Magic Banquet (19 page)

She came from the academy with the Chef. He
strode from the lakeshore onto the side of the carpet. The rug
dipped down for him. He carried two silver platters. The entrées
were concealed by dome lids. They were curved mirrors of metal that
stretched the reflection of Aja’s face.

“When I was a young man drunk on hope,” the
Chef said, “I stayed up a night and a day cooking a lion cutlet in
butter. I sold the house in which my family lived for the truffle
that would make the meal transcendent.”

He let go of one covered platter after
another with a reverence. Each levitated above the carpet.

“I indebted myself to prepare a meal for the
caliph, to win a position as the court chef. My entrée would infuse
the caliph with the lion’s savage strength. The flavors would
expand his consciousness and open his eyes to new realms of
pleasure. I was certain to win.”

The Chef clasped the lid’s dragon-design
handle. He made a fist, and Aja leaned in to smell whatever delight
awaited inside. But the Chef let go without revealing the dish. He
paced.

“The caliph himself judged the dishes. He
had high birth but low taste. The caliph wanted only a tin-pan
grease-monger to fry his favorite childhood treat. He could have
had adventure, culinary triumph. Instead he chose syrup balls. My
lion masterpiece was not even tasted, except by the flies.”

The Chef made a gesture like sweeping crumbs
from his hands.

“I could have despaired. Instead I chose to
surpass myself.” His nearly closed eyes gleamed in motes of
intensity. “I’d not cook for the rich but the bold. Not for lazy
eaters but visionaries. My Banquet wouldn’t be bound by man’s laws,
only by his most desperate appetites.”

The empress tipped toward Aja, leaning close
to speak in her ear. “So that’s what he wants. Only to cook.”

“No matter who he hurts,” Aja whispered
back.

The Chef tore the lids from the platters.
Steam erupted in blasts of meaty aroma. Aja gasped. Zings tumbled
down her neck and bounced across her chest in crisscrosses.

“I serve you dragons,” the Chef said. “Eat
them and become like unto gods.”

Mists of delicious heat billowed from two
cuts of meat. One entrée rested on a hoard of rose petals. Veins of
golden fat ran through flesh dark around the edges and, at the
center, crimson.

“A fire dragon from northern caves.” The
Chef cut off a strip, then pointed his knife at the second platter.
“And a river dragon from the Vale of Flying Water.”

Meat as pale as cream lounged in a pool of
lotus petals. The yellow flowers blended to pink at their tips.

The Chef asked Aja, “Fire dragon or
river?”

“Mustn’t we balance the meats?” Aja asked.
“A bite from one dragon, then the other?”

The Chef cradled a wedge of fire dragon with
his knives onto Aja’s plate. He cast her one of his disapproving
no-eyed glares, but the corner of his lips crinkled into what might
have been a smile. “With meat as potent as dragon, you must balance
with an equal power. To that end I serve the steaks with multiple
drinks. The first is unicorn water.”

The djinn placed a crystal decanter into the
air, where it floated. A pink liquid sparkled within.

“‘Unicorn water’?” The swordsman looked
worried. “How do you juice a unicorn?”

“Haven’t you heard?” Janny asked with a
chortle. “‘Pink as unicorn piss.’”

“No, it can’t be that,” Aja said. “How could
anyone drink pink pee?”

“The unicorn
water
defines
purity
,
” the Chef said. “And this, now this bottle is liquor
with essence of djinn.”

The blaze-eyed woman beside him snapped her
fingers outward to reveal a vial. It resembled a bottle of perfume,
except quivering with storm and fire. The djinn’s own face looked
no more peaceful. Her skin bulged with bubbles of anger that crept
upward to her crown.

“The djinn,” the Chef said, “rests in such a
bottle, leaving a magical residue. Liquor then absorbs the power
over years of storage.”

Janny plucked the vial from the air. “Just a
sniff in here. Where’s everyone else’s bottle?”

“One bottle is enough for six guests,” the
Chef said, “if you share evenly. Grand dining requires goodwill,
and selfishness can spoil an entrée as surely as overcooking.”

“Selfish-yes!” Janny stroked the liquor
vial. “There aren’t even six sips in here.”

“Their potency must serve. No more of it
exists in the worlds.” The carpet leaned under the Chef’s
footfalls. He strode off it, down the snow-swept mountain, and out
of sight.

