Tab stared at her dining card blankly. Storm, guessing that the three youngsters were not familiar with formal customs, ushered the three of them into a corner.

‘There is a course for every day of the week,’ she explained. ‘Root vegetables for Bursday, spices for Leshday, meat for Emmerday, fish for Gramday, leaf vegetables for Imbleday, cheese for Highday. As the night goes on the food in the urn will mingle together and become more soft and flavoursome.’

‘So hang back on the early courses,’ Amelia said.

Storm nodded. ‘The guests toss the raw food into the pot in order of the most important person to the least important.’

‘How do I know who is more important than me?’ Tab asked.

‘That's easy,’ Storm said. ‘You will always be the least important person at the table.’

‘Oh. Right.’ Tab reddened and her friends giggled.

‘Once the pot comes to the boil, you take the metal serving tongs in front of you and place a few items from the pot onto the plate of the person on your right. Then you take the wooden eating tongs and eat what has been placed on your plate.’

‘If you don't like the person you're sitting next to, you could give them a plate full of algoon root,’ Philmon joked.

‘That would be frowned upon,’ Storm told him.

Tab was starting to get lost. She decided that she would just copy what all the others did. ‘What is this number?’ Tab asked looking at her card.

‘This is your next table number. After each course you will move to your next table. The waiters will pass you a warm towel to wipe your hands and your table number for the next course.’

‘It sounds very complicated,’ Tab observed.

Storm smiled. ‘It has been this way for generations. All the guests eat from every urn. Nobody knows where they are going to sit next. The waiters look for signs of potions or powders on your hands when they wipe them after each course. It reduces the chances of people being poisoned. Also everyone gets an equal opportunity to talk to the Archon, or whoever happens to be making the decisions at the time.’