Boric the Dogmaster's voice echoed deeply off of the etched granite walls of the Baron's Great Room. His back to the fire, he gestured dramatically at the small group of revelers gathered around him, mostly sitting behind half-empty flagons as they listened again to one of his latest tales. Above him loomed the Baronial crest, carved into a massive stone block that capped the huge fireplace. His rich voice echoed among the few maids that still moved about, mostly carrying pitchers of mead or emptying leftovers into bags for the guard dogs. By the time it reached the merchant stalls, his voice was layered with too many echoes to make out the words properly, but Nivette found it relaxing to hear as she swept the floor of the small open chamber. She was lucky to have been chosen for one of Noddo's stands. Still young and pretty enough to be a constant target of good-natured pestering, she had been relieved to be able to avoid most of the groping during the week. Her eyes wandered briefly over the hall as she propped the broom in the corner. It was peaceful this time of the evening. The brightly costumed guards were lounging lazily against the pillared doorways; the Baron had long since retired for the night, and they listened to the Dogmaster with sleepy disinterest. Nivette smiled as she turned back to the fire.
"One serving of pork ribs, raw, no glaze."
"Oh!" She whirled about, raising a hand. Then she flushed and quickly curtsied to the man in front of the stall. "I'm sorry, m'lord, I didn't hear you comin' up. What would ya like again?"
He gazed back impassively and said, "One serving of pork ribs, raw, no glaze."
"No glaze? Alright, I can jes' wipe off this'un here..."
"Raw."
Nivette cocked her head quizzically towards the man. He stood quietly behind the table that covered the front of her stall, steam softly ghosting from his shoulders as the last vestiges of the evening shower shimmered against her cook-fire. "Er . . . huh?"
He leaned slightly over the stained oak planks and calmly said, "Raw. I want the pork ribs raw."
"Uh . . ." She flicked her eyes to the hooks that lined the three stone walls of the food stall, as if seeing the pale, cold slabs of meat for the first time. "What, um, what do you mean … raw?"
His eyebrows arched, and he casually glanced about himself although he was the only guest standing at that end of the hall. She took the opportunity to quickly look the stranger down and up; worn black leather cloak, hood pulled back to reveal a pale face that seemed all nose, and flat black hair oddly matted, as if the rain had been mixed with thick lumps of grease. A thin stained tunic was exposed under the cloak. It was a miserable night to have such meager garments. And he was late; this was the last night of the Baron's Invitational, and only the die-hard talesmen remained to hear the thrice-told stories and eat and drink the week's dregs. She didn't remember seeing him before.
Then he turned back and her eyes were suddenly pulled up, locking onto his as the room and the drunken laughter receded from them, the air faintly crackling in a sudden chill. He grinned widely, an excessively polite grin that seemed to reveal all of his teeth in one stroke yet came nowhere near to touching his eyes.
"Raw. Uncooked. No extra heat applied. And no glaze."
She slowly turned her face from him, pulling her gaze away to risk a quick glance at the storemaster. Noddo was sitting in front of the brewer's stall, chuckling over a mug as Cale whispered and pointed at Boric. She looked back to the stranger.
"Um, I'm not really s'posed to do something like that," she said with a quiet shiver. "You might get sick, ya know? Master Noddo wouldn't . . . the Baron would . . ." She faded into a brief mumble and stopped, gazing at him with loosely parted lips.
His grin turned down slightly at the edges, the black eyes wetly reflecting her firelight with a glowing intensity.
"Of course you can do that," he breathed. "It won't take you any time at all."
The unblinking eyes grew even larger. Nivette was transfixed, wondering if the irises were truly that black or if there was simply a huge pupil filling each of the white orbs. She heard herself say in an odd, breathy voice, "I'll get some for you."
She felt detached from her body, uncaringly watching it move. She saw herself walk slowly to the near wall, reaching up to slide one of the few remaining cut ribs off of its hook. Dreamlike, she moved back to the table and looked up again into the dark liquid eyes. They stared back for an immeasurable moment, then her gaze drifted down to her hands.
"You'll need a basket." she said softly.
The corner of his mouth rose slightly. "No, thank you." He looked at her and breathed softly, "I'll take it just as it is."
His eyes never left hers as he reached for the ribs, the touch of his fingertips sending a shiver of cold, wind-whipped clouds flicking down her spine. Her lips hung slack as she gazed into the endless eyes. He raised the ribs before her eyes, and inhaled as if savoring the aroma.
"Niva'! Whaddya doin'? Ya can't give'ema piece'a raw rib!" Noddo's face suddenly loomed between them. He reached for the ribs and said, "Sorry, m'lord, she don' usually mess up wi' somethin' like this . . ."
His voice broke off in a brief, strangled squeak as he faced the liquid orbs. Nivette's eyes stayed locked on the stranger's, as he dispassionately regarded Noddo.
"The young lady has not made a mistake. But you have," he said softly. His eyes widened slightly, pulling more of the firelight into those empty depths. Noddo's lip twitched briefly, then he slowly said, "As . . . you wish. M'lord." He slowly turned and walked back to the brewer's, where Cale was watching curiously.
The ribs rose again before Nivette's vision, framed by pale fingers.
"You see," he whispered. "Too much heat will kill the juices. Won't let them flow." He slowly pinched the edge of the meat, and a reddish liquid oozed over his fingertips, two drops soundlessly splashing onto the dark planks. His fingers reached toward her, went past her eyes to softly trace their tips on her neck. A thrill swept through her and she breathed in sharply, feeling herself harden as if aroused. Then his fingers drew back and he gently flicked at them with his tongue, dark eyes holding her vision still.
She didn't see his lips move, but she heard his voice whispering as the wind over worn marble slabs. "Goodnight Nivette. Until tomorrow night."
Then he was gone, but she continued to stare blankly at the smoky hall. Her hand slowly rose to her throat.
"Hey, Niva', he paid for that, right?" Noddo called over, seeming to have recovered. When she didn't respond, he said, "Hey you okay? Wha'd he say to ya?"
Nivette didn't answer. She just looked at her fingers, at the small droplets of blood, then she raised a finger to her mouth to slowly, gently lick at the cold juice.
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