by Scott Meyer
“But why you?” Rayzo asked. “You’re his daughter.”
“That’s why. If things go well, people will assume he’s advising me . . . and that I inherited my military genius from him. If things go badly, he looks selfless for punishing his own daughter. If I get assassinated, he can retaliate as violently as he likes and everyone will understand because he lost his daughter.”
“That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”
“That’s my father. I’ve always been the odd one out in this family. I’m just not cut out to be a Hahn, and he knows it. He sure tells me often enough. He and Mother spent half the trip here making me recite that awful speech I made when we arrived.”
“So, all those things you said, that’s not really how you feel?”
“No. Those were Father’s words. I told him it would be simpler if I just punched you in the face.”
“What did he say?”
“To save that for after we’re married.”
Rayzo spent a moment trying to process what he was hearing, then asked, “If you’re not cut out to be a Hahn, how did they end up calling you the Pig?” As soon as the question left his mouth, he regretted it.
If Shimlish was offended, it didn’t show. “It was a punishment. I disappointed Father, so he started rumors about my hygiene and how I treated the servants. He ordered them to call me the Pig.”
Rayzo said, “I was told that on the Hahn Home World, being called the Pig would be a compliment.”
“If Father did it knowing that I wouldn’t like it, can it really be considered a compliment? Anyway, it’s hardly something all Hahn would consider a tribute. Look at my mother. Do you think she’d be pleased if you referred to her as the Pig?”
Rayzo looked at Lady Inmu Hahn, and had to concede the point. Not only was he certain that such a moniker would not please her, but he doubted he’d ever have the nerve to test the theory and find out. “What could you have done to deserve that?”
“I told him that I was interested in becoming a Master of Formalities, rather than taking over as ruler. The reputation he gave me was humiliating, and it made it impossible for me to ever seek a career in Formalities, like Migg.”
“You and Migg were close?” Rayzo asked. He looked over to where Migg was standing along the wall behind his mother. He still thought of it as Wollard’s spot, and probably always would.
He couldn’t be sure, but he would have sworn Migg had been looking at him, and that she’d looked away the instant he looked back.
“Yes. I don’t know how things are in your palace, Rayzo, but I don’t have any real friends in ours. There’s my family and the servants, who are rightfully terrified of my parents. Migg was really the only one I could talk to. I was so sad when she and Hennik got captured after being sent on that ridiculous tour of the front. It would have been worth taking Hennik back if Migg had come back with him.”
The band continued to play as Rayzo and Shimlish talked, and the servants took up positions around the perimeter of the room for the dinner service. Once everyone was in position, all attention shifted to Chef Barsparse, looking crisp and professional in her cleanest chef’s whites, and flanked by Ebbler. Dressed as immaculately as his supervisor, he was guiding a large, covered grav-platter.
Barsparse ran through a greeting to all those in attendance whom proper form dictated she should acknowledge. It was an impressive act of memorization. Her ability to speak publicly and remember foreign names and pronunciations was what qualified her to be the head chef of a great house rather than the head chef of a great restaurant.
Now that Barsparse had explained whom she was serving, she could move on to the difficult bit, explaining what she was serving.
“Tonight’s entrée is a dish from the home world of our honored guests, the Hahn. It is a preparation of beef, which has been inspected, trimmed, ground to a fine consistency, and will be served in its natural state, at the ambient temperature. On the Hahn Home World, there would be a sprinkling of various pungent indigenous herbs mixed in with the ground beef. These I have replaced with a variety of native Apiosan aromatics, some of which were pickled to heighten their unique flavors.”
Barsparse looked at the faces of the guests, and for the most part, liked what she saw. Smiles.
These were not stupid people. Everyone had been caught unaware at Hennik’s welcome banquet, but word had traveled fast in the aftermath of that meal (much to Lady Jakabitus’s chagrin). This time, the guests had come knowing what to expect from Hahn cuisine; they were either counting on Barsparse to have found a cunning workaround or were planning to skip dinner.
