The hall proved itself to be more of a large vestibule, covered in thick carpets and lined with a number of religious effigies. The humble cross appeared to be a particularly popular motif. Alexia spotted a massive gold statue of a pious looking saint sporting jade flowers in his hair and ruby sandals. She began to wonder if she was inside some kind of church or museum. Did churches have guest bedrooms? She had no idea. Having no soul to save, Alexia had always considered religious matters outside her particular sphere of influence and therefore interest.
All unbidden, her stomach registered its utter emptiness and the infant inconvenience sloshed about sympathetically. Alexia sniffed the air. A delicious smell emanated from somewhere close by. Alexia had decent eyesight and adequate hearing although she had been remarkably capable of tuning out her husband’s voice but it was her sense of smell that set her apart from ordinary mankind. She attributed this to her oversized nose. Whatever the case, it stood her in good stead this particular day, for it led her unerringly down a side hallway, through a wide reception chamber, and out into a massive courtyard where a multitude of men were gathered about long tables to eat. Imagine that, eating outside and not for a picnic!
Alexia paused on the threshold, unsure. An assembly of masculinity, and her in only a dressing gown. Such a danger as this she had never before had to face. She braced herself against the horror of it all. Here’s hoping my mother never gets wind of this.
The seated masses made for a bizarrely silent assembly. Hand gestures were the main method of communication. Seated at the head of one of the tables, a single somberly dressed monk read unintelligible Latin out of a Bible in a monotonous tone. To a man, the silent eaters were darkly tan and dressed respectably but not expensively in the kind of tweed heavy country garb young men about the hunt might favor knickerbockers, vests, and boots. They were also armed to the teeth. At breakfast. It was disconcerting to say the least.
Alexia swallowed nervously and stepped out into the courtyard.
Strangely enough, none of the men seemed to notice her. In fact, none of them registered her existence at all. There were one or two very subtle sideways glances, but, by and large, Alexia Maccon was entirely and utterly ignored by everyone there, and there were at least a hundred assembled. She hesitated.
“Uh, hallo?”
Silence.
True, prior familial experiences had prepared Alexia for a life of omission, but this was ridiculous.
“Over here!” A hand waved her over to one of the tables. In among the gentlemen sat Madame Lefoux and Floote, who, Alexia saw with a profound feeling of relief, also wore robes. She had never seen Floote in anything less than professional attire, and he seemed, poor man, even more embarrassed than she by the informality of the dress.
Alexia wended her way over to them.
Madame Lefoux appeared comfortable enough, although startlingly feminine in her dressing gown. It was strange to see her without the customary top hat and other masculine garb. She was softer and prettier. Alexia liked it.
Floote looked drawn and kept darting little glances at the silent men around them.
“I see they absconded with your clothing as well.” Madame Lefoux spoke in a low voice so as not to interfere with the biblical recitation. Her green eyes glittered in evident approval of Alexia’s informal attire.
“Well, did you see the hem on my gown mud, acid, dog drool? I cannot say I blame them. Are these the famous Templars, then? Well, Floote, I can see why you do not like them. Highly dangerous, mute clothing thieves. Ruthless providers of a decent night’s sleep.” She spoke in English but had no doubt that at least some of the men around them could entirely understand her language, and could speak it, too, if they ever did speak.
Madame Lefoux went to make room for Alexia, but Floote said firmly, “Madam, you had best sit next to me.”
Alexia went to do so, only to find that the continued complete disregard for her presence extended to offering her a seat on the long bench.
Floote solved this problem by pushing hard against one of his neighbors until the man shifted over.
Alexia squeezed into the space provided to find, once she had settled, that the gentleman nearest her had suddenly found himself needed elsewhere. In an organic manner, and without any obvious movement, her immediate area became entirely vacant of all personnel save Floote and Madame Lefoux. Odd.
No one brought her a plate of any kind, nor, indeed, any other means by which she could partake of the food currently being passed about the tables.
Floote, who had already completed his meal, shyly offered her his dirty trencher. “Apologies, madam, it is the best you’ll get.”
Alexia raised both eyebrows but took it. What an odd thing to have to do. Were all Italians this rude?
Madame Lefoux offered Alexia the platter of sliced melon. “Three nights of decent sleep. That’s how long you’ve been out.”
“What!”
Floote intercepted the melon when Alexia would have served herself. “Let me do that for you, madam.”
“Why, thank you, Floote, but that is not necessary.”
“Oh, yes, madam, it is.” After which he proceeded to serve her anything she wished. It was as though he was trying to keep her from touching any of the utensils. Peculiar behavior, even for Floote.
Madame Lefoux continued with her explanation. “Don’t ask me what they drugged us with. My guess is a concentrated opiate of some kind. But we were all asleep for three full nights.”
“No wonder I am so hungry.” This was rather worrying. Alexia glanced again at the silent, weapon riddled men around her. Then shrugged. Food first, ominous Italians second. Alexia tucked in. The fare was simple but delicious, although entirely lacking in any meat. In addition to the melon, chunks of crunchy, salted bread, white with flour, were on offer, as well as a hard, sharp yellow cheese, apples, and a pitcher of some dark liquid that smelled like heaven. Floote poured a portion for her into his cup.
Alexia took a tentative sip and was quite overwhelmed by an acute sense of betrayal. It was absolutely vile tasting, a mixture of quinine and burnt dandelion leaves.
“That, I am to assume, is the infamous coffee?”
Madame Lefoux nodded, pouring herself a splash and then adding a good deal of honey and milk. Alexia could not believe a whole hive of honey capable of rescuing the foul drink. Imagine preferring that to tea!
A bell sounded and, in a shifting rustle, most of the gentlemen departed and a new crowd entered. These men were slightly less well dressed and a little less refined in their movements, although they, too, ate in complete silence to the sound of the Bible being read aloud. And they, too, were covered in weaponry. Alexia noticed with annoyance that clean utensils were set before them without bother. But the staff, milling about with platters of food and additional coffee, ignored Alexia with as much thoroughness as the men seated around her. Really, it was beginning to make her feel quite invisible. She attempted a subtle sniff of her arm. Did she stink?
Just to test a theory, and because she was never one to take anything sitting down even when she was, in fact, sitting down Alexia scooted along the bench toward her nearest Italian neighbor, stretching out a hand in his direction, pretending to reach for the bread. In a flash, he was up off the bench and backing away, still not exactly looking at her but warily watching her movements out of the corner of his eye. So it wasn’t just that they were ignoring her; they were actively avoiding her as well.
“Floote, what is going on? Do they think I am contagious? Should I assure them I was born with a nose this size?”
Floote frowned. “Templars.” He intercepted another platter that would have bypassed Alexia and offered her some steamed greens.
Madame Lefoux frowned. “I did not know their reaction to a soulless would be quite so extreme. This is bizarre, but I suppose given their beliefs…” She trailed off, looking at Alexia thoughtfully.
“What? What did I do?”
“Something highly offensive, apparently.”