
“Well,” the Wizard chuckled, “If this is poison, then it is poison most sublime. It reminds me of what my father would serve at Equilux. Perfect for bringing out the four-hoofed wobbles!”
“Are you sure of that?” I asked. “I mean that in all seriousness, Galen. Do you really like the way this mead tastes?”
The centaur considered the matter after downing the rest of his cup. He rolled the brew around in his mouth for a moment, a look of bliss crossing his face.
“To be precise, I love it. It possesses a velvet smoothness that my father’s court brew lacked.” His blissful expression vanished as he added, “Yet, we face a problem. Creating that single batch of mead via the velocitas spell…it burned through most of my stored magic. If we can only create one or two jugs of mead per day, I see no way that we could sell enough to earn an appreciable amount of money.”
Now it was my turn to smile. “Yes, there is that. Help me package up our mead-making equipment, and then gather close to me. We’re heading back to the palace.”
My friends gave me a puzzled look, but they pitched in to store any loose pieces of kit. Now that the demijohn was full – or half-full, after our testing – I couldn’t carry the container in my pack anymore. Instead, Shaw helped me lift the container and secured it with straps atop Galen’s broad equine back. It didn’t look comfortable, but the Wizard wouldn’t have to carry it for long.
A quick flash of light, and Lord Quinton’s fields vanished. Ozone-laced whiteness blurred before our eyes until we arrived with a muffled bang in the antechamber outside the throne room. The entryway to the throne room proper had been secured and locked with a set of iron chains, but we weren’t going that way.
“Okay,” I said. “Liam, Shaw, I’d like you both to wait at the Dame’s Tower. If Destry’s there, ask him what he knows about the Deliberati. He says he knows how to locate them.”
Galen’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “He does? That is astoundingly useful information! Should we not speak with him immediately?”
I shook my head. “You and I have business with the Royal Court. They should still be close by, in the Great Hall.”
Liam flicked an ear as he answered. “Are you sure they are still in session? From what I can hear, it sounds like the assembled knights and nobles are preparing to leave.”
I nodded. “Even better. This once, our timing’s just perfect.”
“Timing? For what?”
“For solving our biggest problem,” I said, “Wish us good luck.”
Liam bobbed his antlers. “Any luck I have as a fayleene goes with you.”
“Aye, and thou shalt need it with that lot,” Shaw put in, as the two moved towards the stairs leading to the tower.
Galen and I went the opposite direction. We travelled down a series of long hallways until we encountered a steady flow of courtiers and hangers-on heading the opposite direction. It would have made for slow going, but most everyone gave way to someone with the mass and height of a centaur.
The flow grew heavier as we drew close to the Great Hall, evidence that court was letting out. A couple of the knights that sat near Lord Alvey passed us, openly snickering as we went by. That didn’t bode well.
Finally, we all but shoved our way against the tide to enter the hall proper. The long table was covered in crumb-covered plates and small crockery tubs filled with salt or worked-over remnants of butter. The last few lords were in the middle of leaving, while Regent Magnus and his centaur guards in human form remained at the far end, looking either annoyed or worn thin with exhaustion and boredom.
My designated fill-in, Sir Quinton, stood in my designated space. Before him on the table sat a shiny cup of some sort. As the young knight caught sight of me, his mouth twitched, unreadable beneath his blond mustache.
“Sir Quinton,” I said, as he turned and bowed to me. “Well, based on the strange looks I got upon entering, I’m guessing that our friends at court are up to their usual tricks.”
He gave me a sullen look. “Dame Chrissie, up until today things have been…well, quiet. Frankly, I think they’ve been running out of names to call you.”
Galen let out a snort. I heartily agreed with that sentiment.
“I doubt that. More likely it’s just not as fun to call a male knight a ‘trollop’ or something.”
“Then today, several of the lords brought this in and publicly ‘gifted’ it to you.” Quinton slid the item over to me. Upon closer examination, the ‘cup’ turned out to be a silver tan
kard, complete with a hinged metal top and a sturdy glass bottom.
“This appears to be well made,” Galen observed. “If it is meant to be an insult, I do not see how.”
“The tankard was the gift,” Quinton clarified. “The insult is inside.”
With a queasy feeling in the bottom of my stomach, I thumbed open the container.
Chapter Twenty-Four
With an all too familiar sinking feeling, I thumbed the hinge and lifted the tankard’s lid. I snatched up the tiny scroll of parchment that had been jammed inside. I managed to stifle a groan as I unrolled and read it.
We would like to note that Dame Chrissie has not graced us with her presence for the last three sessions of the Royal Court. This event has spared us her odd choice in companions, weasel-like appearance, and addlepated ideas. We thereby gift her with this ceremonial drinking stein with sincere thanks, as we would like her dearly enjoyed absences to continue for a long, long time.
The Assembled Nobles of the Royal Court of Andeluvia
I let out a curse under my breath.
These guys would fit right in with my local neighborhood association.
Of course, I hadn’t put my butt on the line for my neighbors quite as often.
A cackle echoed from the far side of the room. Lords Behnaz and Alvey smirked as they saw my expression. Before I could do anything like burn the damned message, they turned and exited the hall.
“Yeah, this is just fine and dandy,” I said. Then I put the message aside and thumbed the tankard closed as a thought struck me. “But at least I can put this to good use.”
I bade Sir Quinton to retire to his quarters for the day before motioning for Galen to follow me. I picked our way through the scattered seats up to the head of the table, where Magnus was engaged in weary conversation with Sir Jorvath. Jorvath looked very much like I remembered him from the centaur court, though now he wore a human knight’s armor over his transformed body.
The Conspiracy of Unicorns Page 13
