Mongrove asked anxiously.
"Not a bit. They are just right. The touch of a true artist."
"I'm so glad, Lord Jagged, that two men of such understanding taste have visited me. You must forgive me if earlier I seemed surly."
"Surly? No, no. Naturally cautious, yes. But not surly."
"We must eat," said Mongrove and Jherek's heart sank.
"Lunch — and then I'll show you round my menagerie."
Mongrove clapped his hands and food appeared on the table.
"Splendid!" said Lord Jagged, surveying the discoloured meats and the watery vegetables, the withered salads and lumpy dressings. "And what are these delicacies?"
"It is a banquet of the time of the Kalean Plague Century," said Mongrove proudly. "You've heard of the plague? It swept the Solar System in I think, the 1000th century. It infected everyone and everything."
"Wonderful," said Lord Jagged with what seemed to be genuine enthusiasm. Jherek, struggling to restrain an expression of nausea, was amazed at his friend's self-control.
"And what," said Lord Jagged, picking up a dish on which sat a piece of quivering, bloody flesh, "would this be?"
"Well, it's my own reproduction, of course, but I think it's authentic." Mongrove half-rose to peer at the dish, looming over the pair. "Ah, yes — that's Snort — or is it Snout? It's confusing. I've studied all I could of the period. One of my favourites. If it's Snort, they had to change their entire religious attitude in order to justify eating it. If it's Snout, I'm not sure it would be wise for you to eat it. Although, if you've never died from food-poisoning, it's an interesting experience."
"I never have," said Lord Jagged. "But on the other hand, it would take a while, I suppose, and I was rather keen to see your menagerie this afternoon."
"Perhaps another time, then," said Mongrove politely, though it seemed he was a trifle disappointed.
"Snout is one of my favourites. Or is it Snort? But I had better resist the temptation, too. Jherek?"
Jherek reached for the nearest dish. "This looks tasty."
"Well, tasty is not the word I'd choose." Mongrove uttered a strange, humourless laugh. "Very little Plague Century food was that. Indeed, taste is not the criterion I apply in planning my meals…"
"No, no," nodded Jherek. "I meant it looked — um…"
"Diseased?" suggested Lord Jagged, munching his new choice (very little different in appearance from the Snout or Snort he had rejected) with every apparent relish.
Jherek looked at Mongrove, who nodded his approval of Lord Jagged's description.
"Yes," said Jherek in a small, strangled voice. "Diseased."
"It was. But it will do you no great harm. They had slightly different metabolisms, as you can imagine." Mongrove pushed the dish towards Jherek. In it was some kind of greenish vegetable in a brown, murky sauce. "Help yourself."
Jherek ladled the smallest possible amount on to his plate.
"More," said Mongrove, munching. "Have more. There's plenty."
"More," whispered Jherek, and heaped another spoonful or two from the dish to his plate.
He had never had much of an appetite for crude food at the best of times, preferring more direct (and invisible) means of sustaining himself. And this was the most ghastly crude food he had ever seen in his entire life.
He began to wish that he had suggested they have the Turyian dungwhale, after all.
At last the ordeal ended and Mongrove got up, wiping his lips.
Jherek, who had been concentrating on controlling his spasms as he forced the food down his throat, noticed that while Lord Jagged had eaten with every sign of heartiness he had actually consumed very little. He must get Jagged to teach him that trick.
"And now," said Mongrove, "my menagerie awaits us." He looked with despondent kindness upon Jherek, who had not yet risen. "Are you unwell? Perhaps the food was more diseased than it should have been?"
"Perhaps," said Jherek, pressing his palms on the wood of the table and pushing his body upright.
"Do you feel dizzy?" asked
"Not a bit. They are just right. The touch of a true artist."
"I'm so glad, Lord Jagged, that two men of such understanding taste have visited me. You must forgive me if earlier I seemed surly."
"Surly? No, no. Naturally cautious, yes. But not surly."
"We must eat," said Mongrove and Jherek's heart sank.
"Lunch — and then I'll show you round my menagerie."
Mongrove clapped his hands and food appeared on the table.
"Splendid!" said Lord Jagged, surveying the discoloured meats and the watery vegetables, the withered salads and lumpy dressings. "And what are these delicacies?"
"It is a banquet of the time of the Kalean Plague Century," said Mongrove proudly. "You've heard of the plague? It swept the Solar System in I think, the 1000th century. It infected everyone and everything."
"Wonderful," said Lord Jagged with what seemed to be genuine enthusiasm. Jherek, struggling to restrain an expression of nausea, was amazed at his friend's self-control.
"And what," said Lord Jagged, picking up a dish on which sat a piece of quivering, bloody flesh, "would this be?"
"Well, it's my own reproduction, of course, but I think it's authentic." Mongrove half-rose to peer at the dish, looming over the pair. "Ah, yes — that's Snort — or is it Snout? It's confusing. I've studied all I could of the period. One of my favourites. If it's Snort, they had to change their entire religious attitude in order to justify eating it. If it's Snout, I'm not sure it would be wise for you to eat it. Although, if you've never died from food-poisoning, it's an interesting experience."
"I never have," said Lord Jagged. "But on the other hand, it would take a while, I suppose, and I was rather keen to see your menagerie this afternoon."
"Perhaps another time, then," said Mongrove politely, though it seemed he was a trifle disappointed.
"Snout is one of my favourites. Or is it Snort? But I had better resist the temptation, too. Jherek?"
Jherek reached for the nearest dish. "This looks tasty."
"Well, tasty is not the word I'd choose." Mongrove uttered a strange, humourless laugh. "Very little Plague Century food was that. Indeed, taste is not the criterion I apply in planning my meals…"
"No, no," nodded Jherek. "I meant it looked — um…"
"Diseased?" suggested Lord Jagged, munching his new choice (very little different in appearance from the Snout or Snort he had rejected) with every apparent relish.
Jherek looked at Mongrove, who nodded his approval of Lord Jagged's description.
"Yes," said Jherek in a small, strangled voice. "Diseased."
"It was. But it will do you no great harm. They had slightly different metabolisms, as you can imagine." Mongrove pushed the dish towards Jherek. In it was some kind of greenish vegetable in a brown, murky sauce. "Help yourself."
Jherek ladled the smallest possible amount on to his plate.
"More," said Mongrove, munching. "Have more. There's plenty."
"More," whispered Jherek, and heaped another spoonful or two from the dish to his plate.
He had never had much of an appetite for crude food at the best of times, preferring more direct (and invisible) means of sustaining himself. And this was the most ghastly crude food he had ever seen in his entire life.
He began to wish that he had suggested they have the Turyian dungwhale, after all.
At last the ordeal ended and Mongrove got up, wiping his lips.
Jherek, who had been concentrating on controlling his spasms as he forced the food down his throat, noticed that while Lord Jagged had eaten with every sign of heartiness he had actually consumed very little. He must get Jagged to teach him that trick.
"And now," said Mongrove, "my menagerie awaits us." He looked with despondent kindness upon Jherek, who had not yet risen. "Are you unwell? Perhaps the food was more diseased than it should have been?"
"Perhaps," said Jherek, pressing his palms on the wood of the table and pushing his body upright.
"Do you feel dizzy?" asked
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