“Speak,” the rider demanded in a powerful voice, using far more volume than seemed necessary.
“My name is Jason.”
His eyes widened. “Lord Jason of Caberton?”
“Good guess. I have an invitation to the Eternal Feast, and I want to accept it.”
Jason held up the invitation. The rider was speechless.
“It got a little wrinkled and dirty,” Jason apologized. “I’m tired of trying to be a hero. It’s pointless to resist the emperor. Can you help me out?”
The young man in the scarlet cape looked nervous. He surveyed the area in all directions.
“This isn’t a trick,” Jason said. “How do I declare my acceptance of this generous invitation?”
The scarlet rider relaxed a little. “This preempts the message I’m carrying,” he said. “I will see you safely to Bresington. An official escort will take you from there to Harthenham.”
“Lead on,” Jason said, forcing himself not to glance back toward where his friends were hiding.
CHAPTER 20
THE ETERNAL FEAST
A carriage advanced along a well-kept dirt road, passing grassy fields divided by whitewashed wooden fences. From the window Jason stared across the pastoral expanse at his first view of Harthenham Castle.
Tall and graceful, white walls gleaming, the castle seemed plucked from a fairy tale. Beautiful towers abounded, topped by steep conical roofs aflutter with banners. Elegant flying buttresses linked several of the towers to surrounding walls. Dramatic statues of majestic figures glistened on the parapets like angelic gargoyles. Elaborate gold and silver traceries embellished the stonework. Bright flags and standards decorated the great outer wall, which shimmered with opalescent sparkles.
Count Dershan, who sat in the carriage alongside Jason, gestured at the castle. “Many tons of fine crystal were crushed into the mortar to give the walls of Harthenham their ethereal glitter,” he recited reverently. He leaned toward Jason as he spoke, stroking the bushy mustache that flowed into his shaggy sideburns.
“It’s spectacular,” Jason agreed, glancing at the man who shared his compartment. Count Dershan had met him back in Bresington about an hour ago with the carriage and a change of clothes. After almost two days following the scarlet rider Jason was again bedecked in courtly finery and seated comfortably in a plush compartment.
“The highest figure on the castle, the warrior Elwyn, is constructed of pure gold, and his sword is composed of burnished platinum.”
Jason could see the warrior, one hand clinging to the loftiest spire, the other holding his sword aloft. Jason imagined the spire snapping, sending the proud golden warrior on a breakneck plunge into some hidden courtyard. He wished it would happen just so he could see the look on Dershan’s face. The count obviously took great personal pride in the opulence of Harthenham.
“Sadly, we cannot observe the grounds from here,” Dershan continued. “The topiary is exquisite. The garden unparalleled. From the proper perspective the reflecting pool creates a perfect illusion of the castle inverted, complete with clouds and sky.”
“I can hardly wait,” Jason said, hoping to seem like the model newcomer. “I hear the food is pretty good.”
Count Dershan chuckled at the understatement. “Over two hundred specialists devote their lives to collecting and preparing delicacies from all over the continent. No king has ever dined as we do.”
Before long the carriage rattled over the drawbridge and came to a stop beside a portico in an immaculate yard. Several servants stood at attention, wearing powdered wigs and fine livery. None bore weapons, and Jason noticed no guards.
Under the portico awaited a dignified man of about forty years with excellent posture. He wore an impeccable white uniform, complete with a profusion of medals on his chest and gold-fringed epaulets on his shoulders. A rapier was belted to his trim waist. His black hair was clipped short and slicked back, emphasizing his widow’s peak. A meticulously trimmed goatee bristled at the end of his chin. His bronze skin contrasted with the light uniform.
A footman opened the carriage door and set a stool on the ground. Jason followed Count Dershan out of the coach, accepting a hand down from the sallow-faced attendant.
Dershan guided Jason directly to the uniformed gentleman. “Duke Conrad of Harthenham, allow me to introduce our esteemed guest, Lord Jason of Caberton.”
