Fanuilh by Daniel Hood (best books for students to read TXT) 📕

of cities, and had learned to be comfortable eating alone, so he turned his attention to the platter without a qualm.

Pleasantly surprised, he saw that the Uncommon Player offered nothing cooked, relying instead on quantity to make up for heat. There were three huge wheels of cheese, each spiced differently, and large loaves of flat bread. Cold mi::at, nuts, apple slices and butter were arrayed around the ·cheese and bread. in workmanlike profusion. There was even a small pot of honey, and he remembered the knife at his belt with relief. The Uncommon Player apparently saw silverware as an unnecessary item.

As he ate, the crowd grew smaller, drifting out in a hail of noisy farewells, until it seemed there was only the small group gathered around Knave Fitch, He held court raucously, shouting witty obscenities and insults at his companions, who rewarded him with gusts of laughter and refillings of his tankard. Liam smiled at some of the clown's jokes, and noticed that there were three musicians at the far end of the room, playing furiously on lute, pipes and a small set of skin drums. They could only occasionally be heatd over Fitch's constant stream of filth, mostly when he stopped to take monstrous gulps of beer.

Liam stared at the platter, which was still more than half full, and gave up. His stomach strained uncomfortably, and he felt short .of breath; it was by far the most food he had eaten in a long while.

He pushed the platter carefully away, as though afraid some of the food might leap off it and try to run down his throat, and gave Fitch his full attention.

The clown managed two or three more rude jokes before the door of the Player burst in and Kansallus appeared like an angry god.

A short, angry god, Liam amended,· and watched the proceedings with even more interest.

"Fitch, you bastard!". Kansallus screamed, his face purple with anger. "Call was an hour since! You've less than ten minutes to be on stage, you damned, double-damned, triply-damned ass!"

The little playwright stormed over to the clown, who was draining his tankard unperturbed, and clamped his fingers on Fitch's upper arm in a way that made Liam wince, remembering an old tutor who had done the same thing. With the thumb and forefinger pressing into the meat of the muscle, it could be exquisitely painful, but Fitch took it in stride, handing his empty tankard to a barkeeper and allowing himself to be dragged to the door. Kansallus propelled him through it with a vicious kick to his ample behind, and slammed it closed behind him.

Liam applauded softly, and Kansallus turned, his face suddenly calm and amiable, and bowed deeply. When he rose, he smiled agreeably.

"How now! It's the gentleman of the afternoon that appreciates true art! Might I?" He gestured at the empty chair across from Liam as he sat in it. "I know you not, sir, but you strike me as a man of some discretion, of some taste if you'll allow me to say so."

"I will," Liam said, and signaled the serving girl.

Kansallus laughed loudly, and then again when the girl brought two fresh tankards to the table.

"Is it a problem when Fitch drinks before a performance?" Liam asked as the playwright downed most of his beer.

"Not in the least," Kansallus answered, smacking his lips and beaming happily. He had sharp eyes, Liam noted, but there were shadows in them, a sort of defensive mask. "He'll outshine the stars tonight, and send the groundlings to their knees weak as babes with mirth. He's best when pickled."

Noting the way Kansallus's eyes dropped to the half-full platter, Liam pushed it across the table and bade him eat, if he was hungry.

"As a rule, I don't sup on the leavings of men to whose names I'm not privy," the playwright said with a smile, though the defensive shadows were thick, ready for rejection. "I'm Kansallus, scripter and part owner of the Golden Orb."

"Liam Rhenford." He held out his hand, which the playwright took briefly and with unshadowed eyes before digging into the platter like a starving man. "You seem hungry, Kansallus of the Golden Orb. Is it not so profitable?"

"Profitable enough," the little man muttered around a huge mouthful, "but not so luxurious that I'll refuse a freely offered meal. Pray you," he said after washing the mouthful down, "if I'm not too bold, what brings a man who walks the day with an Aedile to the Unco' Player at night?"

"I thought I might see your performance tonight. I enjoyed the other one I saw very much."

"Ah, then, y'are as much caught by Rora as any other." Nettled by the man's amused tone, Liam feigned indifference. "Rora?" The other smirked, spilling a handful of nuts into his mouth, and Liam smiled guiltily. "You must admit, she's a beautiful woman."

"Oh, aye, passing fair, until you know her well. She can be hideous as a witch, if you take my meaning. I'll disappoint you further: she's not on tonight."

"No?"

"She's this night free and the next, for that Uris-tide is nigh. She's a very zealot," he added, with a wink that suggested the opposite.

"No great temple-goer?"

"Not by half. Though no sinner, mind. Pure as the unsunned snow, our Rora." Strangely, he seemed to mean it.

"Then the way she dances is ... "

"Intuitive," Kansallus supplied with malicious humor.

"An imposture of a knowing wench. And all the more impressive for it, if you see."

"I suppose I do."

They fell silent, Liam pondering the idea of Rora's dancing while Kansallus wolfed down the rest of the platter. When he had finished it, he pushed away from the table and began picking his teeth with an immaculately clean fingernail. He was startlingly neat; though his artisan's smock was a little ragged and his thin, reddish hair unshorn, both were clean, and a slight smell of soap arose from him.

"If you do," he said, as though the conversation had not been interrupted, "I'll thank you for the meal with advice: