Despite the odd circumstances that had finally brought Da and I together, I could hardly contain myself or the broad smile on my face. I had so many questions I wanted to ask as we walked down the surprisingly busy lane, heading towards the Inn of the Three Hares.
Just as I was about to speak, Da leaned in close and said very quietly, “You need to tone down your smile and act the part of my orphaned niece. We could be being watched. Hopefully we can talk more later.”
That statement certainly had a sobering effect on me, and I gulped down the lump that had just lodged itself in my throat. Da was right, of course, and in my relief and joy of seeing him again, I had forgotten the role I was playing. I really wanted at that moment to glance around swiftly and make sure no one had been watching us, but I did not, since that would only make me look as out of place as I felt. Just thinking about all the consequences of not being convincing in my role as Da’s niece, or looking too out of character, was making my head hurt. I do not think I am cut out for this spy business.
“Niece, are you not listening?” Da asked in a stern voice, jerking me out of my reverie.
“I’m sorry.” Here I had to pause to wrap my mind around the idea I should call Da “uncle” and to stop my mouth, which had a mind of its own, from forming a “d” sound. “You are most correct, I was not listening. Wool gathering, I guess, or distracted by hunger. You were saying?”
“As you know, the Inn of the Three Hares is a very fine eating establishment, and we do not want to embarrass ourselves or be considered inept southern country bumpkins by using the wrong fork or spoon. You will need to be observant as to what others do. Also, follow my lead,” said Da.
I now felt even more unprepared. I was probably in truth an inept northern country bumpkin now trying not to look like an inept southern country bumpkin. I felt somewhat nervous, and yet it dawned on me that Da telling me to follow his lead may have had a double meaning. Then I started thinking about double meanings. While we were in the Inn of the Three Hares, maybe it would be possible to talk to Da on two levels and be able to exchange some information. With that thought in mind giving me some cheer, Da and I walked along in comfortable silence. As we approached the Inn, I began to question if I could be successful at this masquerade and not put Da or myself at risk. Da must have sensed my inner turmoil because at that moment he patted my hand that was resting on his arm. In a quiet voice he told me I was going to do fine.
The Inn of the Three Hares was very plain on the outside, but the interior was a very different story. What struck me first was the quiet. Most of the places I had eaten in while on the road were either pubs or small family-run eateries that ranged from either homey to rowdy places. Never had I been in a place where there was the quiet murmur of conversations blending in with the soft sounds of a mountain flute. We were met at the door by a finely dressed woman, who Da later explained was our hostess, and were led towards a table near the kitchen doors. Da had a quiet conversation with our hostess, and I saw some coin exchange hands. Our hostess then turned left, leading us through an archway to a smaller section off the main room. We were seated at a table for two, which was covered with fine linen, cut crystal wine glasses, and fine silver silverware. There were no others in this area with us, and we had a clear view of the main room.
Da pulled out the chair for me, and I attempted to sit gracefully, which was certainly a challenge in the dress I was wearing. Once he was seated, I watched as he pulled the cloth napkin from the silver ring and with a flourish placed it on his lap. I followed suit, but with far less flourish. At that point, I had a chance to really take a look at the table setting and was appalled to see that there were several knives, two spoons, and four forks. A lot of meals I ate on the road while camping out only take a spoon or a fork and my boot knife, but I did not think that was going to work here.
I think Da must have been reading my mind, for he said “Well, niece, it is good that we are back in civilization and can sit down to a meal at a proper table, which has been sorely lacking at some of the roadside inns we have stayed at on this journey.”
Hopefully the dim lighting by our table made it difficult for other patrons to see the mischievous twinkle in Da’s eyes. I certainly hoped Da knew how to order food in this fancy place, and his talk about sitting down at a proper table was not just blowing smoke, or we would be bounced out of here as the pretenders we were in very short time. I should not have worried, for when the server arrived at our table, Da quickly suggested that the server choose what he felt was the best of the menu the cook was preparing this night. The man seemed to puff up with importance and scurried off to do Da’s bidding.
