Chapter 3

The former chapel looked completely different, decorated as it was for the feast. Long tables were set up along either side, running the length of the hall. Fire pits filled the middle of the room with rotating spits hanging above them. Villagers lined the tables on both sides, although they were up out of their seats as often as they were in them, going between eating their food, carving off hunks of roast meat from the spits, and bringing food and beer to others.

Erick’s erstwhile throne had been replaced with a table which featured the only place settings in the entire room. Isobel and Samuel found themselves escorted immediately to the head table, and they took their places while admiring the general revelry.

“Erick did say that the town loves a feast,” Samuel said quietly.

“I have found that to be true, myself. It is nice to see the citizens enjoying themselves.”

“My lord, my lady,” came a gentle voice from behind them. “May I fill your cups with some wine?”

“You may,” said Samuel, turning to look over his shoulder. The woman behind them was strikingly pretty in a well-lived kind of way, and seemed to be quite in her element as she balanced the jug of wine on her hip and reached between them for both of their mugs at the same time. She deftly filled them without so much as a splash over the edge and returned them to their places on the table before Samuel could catch his breath.

“Thank you,” said Isobel. The woman moved down the table, picking up Erick’s mug and filling it as well. Samuel spun around in his chair to watch her, finally managing to stammer out a word of thanks.

“Might I ask your name?” he said.

“Clarissa, my lord.”

“Clarissa! What a lovely name. I am Samuel, and this is Sister Isobel of the Order.”

“Of course. It is a pleasure to see you again in Harburg, my lady.”

“Thank you, Clar—” Isobel was cut off by the blast of a horn behind them, which brought the room to an uneasy quiet.

A man wearing boiled leather armor and carrying far too many weapons on his belt stepped forward, attempting to project his voice through the hall. “Lord Erick ... of Harburg,” he said awkwardly as the governor swept pompously into the room from the door behind the dais.

Erick stood in front of the head table and waved his arm, and a half-hearted round of applause went up from the villagers.

“My friends!” he began. “Tonight we celebrate the arrival of the Queen’s emissaries, the witch Isobel and her companion!” A slightly more hearty round of applause went around the room, but Isobel’s face twisted at the word ‘witch’.

“At least you have a name,” Samuel whispered to her.

“They have come to meet with me on important matters, and as much as we would welcome a longer visit, they must depart tomorrow. So let us toast to them while we may, and show them the true character of our humble village. To the Seven Beasts, to our new friends, and to Harburg!”

“To Harburg,” came the echo from the villagers.

Erick sat down heavily in his chair, reaching immediately for his mug of wine. “I hope you’re hungry!” he said jovially.

“The roasts do smell wonderful,” said Samuel. “It’s been a while since—”

“Oh, no, my boy!” Erick laughed. “We don’t eat the roasts. You are my guests! You’ll dine on pheasant with me, of course. Bring the plates, dear.”

“Yes, sir,” Clarissa said, stepping away from the table.

Erick turned to Isobel. “How is the tavern treating you? Very nice, yes?”

Isobel began to speak, but then Erick laid his hand on her leg and she stopped. She looked at his hand, then looked at him. He grinned broadly at her, but then yelped and jerked his hand back as an electric shock suddenly ran through it.

“The tavern is very nice, Lord Erick,” said Samuel. “More than sufficient for the two of us. I’m surprised you keep it closed.”

“We don’t get many visitors in Harburg,” said Erick, still shaking his hand, “and certainly none of noble stock, apart from yourselves, of course. Anyone else who would choose to come out this far probably isn’t someone I want sticking around for very long anyway.”

“Undesirables, I suppose?” said Samuel.

“Exactly, my boy. Poachers. Thieves. Murderers. Rogues of every shape and color, yes. Why should I make a place for them to sleep? I can always have Reg open it up whenever I need it.”

“Do your townsfolk not enjoy the odd drink?”

“Pah! I have no interest in encouraging public drunkenness, no, no. It gets bad enough when I throw them a feast like this one. We’ll probably have to put a few in the stocks overnight if they get out of hand.”

“I see.”

Clarissa returned with the plates of food, setting a roast bird down in front of Lord Erick, then two more in front of Samuel and Isobel. They were delicately prepared, and attention had been paid to how they were arranged on the plates alongside a pile of new potatoes. It was a far cry from the self-service nature of the rest of the room.

“What shall we drink to?” said Erick.

“To the people of Harburg,” Samuel suggested. “May they find—”

“Oh, no, that’s dull,” said Erick. “Let us drink to something more important.”

Isobel and Samuel looked at each other briefly. Everything about the man reeked of self-aggrandizement and ego, and it was obvious he was fishing for a compliment. “To your Lordship’s health, then,” said Samuel. “And the Queen’s.”

“To the Queen,” said Isobel.

“Yes, yes, the Queen,” said Erick. “Wonderful.” He drew his knife and began carving into his dinner, and Isobel and Samuel followed suit.