Those who were skipping dinner didn’t care what was being served. Those who were hoping for a pleasant surprise had listened with intense interest as Barsparse described the traditional dish tartare so clearly it could almost have doubled as a recipe.
“The dish,” Barsparse said, “is called drunesplop. My sous chef Ebbler will now personally serve the members of House Jakabitus and House Hahn, in the traditional Hahn manner. Servers will be by with your portions shortly thereafter. As with all Hahn cuisine, the presentation is of paramount importance to the dining experience. I hope you enjoy your meal. It is our honor to serve you.”
Polite applause accompanied Barsparse as she left the floor. Ebbler stood motionless until the noise died down. Once the room was silent, he turned with military precision and approached Lady Jakabitus’s table, pushing the floating covered platter before him. Like all of the guests, she was seated in front of an empty plate and table silver.
Ebbler paused. Lady Jakabitus nodded in encouragement. Ebbler muttered, just loud enough for her and Lord Jakabitus to hear, “I’m sorry, Milady.”
Lady Jakabitus said nothing, but nodded again.
His apology having been delivered, Ebbler squared his shoulders and raised his nose into the air. He grasped the decorative silver dome on his platter, lifted it, and violently cast it to the floor, making a startlingly loud gonglike sound.
The Hahn drunesplop sat on the platter, exposed for all to see. It was a glistening pink pile of raw ground beef with specks of green and dull red mixed in. While it was recognizably tartare, it was easily the least appetizing presentation of the dish any of the guests had ever seen.
Ebbler maintained his proud posture as he cupped his right hand, forming a crude scoop. He thrust his bare hand into the pile of drunesplop and pulled out a warm handful. As he withdrew his hand, a suction was formed that made a wet, squishing sound.
He held the handful of drunesplop aloft, muttered another nearly silent apology, then recited the traditional drunesplop delivery announcement, “And now you receive the meal you deserve.”
Ebbler was stocky, with broad shoulders and thick arms. Usually his build had no effect on the performance of his duties, but his arm strength was a definite plus in this unique situation. He hurled the drunesplop down onto Her Ladyship’s plate with enough force to make it flatten on impact, but not enough to make it splatter or fly apart.
Ebbler muttered, “I am so sorry.”
Lady Jakabitus smiled at him and said, “Thank you.”
Ebbler took one step to the right, stopping in front of Lord Jakabitus.
“Sorry,” Ebbler moaned.
Lord Jakabitus nodded.
Ebbler took another handful, proclaimed, “And now you receive the meal you deserve,” and hurled it at Lord Jakabitus’s plate.
Lord Jakabitus thanked him.
Ebbler moved on to Hennik, who raised one eyebrow and in a loud, clear voice said, “None for me. I’m not hungry.”
Ebbler started to move on to Rayzo and Shimlish’s table, but paused in spite of himself when Hennik whispered, “What? Don’t I get an apology?”
Rayzo accepted his drunesplop as graciously as his parents had. Shimlish quietly declined hers. Before Ebbler could move on, Rayzo, sp
eaking every bit as loud as Hennik had, said, “I’ll take hers.”
Reluctantly, Ebbler flung another handful onto Rayzo’s plate. Shimlish looked at Rayzo with a mixture of amazement and confusion.
Predictably, Lord and Lady Hahn were not feeling peckish. As Ebbler gratefully exited, the Hahns looked expectantly at Lady Jakabitus, waiting for her to have her first taste of drunesplop.
Lady Jakabitus took a dainty but not insubstantial forkful of the dish, placed it in her mouth, closed her eyes as she chewed it, and swallowed. She opened her eyes and looked at Chef Barsparse, who was still standing by, as was customary, and said, “Delicious. Well done, Chef.”
Barsparse bowed and left for the kitchen. The temporary servers moved efficiently throughout the room, reciting the drunesplop introduction and dispensing servings overhand to the waiting guests, who all dug in eagerly.
