He’d seen Sabon leap into that volcano, but where was Olem?
Tamas took a shaky breath. He made his way to the balcony window and stood for a moment, watching the full moon. The night sky was empty except for a single ribbon of cloud that formed a perfect circle around the moon. God’s eye. Tamas began to shiver again, violently, until the shivers turned to shudders. He gripped the wall with both hands until it passed.
He heard a familiar whine and looked down. “Hrusch,” he said to the hound. “I’m all right. Where’s Pitlau—” He stopped, the name disappearing in an involuntary cough. “Right. Sorry, boy.” He bent, offering the hound his hand. “I’ll take you on a hunt soon. Get your mind off things.”
Tamas found his slippers and ran fingers through his hair. He donned his dressing gown and opened the door to the hallway, blinking against the light. Olem stirred in a chair beside the door. Across from him, Vlora slept in another chair, leaning on her rifle, snoring softly. Farther down the hall a pair of guards waited beneath the lamplight. His commanders had doubled the guard after the Warden’s assassination attempt.
“Sir,” Olem said. He stubbed out a cigarette on the arm of his chair.
“Don’t you ever sleep?”
“No, sir. That’s why you hired me.”
“It was a joke, Olem.”
“I gathered.”
“Things quiet?” Tamas asked.
“Very, sir. Not a peep in the place.” Olem’s voice was quiet, subdued.
Tamas nodded at Vlora. “What’s she doing here?”
“Worried about you, sir.”
Tamas sighed.
“Are you OK, sir?”
Tamas gave a nod. “Bad dreams.”
“My grandmammie used to say bad dreams were bad omens,” Olem said.
Tamas glared at the soldier. “Thanks, that makes me feel much better. I’m going to get something to eat.” He shuffled down the hall.
Olem gave him some space, trailing along at ten paces all the way down the stairs. The trip six floors down to the kitchens seemed much longer in dark corridors, and Tamas had to admit that Olem was some comfort when shadows in doorways played upon his imagination, reaching for him from the darkness. He jumped once, thinking he saw the hunkering figure of a Warden waiting in a corner. Closer inspection revealed a coal-burning stove.
Tamas had hoped to find in the kitchens some scraps from last night’s dinner and be back up in his room in minutes, yet when he approached the kitchen, he saw the low glow of ovens and smelled fresh bread. His mouth began to water—a sure sign he was near Mihali’s cooking. He stepped into the room, pausing at a sight he didn’t expect.
Two women stood at one of the stoves. They worked over an enormous pan, as big as a wagon wheel, cracking eggs and tossing the shells to the side. Mihali stood just behind them—just behind them, his body pressed close to theirs, an arm on either side of the two women, hands moving nimbly above the pan. He added a dash of salt, then one hand dipped down, eliciting a startled giggle from one of the women before appearing again with his knife and a whole green pepper, nimbly slicing it into the pot.
Tamas cleared his throat. The two girls jumped, eyes growing wide at the sight of Tamas. Mihali stepped away from them, moving smoothly despite his girth, and grinned.
“Field Marshal!” he said. He wiped his hands on his apron and patted each girl on the cheek, then headed over to Tamas. “You look like you haven’t had a good night.”
“You look like you have,” Tamas said. “I’ve seen it all now: seduction by way of omelet.”
It was hard to tell in such poor light, but Mihali seemed to turn red in the face. “Simply early-morning lessons, Field Marshal,” he said. “Bellony and Tasha are the most promising of my pupils. They deserve extra attention.”
“Pupils?” Tamas asked. “I thought they were assistants.”
“Every assistant is a pupil. If they don’t learn, what good are they? Every master must be prepared to be bettered, as my father was before me. Someone will create more amazing dishes than I someday. Perhaps it will be one of these two.”
“I have doubts about that,” Tamas said. He glanced toward the two women. One was older, perhaps in her thirties, a handsome-faced woman with a body rounded in all the right places. The other was young and slightly plump with dimples on her cheeks. They watched Mihali more than they watched their pan, with expressions Tamas only saw on two types of people: young lovers and religious sycophants.