Template: A Novel of the Archonate by Matthew Hughes & Matthew Hughes

Author:Matthew Hughes & Matthew Hughes
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Matthew Hughes
Published: 2013-03-31T04:00:00+00:00

Dinner was served on long trestle tables out in the yard, the news that an interesting off-worlder was staying with the Mordenes having motivated neighbors from several islands to drop in unannounced. But Conn noted that no one came without a steaming pot or well filled basket to add to the bill of fare.

After they ate, he was importuned to tell more tales from his years in the gaming rooms and again deflected inquiries about full flesh contests that had gone to the ultimate outcome. After a while, he steered the conversation to a discussion of birl and tomorrow’s match but soon saw the discussion grow too technical for his grasp of the sport.

When the eating was done and the arguments had finally worn down to trivialities, Eblon stood and announced that the company should now move to the family foranq for an evening of music and conviviality. Several Mordenes and a number of their guests retrieved musical instruments and rhythmics that had been left under the great tree then the patriarch led the way aboard the barge. He stepped aboard at the landward end of the vessel and threw wide a pair of doors carved in close detail, a scene that depicted an epic battle between fish and other sea creatures, some of them real sharks and tentacled decabrachs, others fanciful images of gilled men from maritime myth.

Beyond the doors was a spacious hall. The old man waved a hand and hundreds of lumens set in a half a dozen ornate chandeliers threw a warm glow onto walls half-paneled in dark wood so deeply polished that they resembled somber mirrors. Above the wainscotting was a painted frieze of men and women visible from the shoulders up, their faces representationally rendered, though in a variety of disparate styles and clearly by many different hands. The effect was such that the panels seemed to be a barrier behind which a crowd stood to watch the goings-on on the wide dance floor of sprung wood. Conn examined some of the painted faces and saw resemblances between them and Jenore’s family.

“Yes,” she said, when he asked the obvious question, “they are all Mordenes, all painted from life. My father is already there.” She pointed to a portrait of Eblon Mordene which looked to have been captured when the patriarch was decades younger.

“Will your face be up there someday?” Conn asked.

“If my handedness as a dancer is ever judged good enough,” she said, “though that’s not likely.”

The musicians had grouped themselves on seats at one end of the hall. The family and guests brought chairs and benches in from the walls and became an audience, leaving a broad open space between them and the players – “Some will want to dance,” Jenore said – while the children sat on the floor or in their parents’ laps. She led Conn to a seat in the front row, next to her parents.

A period of tuning and tentative exchanges of riffs and passages ensued, then the ensemble settled on a rolling rhythm that soon evolved into a rousing song about an energetic folk dance.

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