Beyond, I saw nearly 20 little people all gathered around a long table they’d setup in the middle of the room. Small pots containing more of the mushrooms were arranged down the middle, bringing an eerie brightness to the otherwise dim room.
The outside table was set out for breakfast. Skrew sat on the last chair on the right, his plate empty as he eyed the cornucopia of delicious-looking food in front of him. All four of his hands were clasped tightly together as if he’d had been scolded for trying to eat before we arrived.
Yaltu seated herself at the far end of the table and began chatting with those nearby. The only empty chair was to her right, the place of honor. I took it and placed my hands in my lap, unsure of what rules or customs might dictate the beginning of a meal. As it turned out, the only thing everyone was waiting for was me.
A moment after I sat down, everyone, including Yaltu, picked up a fork-like utensil. They all began scooping food from the many overflowing, colorful bowls in the middle of the table to fill their own. The room’s quiet vanished as it was replaced by chatter, laughter, and the sound of forks scraping and crashing against bowls.
“Sleep all right, Skrew?” I asked him.
“Skrew sleep with ugly shorties,” the vrak muttered. “They snore. Snore so much.”
He reached for one of the purple fruits I’d enjoyed the night before, but he yelped after Nina slapped his hand.
“Use a fork.” She pointed to the untouched utensil in front of him.
Skrew growled but picked up the fork like he’d never seen one before and wasn’t sure what to do with it. He watched several others use theirs, clumsily held it in his hand, and stabbed the fruit, squirting juice onto the old woman.
The table grew silent as all eyes settled on the gooey liquid running down her face and her puckered expression. I held my breath and my position, fork halfway to my mouth with a warm morsel of what looked like scrambled eggs, as I waited for what would happen next. If it was customary for her to beat the most annoying being at the table, I wasn’t sure I’d intervene.
Instead, she opened her eyes and licked juice with a narrow tongue that looked far too long to fit in her mouth. “Mmm,” she said. “Tasty.”
The table erupted in laughter, and the meal resumed. Skrew had managed to live another day, somehow.
During the meal, a young member of the family approached Yaltu. He looked nervous and unsure, but she seemed completely comfortable with him. He whispered in her ear for several minutes, during which Yaltu stopped eating and tilted her head to better hear him.
When he was done, he took a step away and studied Yaltu’s face.
“Thank you,” she said. He nodded and returned to his spot at the table.
“What was that about?” I asked. I wasn’t exactly jealous, but I was curious.
Instead of answering, she gave me a serious look and waved my question away. “Not now,” she whispered. “After the meal.”
Two of Yaltu’s household got up from the table, still chewing their food, and passed the bowls back and forth. The dish that was set in front of me contained a strange-looking cube with skin resembling an orange. When I stabbed it with my fork, juice as black as tar seeped out. I brought it to my plate and inspected it closely in the blue light of the nearby mushrooms, but the details were difficult to make out.
When I tried to peel the fruit, the servant to my right, an old male, motioned that I should take a bite rather than peel the skin off. I did as he suggested and was rewarded for my efforts. The skin was tough but edible, and the flesh inside tasted like a combination of oranges and bacon.
By the time the bowls were empty, Skrew had managed to gain some real skill with a fork and only dropped his food about half the time. His brow was crinkled, but the little guy looked as determined as he was irritated.
When the meal was over, I tried to help clean the table, but several of the servants shooed me away. Nina walked up to me and inspected her handiwork, opening hidden pockets and making small adjustments to the straps that tightened and loosened the garments. After she was done, the well-fitting clothing fit even better. She placed her small fists on her hips and huffed in satisfaction.
“It feels good?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Thank you for these. The clothing I came in was… in bad shape. What did you do with them?”
“Burned them,” she said as she held her nose. “Too stinky.”
I couldn't disagree.
When the table was cleared, Yaltu turned to me with a serious expression. “One of our men has returned from Brazud. He has told me of the situation. It is not good.”
So this was what the man had spoken to her about. I motioned for her to continue.
“The gates, except for the main gate, are closed. There are three guards where there was one before. Too many guards to climb the wall and enter the city.”
“So, how do I get in?” I asked.
“There are many who are loyal to me in Brazud. They were loyal to my father. One is a guard. A vrak who has positioned himself at the north-west gate. He knows you have arrived and will allow you in.”
“Are the residents friendly toward humans?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Usually, but now is the time of the arena. There will be those who will want to prove they are strong by harming you. Most will lose because they are weak, but you must be cautious. Do not fight if you can help it. Rescue those like Amin and find your people. Then, leave.”
I sat in silence as I considered about a dozen things at once.