While the server had been talking with Da, the hostess had escorted several more folks into our area. I had worried that we would have gone through all of the trouble of disguising ourselves and then find ourselves seated too far from our quarry to hear anything useful. Luck was on our side for several of the very folk we had come to “spy” on were being seated near us. At least I hoped they were the ones. They seemed to match the descriptions I had been given. Hopefully the others we sought would also be seated at their table. When I thought about how lucky we were, I realized that this area was a logical one for them to seek. Perhaps it was not luck after all but rather smart thinking on my Da’s part. As I reflected back on how Da had known that a bit of coin slipped to the hostess would get us a different table, and how comfortable he was working with the server concerning the dinner menu, I found myself having to readjust my thinking about just who my Da was. There was certainly more to him than the simple rover and blacksmith I thought I knew.
I was once again pulled out of my reverie by Da. “Well, Patrice, this is the first time in days that we have had an opportunity to just sit and talk about your journey so far. I am interested in your observations.”
I wondered how many names I would have to get used to before this adventure ended. It took a moment to figure out Da was asking about what had happened to me since I had left home. I was interrupted from answering for our server set in front of me a clear soup that smelled delicious, and my stomach reminded me that it had been a long time since noon. I watched carefully to note which spoon Da picked up and then tasted a small spoonful of the soup. Never had I tasted anything like it. For a liquid that looked very much like water, it was full of flavors, some of which I could not name.
Da was looking at me expectantly, and I realized I had not answered his question. I tried to tell him as much as I could without saying anything out of character. “Since my parents died, it certainly has been an adventure traveling away from home and all that was familiar.” I hoped he would translate that to mean the journey so far, since he disappeared, had been less than dull. “I’ve met some good, kind, and interesting folks who I never would have met had I stayed in Saleen. I’ve met a few I would not like to meet again.” Like the ones who kidnapped me.
Our conversation was interrupted once again by the server placing, with brisk efficiency, warm and fragrant rolls and fresh butter on the table and stating he would be right back with our first course. It was then that I noticed that several more of the folk who had been in the tower meeting at Glendalen Keep had arrived, including much to my surprise Gowon, whose voice I recognized. There were now five folks seated at the table near us.
Da must have seen the look on my face, for he quickly asked, “Is not the soup to your liking, Patrice?”
“Oh no Uncle, it is quite wonderful,” I gushed, or at least I tried to gush. I am not certain how successful I was since I do not recall ever gushing before. I may not ever again. “I was just surprised.” Now how was I going to let him know that who was being seated at the other table was what had startled me?
“Surprised?”
“Ah, why yes. I was surprised by the, um, last flavor I just identified. I hadn’t expected it to be, ah, in the soup,” I answered. I think Da understood what I was trying to say for he had a knowing look on his face. At least, I hoped we were not talking about the soup.
“How many ingredients were you expecting to taste in the soup?” Da inquired.
“Four, at the least. Two earthy flavors and two a bit more floral. It would seem, however, that this soup is much more flavorful than I expected,” I said, as two more folks were escorted into the room and seated.
I heard Lady Farcroft, the woman I thought of as Lady Henrietta’s bane, say, “Good, we are all here. Let’s enjoy a fine meal and then to business after.”
“Interesting,” Da said thoughtfully.
“Did you recognize any of the ingredients?” I asked.
“I am certainly not as knowledgeable as you when it comes to herbs and spices, but I did detect one that was quite unexpected.”
Our conversation took a short break as the soup bowls were taken from in front of us and the first course was placed before us. It was a duck dish, but served in a way I had never thought to prepare it. Shredded duck wrapped in bacon served with a cranberry relish and some flavorful greens, which had a light amount of oil and vinegar drizzled on top. I had often wondered how folks could get through a seven or eight course meal, but now I realized that the courses were small. How the food looked on the plate was as much a part of each course as the food itself. I could just see me doing this while on the road, cooking over a fire. Well, perhaps not. I had to keep myself from laughing out loud as I thought about whether my artistic arrangement of campfire stew in a wooden bowl would be elegant.
As we ate, I know both Da and I tried to listen to the conversation from the other table in the room. We caught snatches of it, but it was pretty general, concerning how the roads were and about the weather. It was so hard to carry on a conversation with Da, who was so familiar and yet a stranger in his disguise as my uncle. The next few courses were equally delicious; sea bass with a butter and dill sauce on rice pilaf, lamb chop with mint jelly, and new baby potatoes with parsley. I was beginning to feel a bit guilty eating such rich and expensive fare, considering what most of the folk I knew would be eating this night.