Duke Conrad inclined his head and torso stiffly. Jason mirrored the slight bow. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Conrad said, his words clipped and precise. He extended a gloved hand, and Jason shook it, the firmness of the grip catching him by surprise. Duke Conrad stood a few inches shorter than Jason and stared up at him with keen, dark eyes. His face had a narrowness that accentuated his hollow cheeks and aquiline nose. Jason noticed that Conrad had twisted his gloved hand slightly so that Jason was shaking with his palm upward. A friend had once told Jason that whichever hand was on top won the handshake. Jason opened his hand, ending the subtle contest.
“I was glad to receive your invitation,” Jason said.
“And I am overjoyed to welcome you into my home,” Conrad said with little enthusiasm, his perceptive eyes weighing Jason. “Please feel at liberty to explore the castle and the grounds. Consider all of it yours.”
Jason felt a sudden temptation to ask if he could have one of the duke’s medals. Or maybe just unpin one and put it on. But the goal was not to make this man an enemy. The goal was to appear docile. “I appreciate your hospitality,” he said.
“Come,” Conrad instructed, whirling briskly and leading Jason through an elaborate set of double doors. “Your feast of welcome is in the final stages of preparation.”
Jason followed Duke Conrad down a grand hall to a marble fountain. Emerald liquid splashed from the spout to the basin, giving off a fruity scent. A massive gold and crystal chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling, hundreds of candles flickering. A row of evenly spaced servants stood unmoving against the wall.
“Would you rather dine immediately or retire to your rooms for a time?” Conrad inquired.
“What would you prefer?”
“An answer.”
Jason felt chagrin. Conrad had abrupt arrogance down to an art. “Then I would like to see my rooms first, and eat soon afterward. Will that work?”
“You are the guest of honor,” Conrad said dryly. “We are overjoyed to accommodate your schedule. Derrik.”
A pale servant detached himself from the wall. “Yes, milord.”
“See that the feast is set to commence in thirty minutes.”
The man bowed low and hurried away.
“Cassandra. Conduct Lord Jason to his apartments.”
A woman against the wall lowered her eyes and curtseyed. Jason could not help noticing that several of the female servants were very pretty.
“This way, milord,” Cassandra said courteously.
Jason followed her down halls and up stairs, past magnificent hangings and sculptures, until they reached a set of white doors accented with golden scrollwork that resembled leafy vines. The doorknob was worked into the likeness of a rose.
Cassandra opened the doors and escorted Jason inside.
Jason paused in the doorway, gawking.
He had never seen a more elegant room.
Blues dominated the color scheme, complemented by whites and silvers. Artful arrangements of brilliant flowers blazed from ornate vases, making the room smell like a blossoming field after a gentle rain. Masterful paintings and sculptures were spaced tastefully around the spacious salon. Unobtrusive murals of pastoral scenes decorated the high ceiling. Jewels studded the luxurious furniture. Jason could envision any article in the room behind glass in a museum.
In a neighboring chamber he found an enormous bed. His parents owned a king-size. This was emperor-size, piled with infinitely soft pillows. The deep mattress felt ready to embrace him. The silky sheets were cool and smooth. The fur comforters folded at the foot of the bed surpassed the
plush covers at Trensicourt.
“Are the accommodations satisfactory?” Cassandra asked hesitantly, as if half expecting him to launch into a disgusted tirade.
“It’s perfect. Thank you.”
“I’ll let you know when the feast is ready to begin,” she said, gliding from the room.
Upon further exploration Jason discovered another room with a beautiful bathtub carved out of polished azure stone. His balcony overlooked glorious gardens and manicured hedgerows. Fountains of colored water geysered high into the air. Peacocks strutted about the lawn, some fanning out their spectacular plumage. There were peacocks with feathers of lustrous blue and violet, and others with plumage shimmering in vibrant shades of lime green and yellow, or fiery hues of red and orange. One exotic plot was devoted to a topiary teeming with elaborate hedge sculptures. Some were shaped geometrically, some like fanciful animals; others appeared to be people. One was clipped into a striking likeness of Duke Conrad standing rigid in his uniform.
Jason sat down on the balcony tiles, chin in his hands, considering the allure of Harthenham Castle. Who wouldn’t crave to be a permanent guest here? It would be like living at a luxury resort, the sort of life most people could never attain no matter how hard they worked.
