The Slime Farmer - 96 An Inedible Dinner

Three people sitting on chairs in a rather well-appointed receiving hall glanced at each other silently, as they had done every so often since the half-hour they’d been marched into the house and forcibly settled in their seats.

None of them spoke.

On opposite sides of the hall, near both exits, two of the men who had captured them were lounging against the walls, standing guard.

Defi pondered the merit of tossing Turq at the windows and letting him transform to break them.

He shook his head at the fanciful idea.

For one, the two with him would not move fast enough. Two, he could hear water outside.

How curious. Possibly an artificial pond? Or another created water channel like the one the foodhall Watersiders was built on.

His mind went over the route their bunkrey had taken. To follow Madame Caria, they turned back south. Then northeast toward a wealthy residential district. They were fairly near the docks, he thought. He leaned back on his chair – the cushions were well-made and the chair richly upholstered.

The owner of the house was not afraid of his furniture rotting in the humid air of the dockside, it appeared.

Emblems, Defi reminded himself. The empire of Ascharon ran on strangely magical food and Emblems.

Marmocha and Sarel had mentioned that the eastern side of the city were private docks, so it was to reason that the buildings near the harbor east of the city were private homes instead of warehouses.

The wall on the eastern side was built mostly on the water, with a great part of the eastern docks within the walls, the boats having to pass under the massive arches that were the guarded rivergates before they could safely enter the protected parts of the eastern harbor.

He closed his eyes and dropped into the Current. To his companions, he only looked like he succumbed to exhaustion. He wasn’t even pretending. The day had been exhausting and it wasn’t over yet.

He wished he could just unleash Turq on their captors, really he did.

Apart from the five people in the receiving hall, there were fifteen people in the house.

He took himself out of the Current, feeling slightly more refreshed. Turq bounced down from its nest on Defi’s shoulder to his lap. Defi started petting it immediately, feeling better.

Even if Turq could take on the form of an impressive seakrait, it was still just a slime and did not have the scales to protect itself. Fifteen people was a stretch, even with the element of surprise.

Defi hadn’t forgotten that his first pet had become smaller after it had participated on the raid at the Groaning Cliff. Losing mass meant chunks had been torn out of it during the battle, didn’t it? Good thing Turq was back to its original size, but it probably won’t be able to hold its seakrait form for very long.

Night had fallen already. Sarel and Tennar would be suspicious by now.

An opportunity would come, sooner or later.

Not all the people in the house were combatants. The servant that had offered them tea earlier did not have the walk of a fighter, for instance.

At the very least, they were not in a dungeon.

He looked toward the other two, seated in chairs near him. Once again, three glances intersected.

“M’name’s Chomar.” The driver sighed some words at last.

Vesia and Defi gave their names, Vesia adding, “I’m sorry you got caught up in this.”

“Oh no, my fault for wanting a bit of excitement in my day.” Chomar waved off her apology with slightly frantic movements. He pulled off his hat to run nervous fingers through curly wood-colored sweat-matted hair.

Vesia sunk into her seat slightly.

He was younger than Defi thought. The wide-brimmed hat and the large coat did much to cover up the youthful slenderness of his frame. He might even be younger than Defi.

Chomar looked around, apprehensive. “Since we’re not in chains in some underground dungeon, I guess there’s some hope for getting through this intact?”

Defi’s lips pulled up at the edges and he said softly. “Normally we would profit from this but I don’t like turncoats.”

“What?”

A door opened at the far end of the hall. The two men guarding them straightened at their posts.

“Gylen Dahall,” Vesia identified under her breath.

Defi thought over the strange tone in her voice, then commented casually, “He’s very handsome.”

“Yes he is,” she breathed.

Defi eyes met Chomar’s slightly indignant and disbelieving gaze. They both snorted in amusement and looked away.

Vesia came to herself, whipped around, and yelled at them in a whisper. “Not like that!”

“Sure, sure,” Chomar whispered back, teasing. “In the snatch-dodgy bigman kinda way.”

Vesia glared at him. “It’s just his face! How many times can you see a face like that?”

“So you don’t think he fills that suit out very well too?”

She reddened and dropped her face into her hands at Defi joining in.

Chomar ducked his head to hide a smirk from the incoming group.

“You appear to be enjoying your time in my house.”

Gylen Dahall without ado sat down facing them all, a slight smile on his face. His eyes were the green of the sea. Skeins of dark hair fell down his shoulders like a waterfall, catching the light in flashes of reddish color. His age, Defi would put it in the early thirties.

The three of them straightened, not answering.

“Good,” continued the man. “I apologize if you have been inconvenienced. I do not like people following me and mine.”

“Is she?” Vesia took the chance to confirm.

Dahall set his gaze on her. “You are referring to Madame Caria, I presume. She was a dear friend to my mother. My sister and I view her fondly. Her grief of late has been wearing at her.”

Vesia lowered her gaze.

“I see that we were mistaken,” Defi nodded politely and stood. “Then, we will trouble you no further tonight.”

The man stood as well, as Vesia and Chomar quickly got to their feet. “No, it is I who has troubled you. Will you eat at this house’s table tonight? I make the offer in apology.”

The three paused. There was no good way to refuse. Defi hid his grimace. By offering a meal in apology, by one of his stature to the three of them, it was too great an honor.

The other two knew it too, better than Defi.

And yet, he had never introduced himself nor asked for their names.

“You are very kind,” Vesia composed herself, with only a faint shadow in her eyes expressing her disquiet. “How could we decline, mestre?”

Dahall smiled widely. “You honor me. Come.”

He waved them into the dining room.

The table was already set, elegant and waiting. The three who considered themselves prisoners just minutes ago, even thinking of dungeons, stared for a moment.

“Please,” Dahall extended an arm to urge them to enter. “Do not stand on ceremony.”

Chomar straightened as if electrified, glanced with wide eyes at Vesia and Defi, then muttered under his breath in irritated defeat. He walked forward to stand by the lone servant in the room, not quite hiding his unwillingness.

Dahall smiled.

Ascharonian tables were divided into two, in formal dining. One side for ladies and the other for gentlemen. Defi and Vesia stood beside their respective places and waited for the host to sit down.

“This is not a formal occasion.” Dahall looked exasperated as he sat.

“It is always pleasing to be mannered,” Vesia countered, politely.

“So it is.”

As soon as the host sat down, the server disappeared. When the other two were settled in their seats, the server reappeared beside Chomar with a platter in his hands and four small cups of the initial course, with small plates of sliced bread.

Chomar and the server rounded the table, the server carrying the platter and Chomar carefully placing the cups and bread before each person. He placed his cup last and bowed to the table before sitting down.

Dahall picked up a piece of his bread with a smile. “Eat. A fine cream from the north was used to produce it, very delicious.”

The meal went by silently.

When the first course was over, the next five courses were served by Dahall’s servants, the small dishes of pienplati appearing between the courses.

The dishes were made with first rate ingredients, many of them shining mystic in when Defi checked with the Current. All of the plates carried what Defi was sure were delicacies. But with his mind whirring, the food was almost tasteless.

From their faces, he was certain only Dahall was enjoying the meal.

At last, a hot tea was served, the last course finished.

Defi wanted to breath in the cold night air after this suffocating dinner.

The look Dahall bent on him had Defi feeling slightly exasperated. The man wasn’t even being subtle.

“You are the latest contractee of Bluzand, I hear?”

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