The Equen Queen Page 2

  He considered for a moment. Finally he growled, ‘If anyone tried to put a reverse tile on mine I'd rip his arms off.’

  ‘There! See? Who's going to disagree with that?’ Tab exulted.

  Amelia scratched her head, trying to find a compromise. ‘Maybe we could use the noreversetile rules just for these games?’

  ‘Fine,’ Philmon grumbled, crossing his arms. He stared out into the square where groups of children trained under the instruction of a magician or a guard. Tab followed his gaze and smiled when the Quartermaster, Dorissa, began jumping rope while children chanted, ‘Linky, binky, dinky, dye. Poke a needle in my eye …’

  The magician who had been scribing for their meeting yawned. Tab blushed. Everyone else was pitching in and here she was arguing over such a tiny thing. There wasn't time for that.

  ‘Verris said he wants to see as many games as possible. How about we set up two divisions, Philmon's rules and Vrod's rules?’ she suggested. ‘We might have to draw the line at ripping off arms though.’

  Philmon smiled gratefully. ‘Sounds good. All right, let's move on to flugey.’

  The three bent their heads together over the city map, nutting out the best venue, choosing referees and timekeepers. The scribe reached for another sheet of parchment.

  Before long Captain Kel was ferrying over his crew of sky-traders in groups of ten. They brought baskets of pastries and fruits with them, and caskets of purple gems. Soon everyone in the city was tossing a gem in one hand and munching on a pie with the other.

  A sky-trader named Chak brought the three games organisers a basket of cakes.

  ‘Mmm!’ Amelia licked her fingers. ‘So sweet!’

  ‘Here,’ Chak handed them each a purple jewel.

  ‘What are these anyway?’ Philmon asked.

  ‘They're Loraskian mood stones,’ Chak replied.

  ‘I thought mood stones were supposed to change colour,’ Amelia said, holding it up to her eye.

  ‘It would if you were Loraskian,’ Chak told her. ‘But to us they're about as useful as …’

  ‘Hixasic measuring irons?’ Philmon guessed.

  ‘You got it!’ Chak giggled. ‘Pretty though.’

  Tab reached for another slab of cake. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You're welcome,’ Chak said and she glided out the door, offering her basket of goodies to people as she passed by.

  The sky-traders took to the training enthusiastically. The innkeepers brought their tables out into the streets, or made up trestles with crates and old boards. Inspired Quentarans used the mood stones for baubles, and soon games were breaking out on the steps of buildings or in the alleys.

  The city was ringing with the sound of laughter and cheers, thundering feet and the thwack of hooey balls.

  Verris came into the anteroom to check on the progress of the organising committee. He leaned against the doorframe watching the barely ordered hubbub in the square.

  ‘What do you think, Vrod?’ he asked the troll, who was still propped against the wall just outside.

  ‘Sneakiest way of moving in an army I ever seen,’ Vrod grunted.

  Tab looked up, alarmed. The sky-traders seemed so friendly, and the council so keen to trade that she had automatically taken them at their word. No wonder Verris had handed over the negotiations and the organising to others! Lord Verris wanted to keep his hands free to take care of a much bigger problem.

  She looked around the square and saw that around every entrance to the Archon's Palace one of Verris's guards seemed to lounge, and a whole phalanx apparently engaged in betting on flugey stood just outside the Hub. Not one of them had taken a mood stone or eaten a sky-trader's snack.

  In the middle of the square Verris's right-hand man Borges sent one of the marines some sort of complicated hand signal. She saw the marine nod in reply and then he headed off down the alleyway.

  One look at her friends’ faces told Tab that they hadn't seen this possibility either. Philmon wiped the cake crumbs off the table thoughtfully.

  Then Tab noticed something else. That sly trickster Fontagu Wizroth III lurked in an alley beside the Halls of Justice, absently rubbing one of the purple jewels against his cheek.

  What's he up to? Tab wondered.

  Feast

  Tab had never been to a formal Quentaran feast before. There were six round tables seating ten or twelve, each with a huge cooking pot sunk into the middle of it, warmed underneath by a box full of hot coals.

