The Dragon, the Earl, and the Troll by Dickson Gordon R

Author:Dickson, Gordon R. [Dickson, Gordon R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Adventure, Fiction, Science Fiction, Humour, General, Fantasy
ISBN: 9781627934947
Google: VTkfAwAAQBAJ
Amazon: B00GS9FLJC
Goodreads: 18915233
Publisher: Start Science Fiction
Published: 1994-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

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CHAPTER 25

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Jim, Angie and the Earl went to dinner. There was no choice in the matter, at least for Jim and Angie, since as Brian had pointed out, they had been absent too often and too long. Of course, they were a little late coming in; but the Earl was a law unto himself as far as that went, and Jim and Angie would have looked far more laggardly if they came in without him.

Jim was out on his feet. True, he had had a full night of slumber, but it had been drunken slumber, and it seemed to him he had been traveling at ninety miles an hour from the moment he woke up; only to end by smashing up against—as Carolinus had not hesitated to point out—a complete failure to reconcile the Earl and Mnrogar. Nonetheless, he did the best he could to seem as if he was enjoying the meal.

It helped that Angie was free to talk to him this time. It was the middle-aged lady who usually sat on his left, who was missing. Her seat had been filled by a thin cleric in a black robe, about fifty years of age, who peered keenly at everyone around him, and then ignored them completely. The result was that Jim was almost as free to talk to Angie as if they were back up in their rooms, the only drawback being that Jim was really not up to talking about anything much at the time.

"I don't think I can keep my eyes open for five minutes longer," he murmured to Angie, after they had been sitting at the table for nearly three hours.

"Try to hang on until the last of the food is over, anyway," murmured Angie. "It won't be long now. They're bringing the Troycreme right at the moment."

"Oooh, good!" squeaked a juvenile voice from the far end of the table, its high tones carrying it through the adult conversation intervening. Jim leaned forward to see the boy-Bishop—that youngster from the Bishop's cathedral who had been brought along in the real Bishop's retinue. It was part of the season that a boy should be dressed up like a miniature Bishop, fed at the high table with the rest of them and servitors bowing to him, treating him in every way like Richard de Bisby himself. Right now Jim saw him happily digging with his spoon into the bowl just set before him. There was nothing wrong with him, Jim thought darkly; he was probably a good kid, but his high-pitched tones seemed to override all other conversation.

Thankfully, tomorrow would be the end of his role-playing. Today was the day of Saint John the Evangelist. Tomorrow was the day of the Holy Innocents—with the children's mass—and after that the little imitation Bishop would go back to being an ordinary boy again. Meanwhile, his voice seemed to pierce Jim's head from ear to ear, for his headache had returned.

Jim sat back, grumpily. One more dish.

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