A World Without Heroes - Brandon Mull [141]
Steaming slabs of prime rib, legs of lamb, cuts of ham, heaps of fowl, fillets of fish, rows of sausage, morsels on skewers, and platters of tender shellfish all vied for his attention. Bowls of fruit, some peeled and slathered in cream, some whole, sat opposite plates piled with vegetables both familiar and foreign.
Jason watched the guests attack the food without restraint. Soon flabby chins dribbled with grease wherever he looked. Chubby fingers were occasionally dipped into silver bowls of scented water and wiped clean on linen napkins only to instantly become messy again as they shuttled more food to eager mouths. Each person at the table had a full complement of silverware, but few paid heed to spoons or forks. Jason noticed that Duke Conrad, Count Dershan, and the tattooed man all ate in moderation with utensils, abstaining from the frenzy displayed by the other guests.
Jason selected a thick cut of steak and found it was the most succulent, perfectly seasoned meat he had ever tasted. It was pink through the center, with a hint of red, and melted juicily in his mouth. As he sampled other delicacies, he began to understand the exuberance displayed by the other guests. He ate decadent shellfish marinated in buttery sauces, chilled fruit that exploded with sweet flavor, and poultry smothered in melted cheese.
Everything was superb.
The variety of delicious tastes was overwhelming.
Only the obscene gluttony of the other guests distracted from the perfection of the meal. Jason noticed that Tark ate little. He did not look over at Jason again. As more courses arrived, Jason tried to pace himself, savoring the food instead of wallowing in it, trying soups, breads, and tangy cheeses.
As the meal proceeded, a group of servants appeared, bearing white, bulbous fruit the size of watermelons. “Oklinder” was repeated around the table in excited whispers.
Servants ceremoniously punctured the glossy white sacks, catching the spilling fluid in silver decanters. A servant carried the first decanter to Jason and filled his goblet. The fluid was clear. He took a probative sip, then gulped down the contents. The natural juice was sweet enough to please the palate, but not so sugary as to make it unrefreshing. The delightful taste was unlike anything he had ever sampled. Since the servant was hovering, he held out his goblet for a refill.
Fresh platters of food continued to appear. The eagerness of the guests began to abate. Jason picked at salty stuffed mushrooms. His stomach felt full of lead.
“And now for dessert,” Duke Conrad cried at last, dabbing his lips with a napkin.
“Dessert, dessert,” echoed many in the company.
Jason wiped his mouth with a napkin. How could he eat anything else?
“I wonder,” the Duke began slyly, directing his gaze toward Jason, “if our new friend has ever sampled the liver of a wizatch.”
Jason found the entire party staring at him. “I haven’t had the pleasure,” Jason said, trying to sound formal, “unless I know it by another name.” Interested murmurs followed the declaration.
Liveried servants busied themselves clearing away the remains of the feast. Tark got up and left the table, shoulders slumped.
Duke Conrad coughed into his fist. “The wizatch is a rodent unlike any other. The finicky creature feeds exclusively upon the nectar of the cheeseblossom—it would starve before taking nourishment from another source. Cheeseblossom nectar is, of course, poisonous to all other known organisms.
“Inside the wizatch, cheeseblossom nectar undergoes a transformation wherein the poison is neutralized and the taste is refined. The liver becomes saturated with purified nectar. Consumed fresh, the liver of a wizatch is the most delectable delicacy of my acquaintance. As you are one of the uninitiated, I insist you inaugurate our dessert by sampling the first batch.”
“Hear, hear,” resounded voices up and down the table.
Jason could not conceive of a more disgusting after-dinner treat than rodent livers, but he succumbed to the general pressure with a grin and a nod. “I’ll try