  ‘What a good idea! It will keep our toes warm,’ Philmon said, rubbing his hands together. The bluestone walls made the palace's formal dining hall quite cold.

  Tab straightened the sleeve of the dress Dorissa had lent to her. Dorissa had tucked it into folds with pins so that it fitted better, and some of them stuck into Tab's ribs if she slouched. It crossed Tab's mind that Dorissa might have done it on purpose so that Tab would sit like a lady. She squirmed under the fabric, realising that this is what she would feel like every day if she had been the daughter of a princess.

  Tab stared at her dining card blankly. Storm, guessing that the three youngsters were not familiar with formal customs, ushered the three of them into a corner.

  ‘There is a course for every day of the week,’ she explained. ‘Root vegetables for Bursday, spices for Leshday, meat for Emmerday, fish for Gramday, leaf vegetables for Imbleday, cheese for Highday. As the night goes on the food in the urn will mingle together and become more soft and flavoursome.’

  ‘So hang back on the early courses,’ Amelia said.

  Storm nodded. ‘The guests toss the raw food into the pot in order of the most important person to the least important.’

  ‘How do I know who is more important than me?’ Tab asked.

  ‘That's easy,’ Storm said. ‘You will always be the least important person at the table.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’ Tab reddened and her friends giggled.

  ‘Once the pot comes to the boil, you take the metal serving tongs in front of you and place a few items from the pot onto the plate of the person on your right. Then you take the wooden eating tongs and eat what has been placed on your plate.’

  ‘If you don't like the person you're sitting next to, you could give them a plate full of algoon root,’ Philmon joked.

  ‘That would be frowned upon,’ Storm told him.

  Tab was starting to get lost. She decided that she would just copy what all the others did. ‘What is this number?’ Tab asked looking at her card.

  ‘This is your next table number. After each course you will move to your next table. The waiters will pass you a warm towel to wipe your hands and your table number for the next course.’

  ‘It sounds very complicated,’ Tab observed.

  Storm smiled. ‘It has been this way for generations. All the guests eat from every urn. Nobody knows where they are going to sit next. The waiters look for signs of potions or powders on your hands when they wipe them after each course. It reduces the chances of people being poisoned. Also everyone gets an equal opportunity to talk to the Archon, or whoever happens to be making the decisions at the time.’

  ‘That makes sense,’ Amelia replied.

  ‘And the food gets better as the night goes on,’ Tab added. She had been paying attention to that part.

  ‘So nobody stuffs themselves like a pig,’ Philmon said.

  ‘So that a level of decorum is maintained,’ Storm corrected.

  ‘What about the course for Lowday?’ Amelia asked.

  ‘After the Highday course is served, the broth is drained from the urns. Each guest takes a bowl out to the steps where the palace guard will have assembled a group of the poorest citizens from lower Quentaris.’

  ‘Isn't that nice?’ Amelia said.

  Storm raised an eyebrow. ‘Nice for the poor, and a sobering reminder of the situation you could find yourself in should the ruler be displeased with something you've said during the evening.’

  Just then a group of six sky-traders, including Captain
Kel and Chak entered the room escorted by the Archon's nephew Florian Eftangeny. Vindon Nibhelline and Tab's old friend Fontagu Wizroth III came in close behind them.

  Storm was not the only one who bristled. Florian was only a boy, but he insisted on attending formal events and sitting at the council table to represent his uncle. The Archon spent much of his time in his rooms. So far the members of the Grand Council tolerated Florian's presence, but mostly they ignored him.

  Florian stood on a small dais in the corner. ‘Please take your seats. Bursday is about to be served,’ he said with a flourish.

  ‘This should be quite a show,’ Storm sighed, consulting her card.

  Tab left her friends to find her seat for the first course, only to discover she was opposite Chak and on the left of Chief Navigator Stelka. Oh no! Tab thought, sure she was going to spill broth all over the sorceress's elegant emerald gown.

  She noticed that the sorceress had already had her Loraskian mood stone made into a striking clasp for her shawl.

