by Scott Meyer
“It’s pointless for me to attend this lunch,” Hennik shouted, “as the sight of each and every one of you causes me to lose my appetite! Not that your chef makes it any easier with the garbage she serves. It will be a race to see what makes me vomit first, the cuisine or the company!”
Lord Kank rose to his feet and spread his arms wide. “Ah, you must be Hennik, the scion of the Hahn Empire I’ve heard so much about.”
The warmth of Lord Kank’s greeting, paired with the grim nature of his attire, confused Hennik into a stunned silence as he glided around the end of the table. Only his confused eyes and furrowed brow were visible over the tabletop as he came to a stop behind the empty chair next to Rayzo.
Hennik looked up at the oddly welcoming Lord Kank, then over at Lord and Lady Jakabitus, both of whom were now also standing, looking down at him. He found the Jakabituses hateful, but they were at least familiar, and they might be able to explain the identity of this strange man to him.
He also wondered why everyone was smiling.
“Hennik,” Lady Jakabitus said, “this is Lord Kank, ruler of the Cappozzi.”
“Oh,” Hennik said, still sitting sullenly on the floor. “I’ve heard of your people. My father says you’re all twisted and perverse.”
“Wonderful,” Lord Kank said, delighted. “Please, Hennik, have a seat and tell me more.”
Lady Jakabitus was still smiling, and Lord Jakabitus seemed to be stifling a laugh. Even Rayzo seemed happy as he pulled out Hennik’s seat.
Hennik eyed his dining companions suspiciously, then turned his attention to Migg, who stood by the wall with her new apprentice, trying hard not to smile.
Hennik was not pleased with Migg. He had kept her secret and given her the honor of serving him, and in return she had destroyed his moment of triumph over the Jakabitus family by revealing his father’s order, which she’d hidden from him for weeks. In some ways, he hated Migg most of all.
It went without saying that the happy atmosphere of the room was not at all to Hennik’s liking. He looked up at Lady Jakabitus from his spot on the floor and said, “Of course, I always intended to come to lunch. I decided as much before you decided to invite me. I simply didn’t care enough to walk here under my own power, so I manipulated your security apparatus to meet my needs.”
Lord Kank said, “Very good,” in a slow, awed tone, as if he’d just watched a great artist paint a masterpiece in a few simple strokes.
Lady Jakabitus said, “Of course, Hennik. Please, sit.”
Hennik rose to his feet. He sneered at Rayzo, who was still holding out an empty chair for him, and yanked the chair out of Rayzo’s hand, as if he intended to carry it rather than sit in it. Instead of reacting the way Hennik had hoped he would, Rayzo smirked at his parents and Lord Kank, who looked on with approval.
Hennik let go of the chair, then sat down slowly, as if he expected the chair to collapse out from under him.
Everyone else at the table was still standing, looking down at him expectantly. Hennik was lost, so he did what he did whenever he didn’t know what to do. He imitated his father.
“Sit,” Hennik said.
Lord Kank asked, “Lady Jakabitus, shall we sit?”
“Yes, Lord Kank, I believe we shall.”
Lord and Lady Jakabitus, Lord Kank, and Rayzo all sat, but they continued to watch Hennik, particularly Kank.
Hennik beheld Kank with an expression that oozed contempt. “What are you looking at?” he snarled.
“You, Master Hennik.”
“Why?”
“For my personal betterment. I believe I can improve myself greatly by observing you.”
Hennik raised an eyebrow. “Quite right,” he said. Clearly, this Kank character recognized the finer qualities of the Hahn bloodline and culture.
Rayzo turned his back to Hennik and shook his head.
Poor boy, Hennik thought. He doesn’t want me to see his anguish at having this visitor recognize my superiority. He probably realizes now that when my forced adoption of him was thwarted by his jealous birth parents he lost his best chance to learn from me.
A chime rang out and Chef Barsparse, flanked by Kreet and Shly, entered the dining room. Kreet was guiding a large grav-platter loaded with five steaming plates. As Kreet delivered the beautifully composed dishes to the seated guests, Chef Barsparse explained that she and her sous chef had prepared indigenous Apiosan meats and vegetables in the traditional Cappozzian manner, by steaming and boiling the ingredients until they lost all flavor and structural integrity.
