reverentially. ‘Haven’t seen that in a year! You can have something special for that!’
He hurried away, going through a rough curtain into a back room.
‘Where are you from?’ a human with just two fingers on his left hand asked.
Sendatsu thought it would be best not to mention he was an elf. After all, these humans had not seen one for centuries.
‘Nowhere you’ve been,’ he said evasively.
‘I asked an honest question. The least you can do is give me an answer,’ the man growled, straightening up from where he leaned on the table.
‘Now that’s enough — I want no fighting in my hall, especially not this night!’ Vernin bustled back, bearing a small barrel and a plate of strange-smelling food.
‘What is this?’ Sendatsu asked as the two-fingered man subsided back into his drink.
‘This is the finest honey mead, all the way from Powys.’ Vernin poured some into a horn.
Sendatsu had no idea what mead was, or where Powys was. But it felt like everyone was watching and the height of badmanners not to drink. Besides, the liquid smelled sweet; his nose recognised honey, which was the first familiar thing. He took a sip. It tasted like honeyed water but, when he swallowed, it first tingled his tongue, burned down his throat and then sent warmth to his stomach and out beyond. He tried it again, amazed at the effect, and felt the tension slip away from his muscles, while his head felt light and even the smell seemed to lessen.
‘Good, eh?’ Vernin grinned and he found himself smiling in return, holding out the horn for more.
‘Try this. Bacon, fattened on acorns in the woods, and eggs laid this morning.’
The eggs, golden and mostly white, he instantly recognised but the thin slices of something pink and brown were a mystery.
‘Bacon? What is that? I’ve never heard of a fish like that.’ Sendatsu was intrigued. Where was the rice? Where were the vegetables? Was bacon perhaps the human word for some sort of shellfish? Surely it was not octopus. He picked up a strip, heedless of the heat and bit into it. The sensation on his tongue, the initial crunch, then the chewiness, the salty-sweetness and smoky flavour, burst into his mouth and he almost gasped aloud.
‘Is bacon a fish? Skies above, where are you from? Bacon comes from pigs!’ Vernin chuckled.
Sendatsu choked on his mouthful. ‘Pigs? Like wild boar? You mean I am eating their flesh?’ he gasped.
Vernin roared with laughter. ‘Stranger, surely you are having sport with me! Of course it is from pigs! Would you prefer some roast mutton? I have half a sheep on the spit …’
‘I think I’m going to spit.’ Sendatsu took a huge mouthful of the mead to wash his mouth out and then coughed as it burned the back of his throat.
‘Easy there — you’ll be face-down in the rushes before the show starts if you keep drinking like that.’ Vernin smiled.
Sendatsu looked in the horn. ‘So what’s in this?’ he asked, dreading to think of the answer.
‘Well, that’s just fermented honey, to make you feel good.’
‘Fermented … this is alcohol?’ Sendatsu gulped. He knew the esemono drank a rice wine to dull their aches after a hard day of labour but none of the nobility would dream of befuddling their senses with alcohol, nor devouring the flesh of a beast. His head felt like it was spinning, while his stomach was heaving.
‘Do you want more?’ Vernin offered.
‘No, I’ve never drunk alcohol before, nor eaten animal flesh,’ he admitted.
‘No meat?’ Vernin’s eyebrows seemed to disappear into his hair. ‘What do you live on then?’
‘Rice and vegetables mainly, with fish,’ Sendatsu said weakly.
‘Skies above! I’ve never heard anything so revolting!’ Vernin gasped. ‘And what in the name of the night stars is rice?’
Sendatsu did not think he could explain without vomiting. ‘Can I have some water and a plate of vegetables?’ he asked faintly.
Vernin and the two-fingered man exchanged horrified
He hurried away, going through a rough curtain into a back room.
‘Where are you from?’ a human with just two fingers on his left hand asked.
Sendatsu thought it would be best not to mention he was an elf. After all, these humans had not seen one for centuries.
‘Nowhere you’ve been,’ he said evasively.
‘I asked an honest question. The least you can do is give me an answer,’ the man growled, straightening up from where he leaned on the table.
‘Now that’s enough — I want no fighting in my hall, especially not this night!’ Vernin bustled back, bearing a small barrel and a plate of strange-smelling food.
‘What is this?’ Sendatsu asked as the two-fingered man subsided back into his drink.
‘This is the finest honey mead, all the way from Powys.’ Vernin poured some into a horn.
Sendatsu had no idea what mead was, or where Powys was. But it felt like everyone was watching and the height of badmanners not to drink. Besides, the liquid smelled sweet; his nose recognised honey, which was the first familiar thing. He took a sip. It tasted like honeyed water but, when he swallowed, it first tingled his tongue, burned down his throat and then sent warmth to his stomach and out beyond. He tried it again, amazed at the effect, and felt the tension slip away from his muscles, while his head felt light and even the smell seemed to lessen.
‘Good, eh?’ Vernin grinned and he found himself smiling in return, holding out the horn for more.
‘Try this. Bacon, fattened on acorns in the woods, and eggs laid this morning.’
The eggs, golden and mostly white, he instantly recognised but the thin slices of something pink and brown were a mystery.
‘Bacon? What is that? I’ve never heard of a fish like that.’ Sendatsu was intrigued. Where was the rice? Where were the vegetables? Was bacon perhaps the human word for some sort of shellfish? Surely it was not octopus. He picked up a strip, heedless of the heat and bit into it. The sensation on his tongue, the initial crunch, then the chewiness, the salty-sweetness and smoky flavour, burst into his mouth and he almost gasped aloud.
‘Is bacon a fish? Skies above, where are you from? Bacon comes from pigs!’ Vernin chuckled.
Sendatsu choked on his mouthful. ‘Pigs? Like wild boar? You mean I am eating their flesh?’ he gasped.
Vernin roared with laughter. ‘Stranger, surely you are having sport with me! Of course it is from pigs! Would you prefer some roast mutton? I have half a sheep on the spit …’
‘I think I’m going to spit.’ Sendatsu took a huge mouthful of the mead to wash his mouth out and then coughed as it burned the back of his throat.
‘Easy there — you’ll be face-down in the rushes before the show starts if you keep drinking like that.’ Vernin smiled.
Sendatsu looked in the horn. ‘So what’s in this?’ he asked, dreading to think of the answer.
‘Well, that’s just fermented honey, to make you feel good.’
‘Fermented … this is alcohol?’ Sendatsu gulped. He knew the esemono drank a rice wine to dull their aches after a hard day of labour but none of the nobility would dream of befuddling their senses with alcohol, nor devouring the flesh of a beast. His head felt like it was spinning, while his stomach was heaving.
‘Do you want more?’ Vernin offered.
‘No, I’ve never drunk alcohol before, nor eaten animal flesh,’ he admitted.
‘No meat?’ Vernin’s eyebrows seemed to disappear into his hair. ‘What do you live on then?’
‘Rice and vegetables mainly, with fish,’ Sendatsu said weakly.
‘Skies above! I’ve never heard anything so revolting!’ Vernin gasped. ‘And what in the name of the night stars is rice?’
Sendatsu did not think he could explain without vomiting. ‘Can I have some water and a plate of vegetables?’ he asked faintly.
Vernin and the two-fingered man exchanged horrified
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