Aja ripped her gaze from her plate of fire
dragon to speak with the djinn. “Starlight on Dunes, does the Chef
make you sleep in that tiny bottle?”

The djinn did not answer. Her reflection in
the lake looked more like a flickering blue flame than a woman.

“I’m so sorry,” Aja said. “A light like
yours shouldn’t be in so small a space.”

A knife scraped over a plate from Janny
slicing her steak. “So, a bite of this then a nip of that? Not so
scary.”

Aja had to taste the dragon. After passing
on the last course, she needed to eat. But she rarely got what she
needed. The other guests, they couldn’t be so used to hunger. It
was up to Aja to protect them.

“We should be sure before we taste
anything,” Aja said.

The swordsman knelt before her plate.
“What’s the battle plan?”

“The Chef served me fire dragon.” Aja cut
off a sliver of the meat. She picked up the horn-shaped decanter.
“This is the unicorn water. The two should balance each other
out.”

She tipped a drop over the plate. A puff of
pink misted up from the meat. The unicorn water had boiled away too
fast to see.

The swordsman asked, “Did it work?”

“I don’t know,” Aja said.

Solin tapped the unicorn decanter with his
crutch. “You’d have to drink the whole glass to balance one
bite.”

“Then we must have to eat both dragons
together,” Aja said. “Would you cut me off a bit of river dragon?
Thank you.”

The swordsman served her.

Solin grimaced at her. “Don’t try to eat two
dragons at once.”

“I think we have too.” Aja gripped a
chopstick in each hand and pushed the two morsels together.

“
Bam!”

Where the meats had been, soot stained in a
star shape. Part of the plate had cracked off leaving a porcelain
crater. Aja held two broken chopsticks with smoldering ends.

The swordsman had leaned away from the
explosion. Aja might not’ve been so quick, but Solin had yanked her
back. Chopstick splinters stuck out of his arm. Aja picked them out
and dabbed away the blood with a lotus petal.

The swordsman looked from the plate up to
Aja. “Fireworks won’t be as fun inside us.”

“I agree,” Aja said. “Maybe the fiery liquor
will balance out the river dragon.”

“It won’t,” Solin said. He had propped up
his head on three fingers. “They’ll turn you to ooze.”

Janny clenched a mouthful of meat between
chopsticks. “The Chef said—”

“I learned of dragons.” Solin glanced to
Aja.

“The Salmon of Knowledge,” Aja said. “I
thought you washed away those memories.”

“Not all.” Solin dragged the palms of his
hands down his cheeks. “I’ve seen hunters poisoned by dragon meat.
Some of them, women. Hearts stop. Insides burn out. Stomachs swell
with mist, and burst.”

Janny threw down her chopsticks.

Solin cut a slice of river dragon and served
Aja. “Only dragon meat can balance dragon.”

“We tried that.” Aja pointed to the
blackened part of her plate.

“True.” Solin drummed two fingers on his
temples. “Eating one bite of one dragon then the other would be too
much of a shock, from fire to river. It’d kill you.”

“Then there’s no way to eat dragon either?”
Aja dug her fingers into her thighs, rocking with hunger and
need.

“I think that’s what the drinks are for.
Yes, a lick of liquor after the fire dragon, and then you can eat
river dragon.” Solin pointed from the vial to the horn-shaped
spiral of crystal decanter. “Next you’ll need a swallow of unicorn
water and another bite of fire dragon before you turn to mist.”

Aja was grateful Solin’s salmon knowledge
would save them. “So the drinks ease the way,” she said, “between
bites of dragon.”

“What?” Janny pressed her hands to either
side of her head. “This meal is too complex. Thinking about eating
it is giving me a bellyache.”

“It is dragon,” Aja said. “Shouldn’t eating
it be a challenge?”

The swordsman asked, “You sure about this,
Solin?”

The master of crutches cut the next steak
for himself. “I’ll take the first bite.”

Aja gripped his hand. “Wait. Let’s pour you
some liquor and unicorn water first.”

“In what glasses?” He waved, and, yes, the
carpet had no cups. Each guest had knife and chopsticks but not so
much as a spoon to hold liquid.

Janny called for the djinn to bring
glasses.

The djinn did not move. “Sharing a glass
builds camaraderie, or so I’m told. Especially when your lives
depend on it.”

Janny rubbed her hands together. “We’ll be
passing around drinks faster than a greased waterwheel.”

