“How would I know? I was never allowed to visit any. The only one I ever met was the one Aelina picked out, and she came to the palace.”
Quaeryt decided not to comment on seamstresses again. Instead, he studied the more varied shops in the next block.
Close to three glasses later, Quaeryt, Vaelora, and the four troopers were walking back down the main street toward the square. As they neared the small cafe, Quaeryt turned. “We’re going to eat there.”
“Sir,” said the trooper with the insignia of a junior squad leader, “we’ll just wait outside.”
“Absolutely not,” declared Quaeryt. “You four need to eat as well.” Seeing the dubious look on the squad leader’s face, he swiftly added, “I’m paying for it, and besides, if you’re worried about protecting Lady Vaelora, you won’t be doing her any good if you’re out here, and she’s inside.”
“Sir … we’re not supposed to intrude…”
“You can sit at another table. That’s the only concession I’ll make,” Quaeryt insisted.
“Yes, sir,” the squad leader replied cheerfully.
The six of them walked into the cafe. The public spaces consisted of a large front chamber with eight tables, and a back room with a handful of smaller tables. From what Quaeryt could see, the only patron was a large man seated in the back room, facing away from the door and the front room.
A slender serving woman, barely more than a girl, appeared and bowed, gesturing toward the tables. Quaeryt and Vaelora took a smaller circular table on one side, near the wall, while the troopers took an oblong table against the other wall.
The serving girl moved to a position between and back from Quaeryt and Vaelora.
“What do you suggest?” asked Quaeryt.
“The hunter stew is good, very filling. So is the domchana. We use our own grain-fed game hens. The lady might like the lace rice fries as well.”
“Do you have skelana?” asked Vaelora. “With dark rice?”
“Yes, Lady. That is my favorite.”
“Then I’ll have that with whatever your best white wine is.”
Quaeryt didn’t have the faintest idea what his wife had ordered. “I’ll try the domchana, but with some dark rice as well. And a pale lager.”
“We only have amber, sir.”
“That will do.”
“It’s very good, and your meal will be, too.”
“Oh … and I’m paying for the four over there.”
As the server crossed the room to the troopers, Quaeryt looked at Vaelora. “What is skelana?”
“It’s pulled lamb shredded and seasoned, then seared until barely brown, and warmed in a cucumber and heavy cream and lager sauce.” She smiled. “You can try a bite of mine to see if you like it.”
“Thank you.” Quaeryt glanced up and toward the troopers.
The serving girl had barely stepped away from the other table and headed toward the kitchen when Quaeryt heard the sound of something falling and turned.
“He’s one of them! They’re both evil ones!” The burly gray-haired man charged from the back room, with something in his hand, lunging toward the table where Quaeryt and Vaelora sat. “Die! Pharsi scum!”
Triggering full shields and extending them, Quaeryt leapt between the man and Vaelora, then anchored the shields to the floor.
The attacker hit the shields with such force that the cudgel he wielded slammed into the shields and rebounded, tearing itself from the man’s grasp.
“Evil protects him! Evil-” The man’s words stopped cold as one of the rankers slammed the flat of his sabre against the side of his head.
Quaeryt contracted the shields so that they were almost against his body as two other rankers grabbed the attacker’s arms and threw him to the floor. The squad leader whipped out a short length of rope and bound the man’s hands behind his back. Then the two hoisted the groggy figure to his feet. The fourth stood with his sabre ready.
An older woman, who had appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, glanced from the man pinned to the floor to Quaeryt, then Vaelora, and back to Quaeryt. The serving girl, her mouth open, stood beside the older woman.
The silence was broken by the sound of the cafe door opening. A patroller stepped inside. At least, he appeared to be in some sort of uniform, despite splotches and spots on the khaki shirt and trousers, with black boots and a wide belt, from which dangled a truncheon on one side. “What seems to be the trouble here?”
“Governor Quaeryt and his wife stopped here to eat,” answered the squad leader, turning toward the patroller. “His wife is the sister of Lord Bhayar. That man tried to attack them.”
The patroller raked his eyes over Vaelora in a way that made Quaeryt think of imaging him dead. “Rush-high tale that is. Lord Bhayar can’t be no stinking Pharsi.” A snigger followed the words. “You boys just need to run along and take your
“I don’t think you understand,” said the muscular squad leader. “She is Lady Vaelora. That’s why we’re here. Now … you can take this piece of offal back to your station and throw him in a cell for a few days … or you can do anything else … and your relatives can decide what to do with your ashes.”
The suddenly dough-faced patroller looked at the four rankers and their drawn sabres and then at Quaeryt.
Quaeryt image-projected both authority and withering contempt.
The patroller swallowed. “Ah … begging your pardon, Lady … Maybe I’d best be going.” He took a step back.
“You need to take your friend here. He’d better stay in his cell for the next few days. Until the regiment leaves. You might tell your chief that,” added the squad leader. “He might not want a visit from the regimental commander.”
One of the two rankers flanking the attacker sheathed his sabre and half led, half dragged the still dazed man toward the local patroller, then practically shoved him forward.
Neither local said another word as the patroller led the still-bound attacker back out through the front door, stepping to one side, once he was outside, to avoid the potted hyacinths.
“The lost one…”
At those words, Quaeryt turned, realizing that they had been murmured in the comparative silence by the older woman who still stood by the kitchen door. He thought about asking her why she’d made the comment, but didn’t want to raise that question in such a public setting, especially with the troopers nearby. Instead, after a moment, he smiled at the older woman and the younger server beside her. “I think that good meal you promised would suit us all now.”
“Ah … yes, sir.” The server scurried toward the kitchen.
The older woman nodded at Quaeryt, then bowed to Vaelora, before following the server.
“The local people don’t care for troopers much, do they?” asked Vaelora.
“That’s true in most places,” replied Quaeryt. “That’s why Governor Rescalyn effectively built the cafes and…”
“Pleasure houses?” Vaelora raised her eyebrows.
“Well … after the problems caused by his predecessor…”
“It makes sense. I don’t have to like it. Just like Bhayar’s decision not to stand behind you. He’s fortunate not to be in Solis. I’d…” Vaelora broke off as the server appeared with a goblet and a large mug.
The older woman followed with two platters, deftly sliding one before Vaelora and the second in front of Quaeryt. They returned to the kitchen and came back with mugs and platters of food for the troopers.
“It looks much better than breakfast,” said Vaelora. “Even food on the road tasted better.”
“The mess kitchens are old,” suggested Quaeryt. “Or maybe the provisions were even older.”
His words brought a faint smile to Vaelora’s lips, before she took a bite of her meal. He picked up the batter- fried sandwich that held fowl strips, pepper slices, and cheese and took a bite, finding it hot and tasty, if not overwhelmingly so.
“You should try this,” suggested Vaelora.