  The waiters came around the table with the bowls of food, just as Storm had described. Stelka almost carelessly tossed her bowl of vegetables into the bubbling pot. Chak did the same. Tab noticed several of the other guests at the table looking at each other, cranky at Chak's rudeness.

  ‘After you,’ said the representative from the Undertakers’ Guild to the delegate from the Murderers’ Guild.

  ‘As it is in life,’ the murderess replied, inclining her head.

  Tab waited until they had all taken their turn and then carefully tipped her bowl into the pot. Already the smell wafting up from the broth was enticing.

  ‘And how do you enjoy our sports so far?’ Stelka asked Chak.

  ‘It has been such a wonderful day,’ Chak enthused. ‘Some of the sports are variations on games we have seen before. Baubles has been called “tonks”, “nuts”, or “marbles”. Hooey seems to be a mixture of a number of ball sports that we know, although your scoring system is unique. Lokey spokey is new to us. We're very excited about it and looking forward to learning more tomorrow.’

  One by one the diners used their serving tongs to place chunks of vegetables onto the plate of the person next to them. Tab was nervous but managed to serve Stelka without spilling anything. Tab nibbled her serving slowly, glad that the low simmering of the broth and the buzz of conversation covered the sound of her stomach rumbling.

  ‘We rarely receive such a cordial welcome. Quentarans are a generous people,’ Chak added.

  Stelka smiled. ‘It is kind of you to say so. Perhaps in the spirit of goodwill you would allow some of our navigators to observe how you manage to manoeuvre your sky-city with such agility?’

  Chak put a hand to her chest, as though she had choked. ‘Dear me! It's not often asked. Let me think of an equivalent in your culture.’ Chak used her wooden eating tongs to grasp a strand of honickle fungus out of the broth. ‘Such a request is the same as asking whether a small group from our city might be allowed to see your undergarments.’

  ‘I see,’ Stelka replied, smoothly. ‘And in our culture such a request is akin to serving oneself out of the communal urn.’

  Chak let the fungus drop and it landed back in the broth with a sploosh. ‘Oops! So does this mean I have to show you our bridge, or my undergarments?’

  The diners all laughed.

  ‘Your bridge will do just fine,’ Stelka assured her. ‘We shall make arrangements on the morrow. It has been a great pleasure.’ Stelka stood, indicating that the first course was over.

  Tab joined her friends in the corner between courses. The waiters took the opportunity to refill the coal boxes under the pots, replace the tongs, refill the goblets, and clear away the empty plates and bowls.

  ‘I'd always thought a formal feast would be the best meal in the whole world, but I'm so nervous about doing something wrong that I'm hardly eating anything. I'm still starving!’ Tab complained.

  ‘Florian was so busy trying to impress everyone with his bad jokes that all I got was two bits of fungus.’ Philmon pouted. ‘He's managed to talk his way into a trip to the sky-traders city tomorrow. I wish I was going too.’

  Tab guessed organising the games wasn't as exciting as Philmon had imagined.

  ‘Aren't the dresses beautiful? I wish I had a gown for special nights like this,’ Amelia said, plucking at her plain, borrowed dress.

  Florian called the second course and the three friends made their way to their new tables. Philmon and Tab were at the same table this time.

  When First Lieutenant Crankshaft tipped his bowl of spices into the pot the broth sizzled, crackled and swirled, changing colour. The broth tasted better with the spices added. Tab and her friend ate slowly and listened to the conversation of the older people.

  During the fourth course Tab sat at the same table as Verris and Captain Kel. Fontagu slipped into the seat next to her. ‘Don't forget to eat all your purples.’ He grinned at her.

  ‘You have fungus in your teeth,’ she observed.

  Fontagu blanched and spent the rest of the course trying to lever out the offending fragment with a fingernail.

  Every time Tab tried to take a mouthful, Verris peppered her with questions about what she had planned for the next day. Eventually Verris turned his attention to Captain Kel.

  ‘Those small sky-vessels you have look excellent for shipping goods or people. Tell me, how do you power them?’

  Kel grinned. ‘That would be telling, wouldn't it?’

  ‘Yes, it would,’ Verris replied bluntly.

