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"Do you recall its location?"
"No. Wait ... yes. It's about four hundred kilometers due east of Brass Monkey."
"Correct. Sight-seeing trips are run from the settlement."
"I may be dense, but I don't see the import yet."
"The wind here blows almost continually from the west," said Williams with carefully controlled
excitement. " Maimee-vyn says that on very windy days great clouds of black smoke and ash descend on
the earth. They darken the land and make the crops bitter. The smoke and ash come always from the
same southwesterly direction. No one from Sofold has ever been there, but occasionally a trading ship
will arrive that has passed near. Its a great burning mountain. The Trannish name means
`The-Place-'here-The-Earth's-Blood--Burns.' "
"Damn! I see what you mean. Reach the volcano and from there to Brass Monkey is easy. Southwest
and then we're warm again!"
"There could be variations in the smoke pattern," cau-tioned Williams. "But the wizard was quite insistent
about it always coming from the same direction. Most of the time the wind blows due east, so smoke and
soot from many eruptions would pass far south of here."
Ethan was rubbing mental hands together. "At least we have a direction now for our raft ... if we can get
a raft." Suddenly he found himself beside a chair. September was whispering in his ear.
"For O'Morion's sake, young feller, sit down!" He tugged at Ethan's jacket. "Sit down! Want 'em all
staring at you?"
Ethan sat. Then he became aware of the Boschian scene he'd been drawn into.
They were seated on the outside of a great table shaped like a long letter "U." Tran of all sizes and
descriptions were seated both inside and outside the arms of the 'cable. The Landgrave, his daughter,
and Eer-Meesach were sitting at the base of the U, on the outside, facing three empty chairs.
"For the Landgrave's ancestors," explained, September.
Hunnar was-seated across the table from them, on the in-side and several seats down the U. Ethan
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noticed that their little group was positioned well down the arm of the table, close to the Landgrave. A
location of some honor, probably. The richness of silks and furs was dazzling. Ethan saw nei-ther fashion
nor couture, only credit signs with lots of lovely zero's trailing behind like newborn puppies. The attire of
Sofolds nobility offered every color. Gold, deep blue, and scarlet predominated.
Great metal and polished wooden platters piled high with smoking meat, baskets of breads and fruits,
and cauldrons of pungent soup filled the tables to overflowing. Light came from huge, thigh-thick candles
set on posts around the table. He took notice of the controlled war that took the place of plate-passing
and reflected wryly that no one would put candles on the table for risk of total conflagration over a
stuffed olive, or whatever those little green things were.
In addition, light came from baskets of oil burning in wrought-iron cups set into the walls. And the great
fireplace sported a blaze that would have violated every fire regula-tion a humanx hotel manager could
envision.
His own plate was wide and formed of some coppery ma-terial. He also had a cloth napkin not quite as
big as a two-man tent and a knife more suitable for a cavalry charge than a dinner.
In spite of some lingering hesitancy over the alien cuisine, his mouth was beginning to water. At least,
between his furs and the fire, it wouldn't freeze.
Next to him, September was gnawing happily on a meat -laden bone with all the delicacy and
comportment of a fam-ished hyena. He nudged Ethan in the ribs, gently this time.
"Dig in, young feller. By the Dying Dead Red, these people know how tocook ."
"Pardon me if I don't share your enthusiasm. It's my tender unbringing and respectable charge account
holding me back." He turned to his other side.
Williams was nibbling absently on something that looked like a cross between a carrot and a stick of
emergency space protein. Next to him, Walther seemed to be displaying about the same amount of gusto
in downing his meal.
Across the table, Hellespont du Kane was doing his best with a pair of knives to slice some meat from a
small bone
for both himself and Colette. The meat stayed off his clothes. Also off his plate.
Ethan looked around, then reached uptabie for something that resembled corned beef but could just as
easily have been the pickled liver of a pregnant krokim. Nonetheless, it looked inviting and smelled
better. A knife came down and just missed his fingers. It was wielded by a rangy tran several seats up
from them. The native gave him a good natured closed-mouthgrin and carved off a choice portion for
him-self.
Ethan gritted his teeth, half-closed his eyes, and made a long-range stab with his own knife. When in
Rome-Vatican-... Surprisingly, he came back with the rest of the roast, or whatever it was, and nobody's
hand.
Two good-sized tankards sat in front .of his plate. The meat, he discovered, had a flavor like roast pork,
although it was more heavily seasoned than he'd expected. It certainly wasn't bland.
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He tried the larger tankard and found that it contained a drink like thick hot chocolate with a faint hint of
pepper.
He almost choked on it when September let out a whoop and clobbered him with a flying elbow. He
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