“Please correct me if I am wrong, Lord Kank,” Barsparse said, “but the idea is to render the actual nutrients as bland and uninteresting as possible so they will not distract the diner’s palate from the sauce.”
“Quite so,” Lord Kank said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.
Shly silently filled everyone’s glasses with whatever beverage they chose as Kreet made another lap of the diners, delivering ramekins of a thick blood-red sauce.
Barsparse continued. “The sauce,” she said, “is called Chowklud, and is served with every meal on Cappozzi. It has a strong flavor, and I suggest you use it sparingly. You might want to start by lightly dipping a small portion of a single forkful in it.”
Lord Kank dipped the tines of his fork into the Chowklud sauce, then put it in his mouth. He emitted a satisfied hum, then turned to Barsparse and said, “My compliments. Your Chowklud is quite authentic.”
Barsparse bowed.
Lord Kank poured the sauce on his food, but stopped abruptly when Lady Jakabitus started to follow suit.
“You don’t want to do that, Lady Jakabitus,” he said. “I am accustomed to the flavor. You are not. I promise, there is no shame in showing restraint in this case. Please, try a small bit first, as your chef suggested.”
Lady Jakabitus put down the ramekin, then dipped her fork as Kank had. She tasted the sauce, then after a long silence said, “Perhaps I will enjoy this sauce on the side.”
“Perhaps you will,” Lord Kank said as he poured his entire allotment of the sauce on his food. “It does no permanent damage, of course, but your nerve endings don’t know that.”
Lord Jakabitus tested a small amount of the sauce too, and openly grimaced. Hennik sniffed it, then set the entire container aside. Rayzo looked meaningfully at Lord Kank, then dumped all of his sauce on his food as the Cappozian had.
“Rayzo,” Lady Jakabitus gasped.
Lord Jakabitus said, “Son, no, really. Don’t.”
Hennik smiled, and said, “You idiot.”
Lord Kank sat motionless for a moment, then said, “Rayzo, you didn’t have to do that.”
Rayzo said, “I know. I chose to.” He took a forkful of food smothered in Chowklud sauce, and without taking his eyes off Lord Kank, put it in his mouth.
Rayzo had tasted things that were sour, and things that were spicy, and things that were so cold they made his brain hurt. This was the first time he’d tasted something that stung. It was like having a mouthful of bee venom, only the bees were in his mouth with it. Rayzo’s tongue and throat seemed to vibrate with pain. He struggled to reassure himself that his tongue and teeth were not suffering permanent damage, but the pain flushed all other thoughts from his conscious mind, leaving behind nothing but itself, and the will to keep chewing. It was important to chew thoroughly. For if eating the Chowklud was this unpleasant, he didn’t want to even imagine choking on it.
Rayzo finished chewing, then swallowed and opened his eyes. He knew that the reward he was supposed to gain from his suffering was a long-term enhancement of his character, but the looks on his parents’ faces was pretty rewarding in the short-term.
Lord Kank asked Rayzo, “Do you like it?”
Rayzo smiled, said, “No,” and took another bite.
Lord Jakabitus turned to Barspa
rse, who was standing against the wall, looking on in amazement. “Chef, is this Chowklud something you could make again easily?”
Barsparse continued to watch Rayzo eat as she answered. “Making it from scratch this first time was tricky, Milord, but now it’s in the bulkfabs, so Master Rayzo can get more anytime he wants.”
Rayzo committed a terrible breach of manners by saying, “Good,” with a full mouth.
“Very good,” Lord Kank said. “Very good indeed!”
Hennik dipped a fork in his serving of Chowklud, then touched it to his tongue, emitted a strangled gagging noise, and spat the trace amount he’d sampled into his napkin, which he then used to wipe any remaining sauce residue off his tongue. As he watched Hennik, Rayzo swallowed his second mouthful and prepared a third.
Hennik said, “I’m impressed, Rayzo. You’re so much dumber than I ever thought, and I thought you were pretty dumb.”
“Why do you believe his intelligence is lacking?” Lord Kank asked.
“Because he’s not smart enough to avoid pain. Even worms have figured out that essential concept. You and he are the only two who seem unclear on it.”
“Ah, but Hennik, my people have a saying. From suffering comes reward. We believe that hardship makes us stronger.”
Hennik rolled his eyes. “That’s what losers always tell themselves. The truth is that not suffering is its own reward, and winning means you’re already strong enough.”
“I’d be careful if I were you,” Lord Kank said. “You’re coming dangerously close to insulting my people’s most deeply cherished beliefs.”
“The fact that you would be careful is precisely why you’ll never be me,” Hennik said, “and I’m not coming close to insulting your beliefs, I’m deliberately doing exactly that. My prerogative to do so is one of my culture’s most deeply cherished beliefs.”
Lord Kank remained motionless for a long time before finally saying, “If you were a man my age, I’d challenge you to settle this by combat, to the death.”
“If you were a man, my age wouldn’t stop you,” Hennik replied.
“Novich,” Kank said, “am I correct that it would be poor form for me to challenge, then assault and murder the young Hahn at this time?”
“Yes, Lord Kank, although I suspect my colleagues would agree that you have been provoked.”
“Indeed,” Migg agreed. “The age, size, and experience differentials would render trial by lethal combat untenable, as far as the Formalities are concerned.”
“What if the combat were something nonlethal, and I chose a champion? Someone who has my respect, but is closer in age and size to the Hahn?”
Novich considered this. “If the combat were, as you say, nonlethal, and your champion participated voluntarily, I believe form would be satisfied. Do you concur, Migg?”
“Yes,” Migg said. “That would be acceptable, and as I suspect I know which champion you have in mind, I might further suggest that you select Apiosan sports as the designated form of non-lethal combat. Both combatants would, hypothetically, be well acquainted with the rules, and we have the facilities readily at hand.”
Without turning his gaze away from Hennik, Lord Kank asked, “What do you say, Rayzo? Will you be my culture’s champion?”
Lady Jakabitus started to object, but stopped when she felt Lord Jakabitus squeeze her hand. She looked at her husband. He nodded with an air of great confidence.
Hennik said, “That’s probably the only good idea you’ve ever had, Kank! What do you say, Rayzo? Are you brave enough to face me again?”
Rayzo swallowed the mouthful of food he’d been working on, then opened his eyes and loaded more food onto his fork.
“Sure,” he said. “Just let me finish my lunch first.”
56.
The kitchen was bustling. Rayzo and Hennik’s sports match was a special event, and special events called for special refreshments, even if they happened right after lunch. Barsparse and Ebbler would have prepared finger food in any case, more because Barsparse preferred to be prepared for every eventuality than because the guests were likely to want it. In this instance, Barsparse suspected that the canapés would be appreciated, as Rayzo was the only person to have eaten much at lunch.
Barsparse and Ebbler were concentrating on producing these impromptu snacks while Gint butchered a carcass of some sort. It was a task to which he was still well suited, so Barsparse set him to work even though game meat was not actually on the evening menu. Glaz stood by at a safe distance, observing Gint’s workmanship and trying to think of a job at the palace that might fit his new skill set. Umily stood near Ebbler and Shly, listening to their conversation in an effort to avoid Gint.
Kreet stood by the door, grav-platter at the ready, waiting and watching. He waited for the signal that the canapés were ready, and he watched as Ebbler delayed that signal by splitting his efforts between cooking and asking Shly questions about what had happened at lunch. Sure, Umily was standing there too, but as usual, the conversation was all Ebbler and Shly.
“He ate the whole thing?”
“Yeah, every bit of it. Is it really that bad?”
“I tasted some when Chef was making it. Just dipping my finger in it was painful. Tasting it was like eating pure hurt.”
