The Eagle And The Nightingales

'Of course,' T'fyrr agreed, allowing his irony to show. 'I'm not at all surprised.'

Harperus took his leave_and T'fyrr swallowed his own feeling of panic at being entirely alone in this situation and went to look for 'his' servant. He found Nob putting away the last of his belongings in a snug little room just off the bathroom. When he suggested food, Nob was not only willing, he was eager, suggesting to T'fyrr that it was probably well past the boy's usual dinnertime.

Or else, that like small males of every species, he was always hungry.

But when Nob returned with servants bearing dinner, it was with many servants bearing dinner, and with three of the King's Advisors following behind. T'fyrr welcomed them, quickly covering his surprise, and invited them to take seats while the servants made one small table into a large table, set places for all of them, and vanished, leaving Nob to serve as their waiter.

'If you would arrange yourselves as is proper, my lords,' he said finally, 'I have no idea of precedence among you, except that you are all greatly above my rank. I would not care to offend any of you.'

His three unexpected dinner guests all displayed various levels of amusement. Lord Seneschal Acreon actually chuckled; Lord Secretary Atrovel (a cocky little man who clearly possessed an enormous ego) smirked slightly. Lord Artificer Levan Pendleton only raised his eyebrows and smiled. The Seneschal, a greying man so utterly ordinary that the only things memorable about him were his silver-embroidered grey silk robes and chain of office, took charge of the situation.

'As our host, Sire T'fyrr, you must take the head of the table. As the lowest in rank, I must take the foot_'

Lord Levan and Lord Atrovel both made token protests, which the Seneschal dismissed, as they obviously expected him to.

'Lord Secretary, Lord Artificer, I leave it to you to choose left or right hand,' the Seneschal concluded.

Atrovel, a short, wiry, dark-haired man robed in blue and gold, grinned. 'Well, since no one has ever accused me of being sinister, I shall take the right,' he punned. Levan Pendleton cast his eyes up to the ornately painted ceiling, but did not groan.

'Since I am often accused of just that, it does seem appropriate,' he agreed, taking the seat at T'fyrr's left. 'We are all here, Sire T'fyrr, in hopes of showing you that not everyone in the King's Council is_ah_distressed by your presence.'

Acreon winced. 'So blunt, Levan?' he chided. The Lord Artificer only shrugged.

'I can afford to be blunt, Acreon,' the man replied, and turned again to T'fyrr. T'fyrr found him fascinating; the most birdlike human he had yet met. His head sported a thick crest of greying black hair; his face was sharp and his nose quite prominent. Perched on the nose was a pair of spectacles; they enlarged his eyes and made him look very owl-like. The rest of the man was hidden in his silvery-grey robe of state, but from the way it hung on him, T'fyrr suspected he was cadaverously thin.

'Why can you afford to be blunt, my lord?' T'fyrr asked, a bit boldly. The human laughed.

'Because I am in charge of those who make strange devices, Sire T'fyrr,' he replied genially. 'No one knows if they are magical or not, so no one cares to discover if I can accomplish more than I claim to be able to do. That is why folk think me sinister.'

'That, and the delightful little exploding toys, and the cannon you have conjured,' Atrovel said with a smirk. 'No one wants to retire to his room only to find one of those waiting for him, either.'

'Oh, piff,' Levan said, waving a dismissive hand. 'They're too easy to trace. If I were going to get rid of someone, I'd choose a much subtler weapon. Poison delivered in a completely unexpected manner, for instance. In bathwater, or a bouquet of flowers. It would be a fascinating experiment, just to find out what kind of dosage would be fatal under those circumstances.' And he turned toward Nob, who was offering a plate of sliced meat, his eyes wide as the plate. 'Thank you, child_and I'll have some of that pudding, as well.'

'There, you see?' Atrovel threw up his hands. 'No wonder no one wants to dine with you! You'd poison us all just to see how we reacted!' He helped himself to the meat Nob brought him, and turned toward T'fyrr. 'Levan would like to get on your good side because his worst rival is Lord Commerce Gorode; he's in charge of the Manufactory Guild, and they are always trying to purloin Artificers' designs without paying for them_and Lord Gorode already hates you just because you aren't human.'

'Ah,' T'fyrr said, nonplussed at this barrage of apparent honesty. He hoped that Harperus' little 'devices' were hearing all of this.

'The Seneschal,' Atrovel continued, pointing his fork at Acreon, who munched quietly on a plate of green things without saying a word, 'is on your side because he actually thinks you're honest. Are you?'

'I try to be,' T'fyrr managed, and both Levan and Atrovel broke into howls of laughter.