room."
He looked up at the stairs and his bad leg throbbed at the very thought of hobbling back down with a heavy box.
"I'll get it, Kinchin Captain," she said with a slight smile. "My notebooks are up there too."
She handed him the little book where she'd been taking notes, and he thumbed through it. There was no Alex, or any name like it, listed among the survivors or the missing. He also found no mention of Professor or Doctor Artemus Thornton.
When Tralkulo got back, he traded the notebook for the box, and sent her to the parlor to account for the ladies -- and also to see that the ladies were not in conflict with the security men. Then Rozinshura lugged the box into the tavern.
He was immediately set upon by several men, all talking over one another. He nodded gravely, as if he could make out what they were saying.
"All of your questions will be answered," he said loudly. "But first we will have a drink. We sit. Kinchin Tralkulo will go over all the information with everybody to see that there are no discrepancies with our reports from the wreck, and we will all have answers together."
"But my cousin--" began one particularly aggressive young man.
"Is your cousin missing?"
"Yes!"
"Then she is not here, and shouting for her in here will not find her. Sit. We will make a plan."
He had almost the exact same conversation four times before he made it to the bar, though their worries varied: Missing people, injured people, missing luggage, hunger, a more comfortable chair, a cleaner table.
And while the masters complained, the servants began to scurry about to please them, even though some were injured or shaken themselves. Rozinshura restrained his disapproval, and limped behind the bar.
There he found a manservant inspecting the glasses disdainfully. The man began to pump water to fill the washing tub.
"No, no," said Rozinshura. "You are not a servant here. You are equal. You sit."
The valet drew himself up and looked on Rozinshura like a king looks on an insect.
"If we are all equal to drink from a filthy glass, sir, then I decline the privilege."
Rozinshura would have been insulted, but the glasses were dirty. He sighed and set down the box of brandy.
"Perhaps I can help you with your equality," said a female voice.
A woman stood behind him. She was well-dressed, with pearls and a pretty little hat marred only by a broken feather.
"Lady Featherdale," she said, and she flicked a the broken feather, as though it were her trademark. "A little disheveled, but reporting for duty. Shall I play mother? You seem to have enough to do."
She took a bottle of brandy and began to pour a small amount into each glass as the valet washed them.
Rozinshura, finding himself useless, took one of the glasses and drank. The brandy was very good -- mellow and warming. It was better to drink it than trade it for a truck.
He took a bottle and slipped it into the large pocket of his coat. He remembered that the spy's book -- with its dangerous bit of paper -- was in the other pocket. It was time to seek the owner of that paper.
Episode 19
The Importance of Sandwiches
The kitchen wasn't hard to find. Alex just had to follow the sound of clattering pans and swearing in Awarshi.
The cook was the only one in the room, and he was having a meltdown. He ran this way and that, banging pans, organizing things. The only sign that Thorny might be around was some wet clothes drying behind the stove.
"Uh, hey," said Alex.
"Go to the front!" called the cook. "I have no time, I have a hundred people to serve, and they all are magesties!"
"Can I help?" said Alex. Those were the magic words. The cook stopped, looked at him, and then suddenly smiled a welcoming smile.
"You can cook?"
"I can work."
"Good! Good!" said the cook, whose name turned out to be Niko.
Niko took up a tray of pitchers and cups and went to deliver them to the front of the house, while he sent Alex back to the linen closet to get clean clothes. By the time Alex returned, Niko was back in the kitchen was carefully cutting paper-thin slices of some kind of melon. He also had a stack of very thin slices of bread.
"In Imperia, noble people like sandwiches, yes?" he said, hopefully. "Little tiny sandwiches with only butter and a little taste of something. Yes?"
He waited and Alex realized he was asking his opinion. "Um, sure," said Alex.
"I make ham, too," said Niko. "That will keep them until I can make raggoul. Or blootchkes. Everybody likes blootchkes!"
He sent Alex to get a stack of plates and a tray, and then together they assembled the sandwiches and cut the crusts off. Then they cut them into little triangles and diamond shapes. Alex convinced Niko to add a little mustard to the ham sandwiches. They piled the sandwiches as artfully as possible on the plates, and piled the plates on a big tray.
