A World Without Heroes
Page 90
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.
“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.
