Venator by James Bubela

Author:James Bubela [Bubela, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781999049300
Publisher: James Bubela
Published: 2019-12-05T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The outside air grew cold at night, which had helped with overheating during Lorin's intense training, but for a celebration feast it had a nasty bite. Large braziers had been brought out and set around the guests, painting the lush courtyard in flickering light that intermingled with the fading sun. The fresh air outside both excited and steadied Lorin. The courtyard felt more alive as the night went on with people talking, laughing, telling stories. Servants, including Lorin, rushed from guest to guest, filling wine and beer, bringing food to both tables, and taking away scraps. While a few remained standing, most guests sat along the parallel tables—one clearly set for highborn, their goblets and cutlery shining silver and their chairs plush and tall. The other table, little more than a bench, was set without a tablecloth or individual seating. Wooden cutlery and no drinks besides water were scattered in tight clusters down its length. The food, however, was distributed evenly between the two tables. A queue of beggars, cripples, farmers, whores, and really any common men or women had lined up at the courtyard entrance. When a place at the table was vacated either by choice or force—there was an hour time limit—guards would walk up with a new guest from the line to the head table. The less-than-noble would bless or thank the couple and then be seated in the empty spot and served a plate fresh from the kitchen. The whole courtyard smelled of Varron's desperation to impress.

Lorin didn't feel much time had passed while he was getting cleaned up and dressed. But when he first emerged into the courtyard he saw that the once-empty throne above the happy couple was now filled. The Baron reclined with one leg on the bone armrest made to look like a lion paw, and drank from a keg-sized tankard, spilling beer out the sides of his mouth and down his beard. He laughed, belched, and groped the servants that tended to him. In truth he could be a jolly man, but the air around him felt too still and heavy for that. He paid no mind to the folk brought up before his son—he didn't look at anything, really, other than down the shirts he pulled or the skirts he lifted. His servants had been picked specifically for him—three girls from a house of ill repute and two other servants chosen from the volunteers. The two from the crowd looked as shaky as Lorin felt.

Like father like son.

A new problem presented itself with the Baron's arrival; Thornguard had been added around the table, making a total of twelve guards, all standing tall, bravely ignoring the yips from the molested girls.

Playing the role of a servant proved simple: don't speak, do what you are asked, and keep your head low. Perfect. At first, Lorin followed a mid-forties servant who seemed quite adept at her duties, and matched her priorities and actions—filling empty mugs, collecting dirty dishes, and bringing over fresh platters when necessary.

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