Read Online Marianne, the Magus & the Manticore by Sheri S. Tepper - Free Book Online
Authors: Sheri S. Tepper
Ads: Link
ingredients. From cah-cuh-tyay to cock-tay to cock-tail would have required only the slovenly enunciation of a half generation. Does that interest you? Not greatly." He grinned at her and pretended an interest in the menu. The meal had already been arranged for.
When he had ordered for both of them, he leaned back and stared around him, a little arrogantly. "This ordering for one's guest is no longer an American custom, I know. But it is a custom I enjoy. So I command outrageous viands from kitchens across the breadth of the world if only to see how my companions will approach them. If what I have ordered does not appeal to you, now is the time to chastise me."
"It sounds delicious," she said. "I don't mind at all. It's precisely what Papa always did."
"And Harvey?"
"I've never eaten in public with Harvey," she said stiffly.
"I imagine he would be more... more showy about it."
"I can hear him now," said Makr Avehl, putting on a pom-pous expression. " "The lady will have breaded cockscomb with the sauce of infant eel.' Then an aside to his companion: 'You'll love it, Juliet. I remember having it in Paris, during the International Conference of the Institute of Anthropology.' Like that?"
"Like that," she agreed. "And then he'd watch her like a hawk to be sure she pretended to enjoy it."
"Which she would do?" He nodded at the hovering wine steward.
"Which they seem to do," she agreed. "I've never been able to figure out why."
Across the table from her, he glittered with gentle laughter.
The explosion of light seemed so real that Marianne actually blinked to avoid being blinded, then opened her eyes wide, astonished at her own childishness. It was only the blaze of something flambe' behind him, being made a great show of in a chafing dish. An obsequious waiter slipped behind her chair to place two additional wine glasses beside her plate, while the wine steward poured an inch of ruby light into Makr Avehl's glass. He sipped it, nodded, and Marianne's own glass dropped red jewels of light onto the table cloth.
She sipped, smiled, sipped again. It had been a long time since she had had good wine. She had drunk it as a child, at Papa's side, learning to taste. Then she had gone away to school, and there had been no wine then or since. Her slender budget would not stretch to such indulgence, and she sipped again, lost in a haze of happy memory. A plate of pate appeared before her, almost magically, smelling succulently of herbs and shallots. She began to eat hungrily, not noticing his expression as he watched her. It was the expression of a lion about to pounce.
But behind that expression a dialogue had begun, a familiar dialogue to Makr Avehl, one between the man and the Magus, with a word or two from that entity he called "the intruder."
It began with the man saying, "I want this woman!" He said it impatiently. The man did not equivocate. He did not apologize.
"You will conduct yourself appropriately," replied the Magus. 'This is a kinswoman. Even if she were not, there are indulgences inappropriate to a Magus!"
And another voice, sibilant, hissing, "This is a complication we do not need at this time. This is foolishness, kinswoman or not. Be done."
"She is fair," sang the man to himself, not listening to the voices. The wine was diluting their message, blurring their advice. "Fair. Lithe and lovely, dark of hair and pale of skin, curved as a warrior's bow is curved, straight as his arrow is straight. A warrior's trophy! A warrior's prize!"
"A brigand's booty. A robber's spoils," threatened the Magus.
"A poacher's trap," hissed the voice of dissent.
"A lover's prize," the man amended, bending over his plate in a sudden access of warmth. He had not meant to say that.
He had not used the word to himself for almost twenty years, not since he was nineteen and thought himself dying because someone else had died, died untimely, unforgiveably. He shut down the voices, apprehensive of the end of their colloquy.
The
When he had ordered for both of them, he leaned back and stared around him, a little arrogantly. "This ordering for one's guest is no longer an American custom, I know. But it is a custom I enjoy. So I command outrageous viands from kitchens across the breadth of the world if only to see how my companions will approach them. If what I have ordered does not appeal to you, now is the time to chastise me."
"It sounds delicious," she said. "I don't mind at all. It's precisely what Papa always did."
"And Harvey?"
"I've never eaten in public with Harvey," she said stiffly.
"I imagine he would be more... more showy about it."
"I can hear him now," said Makr Avehl, putting on a pom-pous expression. " "The lady will have breaded cockscomb with the sauce of infant eel.' Then an aside to his companion: 'You'll love it, Juliet. I remember having it in Paris, during the International Conference of the Institute of Anthropology.' Like that?"
"Like that," she agreed. "And then he'd watch her like a hawk to be sure she pretended to enjoy it."
"Which she would do?" He nodded at the hovering wine steward.
"Which they seem to do," she agreed. "I've never been able to figure out why."
Across the table from her, he glittered with gentle laughter.
The explosion of light seemed so real that Marianne actually blinked to avoid being blinded, then opened her eyes wide, astonished at her own childishness. It was only the blaze of something flambe' behind him, being made a great show of in a chafing dish. An obsequious waiter slipped behind her chair to place two additional wine glasses beside her plate, while the wine steward poured an inch of ruby light into Makr Avehl's glass. He sipped it, nodded, and Marianne's own glass dropped red jewels of light onto the table cloth.
She sipped, smiled, sipped again. It had been a long time since she had had good wine. She had drunk it as a child, at Papa's side, learning to taste. Then she had gone away to school, and there had been no wine then or since. Her slender budget would not stretch to such indulgence, and she sipped again, lost in a haze of happy memory. A plate of pate appeared before her, almost magically, smelling succulently of herbs and shallots. She began to eat hungrily, not noticing his expression as he watched her. It was the expression of a lion about to pounce.
But behind that expression a dialogue had begun, a familiar dialogue to Makr Avehl, one between the man and the Magus, with a word or two from that entity he called "the intruder."
It began with the man saying, "I want this woman!" He said it impatiently. The man did not equivocate. He did not apologize.
"You will conduct yourself appropriately," replied the Magus. 'This is a kinswoman. Even if she were not, there are indulgences inappropriate to a Magus!"
And another voice, sibilant, hissing, "This is a complication we do not need at this time. This is foolishness, kinswoman or not. Be done."
"She is fair," sang the man to himself, not listening to the voices. The wine was diluting their message, blurring their advice. "Fair. Lithe and lovely, dark of hair and pale of skin, curved as a warrior's bow is curved, straight as his arrow is straight. A warrior's trophy! A warrior's prize!"
"A brigand's booty. A robber's spoils," threatened the Magus.
"A poacher's trap," hissed the voice of dissent.
"A lover's prize," the man amended, bending over his plate in a sudden access of warmth. He had not meant to say that.
He had not used the word to himself for almost twenty years, not since he was nineteen and thought himself dying because someone else had died, died untimely, unforgiveably. He shut down the voices, apprehensive of the end of their colloquy.
The
Similar Books
