Altogether, we journeyed around the table several times. The system was as follows: opposite every podium stood one dish. Having tasted it and wiped your mouth with one of the bright scraps that decorated the “bib,” the idea was to raise your thumb and travel around the table at a leisurely pace. When you came upon a dish that aroused the interest of the taste-buds, you were supposed to drop anchor for a spell.

For the first half-hour I was still rather timid, and stayed put even when the food in front of me did not deserve such a lengthy pause. Finally, with a “what the hey,” I got into the swing of things. I tasted everything there was to taste, some things more than once. After downing some “Jubatic Juice,” the local firewater, with its unassuming, yet somehow fitting name, I even ventured to join in the conversation of the old friends—and judging from Sir Makluk’s jovial demeanor, not without some success.

In short, the dinner went off without any untoward surprises.

As soon as we left Sir Makluk’s, I could no longer constrain my curiosity.

“Well, how did it go? You discussed me with your neighbor, didn’t you? Of course, Silent Speech allows you to do that in your victim’s presence—”

“My fabrication unraveled completely!” Sir Juffin said, grinning with fiendish pleasure. He paused dramatically, during which time I berated myself for being a miserable, dull-witted imbecile. Then he rescued me from my despair: “The old man kept trying to weasel out of me where I had dug up such well-mannered specimen of barbarian! Much more, and he would have offered you a position at court.”

“Oh no! What will happen now?”