Talon of the Silver Hawk. Raymond E. Feist

over open fires or in large communal ovens, but never in a central location. Talon’s first sense was one of chaos, and as he paused a moment, surveying the scene before him order emerged.

      Lela looked up and saw him, greeting him with a quick flash of a smile before returning her attention to a large pot hanging before one of three huge hearths. A stout woman saw Lela’s glance and followed it to the rawboned boy holding the carcass.

      ‘Is it dressed?’ she demanded.

      Talon nodded. Then he thought to add, ‘But not skinned.’

      She pointed to a large meat hook in the corner, above a large metal pan he assumed was used to catch blood and offal. He took the deer over and hung it by the strap holding together its hind legs. Once it was in place, he turned and waited.

      After a few minutes, the older woman looked over and saw that he was motionless. ‘Do you know how to skin a deer, boy?’ she demanded.

      He nodded.

      ‘Then get to it!’

      Talon didn’t hesitate, but set to skinning the deer in an efficient, practised fashion. He also didn’t think for a moment about who this woman was and why she should order him about; among his people, women were in charge of all food preparation and men did as they were told around the hearth, fire pits, and ovens.

      He was finished quickly, and as he turned around to find a rag upon which to clean his belt knife, someone threw him one. He caught it in mid-air. A grinning Gibbs was standing before a large block upon which rested a heap of vegetables, which he was cutting with a large knife.

      Behind Gibbs, Talon could see other servants cooking meats at one hearth, while others saw to the baking of fresh bread in the ovens. Suddenly Talon was at once overwhelmed by the aroma of the kitchen and by a fierce hunger which stabbed through his chest. For a moment the warm smells shocked him back into memories of his mother and the other women preparing meals.

      As his eyes threatened to well up with tears, Talon saw a large door swing aside, through which strode a man. He was of middle years, heavy set with a large belly protruding over his belt – which looked more a horse’s girth than a belt to Talon – breeches tucked into mid-calf boots, and a voluminous white shirt, covered with spatters of food and wine. His face was almost perfectly round, his hair black but shot through with grey and was tied back in a horse’s tail. His long sideburns almost met at the point of his chin. He glanced around with a critical eye and found nothing lacking until his gaze fell upon Talon.

      ‘You, there, boy,’ he said pointing an accusatory finger at Talon, though his eyes were merry and he had a slight smile on his lips. ‘What is it that you’re doing?’

      ‘I’ve skinned this deer, sir,’ Talon said, haltingly, for the man was speaking Roldemish. The question snapped him out of his sadness.

      The man walked purposely towards the boy. ‘That is something which you have done,’ he said in an overly loud voice. ‘What is it you are currently doing?’

      Talon paused, then said, ‘Waiting for someone to tell me what to do next.’

      The man’s face split into a grin. ‘Well said, lad. You’re the boy from the barn – Talon – is that correct?’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      ‘I am Leo, and this is my kingdom,’ said the man, spreading his arms in an expansive gesture. ‘I’ve served as cook to nobility and commoners alike, from Roldem to Krondor, and no man living has a complaint of my cooking.’

      Someone in the busy kitchen muttered, ‘Because they died before they had the chance.’ This brought a moments laughter before the workers stifled the outburst. Leo turned with unexpected swiftness, a black look crossing his visage. ‘You, there, Gibbs! I recognize that smart mouth. See to the slops.’

      Gibbs stood very stiff and said, ‘But the new boy should do that, Leo. I’m for the serving table.’

      ‘Not tonight, my glib Gibbs. The boy will stand at the table, and you can see to the pigs!’

      As a dejected-looking Gibbs departed the kitchen, Leo winked at Talon. ‘That’ll sort him out.’ He glanced over the boy’s rough appearance. ‘Come with me.’

      Without waiting to see if he was being followed, Leo turned and pushed aside the large door through which he had entered. Talon was a step behind.

      The room was obviously some sort of servant’s area, with another door in the opposite wall. Large side tables ran along the left and right walls. Upon one table sat a variety of dishes, bowls, goblets, and other table service. ‘This is where we keep our dishes,’ said Leo, pointing out the obvious. ‘If we have a reason, we’ll show you how to set the table for guests.’ He pointed to the other table, which now sat empty. ‘That is where the hot dishes will be at supper time. Lela and Meggie will serve.’

      He pushed through the second door and Talon followed him into the centre of a long hallway. The wall facing them was ranged with shelves upon which a variety of items rested: lamps, candles, mugs, goblets, an entire inventory of supplies for a busy inn. ‘Here’s where Kendrick keeps the knick-knacks we need,’ said Leo. Pointing to the door at the lefthand end of the hall. ‘That’s the common room. If we have a caravan stopping by, or a patrol from one of the local castles, it’ll be full of loud, drunken fools.’ He pointed to the door at the right end of the hall and said, ‘That is the dining room, where the nobles and guests of stature eat. Tonight you’ll serve in there.’ He paused and rummaged through the shelves until he came away with a long, white tunic. ‘Put this on,’ he said to Talon.

      Talon did so and found the tunic came to the midpoint between his hip and knee. There were drawstrings at the cuff of the puffy sleeves and he tied them.

      ‘Let me see your hands, boy,’ Leo demanded.

      Talon held out his hands.

      ‘I’m not the fanatic for washing up some are, but you can’t be serving nobility with blood from a skinning under your nails,’ Leo said. He pointed back into the kitchen. ‘Go back and wash. Use the brush to get the blood out.’

      Talon moved back through the serving room into the kitchen and found a large bucket of soapy water used to clean the pots and dishes. He saw Lela standing before the wooden table Gibbs had vacated, finishing up the vegetables. He started to wash his hands and she glanced over and smiled. ‘Serving tonight?’

      ‘I suppose so,’ Talon answered. ‘I haven’t been told.’

      ‘You’re wearing a server’s tunic,’ she informed him. ‘So you’re serving.’

      ‘What do I do?’ asked Talon, trying to suppress a sudden nervousness in his stomach.

      ‘Leo will tell you,’ Lela said with a bright smile. ‘It’s easy.’

      Talon inspected his hands and saw the blood was gone from his nails. He returned to the hall where Leo waited.

      ‘Took you long enough,’ said the cook, raising an eyebrow. Talon was beginning to think that this cook was a lot like his grandfather had been, playful with his scolding, never truly meaning a word of it.

      ‘Come along,’ Leo said.

      Talon followed him into the dining room. It was a long room with a huge table, the biggest the Orosini boy had ever seen. At each end was placed a pair of high-backed chairs, and eight ran along each side. The wood was oak and ancient, polished by years of wear and oil and rags, and it shone with a dark gold, and the stain of a thousand spilled wine goblets and ale mugs mottled the hue from one end to the other. Noting the boy’s expression, Leo said, ‘Kendrick’s table. It’s legendary. Cut from the bole of an ancient oak in a single piece. Took a score of men and two mules to haul it here.’ He glanced up and waved his hand. ‘Kendrick built this room around it.’ He smiled. ‘Don’t know what he’d ever do if he had to replace it. We could cut this one up with axes for firewood, but how’d we ever get another in?’

      Talon