wrong times. As you have already guessed, very soon we shall be serving the main meal of the day. Perhaps I want you to see us working under pressure when we are at our best …” It made a short, untranslatable sound “…or our worst.”
He found himself in another cavern that was a continuation of the one he had just left. Facing him was a large, vertical wall of small, irregular stone blocks built around four open ovens that were burning wood or a similar form of dense, combustible vegetation. There must have been natural ventilation behind the wall because there was no smoke in the kitchen and the steam from the cooking pots that had been moved from the ovens to a long, central table, was being drawn in that direction as well. To the right of the table, which ran from the oven area almost to within a few yards of the entrance, the upper two-thirds of the rock wall was concealed by open cabinets and shelves containing cooking utensils, platters and small drinking vessels, the majority of which had been made by people whose craft had not been pottery. Although crudely made and cracked or with drinking handles missing, he noted with approval, they all appeared to be scrupulously clean.
Below the shelving there was a long trough that was supported on heavy trestles and lined with some form of ceramic filled with continually running water. A few cups and platters were visible under the surface. The wide inlet pipe at one end had no tap, so he guessed that it was fed by a natural spring rather than a storage tank, and at the other end a system of paddle-wheels fed a small generator which was, presumably, responsible for the overhead lighting.
Against the opposite wall were more shelves and open cabinets, wider spaced and more crudely built, containing what Gurronsevas guessed were the stores of Wem-edible vegetation and fuel for the ovens. Neither were in plentiful supply.
Gurronsevas followed Remrath around the kitchen, content to allow the Wem cook-healer to do all the talking, especially as the purpose of the very basic equipment was already clear and he had no need to ask questions. He was silent even when Remrath paused before a long, low cabinet positioned below the trough of running water beside the paddle-wheels and splashed by them.
There was a wide flange around the outward-facing edges of the cabinet which prevented water from seeping into its double doors, which hung open to reveal an empty interior. A simple but effective method of cooling by evaporation, he thought. Nowhere else was there anything that resembled a cold storage facility that would have indicated the presence of fresh meat.
In the light of his knowledge that the Wem were cannibals, Gurronsevas did not know whether to feel relieved or worried.
The tour of the kitchen ended with a return to the oven area where the contents of several cooking pots were simmering gently and others were on the side table, covered by thick cloths to keep them warm. Remrath said suddenly, “You have said very little, Gurronsevas, and asked no questions. Is the sight of our primitive methods of food preparation abhorrent to you?”
“To the contrary, Remrath,” he replied firmly. “In essence, kitchens have been very much the same on every world I’ve visited, but it is the small differences that I find of greatest interest. I have many questions for you …” He reached for a large wooden spoon that lay beside a simmering pot that had not yet been covered. “…and the first one is, may I be permitted to taste this? Please excuse me for a moment. My colleagues are talking to me.”
It would have been truer to say, Gurronsevas thought angrily, that they were talking about him.“… Whether through ignorance or stupidity or both!” Captain Fletcher was saying. “Doctor Prilicla,
“Friend Gurronsevas,” Prilicla broke in. “Is this true? Are you about to eat Wem food?”
“No, Doctor,” he replied, bypassing the translator. “I am about to taste the smallest possible portion of a Wem dish. With respect, I would remind everyone that I have a well-educated palate combined with a highly developed sense of smell, and that I would be immediately aware of it if any dish is likely to prove harmful. Since I do not intend to swallow, there is no risk of ingesting possibly toxic material. As well, in consistency the dish is something between a thin vegetable stew and a thick soup which has been boiling in a covered container for more than an hour. I am grateful for your concern, Doctor, but it is not in my nature to take stupid risks.” There was a moment’s silence, then Prilicla said, “Very well, friend Gurronsevas, but if you should inadvertently swallow something, especially if it has any unusual or unpleasant effects, return to the ship at once. Be very careful.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” said Gurronsevas, “I most surely will.” He was about to resume speaking to Remrath when the Cinrusskin went on quickly, “You may have been too busy to listen to our conversation with Tawsar, or fully understand what you heard. The current position is that, with Tawsar’s willing cooperation, we have obtained all the physiological data that we need at present and it will require further study on
“This seems like the right time for us to break off contact without the risk of giving offense,” it continued. “The imminent arrival of the working parties for their midday meal allows us to say, truthfully where everyone but Danalta is concerned, that we must return to the ship for the same purpose. Please complete your food-tasting as quickly as possible, apologize to the kitchen staff and say that you must return with us. They will assume that you, too, are due a meal. Join us as we pass the kitchen entrance in a few minutes time.”
Gurronsevas was holding the long spoon a few inches above the simmering contents of the pot. As Remrath watched and listened to his untranslated words to Prilicla, he knew that it must be feeling irritated at being excluded from the conversation. Had their positions been reversed, Gurronsevas would certainly have been angry, but suddenly he found that he could not speak to either of them.
“Your emotional radiation is difficult to resolve at this range,” said Prilicla, “especially with the kitchen staff adding their own emotions. Is there a problem, friend Gurronsevas?”
“No, Doctor,” he replied, “not if …How sure are you that the Wem mean us no harm?”
“I am as sure as an empath can be about the feelings of others,” Prilicla replied. “The kitchen staff are radiating curiosity and caution normal to the situation, but no hostility. Not being a telepath I cannot tell what they are actually thinking, and because of this there is a small element of doubt. Why do you ask?”
Gurronsevas was still trying to find the right words for his reply when Prilicla spoke again.
It said, “Is it because you are radiating an intense curiosity, presumably a professional curiosity, considering your present surroundings, and do not wish to leave until it is satisfied? Or is it that you feel more comfortable in a kitchen among other-species cooks than with the medics on the casualty deck of an ambulance ship?”
“Are you
“I am sorry, friend Gurronsevas,” said Prilicla, “I had no wish to embarrass you because your embarrassment affects me. You may remain in the kitchen, but Doctor Danalta will stay with you as a protector. It is not capable of hurting any other intelligent being, but friend Danalta can assume some truly fearsome shapes if attacked. Should your situation there become dangerous, make your way quickly to the wooden outer wall and onto the lip of the cavern mouth, where friend Fletcher will lift you to safety with a tractor-beam.
“While you are satisfying your culinary curiosity,” it went on, “do you think you could widen the conversation to include general questions on the Wem social and cultural background, both past and present if possible? Do not be too obvious about it, and move away from subjects that appear to be sensitive. It may be that you will have more success with Remrath than we’ve had with Tawsar.
“Do not waste time replying,” it ended. “I can feel Remrath’s impatience growing very rapidly.”
“Sorry for the interruption, Remrath,” he said, doing as he had been told. “My friends, all but the one called Danalta, need to return to the ship for their own meal and this, your own eating period, seems like an opportune time. You will find Danalta an interesting being who is able to change shape at will. It can go without food for long periods, even longer than I myself can do. It is much smaller than I, a healer but not a cook, and with your permission I would like it to observe the workings of your kitchen.”
Remrath, Gurronsevas suspected, knew as well as he did that there was another reason for Danalta’s presence. The concept of there being safety in numbers was one shared by every thinking race.
“Your friend is welcome so long as it doesn’t obstruct us,” said Remrath, then pointed a bony digit at the spoon Gurronsevas was still holding above the pot. “Are you going to do something with that?”
Ignoring the sarcasm, Gurronsevas dipped the spoon into the greenish-brown, bubbling mass, stirred it briefly to feel the consistency, then raised a spoonful to his breathing orifice until he judged the temperature to be cool
