Chapter 3- Diner Time!

Diner with the royals, as it turned out, was a very interesting affair.

Vanessa for one seemed to have sobered up a little. Actually, quite a lot. She didn't say a thing the whole time he was there, or even look anyone in the eye or follow along any conversations.

Tana, on the other hand, was acting just like Franz remembered her. That-is-to-say, she talked non stop and changed the topic every half second. Franz was honestly impressed. "You know, I've never really met anyone who could talk like you," she told her.

She blushed. "Really? Daddy says it's impolite, but it's a habit that I just can't drop."

"A habit?"

"Oh, yes, didn't you know? When I was little I was going to enter the order of the chattering nuns. The story goes that once upon a time, the lady Garowith was being forced to marry against her will. She wanted to remain pure, you see. So she prayed for salvation. In return, the gods granted her the power of endless speech. . . here's where it gets a little wonky. In one version, her new husband strangles her to death on their wedding night to shut her up, because she was annoying. In the other, he shuns her bed for the rest their lives because she was too annoying to sleep with and she died at the rip old age of 75, still chatting. Either way, she got her wish."

Franz blinked. "Wow."

Across the table, Sir Gilliam and Syrene were having another odd conversation.

"Oh, look at that one!" Gilliam was saying, "That silk must have cost her a fortune!"

"Yes, I'm sure," said Syrene, bored and annoyed. "I suppose Lady Scumbledown is lucky her father owns a monopoly on Christmas wrapping paper." She sniffed.

"Yes yes, a very lucrative business . . . Ooh, and her sister too! Look at that cut! It must be one of madam Rosem's. That lace must be imported from Xuen-Guen.

Syrene rolled her eyes. "Of course you'd know that."

When the food arrived, Syrene brightened up. "Pork tenderloin! High quality too. This much of it must have cost a fortune!"

"I'm sure," said Gilliam, unenthusiastically. "I guess the chef sure is lucky he works for a man who has a monopoly on tax money."

"A very lucrative business, you know! And these spices, too! They can't from around here. I'd say 50 miles outside of the city, at least."

He rolled his eyes. "Of course you'd know that."

Franz had a thought of his own, just then. He mentally slapped himself. Kyle was always telling him it was risky.

He asked Tana, "Why, exactly, is this particular melange of people dining with the royal family? These people aren't even advisors or anything."

"Oh," she said, interrupting her rant about cheese sizes, "it's all the people from the war. The author couldn't be bothered making up any new characters, see?"

"Nope," he said jovially.

As Tana started up about . . . corset boning this time, Franz's eyes wandered back over to Vanessa and her overly-protective boyfriend.

As Innes talked to a stereotypical attendant-type person who shall not be given a name, dioogue, or personality, Vanessa sat rather dejectedly slumped in her chair. She pushed her food around her plate unenthusiastically, eyes dim and unfocused. She moved her mouth a bit, as if talking to herself.

When the meal was over, Innes noticed that she had failed to put any of it into her mouth. Franz saw him take her chin in his hand and turn her face up towards his. For the first time that evening, she actually seemed snap out of her trance. What with all the kafuffle of everyone getting up and loudly and obnoxiously scrapping their chairs across the floor, Franz couldn't hear the conversation that followed, but I'm going to tell you anyway.

"I thought you said you were hungry today," he said, in an uncharacteristically warm and affectionate tone.

"It was meat . . ." she murmured.

"You know you need to stay strong."

"I'm not hungry any more."

"You haven't eaten anything all day."

"But I'm not hungry."

His hand was lingering on her chin and he gently brushed her cheek with his thumb. "Sleep now?" he asked, "Maybe get better tomorrow?" He half carried her out the door.

Back in his own room, Franz leafed through the rest of his pile 'o letters. Many of them seemed to contain happy sentiments from the tavern girls he'd met along the way . . . damn them! He had tried not to lead them on . . . Seth said it was cruel.

One of them however, contained a map.

Enclosed is the as-per-requested map, It read, trees indicated level of forestation, mountains indicated elevation, and tildas indicating wetness. The dark areas are the areas already searched, and the slashes are areas that seem most promising. The chickens represent caves, and the narwols are villages. The male narwols are villages with inns, and the females have brothels. Best ale is found near the little starfishes, and leaves are patches that we've already found. Hope this helps.

Mr. Leafybuttom

Franz wondered if the brothels would cater to gays.