Free The Bark of the Bog Owl by Jonathan Rogers Page A

balancing a huge haunch of roast beef on a tray. He was a short and skinny man in a white apron. He could hardly have weighed more than the enormous piece of meat he hoisted over his head. But his look of calm solemnity was undisturbed by any sign of strain as he mounted the dais steps and placed the tray in front of the king.
    All eyes were on Darrow as he took a large carving knife—it looked more like a small sword—and carved eight hand-thick slices of beef, one for each of his foreign guests. The headwaiter placed a slice on each Pyrthen’s plate, and Darrow stood to offer a prayer of thanks for the feast. But even as the king stood, the Pyrthens began cutting and eating their meat. Reluctant to embarrass his guests, Darrow signaled to the servants who stood in the wings, then he sat back down without speaking.
    Servants began bringing in bowls and platters in what seemed to be an endless procession. The first course was a stew made of eels pulled from the River Tam, followed by smoked perch from the northern shires of Corenwald, steamed mackerel from the coast near Middenmarsh, haunches of venison, hams of wild boar, and roasted herons with their beautiful plumage still on! In betweenwere pastries and meat pies, peaches, melons, toasted pecans, figs, and oranges brought in by the wagonload from the southernmost reaches of the island.
    As the feasters were stuffing themselves, strolling lutesmen played and sang favorite Corenwalder ballads. Acrobats tumbled and wrestled and staged mock combats to the delight of the assembled onlookers. One of the entertainers juggled two live chickens while squeezing his body through a cheese hoop.
    After the cheeses and wafers had been served, the court jester tootled a mock flourish on a little tinhorn and strode into the great hall balancing a huge meat pie on a tray over his head. Wearing a white apron over his green-and-yellow patchwork costume, he was a fool version of the headwaiter. With his chin lifted, his eyebrows raised above half-closed eyelids, and his mouth pulled down into a solemn frown, he mimicked the headwaiter’s air of importance. But his solemnity was betrayed by his fool’s cap, which flopped into his face with every step, its brass bell jingling as it bumped his nose. The feasters roared with laughter, but the jester’s look of self-importance never cracked.
    The assembly watched eagerly as the jester strode toward the long center table. He stumbled, and the audience gasped as the huge meat pie teetered and nearly dropped on the white head of Lord Cuthbert, the eldest of the Four and Twenty. But the jester, in an amazing feat of agility, recovered his balance and rescued both the meat pie and Lord Cuthbert.
    Pacing up and down the table, the jester looked into the face of each feaster. He was seeking out the youngest member of the assembly. It appeared that he would settleon Prince Steren, the only son of King Darrow. But then he spotted Aidan, and he tripped his way to the far end of the hall. In the same ceremonious way the headwaiter had placed the beef roast in front of King Darrow, the jester set the meat pie in front of Errol’s youngest son. Presenting Aidan with an oversized butter knife, the jester recited a poem:
    The youngest feaster at the board
Is just a sprout of a greater lord.
Someday he may carve the roast on high;
Today, the humble pigeon pie.
Your Sovereign’s dish is somewhat bigger,
But yours, you’ll find has much more vigor.
So slice the pie, and send it round,
That mirth and good cheer might abound.
    Aidan took the big knife from the jester. He didn’t exactly follow the jester’s meaning, especially the part about his pie being more vigorous than the king’s dish. But he could see he was supposed to cut slices of the pigeon pie as King Darrow had cut slices of the beef roast.
    When the knife broke the top pastry, the pie made a noise—a trilling coo like a pigeon. Aidan drew back in surprise, and the gray head of a