Lord and Lady Jakabitus made pleasant conversation while they ate their drunesplop. Hennik watched them with open disgust. His expression was matched by his parents’. Lord and Lady Hahn’s heads swiveled and their eyes bulged as they watched the guests devour the drunesplop with what appeared to be genuine pleasure.
Even Shimlish seemed confused by Rayzo’s lack of reticence as he ate his double helping.
“What are you doing?” Shimlish asked.
“Eating,” Rayzo said, enjoying her confusion.
“Drunesplop isn’t for you to eat. It’s for them to eat,” Shimlish hissed as she motioned to the mass of guests.
“I don’t understand,” Rayzo lied. “It’s a Hahn dish. You’re a Hahn. You don’t eat drunesplop?”
“No!”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s repugnant!”
Rayzo looked at his double portion and laughed, because she wasn’t wrong. It certainly didn’t look appetizing. He looked to Lord and Lady Hahn’s table, then to Lord and Lady Jakabitus’s table, and when he saw that none of them were watching, he leaned slightly closer to Shimlish.
“You told me the truth, Shimlish, so I’ll do the same. This stuff you call drunesplop, it’s almost identical to a dish of ours called tartare.”
“You eat this tartare voluntarily?” Shimlish asked.
“Yes.”
“Your parents eat it as well?”
“Yes. My mother would never ask her subjects to do something she wouldn’t do herself.”
Shimlish furrowed her brow. “That’s all my father does, except he doesn’t ask. The whole point of serving drunesplop is to make his followers eat it without eating it himself.”
“So, when you serve drunesplop, what do you and your family have?”
“A snack later.”
They sat in silence for a moment while Shimlish thought about things and Rayzo took another bite of his drunesplop.
“This dish you call tartare. You like it?”
Rayzo looked at his plate, then said, “Well, it’s not my favorite or anything, but I don’t mind it.”
“Why did you ask for my helping, then?”
I’ve started telling her the truth, Rayzo thought. Maybe that’s not the kind of habit I want to break.
Rayzo said, “Take a look at your parents and your brother.”
Shimlish looked over at her family. Lord and Lady Hahn were still speechless with horror. While Lady Hahn was holding a napkin over her mouth, Lord Hahn was squirming uncomfortably in his chair. His chair was, in turn, squirming beneath him because his chair operator misunderstood the situation and was trying to adjust the chair’s position to make Lord Hahn comfortable.
Hennik sat low in his seat, arms folded, sulking, with a look of disgust mixed with resignation.
Rayzo said, “We’ve been living with your brother for a while now. We’ve learned a few things.”
“I see.”
“Would you like to try a bite?” Rayzo asked quietly. “It’s okay if you don’t, but it would really drive your father crazy if you did.”
“Yes,” Shimlish said. “I expect it would.”
Rayzo started to push his plate toward her, then stopped, “You know, it would bother him even more if I fed it to you.”
“Yes,” Shimlish said, “but I don’t think I’m ready to bother him quite that much.”
Rayzo pushed his plate toward his future wife. She took her unused fork in her hand, then said, “Why yes, I will try some.”
Five heads (two of them Jakabitus and three of them Hahn) turned to watch as Shimlish took a small forkful of drunesplop and placed it in her mouth.
After chewing and swallowing, she said, “That’s not bad.”
Lord and Lady Hahn quickly looked away, unable to bear the sight any longer. Hennik returned to his sulking, but Lord and Lady Jakabitus watched for a bit longer.
When they had finally turned away, Shimlish quietly said, “It isn’t very good either.”
Rayzo whispered, “Like I said, it’s not my favorite, but we all do what we must.”
In a louder voice, Rayzo asked, “More?”
“Yes,” Shimlish replied, taking another bite. She chewed it while watching her parents’ table.
“Have you ever heard of a sauce called Chowklud?” Rayzo asked.
“No,” Shimlish admitted.
“It’s a Cappozzian dish.”
“Will it make this stuff better?”
“Better, no, but definitely more amusing.”
Rayzo called out, “Shly?”
