Pathways - Jeri Taylor [214]
“Silence!” he bellowed, and was mildly surprised at the look of amazement he saw on the young faces that instantly turned toward him, eyes widened and mouths agape. He was gratified that they obeyed instantly, as good Vulcan children should, and he decided they should be commended for their swift obedience.
“You were behaving very badly, and you are fortunate that I was present in order to restore order. Your swift response to my command, however, is laudable. I trust this raucous display is now finished.” He gazed at them sternly for a moment, then turned to leave.
M’Fau was standing directly behind him, looking at him curiously. Her face was heavily lined with age and wisdom, but her eyes were a deep ebony that seemed timeless, powerful. “Tuvok?” she queried.
“I have chastised these young people because they were entirely too obstreperous,” he stated. He saw nothing unusual in this statement, but M’Fau’s left eyebrow lifted slightly. “The adult in charge was not present to control them. You may want to determine who should have been here, and to remind them of their responsibilities.”
M’Fau’s voice was glacial. “I am the adult in charge, and I purposely left the children unsupervised. It is a necessary step in their learning to become masters of themselves.”
“I see.” Tuvok tried to keep his voice flat, but there was a strange vehemence to it. Where had it come from? “I regret my statement. I did not understand the situation.”
M’Fau’s expression seemed more curious than ever. She was staring at him, eyes narrowed. “Are you well, Tuvok? You seem feverish.”
Feverish? Tuvok lifted the back of his hand to his forehead and was surprised to find it moist with perspiration. What could have caused it? He was perplexed. “I . . . do not know. I shall retire to my room. If necessary, I will see the physician.”
He turned on his heel and marched away from the priestess, aware now of the hammering of his heart. Perhaps he was ill. He would drink an herb tea and go to bed early, after working the Disciplines with extra diligence.
But by the time of the afternoon meal, he found himself ravenous, and he rose from his pallet to join his brothers and sisters in the spacious meal gallery. He filled his tray, piling on several mugs of soup, half a loaf of nut bread, and several varieties of fruit. He sat and began devouring this feast.
The soup was excellent—both spicy and sweet, crammed with thick chunks of sorda, a vegetable he had enjoyed since childhood. The bread was freshly baked and still warm, and he tore it into thick slabs, which he used to sop up every bit of broth in the bottom of his mugs. The fruit, kuffi, was ripe and juicy, with a few more seeds than he wanted to deal with, but unusually delicious, as well. He wondered how it might taste cooked into bread, a kind of dessert dish. He determined to recommend it to the bakers.
He was in the process of deciding if he wanted to go back for more food when he became aware of a peculiar silence around him. He lifted his head to discover that the entire table of penitents was staring at him, their expressions ranging from the inquisitive to the disdainful. At the same time, he noticed that he had made a frightful mess on his tray. Soup was spilled, sodden hunks of bread had fallen to the table, and kuffi seeds were strewn everywhere. Then he realized that his face was wet with pulp from the fruit, and his hands were stained and dripping.
There was one instant of surprise as he discovered the disarray he had created, but almost immediately another response boiled up in him. He felt the white heat of anger. “What are you staring at?” he snapped at his fellows. “You are violating my privacy.”
A gentle voice behind him caused him to whirl. Teknat, a priest and a friend, was holding a white cloth toward him. “May I offer you a napkin, Tuvok?” he said quietly.
Tuvok’s response was to spring to his feet in a fury. “If I want a napkin, I’ll find one for myself.” Then he ripped the