As they worked, Alex tried to ease into a conversation, maybe learn what happened to Thorny. And it turned out the cook was happy to talk. He talked the whole time, as a matter of fact, arguing with himself about what dishes to make.
"Blootchkes with apples, I think. No no no! With potatoes and sour cream. Is that too ordinary? Maybe not... simple is elegant. But potatoes are food for workers. Sour cream with smoked fish! Do I have any smoked fish...?"
Alex couldn't get a word in edgewise. He figured Niko would calm down once he got his menu in order, though. In the meantime the sandwiches smelled good.
Suddenly Alex was starving. He hadn't eaten since lunch at the.... at the dorm cafeteria in a completely other world. A hundred years ago, or maybe a hundred years ahead. Or maybe just hours ago, with miles of running and swimming and worrying in between.
He stepped back and collapsed on to a bench. Niko took a fat handful of discarded ham and slapped it between two thick crusts from the bread -- not a dainty little sandwich at all -- and handed it to him. Alex wolfed it down, and it tasted better than anything he'd ever had in his life. Way better than the wimpy layers of dissolving bread and processed meat product he'd had at the dorm. They'd put that crappy sandwich in a little press and grilled it. It hadn't made it any better.
Muted reality, that's how Aunt Flavia had described the real world. Or what he thought was the real world. Was Awarshawa not real? This sandwich was real all right. That dorm sandwich was not real.
And Flavia said he'd find his place when he'd had enough of that world and its muted reality. Alex laughed. He never realized it was time to go, never saw he could go. Thorny was the one who saw it. Thorny, like a good teacher, had led him here, where the sandwiches were good and things mattered.
And now Thorny was lost. Not there to save. Flavia's words echoed in his head, but he shook them off. He just had to find where Thorny was. Probably behind that locked door in the hall. But not necessarily.... And then there was the girl. Was she still in the parlor?
Alex jumped up.
"Let me take those to the front," he said, as Niko finished arranging the plates on a tray.
"Are you all right now?"
"I've never been better in my life," said Alex, and he set out with the tray to scout the halls, and find the girl. Maybe, under the guise of a waiter, he'd get a chance to talk to her, to assure her help was coming....
Because once Alex got Thorny home, he'd come back. Not just for the girl, but for himself. Alex had found his place, and even if it turned out to be the worst mistake of his life, it was where he belonged, he was sure.
Episode 20
Not There To Save
The tray was piled high with plates, and it would be hard to explore while carrying it, so Alex headed straight for the parlor first; deliver the sandwiches, see about the girl.
But there he found Captain Rozinshura was blocking the parlor door as he talked to one of the security men.
"I have no place for you, Kinchin Colonel," Rozinshura
was saying. "We are up to our hair in foreigners. You would be better off in the town."
Crap, thought Alex, if the security guys left, they'd take the girl with them. He had to talk to her now.
Alex tried to push past them, but Rozinshura turned and scowled at him. He glanced over Alex, and seemed to be scowling at the uniform.
"Niko gave me these clothes," said Alex, quickly. "Mine were messed up. I hope it's okay." He lifted the tray of sandwiches. "I told him I'd give some sandwiches to the security guys. Are they still in there?"
"I'll take them," said the captain, and he picked up a couple plates and returned to his conversation, still blocking the way.
"I need to go in there anyway," said Alex. "Niko didn't know how many blootchkes to make, so I said I'd count the people."
"Fifty-seven," said the captain.
"In the parlor?"
"In the building. Go on." The captain gestured toward the tavern. "You are not a servant. You are a guest. Go sit. Eat."
"He also wanted to know what kind of blootchkes," said Alex, stalling. "Apple? Potato and sour cream, maybe?"
"All of them. Start with what is fastest. He knows this."
Alex had to back off before he made the man too suspicious.
The people in the tavern met him with a chorus of approval. They grabbed up the sandwiches quickly, and asked for more. He promised blootchkes, whatever they were. When people asked, he faked an Awarshi accent and said; "You like! Everybody like blootchkes! You like apple?"
The plates were quickly emptied and he realized that was the perfect excuse: he could go back to the parlor to gather the plates! He