  The little captain shook his head. ‘You haven't earned enough credit for information like that.’

  Verris tried a new tack. ‘You mentioned something about an animal that heals the sick. I'm curious about it and wonder, have we earned enough credit to purchase one, or perhaps a breeding pair?’

  ‘You speak of the equens,’ Captain Kel replied. ‘Wondrous creatures. We'd be happy to send you two, but sadly they don't breed in pairs. They have a hive structure, like bees or ants. We'll send over two in the morning, and you can have a closer look.’ Captain Kel wiped his mouth with the hem of the tablecloth.

  Fontagu arched an eyebrow at Tab.

  ‘What?’ she whispered.

  ‘Nothing!’ he replied. ‘Nothing at all.’

  By the end of the fifth course Tab was surprised to find she was full – a sensation she hadn't had an opportunity to enjoy all that often.

  ‘My sides may burst,’ she confessed to Amelia as they sat down at the sixth and final table. Luckily the final serving was a single ball of cheese that was soft and slightly melted on the outside. It was soaked with the flavours from the previous courses. Tab was delighted to find that it was both delicious and small.

  Florian stood once more on the dais to make a speech. ‘It is my great honour, and my duty, as one who has the blood of our sovereigns running through his veins, to thank each and every one of you, on behalf of my uncle, a great and glorious leader, and on behalf of all Quentaris. Tonight heralds the beginning of a new era, an era in which our two peoples …’

  ‘Will be great friends,’ interrupted Chief Navigator Stelka. ‘Good night!’

  A cheer echoed in the chamber. Any other of Florian's words were drowned out by the sound of chairs shifting across the flagstone floor, and the din of talk and laughter. The guests stood mingling in loose queues while the servants emptied the urns into the ceramic ‘offering bowls’. One by one the guests peeled away and walked along the candlelit corridor to the front steps where the poor were waiting.

  Tab was concentrating on not tripping on the hem of her dress, and not spilling the contents of her bowl, and so she didn't see her allocated ‘poor person’ until they were literally toe-to-toe.

  ‘Mrs Figgin!’ She was amazed to see the wizened face of her old dosshouse mistress. Tab thrust the dish forward and the broth slopped dangerously toward the bowl's lip. Mrs Figgin took it from her and curtsied. Tab turned and fled.

  Later, lying
in bed Tab wondered if Mrs Figgin was simply too shocked to say anything, or whether she didn't recognise Tab clean and in a dress.

  She lay on her back too full to sleep and groaned. ‘I'll never eat again!’

  ‘Hush, will you?’ Amelia whispered from the bed on the other side of the room. ‘We need to get to sleep. It's nearly time for breakfast.’ The two girls giggled.

  Later in the night Tab awoke with a brief fragment of a dream in her mind. A boy with sandy-coloured skin and chocolate-coloured hair climbed a long, wide rope. His arms shook with strain and the skin on his hands was raw. His face was pressed into a grimace. The boy rested for a moment, straddling the rope, gripping with his fingers. He looked down at the clouds beneath him.

  That's impossible, Tab thought, as sleep washed over her again.

  Inside the Sky-traders’ City

  From a distance the two figures looked like strange birds, but as they got closer Tab guessed they were the equens Verris had asked for being transported from the sky-trader city. They looked like ponies. They were hanging by a sling beneath vast gliding wing craft. A tiny sky-trader steered the craft above while the ponies writhed and thrashed in fear.

  Tab tried to reach them with her mind, to calm them, to let them know it would soon be over, but her head thumped with pain, and instead she held her hands to her cheeks, waited and watched. Her chest started to sting and she realised she had forgotten to breathe.

  The first wing craft coasted lower and lower over the stretch of Barrenlands close to the City Gate, until the equen's hooves nearly touched the ground, pedalling in anticipation. The vision was comical and several of the spectators laughed. Then the equen tripped. It somersaulted once, twice, and then slid along the dirt on its side.

  ‘Ooh!!’ the crowd gasped as one.

  It lay still for a second. Tab's hands balled into fists in dread, and then the equen stood up and shook itself. Dust fell from its hide.