To Storm Heaven - Esther Friesner [35]
“That is a good start. Let us go downstairs and have our evening meal in the taproom. I think we will find plenty of the local people there seeking diversion.” “If they want diversion, we’ll give it to them,” Riker said with a grin. “New faces in a village always do.” It was as if he’d been granted the gift of prophecy.
The village inn was also the village tavern, the local magnet for as many work-weary souls as could pay the price of a drink. There were already several groups of people occupying the long plank tables in the lowceiled, smoky room when Riker and the others came downstairs.
He observed the locals carefully before allowing his party to seat themselves at a vacant table near the great stone hearth. If men and women on this world would sooner die than eat or drink in each other’s company, he wouldn’t let his teammates reveal themselves as interlopers over such an easily determined detail. He was intensely aware of how little they knew about the social customs of Ashkaar. All he had to go on were the facts he knew concerning Orakisan etiquette, but he knew better than to rely on using that as a guide.
He let out a deep sigh of relief when he finally sank down onto the hard, split-log bench and noted that while the locals were slyly studying the newcomers, no one was gasling, pointing, or muttering in that threatening key that was usually the prolog to many an Away Team’s quick escape via transporter beam. Two of the younger men present were even smiling, although their friendly overtures were aimed specifically at Troi and Lelys.
The Away Team was halfway through their dinner—a simple but filling meal of bread, soup, a few slices of well-roasted meat, and some unidentiffable root vegetables boiled almost to mush—when the two would-be swains gathered up their courage and came over to the table. They stood there awkwardly, swaying from side to side like sailors trying to keep their footing on a storm-tossed deck, until one of them found his voice.
“Good evenin’, friend,” he said, trying to pretend he was interested in talking to Commander Riker.
“New to Kare’al, are you?” Lelys and Troi kept silent. If this young man chose to speak to Riker ffrst—no matter what his actual desires were—it could mean that local women were expected to wait for a male to invite them to join the conversation.
Or it could simply mean that this boy is too terrified of women to risk talking to one, Riker mused.
“Yes, we only just arrived here this afternoon,” the commander replied affably. He shifted over on the bench so that the young men could join the table, if they wished. He didn’t have to urge them. They slid their long legs under the boards in a wink and promptly made themselves the life of the party.
“Hoi, Sekol!” the taller of the two called out to the innkeeper. “Bring us all a pitcher of the old ale, here, the good stuff. Not every day we have visitors, not in this season. I’ll pay.” He leaned over to Mr. Data and said, “Too early for the shearing, too late for the hides, and not a single trader’s pack beast with you anyway. What does bring you up our mountain? If you don’t mind my asking.” “Not at all,” Data replied. “Feet.” “Feet?” The young man’s puzzlement broke into a loud, raw laugh. He gave the android a hearty slap on the back that didn’t budge him an inch. “Feet! That’s a good one! Then if it’s a trek you’ve made of it, you needn’t say anything more. No shepherds in my family, eh, Misik?” He raised one hand, thumb and ring-finger touching. It had to be the Ashkaarian equivalent of a knowing wink, for his companion made the same sign back at him.
“None at all, V’kal, none at all. So you’re pilgrims, then?” He began by aiming the question at Lelys but lost heart and wound up asking it of Riker.
“Pilgrims to the shrine, yes,” the commander replied, doing his best not to smile at the shy lads’ bumbling and fully stalled attempt at flirtation.
“Which one?” V’kal’s inquiry took Riker by surprise. “Which—?” “We are