The phrase pure hurt caught Kreet’s attention. It was a good description for how he felt as he watched Shly and Ebbler. He’d been a fool not to see it before. Though he and Barsparse had watched the whole scene unfold as well, Ebbler had only asked Shly about it . . . and she’d dropped everything to tell him.
Kreet looked at the floor, where Shly’s bulkfab sat neglected while she gossiped with her wannabe boyfriend.
It’s a nice, cozy setup for them, Kreet thought. Because they work together, they get most of the benefits of being in a relationship without having to do anything serious, like actually admitting how they feel to anyone, even themselves.
He glanced down at Shly’s bulkfab again and thought, Yup, it’s a sweet setup. Sweeter than they deserve.
He looked at the lovebirds, engrossed in each other. Without anyone noticing, he bent down to make some adjustments to Shly’s bulkfab, covering his action by fiddling with his shoe. That done, he casually strolled to a bare spot of wall several feet away and waited for the food.
Once the food was ready, Kreet placed the canapés on his grav-platter as quickly as Ebbler could finish them. He made a point of not looking at, talking to, or acknowledging the existence of Shly, and he only interacted with Ebbler as much as was strictly necessary to do his job. Once his platter was loaded, he spun on his heels and left at top speed.
“What’s his problem?” Ebbler asked.
“I don’t know how to answer that. I couldn’t possibly narrow it down to one,” Shly moaned.
“He’s really getting to you, isn’t he?” Umily asked.
“I try to ignore him, but then he tries to offend me by ignoring me, so it just magnifies the effect when I ignore him back. It’s bad enough that I have to work with him at regular meals. I really didn’t need an extra event thrown in.”
“Let me cover for you,” Umily said. “I know how to work the bulkfab. Besides, this way, you won’t have to deal with Kreet, and it’ll help me get my mind off . . . things.”
Shly glanced at Gint just in time to see him attempt to remove a steak from the rear of the carcass by stabbing it off.
Shly called out, “Glaz, is it okay if Umily covers for me for a little while? I’m not feeling well.”
Glaz had trouble hearing Shly over the racket of Gint grunting obscenities as he hacked away at the meat, but she managed to piece together what had been said, and replied, “That’ll be fine. Go get some rest, dear.” Though the words were carefully chosen and delivered kindly, the message was clear. It’s fine if you don’t feel up to doing your work, but don’t think you’ll stay here talking
instead.
Umily picked up Shly’s bulkfab machine, grabbed a stack of glasses, and headed to the training room.
Shly called out after her, “I leave it set to His Lordship’s favorite. If you start with him, you’ll look like a mind reader.” She turned back to Ebbler. “If she’s going to be a friend and cover for me, I might as well help her look good.”
57.
The advantage round of the match was already in full swing when Umily ducked in through the training room door. Lord and Lady Jakabitus and Lord Kank were sitting in the ringside seats, watching the proceedings with great interest. Migg, Phee, and the visiting Master of Formalities stood behind them, while Hartchar stood sentinel at the far edge of the ring, exuding quiet confidence.
Kreet waited by the door with his platter of canapés. He glanced at Umily with obvious surprise. Umily smiled at him. That’s right, she thought. You won’t get to make Shly uncomfortable this time.
On the mat, Hennik was slapping Rayzo with great speed but little force. Rayzo was not lifting a single finger to defend himself. As the final seconds of the round ticked away, Rayzo lashed out with one forceful slap across Hennik’s face that reverberated through the room and left a red handprint on the Hahn boy’s cheek. It didn’t change the outcome. Hennik had still earned the advantage, but instead of feeling triumphant, he was hurt and angry.
Umily capitalized on the brief pause between rounds to dart forward and offer the Lady and the Lords a beverage. Kreet had stepped toward her as if he intended to say something, but she didn’t feel like discussing Shly with him, and besides, duty called.
“Would His Lordship like his usual?” Umily asked. Lord Jakabitus said yes and thanked her, but he was preoccupied, whispering to Lady Jakabitus and Lord Kank about the match as she poured his drink.
“He threw that round on purpose. He and Hartchar have determined that there’s an advantage to letting Hennik start with the upper hand.”
