Without turning she replied, "Mother made me do it--she is much afeard
of my worldiness."
A couple strolled out of one of the cubicles ahead of them. The man
wore the brief belted tunic of an Ancient Roman. His hair was short,
his broken-nosed Latin features bordered by what looked like gigantic
spit-curls.
With him was a dark-skinned woman, veiled to her liquid black eyes, her
figure hidden more effectively than Deborah's by a voluminous bright
silk sarong. Both of them waited while Deborah and Justin walked past
them, regarding Justin with curious dark eyes. The Roman said, "_Ave._"
Culling a forgotten scrap of Latin from his schoolday memories, Justin
replied, "_Pax vobiscum_," saw the Roman start with surprise. "Who are
they?" he asked in an undertone of the strangers who had let them go
ahead.
"Belvoir is full of their like--and even odder," was the girl's reply.
"But ye will soon see for ye'rself."
"Have you been here long, Deborah?" Justin asked her.
"'Tis hard to say," was her reply. "Longer than Dr. Phillips or
yourself--not as long as most of the others. Dr. Phillips says we have
been waiting for ye, Master Charles--that soon we shall go home."
Curious, thought Justin, when she frowned slightly at mention of
returning home. It seemed unlikely that any girl could be happy in this
strange place.
They came to a large chamber filled with long tables. Running down
the center of each was a sort of wall. Seated at perhaps half of the
hundreds of modernistic comfortable-looking chairs was the oddest
collection of humans Justin had ever seen.
He noted one hirsute low-browed male, clad in a mangy looking hide,
who seemed scarcely more than a giant ape. This specimen, with fierce
concentration, was gnawing greedily on the scarcely-charred thighbone
of a medium-sized animal without benefit of tableware. Beside him sat
a squat mocha-skinned female whose skinny pendulous-breasted body was
entirely innocent of clothing.
He saw a gentleman in ruffled shirt and magnificently brocaded
waistcoat of the period of Louis XIV, who was methodically eviscerating
a small roasted bird. Beside him, clad in what Justin could only
conceive of as a shift, a lady in a towering headdress sipped champagne
from a crystal goblet.
There were others, including an apparent Egyptian, clad in the briefest
of loin-cloths with a marcelled spade-beard that recalled the statues
of the Pharoahs--a cluster of Orientals of various shapes and skin
colors and degrees of disarray, busy with chopsticks--a Hindu temple
dancer whose modest demeanor denied her professional carnality.
Justin said, "It must be quite a job supplying each of these people
with the food they want."
"'Tis truly remarkable, Master Charles," the girl told him. "Faith,
never in my wildest dreams have I conceived of such a miracle."
"I wish you wouldn't call me 'Master Charles'," Justin said.
"And how else should I call thee?" she inquired.
"It's that 'Master' business," he explained. "In my time it means a
boy, not a man. Just as 'Mistress', in my era, implies a kept woman
rather than a wife."
"Mast--Charles, ye abash me!" she murmured demurely although twin blue
devils danced in her eyes. "Here we are."
She had led him to the far end of one of the long tables, at which
a small cluster of oddly assorted folk were seated. One of them, a
rough-looking little specimen, who seemed to be wearing nothing but
a shirt of slightly rusted chain mail, was slashing a large chunk of
half-raw meat.
A plump motherly-looking grey-haired lady, clad in a petticoat from the
waist down and nothing at all above, smiled at Deborah over her suet
pudding and said in English even odder and quainter than Deborah's own,
"Good day, Mistress Wilkins, be this the other guest?" And, when the
girl nodded, "Truly a comely cod!"--to which Justin, quite aware of the
phallic meaning of the word, felt himself blush.
"Ye must not mind her," Deborah whispered, directing him to a chair.
Then, mischievously, "'Tis no more than truth--and she means it well."
"It's okay," said Justin. "Just a bit unexpected. _Hello!_"
At the base of the barrier, opposite his chair, his name was printed in
gilt letters. He glanced to his left, saw that in front of Deborah's
chair, in slightly more antique-looking script, her name was inscribed.
She caught his glance, nodded toward the barrier, told him in a
whisper, "'Tis but a trick. Ye speak ye'r wish into the hole and then
lift it from the wall. Like this, see...?"
She leaned forward, said softly, "Prithee, fetch me a plate of turkey
with brown sauce and wild chestnuts--white meat only. And a large
tankard of ale."
Justin blinked, saw Dr. Phillips waving a friendly fork at him from
a half-dozen places further along, decided to do things up right. He
said, "One double Gibson, extra dry."
As he spoke a light went on in front of Deborah, disclosing the
apparently solid barrier to be transparent. A window, reminiscent
of similar windows in a New York City automat, opened and from a
compartment behind it the girl took out her food and put it on the
table in front of her. She had been given a savory-smelling well-heaped
plate of turkey, gravy and chestnuts, a fine pewter tankard of ale,
along with antique-appearing knife, fork, spoon and ringed napkin.
She picked up her fork, gestured toward his own section of the barrier.
He followed her motion, saw an enticingly pale dry Gibson awaiting his
disposal. Taking it out he toasted Deborah, who lifted her tankard,
then asked, "Prithee, what is that?"
"A cocktail," he told her. He pushed it toward her, ordered another for
himself. Deborah sipped it, made a face, then sipped again.
"Why!" she exclaimed. "'Tis like strong rum! I must tread warily or my
poor head will spin like a windmill."
"Right," he told her. Finishing his drink he ordered himself a small
steak, medium rare, with mushrooms, soufflé potatoes and a tossed green
chef's salad. They arrived in seconds, perfectly done and equipped with
the finest sort of silverware, bearing his initials.
He had just about decided that Belvoir, real or otherwise, was a
promisingly pleasant if bizarre place, when a rasping voice filled the
hall, saying, to Justin's ears at any rate, "Now hear this--now hear
this. Your final briefing will follow immediately. Please return to
your chambers and await further orders!"