Shly came forward eagerly. “Yes, Master Rayzo?”
“My betrothed and I would like some Chowklud.”
Shly failed to hide her surprise. She bulkfabbed them a small bowl of Chowklud, and two tall glasses of water they had not requested.
Rayzo briefly explained to Shimlish how the Chowklud would taste and why someone would want to eat something like that in the first place. He took a large spoonful so she could watch his reaction.
Shimlish took her own spoon, and per Rayzo’s suggestion, barely dipped the end of it into the Chowklud. She then put the spoon in her mouth. One of her eyes slammed shut while the other bulged. Her shoulders heaved, and her mouth formed an exaggerated frown. She maintained this expression for a full five seconds, then began to laugh.
When she was done laughing, she dipped her spoon in again and had another taste.
Lord and Lady Hahn were studiously avoiding any eye contact with their daughter’s table. Hennik was staring, so Rayzo smiled at him. He did not smile back.
Rayzo looked out at the guests, and his eyes fell on Lord Kank, who was watching the events at Rayzo’s table with great interest.
When he realized Rayzo had seen him, Kank smiled, raised both eyebrows, and lifted his glass to Rayzo, who returned the gesture.
67.
Dinner had been much better than expected for both Rayzo and Shimlish, but the next morning was not.
Down in the palace’s Grand Gallery, where the ceremony would take place, preparations were progressing smoothly, or so Lady Jakabitus would have been told had she asked. Upstairs in the Jakabituses’ private chambers, tension was in the air.
Rayzo stood in the center of his room while various temporary staffers helped him get dressed. Of course, Rayzo was ordinarily capable of dressing without help, even when wearing his third or second most-formal uniforms. For this occasion he was wearing his most formal uniform, a silver brocade jacket and pants adorned with so many epaulettes, aglets, and other bits of interconnected polished brass hardware that it was simply impossible for one person to don the entire outfit correctly without help.
When he was fully ensconced in his finery, the staff left Rayzo’s room, and his parents entered to continue the argument they’d started over breakfast. They were both in their most-formal uniforms as well, so decked out in gleaming militaria that one almost suspected that the buttons and medals had b
een added primarily for their value as armor.
“Rayzo,” Lady Jakabitus said, “I’m sorry that what I said upset you, but it’s very important for you to understand that you can’t trust Shimlish Hahn.”
“So, you’re sorry that what you said upset me,” Rayzo said, “but you just repeated the thing that upset me.”
“I’m repeating it because it’s important, Rayzo. You can’t trust her.”
“I never said that I do,” Rayzo said.
“But you haven’t said that you don’t,” Lady Jakabitus countered.
“You two haven’t spoken to her alone,” Rayzo said. “She seems all right.”
“She’s certainly pretty enough,” Lord Jakabitus said sourly, settling into a large wing-backed chair.
“No,” Rayzo said, then stammered, “well, yes, of course she is, but that’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“Yes,” Lady Jakabitus said. “You’ve seen past her pretty exterior and into her beautiful soul.”
Rayzo narrowed his eyes. “Look, I know I’ve only really had one conversation with her. I’m not saying that we’ve fallen madly in love or anything.”
“Good,” Lady Jakabitus said.
“Yes,” Rayzo agreed, “because it would be awful if I loved my future wife. Mother, you’re making me marry her. I didn’t want to yesterday, and I still don’t want to today, and I’m absolutely certain that she feels the same way. I’m just saying that I’ve talked to her, and I think she might not be a monster.”
Lady Jakabitus put her hands on her son’s shoulders and looked into his eyes. “I know, dear. I understand, and I’d like to believe that too, but I can’t. I’m just too worried it’s a trick.”
“I know, Mother, but I don’t think it is.”
“That just means it’s the worst kind of trick.”
“The kind that isn’t a trick at all?”
“No, the kind you fall for.”
“I don’t like it,” Lord Hahn said, sitting in his chair as it paced back and forth, “And by it, I mean him!”