Chapter Three
After Ruth had related to Church her encounter with the Malignos, the Portune and Baccharus, they retired to their rooms for a brief rest. When the red sun was bisected by the horizon, Cormorel disturbed them with a sharp rap on the door.
"The Master requests your presence at his table for dinner," he said with his usual ironic smile.
They weren't about to argue; their stomachs were rumbling and the cooking aromas floating through the ship were mouthwatering. Spices, herbs and roast meat were prominent, but there were other, subtler scents they couldn't quite place. Cormorel led them across the deck to the raised section at the aft where Manannan's quarters obviously lay. A winding, wood-panelled staircase took them down to another corridor. Here torches roared furiously, as if fired by gas burners. At the end, Cormorel swung open two double doors to reveal a scene that took their breath away. Spread out before them was a banqueting hall so large it could have filled eight or nine ships the size of the Wave Sweeper they had seen from the seafront. They could barely think with the noise that echoed amongst the lofty rafters. Oak tables ranged in lines, around which sat a mesmerising array of strange creatures of all shapes and sizes, interspersed with the more sedate figures of the Tuatha lle Danann. There was babbled, incomprehensible conversation, shouts and screeches; in a few places brawls rolled amongst the aisles.
"Do not worry," Cormorel said wearily, "you will get used to it."
The walls were an odd mix of stone and wood, hung with luxuriant drapes of the deepest scarlet. Log fires roared in enormous stone hearths at strategic points around the perimeter, yet the temperature remained pleasant; the flames cast dancing shadows over the army of diners, making them even more bizarre and terrifying. Some of them looked towards Ruth and Church with unpleasant stares that made the blood run cold.
"Is everyone here?" Ruth asked. "The Malignos?"
Cormorel raised an eyebrow. "Ah, you have met some of your fellow travellers, I see. No, not all dine here. Some have very, shall we say, individual tastes."
"Where do you find the food?" Church said.
Cormorel smiled. "Our kitchens are particularly well stocked."
He led them amongst the diners where the smell of sweat and animal musk was almost overpowering. The tables were laid out with what appeared to be pewter plates, knives and goblets, each section with an intricate centrepiece of feathers, flowers and crystal. Nothing had yet been served. Something reached out and tugged at Ruth's arm, but she shook it off without daring to turn around.
At the far end of the room was the long table of the Master, piled high with the most magnificent gold and silver plates and dishes. Manannan sat in the centre on a large chair carved with intertwining dolphins, fish and rolling waves, his face still a mask, his eyes unfathomable. On either side sat members of the Tuatha lle Danann, obviously the more highborn members of the race; there were two whose forms were so alien they hurt Church's eyes and forced him to look away, but Niamh was there, at Manannan's right hand. Three spaces remained at the far end, next to where Baccharus sat patiently.
Manannan let his eyes wander over them when Cormorel presented them to him; they were unable to decipher his emotions. "Welcome to my table," he said in a voice like the cold depths. "It is good to dine once again with a Brother of Dragons."
Church gave a curt bow. "We are honoured."
"This sustenance is given freely and without obligation," Manannan continued. "Enjoy this repast, Fragile Creatures."
Cormorel led them to the empty chairs. "Good evening, Baccharus," he said a little tartly as he took the seat next to his friend. "I hope you have been passing your time well while I was engaged in the business of the Master."
"Well, indeed. I have met many of our travelling companions and investigated some of the wonders hidden in Wave Sweeper."
"You always were a sociable and inquisitive fellow," Cormorel noted dismissively. Church and Ruth sensed some kind of tension between the two. Cormorel clapped his hands once. Instantly some of the bland-featured Tuatha lle Danann emerged from side rooms carrying platters of food and goblets of wine. Their perfect features, so devoid of even the hint of emotion, made Church and Ruth uncomfortable.
"Why are these young ones always servants?" Ruth asked.
"They are new. They must exist in servitude until they have learnt what it truly means to be a Golden One." Cormorel virtually ignored them.
"New?" Ruth persisted.
"Barely Golden Ones at all, but still not of the race of Adam. They have not settled into their greatness or understanding of the fluidity of it all. Fixed, if you will, like you and your world."
"So, the lowest of the low," Church noted acidly. "You can't escape hierarchy whichever way you turn."
"There is a structure to everything, Brother of Dragons. You should know that by now." Cormorel eyed him sardonically.
"Yes, that's always the argument. It must be nice to have such a full understanding of the rules and regulations of the Maker."
They were interrupted by the servants, who laid out the food and drink before them: roasted, spiced meat, a few vegetables, bread, and other things so strange they made their stomach turn. One platter contained something like a living squid, though it had fifteen legs, all of them writhing madly in the air. The food they could enjoy, however, tasted more sensational than anything they had experienced before; every complex flavour burst like a firework on their tongue. The wine was finer than the most celebrated earthly vintage and made them instantly heady.
Despite the wonders of the meal, it was hard to keep their attention on the food when so many strange sights were on view all around. The array of creatures and their confusing, chaotic mannerisms as they devoured the food was like staring into a grotesque parody of a child's fairybook. There were things Church half knew from the vague descriptions of folk tales, others that ignited recognition from some deeply submerged race memory; a few were completely unrecognisable. He was sure the echoing of archetypes dredged up from the corners of his mind would give him nightmares for the rest of his life.
Ruth recognised his thoughts from his expression. "The whole of our psychology was based on this," she said. "Our fears, our dreams. We're stripping back layers that shouldn't really be uncovered."
A half-man, half-sea creature moved down one of the aisles. It had fins and scales and bestial features, but it moved like a human being. Church leaned over to Cormorel. "What's that?"
Cormorel mused for a moment, then said, "I believe your race would know it as an Afanc. They once roamed the lakes and shores of your western lands, invoking terror with the fury of their attacks. Your people could not kill them by any means at the employ of Fragile Creatures."
The Afanc reared up, then rushed out of sight, but there were plenty more things to pique Church and Ruth's curiosity. Cormorel followed their gaze, smiling at the questions he saw in their faces. "If we had all night I would not be able to introduce you to the many, many races passing time on Wave Sweeper. But let me indicate some of the highlights." He appeared to enjoy the idea of playing host. With a theatrical gesture, he motioned towards a large, lumbering figure like an exaggerated circus strongman. He had his back to them, but when he half turned they saw a horn like a rhinoceros's protruding from his forehead. "The Baiste-na-scoghaigh. He stalks the mountains looking for prey in the island where you lost your life to the Night Walker Calatin." He smiled at Church; point scoring. On the far side of the room, large, misty shapes faded in and out of the light, occasionally appearing like mountain mist, at other times as solid as the other creatures in the room. When they became material their features were grotesque. "In the western land of moors, they were known as Spriggans, believed to be the ghosts of giants, a description that arose from their shape-shifting abilities, like many of our guests. The people of the Far Lands are always removed from the perception of those from the Fixed Lands. They could be found around the standing stones where the soul fire comforted their violent nature. They are the Guardians of Secrets."