She set the vial in front of Solin. Aja did
the same for the unicorn decanter. Solin snapped up a piece of
dragon between two chopsticks. He hesitated with the white meat in
front of his mouth. The other guests leaned in, all eyes on him.
Aja wished for him to be right. The meats wouldn’t dissolve him, or
cook him. They mustn’t.

Solin flicked the dragon in his mouth and
ground it with his jaw.

Eleventh Course,
Part II:

Dining with Fire

Once Solin survived a few cycles of food and
drink, the other guests could not long resist their steaks.
Chopsticks clattered. The vial and decanter flew from hand to hand.
On one bad pass, Janny dove between two plates for the catch.
Utensils flipped through the air, then floated back to their proper
places on the rug.

Aja preferred using only her knife, and she
ate dragon skewered off the tip. She started with fire. The dark
meat had been cooked only lightly, or perhaps heat had little power
over it. The dragon’s blood squeezed out between her teeth. It
ignited her tongue. Flames of paprika and pepper danced in her
mouth.

A flash fire spread from Aja’s belly. Her
blood fumed, and in her eyes the night lit with curtains of red and
orange.

“The djinn liquor.” Aja panted and fanned
her open mouth. “Pass it!”

“I need a drop.” The swordsman pulled at his
robes to circulate air. “Soonish. Now!”

“Me, too,” the empress said. “The river
dragon made me thirsty.”

“That’s unicorn water you need,” Aja said.
She made rolling motions for the djinn essence, but it passed to
the swordsman first.

The tips of Aja’s hair smoldered. Even the
scent of burning hair could not overpower the blazing taste of
dragon.

The lake could cool her. The carpet skimmed
over the liquid-mirror stillness. Aja leaned and shoved in a hand,
splashed herself. The chill of the water never touched her. It
burst into steam on her brow.

The swordsman tilted his head back as if to
swallow the entire bottle.

“Don’t!” Aja gripped the back of his neck.
“Just a taste.”

He touched his tongue to the top of the
vial, then slapped it into her hand. “Sorry. Almost did for us all
there.”

Aja twisted out the glass needle of its lid.
Janny had been right. There wasn’t enough for too many full sips.
Sparks whirled within the liquor, and Aja’s throat rebelled.
I
need to cool off, not more fire
. She should jump into the lake.
Then the snowmelt water would boil. That would never do. She tapped
out a drop of djinn essence onto her tongue.

After the dragon, the liquor tasted cold.
Like water from an oasis, stumbled upon by a traveler with feet
scorched by sands. The chill burned off, and Aja belched with a
puff of smoke.

The liquor had cooled her just enough that
she dared a bite of river dragon.

Her skin had turned the color of red clay.
Her knife with the meat slipped in her sweating hand. The blade
nicked her lip, but that didn’t slow her. The white meat slipped
over her tongue. It crunched between her teeth like ice.

Her senses reeled. She flew, swept away in a
waterfall that bombarded her with beads of coolness sliding over
her skin in streaks of relief. The meat quenched her. Its flavors
swirled around in a deluge. Each droplet spraying in her mouth
tasted of mint with a fizz of licorice.

The spice of the meat started to drown her.
She spluttered, flailing a finger toward the unicorn water.
“Please!”

Janny availed herself of a swig from the
decanter. She rammed the crystal stopper back in, twisted, threw
the container.

She missed.

Aja stretched her arms out, reaching for the
decanter like a girl fallen into a well clutches at a rope. The
crystal container hit her fingertips. Her hands snapped closed, but
the decanter flipped out of her grasp and into the lake.

“
Splash!”

“That was a bad sound, wasn’t it?” the
swordsman asked. Tears streamed from his eyes outside his apparent
control.

He and Aja peered over the edge of the
carpet, at the pink glow fading beneath the surface reflection of
stars.

“We can’t lose that.” Aja managed to choke
out a few words. “We’re all lost.”

She threw herself into the lake. Swimming
couldn’t be so hard, could it? She had taken more baths in sand
than liquid, but she clawed her way downward. She beat at the
water. Nothing mattered more than reaching that decanter, that
narrow vessel of glass which spiraled to a point in the shape of a
unicorn’s horn.

The decanter’s glow faded in the lake’s
darkness. Aja couldn’t swim faster than it sank. The frigid water
clamped around her like the cold-blooded coils of a boa
constrictor. Every muscle in her body contracted into paralysis.
Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.