Talon started to ask another question, then thought better of it.
The afternoon wore on, and Talon grew hungry. “Are we likely to catch any dinner here?’’
“Getting hungry?’’
“Yes, actually.”
“Do you know how to cook fish?’’
Talon had prepared a number of fish dishes with Leo. “I do, but you have only the kettle and spit to cook upon. I suppose I could fashion a chowder . . .”
“No,” said Magnus. “I was thinking about something a bit more refined. We’ve been eating soups and roasts for a month or more. Let us have some fine dining tonight.’’
“How shall I prepare such a meal?’’
“Don’t worry,” said Magnus. “First we must find you a proper main course.” He closed his eyes, then opened them again, and Talon thought he saw a faint sheen of light upon them. Magnus held out his hand, palm up, then slowly raised it. From out of the sea came a fish, something close to four feet long. Magnus motioned, and the creature floated through the air and dropped at Talon’s feet. The fish flopped and writhed upon the sand.
“Be careful, those fins can actually cut you if you grab it too firmly.’’
Talon looked at Magnus. “I’m to carry it up to the hut?’’
“How else will you get it there?” asked the magician.
Talon attempted to pick up the thrashing creature, but found it both slippery and heavy. “Is there something I can hit it with, to stun it?” he asked after several exasperating attempts to subdue the fish.
“Oh,” said Magnus. With a flick of his hand, the fish fell quiet. “It’s still alive, so it will be fresh when you fillet it. This creature is called a tuna, and you can grill it lightly, with a variety of different spices. A lightly seasoned rice and an assortment of steamed vegetables would complement it nicely. And some chilled white wine—perhaps an off-dry from Ravensburgh.”
Talon picked up the huge fish and looked at the steep path up to the bluff. “Anything else?’’
“If I think of anything, I’ll let you know.’’
Talon trekked slowly back up the trail, and by the time he reached the hut he was in considerable pain. His arms and shoulders were in knots and his knees shook. The fish must weigh almost as much as he did, he was certain. He wondered what he was supposed to do with it. He could gut it on the table, but it would be messy. Perhaps on the ground outside, then he could wash away the offal with well water. That should get the dirt off it. And if the fillets were large enough, he could spit and roast them.
But where was he going to find rice, or spices? The food so far at Magnus’s hut had been plain, to put it kindly.
He put the fish down, relieved to do so, and stood up, his back rewarding him with a spasm of pain to remind him not to attempt such a foolish thing again. He rubbed at it with the knuckles of his left hand while opening the door with his right.
He stepped inside the hut and almost fell over in shock. Instead of the small interior he had come to know so well, he was standing in a large kitchen. Larger than the hut. He glanced backward out of the door, and saw the familiar landscape in front of the hut, but the inside of the hut was still quite different.
He took in a large preparation table with a pump where he could clean the fish, and beyond it a stone stove. Next to the stove, a fire burned beneath a metal grill. He saw shelves on the distant back wall and had no doubt there would be spices and rice there. And he was certain that the door would lead to a wine cellar, where he’d find just the right chilled white wine to serve with dinner.
“How did he do this?” Talon murmured softly to himself.
CONFUSION
Talon blinked.
He was reading another Kingdom language book, this one a chronicle of the life and times of a merchant of Krondor named Rupert Avery. The merchant before his death had commissioned the tale and had it published, a paean to his own vanity, from Talon’s point of view. The story was badly written and improbable to say the least, for if the tale as told by Avery was to be believed, he was instrumental in Kingdom history, almost single-handedly defeating the agents of chaos attempting to conquer his nation.