“Everyone savors my skewers.” IT opened ITs mouth into a singer’s round O and blew a band of flame, which engulfed the food.
The man danced backward. “Toasted, not cindered, if you please.”
Enh enh enh.
Dragon laughter! The corner of ITs mouth curled up in a grin that reminded me of our dog Hoont at home, when I pulled her lips back toward her ears.
The flame shortened and lightened from red to orange. The fat in the cheese spit and crackled. How rich it smelled!
After a minute Meenore swallowed ITs flame, revealing the bread and cheese, toasted golden brown, beautiful.
Master Corm blew to cool his meal. I licked my lips. He put the skewer to his mouth and pulled off the first morsel with his teeth. Oh! Even untasted it tasted good.
Next, a boy tugged his mother toward the basket. The mother took two skewers.
“Can I, Mother?”
She gave him the coins, and he dropped them one by one into the coin basket. Ten clinks. Five tins for a skewer. Too bad for me.
Although he begged, the mother wouldn’t let her son toast his own skewer. When the food was cooked, the two moved off.
A fine drizzle began to fall. The cat teacher stepped up.
I wanted to ask him if cats were ever taught to steal, but my tongue turned to wood, a doubly timid tongue: afraid to draw ITs attention again and bashful about addressing this perfect young man.
Clink clink clink clink. Only four tins! Maybe I could get by with three.
Meenore swallowed ITs flame. “The price is five tins, Thiel. Pay up or leave the coins as tribute.” Enh enh enh.
The cat purred.
Master Thiel bowed with a dancer’s grace. “Apologies. My fingers miscounted.” His voice was as gentle as a gems-horn, the shepherd’s horn that calms stampeding sheep.
Four coins, five, an easy mistake. His purse jingled as he pulled out another tin. Lambs and calves! Bare feet, hollow cheeks or no, he was far richer than I.
“Make way!” Count Jonty Um emerged from a side street into the square.
Silence fell. The crowd parted. I backed away. The waiting line spread out. Only Meenore remained motionless. The cat on Master Thiel’s shoulders stood up, back arched.
The count’s dog, a Lepai long-haired mountain hound, pranced along, taking no notice of the cat but frequently looking up at his master. Though big as a wolf, his head came only to Count Jonty Um’s knees. He was a beauty, with a coat of golden silk and a regally large head matched by a big black nose.
The count approached IT. “Three skewers, if you please.”
What about everyone on line? That was no true If you please. Clearly an ogre did what he liked, no matter the inconvenience to small folk.
“It isn’t fair!” burst out of me.
The silence seemed to crystallize.
Enh enh enh, IT laughed, possibly in anticipation of seeing me squeezed to death in one enormous hand.
Count Jonty Um turned and lowered his gaze until he found me. “I am unfair?”
I attempted a Two Castles accent again. Perhaps he wouldn’t hurt me if he thought I had parents here. “It isn’t fair.” Not you.
“Meenore unfair?” he roared.
I was still alive. “Not IT.” I gestured at Meenore. The accent came and went. “It.”
Enh enh enh.
The ogre looked puzzled.
“Er . . . ,” I said. “Others were ahead of you.”
“Oh. I apologize. Thank you for telling me.” How stiff he was. There was no feeling of gratitude in his voice, but he stepped back, three giant steps. “Proceed.”
In continued silence, the people in line eased back into their places, the man who had been at the end treading on the heels of the fellow in front of him to avoid closeness to the ogre. I realized that everyone would have preferred Count Jonty Um to go first and leave.
People resumed their strolling and buying, while giving the ogre a wide berth. At the head of the line, Master Thiel took his skewer from the basket.
Meenore said, “Young Master Thiel, I commiserate with you on the death of the miller.”
Count Jonty Um boomed in, “I am sorry for your loss.”
A polite ogre.
“Thank you.” Master Thiel nodded at the dragon but not at the ogre. “My father will be missed. He had many . . .”
His father, dead? How he must be grieving. I thought of Father, and my eyes smarted.
“Missed by you most of all.” Enh enh enh.
How could IT laugh? What a churlish dragon!
Master Thiel answered with dignity. “Masteress, my good father had confidence in my abilities.”
Ah. A masteress.
Master Thiel continued. “My father believed—”
His cat jumped from his shoulder and strolled off. “Pardine!”
The cat didn’t return. I knew I should leave, too. The sooner I found the mansioners, the sooner I might eat. But so much drama was passing here and the food smelled so tasty that I remained rooted in place.
Master Thiel held his skewer out. In a moment it was done. He stepped aside to eat. Masteress Meenore swallowed ITs fire and turned my way, which brought that smoking snout uncomfortably close.
I stood my ground.
“I commiserate with your loss, too, girl from the island of Lahnt.”