These characters belong to Tamora Pierce. The plot belongs to me : )
Fairy Tale
Chaconne
Guillam's, acclaimed as the finest (and most expensive) eating-house in Corus, was located in the business district of Corus on Rue du Chien. A great wooden house graced with tangles of ivy, climbing roses and trumpet vines, Guillam's was two stories tall with stained rose windows and a walking garden in back. About twenty minutes' walk from Sir Paxton's apartments in the palace, the restaurant was also known for its waiting staff, comprised of beautiful young men and women. It was rumored that fine appearance accounted for two-thirds of the requirements to gain a position. The waiters and waitresses of Guillam's made more in an hour than some poor families made in a month, which was the main reason Joren had applied for a position there to begin with.
Pushing the door to the employees' entrance inward, Joren stepped from a grey drizzling April afternoon into a bustling kitchen, warmed by a stone fireplace on the leftmost wall. Hanging his green coat on a hook located next to the door, the teenager smoothed out his uniform. Each employee's uniform had been specially designed for the individual by the owner's private tailor. Joren's consisted of a deep cobalt silk tunic with silver lining, a mandarin collar and silver frog fastenings to the waist, which was tied with a marigold sash. The sleeves ended in wide folds beneath his elbows, rolled up to expose the lining. Silk black pants tucked into calf-high, elk-hide boots.
"You're here? Five, six and seven," greeted a voice at Joren's side. A tall young woman with curly black hair and large rubicund lips reached past him to pluck a shawl from the rack.
"Hey Claudia," he replied, accepting the notebook she offered. "Is it full?"
"No, five and six are empty. Some guy's at seven, but he's alone so far. You've got an easy shift." Joren nodded and walked into the main dining chamber.
The main room had lush green carpeting and was softly lit by glowing lanterns containing the flickering silhouettes of live fireflies. Running the perimeter was a stone-lined koi pond, filled with serene orange and black spotted fish, and in corners and hanging above tables dangled elaborate wicker birdcages containing brightly colored canaries. A staircase located in the center spiraled upward to the second story.
Joren strode across the room to his assigned area, neatly dodging a few well-meaning gropes from overly friendly diners. Just because the atmosphere was cultured didn't mean the customers were. He spotted his customer, seated opposite the entryway and beside the pond, back facing him. The waiter stifled a laugh.
*Is this guy color-blind or what? It looks like the Easter bunny threw up all over his wardrobe. And what's with that hair? Is he trying to smuggle in a cocker spaniel? Shakith, he must have the same tailor as Queenscove or somethi--HOLY CRAP!*
The customer turned to face him. "Joren!" exclaimed an all-too-familiar face. "I was hoping I'd get to see you!" The lanky 18-year-old with shoulder-length mouse-brown hair and a long nose smirked.
"Queenscove." Joren ground the name out with the expression of one nibbling stale dog food. "What. are. you. doing. here."
"Friendly as ever, eh? I got a gift certificate for this place for my 18th birthday. Now that you're here, let's get started, eh?"
"The hell we will!" snapped Joren. "Go get a new ta--"
"Ah-ah-ahh!" Neal shook his finger. "As my server, you really ought to be more polite, or I may be inclined to have a word with your manager." He smiled a sweet, totally unbecoming (in Joren's opinion) grin. Joren clenched his teeth.
"Very well," he conceded, voice strained. "Can I get you anything to drink...sir?" he added belatedly as Neal's brows went up.
"Actually, I'm ready to order," the brunette replied. "I'd like...hmm...the Dauphin's Special. With a glass of Mur-de-Ronce wine on the side."
*The most expensive. I'm sooooo impressed,* snarled Joren to himself. "Anything else, sir?" he asked out loud, scribbling the order onto his notepad. *I bet he doesn't even know what the Dauphin's Special is. Wait 'till he finds out...heh heh heh...*
"That'll be all for now," replied Nealan with a dismissive wave of his hand. Joren scowled and disappeared back into the kitchen.
Three hours later...
*WHY does he keep talking to me?* Joren moaned internally. Tuesday nights were slow at best, and the guests usually preferred to sit upstairs or outside, but for Nealan to be his only customer ALL DAY? And he kept talking and talking and talking.
"Joren? You didn't answer my question. Am I going to have to have a talk with your manager about your manners?"
"Who am I going with to the Summer Festival?" repeated Joren. *None of your business, that's who* "I don't know, I haven't asked anyone yet."
"Well, /I'm/ going with Keladry."
*Lovely, but shouldn't you be going with a girl?* "That's nice."
"Say, this meat's a bit cold."
*It couldn't possibly be because you've been running your mouth for the past hour...* "Would you like me to get you a new plate?"
"No, that's alright. So, I hear your knight-master's asked you to take part in the mission. So are you the one who's going to--"
"Oh, look, your glass is empty! Let me go refill it!" *How does HE know about that?!* Joren grabbed the glass and walked hurriedly back to the kitchen. *Sir Paxton said he wouldn't tell anybody! If that old coot lied, he'd better watch out. I ought to replace his dental floss with piano wire...* He refilled the glass and returned to Nealan's table. He'd been refilling the other squire's glass all night...*that dog-brain drinks like a fish. I wonder if he knows refills aren't free.*
"Good, you're back. Now about that job..." Neal smiled, a phenomena beginning to grate on Joren's already frail nerves. *He must have been planning to ask me about this all along. Hm, if he gets anything out of me I'll castrate myself and enter a convent.*
"Say, Neal? Do you happen to know exactly what that is you're eating?"
Neal paused, fork halfway to his mouth. "You mean the Dauphin Special? The menu said it was seafood."
"Oh, it is. But do you know what /kind/ of seafood?" The older boy shook his head, suddenly suspicious. *This ought to be good for a laugh.* "Well, I'll give you a clue since you've been such a courteous customer. It's made of something large that lives in the ocean but is unable to swim."
"Clams?"
*Hehhehheh.* "No. Here's another clue: It starts with 'B'..."
"Barracuda? No, they swim."
"...ends in 'S'..."
"Bass? Oh, those swim too."
"...and has 'oiled squid tentacle' in the middle." Nealan's pallor, about the same avocado shade of green as his meal, was well worth the three-hour annoyance.
"Check please," the boy gasped.
"I have it right here." Joren produced the item in question with a flourish. "Let's see...the total, including one Dauphin's Boiled Squid Tentacles Special and three bottles of the fifth most expensive wine on the house...comes to $283.67. Oh, and don't forget the 15% tip." He smiled, gratified to see Neal turn a shade paler, resulting in a mint-colored complexion. "Oh, no! It appears your gift certificate only accounts for $150..." He shook his head, trademark smirk back in place. "If you'll excuse me, sir, you'll need to have a talk with my manager."
To be continued...
/* Revenge is sweet, ne? Thank you for the lovely reviews (I LOVE YOU!) and please keep reading. */
