“We’ll see,” Jason said, rising. “I need to visit the bathhouse.”
“On your way.” Tark shooed him. “We’ll talk later.”
Jason’s fingers and toes had shriveled into pink prunes by the time Kimp appeared. Jason had been in and out of the water all day, watching the servants use heated rocks to adjust the temperatures of the various pools. Count Dershan had come and gone, as had other men Jason recognized from his explorations of the castle.
Jason was relaxing in a cool, shallow pool when Kimp entered. The man was built like a power lifter, his bulging physique graffitied in green and black ink. Only his face was unmarked.
Kimp waded into the hottest pool, an almost comical expression of relaxation transforming his gruff face. Transferring to the hot pool, Jason sloshed over to Kimp, the water just above his waist.
“We haven’t met,” Jason said, extending a hand. “I’m Lord Jason of Caberton.”
“Kimp,” the hulking man grunted, giving Jason’s hand a limp shake. “This is where I come to unwind.”
It was an unmistakable invitation to leave him alone, but Jason pretended to miss it. “I haven’t seen you around since the feast.”
“I stay busy here. I’m the duke’s majordomo. And I tend the dogs. You don’t ever want to upset the duke, friend.”
“I don’t plan to.”
Kimp sniffed and twisted, arms raised. Jason heard joints popping.
“I like your tattoos,” Jason said.
Kimp cocked an eyebrow. “Do you, now?”
“They’re really intriguing. Astounding artwork. Where were they done?”
“All over.” His demeanor became much friendlier. “My back has the best one.” Kimp turned around.
Jason could not believe his good fortune.
Just inside the left shoulder blade, beside the mast of an elaborate ship spanning the majority of Kimp’s broad back, inscribed so tiny that Jason had to lean in close, were three letters arranged vertically and spaced unevenly. The second syllable was “rim.”
“The detail is amazing,” Jason said, trying to bottle his excitement. He had the Word!
“You ever see a jollier picture? My own idea. An artist in Ithilum rendered it. Name of Sgribbs. Only fellow to see for quality work. Took seventeen hours.”
The sailors on the ship were all women. They climbed the rigging, hauled lines, hefted frothy mugs, and tussled with one another. On the bow stood a disproportionately large woman wearing a captain’s hat and an eye patch, her hands on her rounded hips.
“That is the most intricate tattoo I’ve ever seen,” Jason said respectfully. “You’re a walking gallery.”
Kimp turned back around, grinning. “You want one?” he asked, giving Jason a friendly slap on the chest with the back of his hand.
“A tattoo? Well, I’ll have to think it over.”
Kimp frowned. “Nothing complicated. Start simple. How about a shark on your chest? I do great sharks.” He lifted a leg with sharks all over the front of the thigh to prove it. They were pretty good sharks. One was devouring a terrified woman.
“You do tattoos yourself?”
“I’m an expert. I have all of the equipment. If you don’t like sharks, I can do wolves. How about it?”
“I’ll get back to you.”
“Is it the pain?” Kimp asked. “The process only stings a little, not bad at all. Then you have the rest of your life to enjoy it. Nothing could look more lordly.”
“I’ll get back to you.”
“Once in a lifetime opportunity.”
“So is drowning in quicksand. I expect I’ll agree; just let me think it over. Decisions always take me a little time. I’ll get back to you.”
“You do that.”
That night at dinner Jason and Tark sat together at the long table. Duke Conrad, Count Dershan, and Kimp were also present, along with many of the guests who had attended Jason’s arrival feast. Drake sat across the table from Jason, not paying him much attention.
Servants wheeled out a tremendous cooked bird on a cart. The enormous fowl was called a ponchut; it was big enough to rival an ostrich, with soft, pink meat. Servants moved the cart around the table, portioning out slices of the bird along with a creamy sauce.
“You want to leave now?” Jason murmured to Tark.
Tark glanced over. “Whenever you decide.”
“I’ve looked around; the wall is high, and there are no doors. The drawbridge never seems to open.”
“I’ve reached a similar conclusion.”
“Might be hard to scale the wall.”
“Seems designed that way.”
Jason ate some of his meat. The sauce made it delicious.
“I think we need to declare our intent to leave,” Jason said. “We should do it publicly, so there will be pressure from the other guests to let us go.”
“Might be worth a try,” Tark said, fidgeting with his napkin.
Jason ate more meat. He took a sip of fruit juice. Then he stood up.
“I have an announcement to make,” Jason declared.
Everybody froze, including a servant in the middle of handing a plate to a plump woman. Only Duke Conrad made announcements at dinner.
“I want to publicly thank Duke Conrad for his hospitality,” Jason continued. The other diners visibly relaxed. Several tapped their stemware with their forks in approval.
“I have thoroughly enjoyed my stay here,” Jason said, nodding graciously at Conrad, “but the time has come for me to depart.”
Silence.
Drake covered his mouth with a napkin, stifling a laugh.
Conrad’s features hardened. Muscles pulsed in his lean jaw. Count Dershan forced a laugh. “A fine jest, Lord Jason,” Dershan approved hopefully.
“No. I am leaving this evening. I don’t mean to offend anyone.”
Duke Conrad arose, tossing his napkin aside, and walked down the table to Jason. The two stood facing each other. “No man has ever refused my hospitality,” Conrad said softly, his tone lethal, his eyes demanding submission.
“Neither have I,” Jason replied. “I accepted it. I thank you for it. And now I’m leaving.”
Duke Conrad frowned. “My invitation offered indefinite participation in the Eternal Feast,” Conrad said. “All who come here recognize this. To accept less insults my honor.”
“I mean no insult,” Jason said. “I was under the impression I was welcome to stay but free to leave when I wanted.”