Episode Eight: Exposed!
In a few minutes Bela was batting arcs and herding him down the tunnel toward the Red Priest’s door. “You will have to chant your way in, boy, so listen carefully,” he said. But Hamar didn’t slow, instead flashed his hand and hummed his way through the hoops with the right chants as if he’d always known them
After a mumbled plea from Bela, Aktiarh allowed his door to open.
“I told you Most Noble, didn’t I tell you!” said Bela rushing into Aktiarh’s chambers close on Hamar’s heels. “If you knew what else he’s been doing…!”
“Not you, Bela,” said the Priest.
Bela sputtered again, looking at Hamar’s proud face and then looking to Aktiarh’s before finally having to bow. The fat teacher backed out through the doorway, getting into one of his flappy states as the hoops snapped and fired all over him. The door closed shut.
When he was gone, “Is something funny?” Aktiarh said. Hamar dropped his smile.
Aktiarh motioned for him to squat on the floor. The Priest looked dead-panned at him for awhile and then turned away. After busying himself straightening out some scrolls and ignoring Hamar as if he was a nuisance, Aktiarh looked down at him again.”Hungry.”
Hamar settled back. “I am a bit.”
“Not you! I meant myself, mystes!” Aktiarh spat out. “Get up! You serve me tonight.” Aktiarh strode fast through the door leaving Hamar to barely make it through before it shut, and getting stung once by an arc as he tried to keep up.
They were soon in the elders’ refectory. Alone. Students were never allowed in there, and a flock of lizard-sentries on the walls squealed about any intruders. Hamar marvelled at seeing another of the Kemt Master’s giant blue-glass bowls suspended overhead, its glass filled with the liquid that lit everything ghostly blue. It was long after hours and the oddness of the Priest’s request seemed odder.
Aktiarh settled himself on the cushions at one of the low tables. “On the shelf there is bread in the wooden chest, smoked fishpaste in the dish to your left, sesame paste in the brown pot. Also wine in the ewer. When you’ve finished serving them to me bring me the cinnamon cakes from the basket to your right.” He shot a look at Hamar, “Use the tongs and forks. Do not get your fingers in anything.”
As Hamar located the plates and dished up each item he felt overwhelming hunger pangs as if he’d never smelled such deliciousness before. The bread was hot-baked and pungent with yeast, the sesame paste smelled toasted and nutty, a golden graze of sweet smoky olive oil from the fish trembled tantalizingly on his knuckle. He realized the Red Priest was causing an unearthly craving in him!
“Wait over there,” the Priest said, and Hamar sat into some floor cushions. Slowly the man spread the pastes on the still-steaming bread, savouring each morsel he ate, dawdling as he kissed-up each last crumb on his fingertips. Hamar sucked back saliva in an agony of longing, and desperately wanted to lick away the oil on his knuckle, – but didn’t dare.