He found the great hall empty, but a young maid- servant appeared immediately, showed him to a table, and vanished. Between the long rows of tables he noted her passage through two huge swinging doors leading to the kitchen. Two other servants, cooks by the look of their aprons, stared over the top of the doors and conferred heatedly among themselves.
I sense a conspiracy, Naitachal thought A maid- servant appeared with a plate of food, a pitcher of ale, and a basket of bread, all of which she balanced pre- cariously on a wicker tray that had seen better days.
There is absolutely nobody else here, or signs that any- one else has eaten here this morning, and they had food prepared in advance. They could not have con- jured a more effective stalling tactic. The maidservant deposited the food before him and vanished into the kitchen. He wondered when the rest of the castle had breakfast, then realized that very few of the evening's guests had stayed overnight, or if they had they had been absolutely quiet and invisible during his trek down from his room. Most likely, meals went directly to the rooms of the palaces' permanent occupants.
That, or the others had known he would be here and had chosen to avoid him.
Naitachal regarded the food with annoyance. The bread was cold and hard, and the wooden implements would not penetrate the dense crust, so he resorted to gripping the loaf and slamming it impolitely against the edge of the wobbly table. This action, which he had to repeat, nearly tipped the table and its contents over, which would have been no great loss. The pheas- ant, or small chicken, or game bird, he couldn't tell which, was cold, its juices congealed in a greasy pud- dle on the wooden trough. Fearing intentional, or even accidental, food poisoning, he declared the bird- thing uneatable, and filled his copious time gnawing on the bread, bread which more closely resembled a brick than a loaf.
When he looked up, he saw that he had quite an audience himself. The cooks, the maidservants and a half dozen others, peered over the door, exchanging amused looks, with even a giggle or two for guaran- teed embarrassment.
This could take forever, he thought, ignoring the onlookers as he chewed on the barely digestible bread, and ventured to conclude that this might have been the intention, since every exchange so far had delayed his meeting with King Archenomen. He imagine King, this very moment hurriedly boarding the royal carriage for an impromptu picnic in the forest, arranged for the sole purpose of avoiding him. They've had more than enough time to plan this, he thought darkly. Gaming an audience might be more difficult than I first thought.
He glanced back towards the entrance to the hall- way and saw Paavo conversing with a short, squat fellow partially hidden from view. They seemed to be arguing about something, casting distressed looks in his direction. Apparently the topic of heated discus- sion was Naitachal.
Naitachal was about to leave the sumptuous feast to go meet the new fellow himself, when Paavo's com- panion began walking, without much apparent enthusiasm, towards his table. Finally, someone to take me to the King. I hope.
He came directly to Naitachal's table, his posture becoming more self-important as he neared. A Naitachal's eyes, his costume hardly warranted such puffed-up pride, for he looked as if he wore the spare clothing of six or seven different folk. He wore a broad, black hat with a silver satin scarf draped over it, and a baldric of blue velvet, which was tucked into a belt of gold braid. The tunic was a dull orange, with large, billowing sleeves, and had a skirt that termi- nated at his knees, over hose of green. Black boots thumped against the bare wooden floor of the hall, the noise ceasing suddenly as he stopped to stand regard- ing the Ambassador as if he found himself confronted by a freak of nature.
"Please, don't stand," the man said, although Nai- tachal had no intentions of getting to his feet. "
Johan Pikhalas, assigned to you by the King to deal with your needs." He smiled greasily, reminding the elf of the uneaten bird in front of him. He was younger than the elf had expected, perhaps in his forties. Even wearing the broad hat, it was very clear that Johan was losing his hair. He had the appearance and attitude of someone assigned an important, but unwanted and unpleasant task.
"Please, sit," Naitachal said, gesturing at an empty chair opposite him. And have some dead bird with me.
But Pikhalas seemed to prefer the psychological advantage of standing. He shook his head politely. "I understand you seek an audience with the King."
"I do," Naitachal said. "I spoke with him last night at supper, and he indicated he would be happy to speak with me today."
Pikhalas seemed to be choosing his words carefully.
"I see. Paavo told me that you had arrived only today.
What subject, may I inquire, did you wish to discuss with King Archenomen?"
"I am the Envoy from Althea," Naitachal said, slowly, and keeping a rein on his temper, "and this is concerning a rather delicate matter, which I am under orders to discuss with him directly. Forgive me if this intrudes on some custom of your land that I am unfa- miliar with. I understand the need to protect your ruler, but your court accepted my credentials last night, and an envoy and ambassador has certain privi- leges as well as duties."
Naitachal reached for the letter, but Pikhalas raised a hand in protest.
"That will not be necessary. Your credentials are not in question. But the King is a very busy man, and you have arrived at a rather awkward time. You see, it is late harvest, and the King has been receiving counts from all over the kingdom for the past week. Internal matters. Taxation. We keep a rather tight rein on our various Houses. The accounting of their properties requires his undivided attention."
The Dark Elf was not going to buy into this. Har- vest? Even a late one, in the winter? Agriculture may be more critical, this far north, but why shoul King play a personal role in inventorying crops?
Pikhalas might know of the attack on him last night, or might have even arranged it. Or might not. Don't jump to conclusions.
Still, it was time to take off the gloves. "Let me cut straight to the matter, here. Are you telling me in a roundabout way that the King is refusing to recei Ambassador of Althea?"
Pikhalas flinched at the accusation, but Naitachal let the question stand without apology. "Certainly Ambassador. The King will be willing to speak with you, but not today. And since you seem unwilling to discuss your business with me, it would seem we are at an impasse."