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Cultural Philosophy And Other Nauseating Dialogue
With my former confidence now royally deflated, I intend to park myself somewhere on the fringes of the feast of tables, but Dulcis is having none of it.
“Edi,” she proclaims, pointing to the chair next to herself, just as Ambassador Anguis slides straight into that position.
“I would be pleased if you would sit beside me,” he says, with a sweep of his velvet cuff, “as we appear to be well matched.”
Given the ambient temperature of a furnace, I’m surprised he’s sporting what looks to be a full dress coat and high necked lace shirt. He’s also wearing the exact same colour as myself and looks mightily handsome to boot.
The King, spruced to the nines in his own ornate jacket, complete with golden crest of a coiled snake, sits alone at the end of the table as though taking up his throne. The empty seat next to him bears witness to Anguis being out of expected position, but Serpen makes no comment as the others duly shuffle into place. Once the king gracefully lowers into his chair, everyone else follows suit.
All except Curt, that is, who hovers at the far end of the table, trying to squeeze between two startled wolf men, shoving a chair that’s clearly not going to fit. Alpha coughs like he’s got a bone stuck in his throat and his brother looks up. Alpha glares at him whilst delivering a nod in the direction of the only free chair: right next to General Ursid and directly opposite yours truly. Curt limps the length of the hall with excruciating dignity.
“Apologies, Your Majesty,” he says, pulling out the chair. In the taut silence, the legs scrape across the floor like nails down a blackboard. The crack from his hip echoes as he drops into his seat and proceeds to shuffle forward a few inches at a time in the tight space.
“I’m very much looking forward to this meal,” says Anguis with slightly forced jollity. “I’m extremely hungry. What about you, Your Highness?”
“Gosh, yes,” gushes Adamo, beaming at Dulcis. “I’ve heard wolf pack food is legendary.”
Well, I wouldn’t say that, but bless them for relieving the tension.
“It’s meat and a few vegetables,” mutters Curt, finally reaching the table.
Ursid grunts. I’m not sure whether that constitutes a laugh, but Adamo flashes him a pointed glare anyway.
This is going to be a long evening. It reminds me of family Christmas dinners with my nose-picking cousins and the fount of all moral verisimilitude, Great Aunt Ermentrude. A fun time had by all.
“How are the negotiations proceeding?” I ask Anguis, an image of Dulcis dressed in over-sized armour flashing across my mind’s eye.
“They’re proceeding,” answers the king on his ambassador’s behalf, and that enlightening amount of information is all he intends to impart. I glean that much because he’s peering down his nose at me with a look clearly reading, ‘Mind your own business.’
Anguis lightly scratches his cheek and whispers, “Sorry,” beneath the temporary cover of slender fingers.
“I think we’re making progress,” Prince Adamo offers, smiling right at me.
He’s either bravely refusing to take the royal hint or he’s a tad dim. Ursid’s right eyelid twitches before he resets his face in granite.
“Good to hear,” I respond.
“Edi ran into a few bears, near my lodge,” Curt suddenly announces. “Didn’t you, Edi?”
Did I just catch a rapid exchange of glance between Adamo and his general? I can’t sit and stare, so I plaster on a beaming smile and reply, “Yes, indeed. Gave me a bit of a fright. I must have looked a sight, dashing through the snow like a mad woman.”
“They wouldn’t have hurt you,” Adamo warbles, merrily. “Most likely out for a run. We bears like a good bounce in the snow.”
There goes Ursid’s eyelid again. Dulcis titters politely.
Thankfully we’re all saved by the arrival of the food, which smells delightful and turns out to be a little more elaborate than Curt’s meat and two veg. Forget I said that. It’s so hot in here.
Having spent most of the day running around in the frozen outdoors, building snow wolves with the children, I’ve worked up an appetite, but the extraordinary consumption of the snakes is like comparing my school sports day to an Olympic final. They all seem relatively slender, if athletic, but they must have hollow legs or the capacity to inhale their food. Happily, all the munching is preventing any arguing, but the sight of General Ursid tearing joints apart is a little sobering. I’ve downed a full glass of wine before I realise it should be labelled 100% proof, which does nothing for the sweating.
After the carcass of dinner gets hauled away, there’s a minor delay before dessert, which leaves partially inebriated animals staring each other down. Except for Adamo and Dulcis, who are staring for a completely different reason.
“I hear you have a library?” I ask Anguis.
“Yes, indeed,” he replies, perking up. “Historical records of the royal dynasty going back hundreds of years, books on organic experimentation and development of our lands, diagrams and paintings of nature, along with the philosophy of past monarchs. I’m sure you’d enjoy it.”
Curt snorts.
“I’d love to see it,” I reply. “Do you have any novels?”
Anguis looks confused. “I’m afraid I’m unaware of that term.”
“It’s stories put into narrative form,” I advise.
“Ah, you refer to fantasies,” the king interjects.
“You don’t approve, Your Majesty?” I venture. He wouldn’t be the first in my life.
When he smiles, he’s completely mesmerising. “Actually, I’m remarkably fond of a good story, but my father considered them frivolous and wouldn’t have allowed for the waste of good paper. Most unfortunate in my opinion.”
“Edi is a Teller of Stories,” Dulcis offers up.
“Oh?” says the king. “Then perhaps you would grace us with a story later?”
“Oh, yes, please,” chirps Dulcis.
Curt and Alpha look like they’ve just ingested a whole lemon, so I reply, “I’d be delighted, Your Majesty,” to spite them. Wings frowns, but his face may be stuck like that.
“Do you like stories, Dulcis?” Adamo asks, his gaze glued to her eyes, probably to prevent them wandering south.
“I do,” she says, in her best husky voice. “What sort of things do you enjoy, Your Highness?”
“Call me Adamo. I like to dance,” he replies, “but I’m a horrible dancer. If you grace me with a dance this evening, we may be limited to vigorous swaying.”
Dulcis giggles and flutters her eyelashes.
Good grief.
That crash is Curt dropping his fork onto his plate in disgust. All he achieves is a glance from Ursid and a death stare from his niece.
“Do you like to dance?” Anguis asks me.
I’m aware of a set of wolf eyes fixed on my face. “Erm, I used to, Ambassador, but I have no idea what sort of dances you do here. They may be beyond me.” I suspect that staggering around my handbag probably won’t cut it.
“Oh, you can simply follow me,” Anguis replies, as a plate of cream mush appears in front of him. “I’m good at leading.”
“Why am I not surprised?” I quip.
He laughs heartily whilst Curt rolls his eyes and stirs whatever the cream slop is with the speed of a whisk.