The server had just cleared the lamb course away when a gentleman from the next table got up and in the process knocked over Lady Farcroft’s evening bag, causing the contents to spill. The gentleman made a great show of apologizing and helping to pick up the contents. As I shifted in my seat and moved my feet to get more comfortable, I felt something under the sole of my left foot. Not wanting to call attention to our table, I decided to do nothing right then. The gentleman who had knocked over the evening bag then straightened and walked past us. He was a tall younger man, fair of hair with startlingly blue eyes, dressed in a higher fashion than his fellow male companions. Da had a strange look on his face as the young man walked by, which was quickly gone, and I wondered if I had imagined it.
The smell coming from the plate set in front of me drew my eyes back to the table, and I saw a slice of meat wrapped in the most delicate pastry I had ever seen. Both the meat and the pastry melted in my mouth. I thought I really should eat this as slowly as possible so the experience would last a long time. Da had grown quiet too, but I do not think that was because of the beef course. I wondered if he knew the younger man, who at that moment walked back in and appeared to snag the leg of a chair set at the empty table across from us, bumping our table in the process.
“I beg your pardon, my good fellow, miss. I shall have to drink less of the fine wine they are serving. Here, let me straighten up the bread basket I seem to have knocked askew. Again, your pardon,” he said, as he deftly slipped under the bread basket something from the hand he had been holding at his side, the side away from his tablemates. He then walked unsteadily back to his own table.
Da then stood, placing his napkin on the table next to the bread basket, and straightened his jacket, remarking he was going to have to get a bigger waistcoat should we eat like this every night. He then gave a fine theatrical groan as he sat down once again and put his napkin back on his lap, remarking that he was not sure where he would put dessert. I noticed that whatever had been under the bread basket was no longer there.
At this point, I could only agree with Da that I too was not sure where I would put dessert. I was also regretting tying the laces of this dress so tight. I did not think that a proper lady would stand up and loosen them in the middle of a meal, so I was just going to have to suffer. I could still feel the object under my foot, and I was trying to figure out how I could retrieve it. I thought dropping my napkin might work, but with the servers so attentive, one of them would probably be there to pick it up before I could reach down, which would have been an embarrassing and difficult task in this dress anyway. It was then that I realized I had walking slippers on, and not my normal boots. Perhaps I could maneuver the object, which felt small, into my slipper. How I was then going to get it out of my slipper was another matter.
Dessert had been placed before me. I tried to concentrate on slipping the object into my slipper while taking small bites of the fruit-laden bread pudding soaked in fresh cream that had just a small drizzle of raspberry sauce across it. Hopefully my total concentration on getting the object into my slipper would be perceived to be me fully concentrating on dessert, which was certainly worth concentrating on. It was hard to keep my upper body still, except for bringing my spoon to my mouth, while my feet were doing a strange shuffle below the table, which was thankfully covered with a very long table cloth. It took me through dessert, to the point where I was about to scrape the plate with my spoon to get the very last morsel, until I felt the object slip into the side of my slipper.
The dessert plates were cleared away, and to my surprise, the meal was not yet done. Placed before us were a variety of cheeses and several small squares of dark chocolate. The server also brought a pot of tea and poured us each a cup. Da leaned back, patted his stomach, gave a great sigh, and suggested that it had been some time since he had had a meal this fine.
The folks at the other table had also finished dessert and were settling back with either tea or snifters of brandy. Perhaps now was the time they would begin to talk about something other than the weather. The woman who seemed to be the spokesperson of the group motioned to their server to come over.
“Go tell the flute player to come in here,” she said. The server returned a minute later with the young bearded man who had been playing the mountain flute softly as we ate. “I like your music, young man. If you kindly sit there,” pointing to the table between ours and theirs, “and play softly, there will be a nice bonus for you at the end of the evening.”
That was certainly going to make listening in on her party’s conversation a bit more difficult. I began to wonder if all that would come of this evening was going to be a fine meal, when I looked up into the face of the flute player and had two very swift thoughts. Beezle? And why did I not know he could play the mountain flute?