But he knew it was a prison in disguise. A beautiful distraction designed to sidetrack enemies of the emperor. He wondered if the servants were secretly the guards. Certainly they were spies. He wondered if Cassandra carried hidden weapons or poison.
He would need to remain vigilant. He had to find Kimp and make a hasty exit. Despite the size of his bed, he would have to avoid getting too comfortable.
Jason rose and wandered his rooms, examining the artwork. He was thumbing through one of the books in his modest personal library when Cassandra entered.
“The feast is ready, milord,” she said with a curtsey. She escorted him to the dining hall, passing him off to a stiff young servant who directed him to the foot of a very long table that dominated the room. The dining hall was an elongated rectangle with a high roof. Painted carvings hung on the walls. Many guests were already seated. Others were filing in. At the far end of the table sat Duke Conrad. To his immediate left Count Dershan sat grooming his mustache, and to his right a bulky bald man leaned forward in his seat, a feathered hoop dangling from one earlobe, his bare scalp crawling with tattoos. Judging from the tattoos, the bald man was probably Kimp. Jason wondered how often he took off his shirt.
Duke Conrad met eyes with Jason and gave a slight nod. The smug contempt in his gaze implied that Jason now belonged to him.
As Jason scanned the rest of the people at the table, a familiar face surprised him. About halfway down on the left Jason spotted Tark. He looked the same as he had in the revolving tavern, except he was dressed like a prince. Their eyes locked, and Tark waved feebly, clearly embarrassed.
Duke Conrad arose from his high-backed chair, and the remaining guests scurried to their seats, assisted by servants. Many of the other guests were overweight, several grotesquely so. Jason was comfortably the youngest guest in attendance. Duke Conrad cleared his throat, and the room became silent.
“We are gathered here to welcome our newest comrade, Lord Jason of Caberton, who joins us in seeking refuge from a hostile world.” Conrad raised a crystal goblet. “To new friends.”
“Hear, hear; to new friends,” the crowd babbled, hefting goblets and drinking to the statement. Jason filled a spare goblet with water and drank.
“Let the feast commence,” Duke Conrad exclaimed, gesturing like a showman.
The guests cheered. Doors swung open, and an army of servants stormed the table bearing heavily laden trays. Jason could scarcely believe the bountiful variety of edibles that was soon spread before him.
Steaming slabs of prime rib, legs of lamb, cuts of ham, heaps of fowl, fillets of fish, rows of sausage, morsels on skewers, and platters of tender shellfish all vied for his attention. Bowls of fruit, some peeled and slathered in cream, some whole, sat opposite plates piled with vegetables both familiar and foreign.
Jason watched the guests attack the food without restraint. Soon flabby chins dribbled with grease wherever he looked. Chubby fingers were occasionally dipped into silver bowls of scented water and wiped clean on linen napkins only to instantly become messy again as they shuttled more food to eager mouths. Each person at the table had a full complement of silverware, but few paid heed to spoons or forks. Jason noticed that Duke Conrad, Count Dershan, and the tattooed man all ate in moderation with utensils, abstaining from the frenzy displayed by the other guests.
Jason selected a thick cut of steak and found it was the most succulent, perfectly seasoned meat he had ever tasted. It was pink through the center, with a hint of red, and melted juicily in his mouth. As he sampled other delicacies, he began to understand the exuberance displayed by the other guests. He ate decadent shellfish marinated in buttery sauces, chilled fruit that exploded with sweet flavor, and poultry smothered in melted cheese.
Everything was superb.
The variety of delicious tastes was overwhelming.
Only the obscene gluttony of the other guests distracted from the perfection of the meal. Jason noticed that Tark ate little. He did not look over at Jason again. As more courses arrived, Jason tried to pace himself, savoring the food instead of wallowing in it, trying soups, breads, and tangy cheeses.
As the meal proceeded, a group of servants appeared, bearing white, bulbous fruit the size of watermelons. “Oklinder” was repeated around the table in excited whispers.
