Chapter 8: Banquet

STEVEN SAT STARING at the King, who fell to eating his bowl of soup with vigor, splashing a good bit into his bushy mustache.

It suddenly dawned on him that he was not here to simply tell stories with the King. He was here because the King expected him to go to this Rich Reach—wherever that was—and master whoever or whatever was terrorizing it. Whatever was terrorizing Rich Reach was also now terrorizing Steven.

“Your Majesty!” Steven exclaimed. “You can’t mean to say that you want me to go hunt an unknown terror! I’ve not actually slain a dragon. I’m really just a storyteller. I have no skills in knowing what the terror is that you seek. I can’t...”

Steven stuttered to a pause, too overwhelmed to speak.

“Relax,” said the King. “It’s just a story. You don’t expect everyone to believe there was really an ogre threatening a village that was overcome by a ridiculous hat, do you? Or that a miser gave up his hoard of gold to a thief in exchange for a cup? They are just stories.”

“How do you know the stories that I have told?” asked Steven.

“Oh, stories travel much faster than people,” Magnus replied, laughing. “Let’s see. There was a war a few years ago. Now, unlike bridges, wars are a great boon to commerce. There were certain knights captured who had come across a dragonslayer who told magnificent stories. They, in turn, traded the stories for a better place in the prisons. A merchant came to negotiate the truce and he told of a dragonslayer who told stories. He traded a story for the release of our prisoners of war. Ah ... Then there was the thief.”

Just at that point, servants interrupted to clear the soup bowls and a procession of cooks with silver platters began from the kitchen to the tables. The chief cook approached the King’s table himself, and with a flourish, removed the cover of his tray.

“Duck!” the King exclaimed.

Steven dove under the table.

Seeing Steven dive for cover, Magnus dove under the table as well. When the King disappeared beneath the head table, there was a shocked silence, then every guest in the hall took cover beneath the banquet tables. There was a loud clatter as silver trays hit the floor and cooks crammed themselves under the closest tables. Sergeant and all the King’s guards rushed to surround the King’s table with swords drawn to defend their liege. At last, the room was silent as the guards surveyed the surround area with their eyes.

Under the table the King uncovered his head to look at Steven who cowered there, shaking. Steven slowly looked up into the King’s eyes. As one, they spoke.

“Is it safe?”

They crept from beneath the cover of the table.

“Sergeant!” barked the King. “Is it safe?”

“We see nothing up here that might make it unsafe, Your Majesty,” Sergeant replied. Cautiously, the King and Steven regained their seats. The guests crawled from beneath the tables and worriedly sat in their chairs. The cooks quickly scraped the food back onto their trays, placed them on the tables, and fled to the kitchen. Sergeant leaned in toward the King’s table, still not taking his eyes of the surrounds.

“What was it?” whispered the King to Steven.

“I don’t know,” answered Steven.

“Was it a shadow?” asked Sergeant. “A premonition? A sudden movement?”

Everyone looked at Steven.