Servants ceremoniously punctured the glossy white sacks, catching the spilling fluid in silver decanters. A servant carried the first decanter to Jason and filled his goblet. The fluid was clear. He took a probative sip, then gulped down the contents. The natural juice was sweet enough to please the palate, but not so sugary as to make it unrefreshing. The delightful taste was unlike anything he had ever sampled. Since the servant was hovering, he held out his goblet for a refill.
Fresh platters of food continued to appear. The eagerness of the guests began to abate. Jason picked at salty stuffed mushrooms. His stomach felt full of lead.
“And now for dessert,” Duke Conrad cried at last, dabbing his lips with a napkin.
“Dessert, dessert,” echoed many in the company.
Jason wiped his mouth with a napkin. How could he eat anything else?
“I wonder,” the Duke began slyly, directing his gaze toward Jason, “if our new friend has ever sampled the liver of a wizatch.”
Jason found the entire party staring at him. “I haven’t had the pleasure,” Jason said, trying to sound formal, “unless I know it by another name.” Interested murmurs followed the declaration.
Liveried servants busied themselves clearing away the remains of the feast. Tark got up and left the table, shoulders slumped.
Duke Conrad coughed into his fist. “The wizatch is a rodent unlike any other. The finicky creature feeds exclusively upon the nectar of the cheeseblossom—it would starve before taking nourishment from another source. Cheeseblossom nectar is, of course, poisonous to all other known organisms.
“Inside the wizatch, cheeseblossom nectar undergoes a transformation wherein the poison is neutralized and the taste is refined. The liver becomes saturated with purified nectar. Consumed fresh, the liver of a wizatch is the most delectable delicacy of my acquaintance. As you are one of the uninitiated, I insist you inaugurate our dessert by sampling the first batch.”
“Hear, hear,” resounded voices up and down the table.
Jason could not conceive of a more disgusting after-dinner treat than rodent livers, but he succumbed to the general pressure with a grin and a nod. “I’ll try anything once.”
Servants placed a silver bowl before each guest seated at the table. Jason’s contained five beige livers, each smaller than his thumb. Beside Duke Conrad an officious servant held up a shaggy rodent with three tails. “This fortunate wizatch will be spared,” the serv
ant announced.
“Until tomorrow!” shouted a flat-featured man with black hair down to his shoulders. The diners laughed at the remark.
Jason held his fork tentatively. He glanced down the long table. A double row of expectant visages offered encouragement.
“No time to lose,” prompted a blubbery woman wearing a necklace of enormous pearls.
Jason peered into the bowl. The livers looked raw and squishy. He lifted one with his fork and put it in his mouth. As he bit down, his eyes widened. The liver had ruptured, and the warm creamy interior tasted delicious, somewhat like sweetened vanilla with a hint of cheese and banana.
“What is your recommendation?” Duke Conrad inquired, as if the reply were inevitable.
“You were right—these are delicious.”
“Then let us proceed,” Conrad replied, taking a bite.
All along the table people began eating the tiny uncooked livers. Jason greedily finished his without hesitation. With each his enjoyment grew. He could tell he would crave them in the future.
“Now that our palates have been cleansed, bring forth the rest of the dessert,” Conrad commanded with a jovial wave of his hand. Cakes, pies, tarts, éclairs, cinnamon rolls, fruit breads, sugared nuts, puddings, and sherbet appeared in towering quantities. The guests welcomed the onslaught of sweets.
Jason already felt ready to burst, but he tasted a few of the desserts, finding them as delicious as the entrees would have led him to suspect. He could see how living at Harthenham would easily lead to obesity. Across the busy table Duke Conrad saluted Jason with an upraised goblet.
CHAPTER 21
DUEL
Jason spent the next couple of days becoming familiar with the castle. He roamed the grounds, discovering an aviary, a menagerie, an archery range, a kennel full of big boarhounds and mastiffs, two swimming pools, and a large area of closely mown grass for playing a game that seemed a hybrid between soccer and croquet. Inside the castle he found game rooms featuring billiards, darts, duckpin bowling, strategic board games, gambling, and an enclosure where animals were pitted against one another in mortal combat. He came across an area for fencing, a music room full of instruments, and an intimate, elegant theater.