The Crisis

Excerpted from The Star Dancers by Jeffrey Caminsky, available directly from the Publisher, or from Amazon, or at a bookstore near you.

Chapter 19

Ayiee —Catastrophe!” wailed Ra’Henl, the Grand Foodmaster of the Governor’s Palace. As he spoke, he began to pant like an overworked beast of burden. “All our preparations—ruined. The cakes and pastries and—and all the perishables will—rot in the meantime. We must start anew—and—and— !”

Ra’Henl drank greedily from the water vessel brought by his First Apprentice. The tables of the Preparation Room were dusted with flours. Spices and sugars lined the shelves. Newly sharpened tools lay scattered over the floor, where Ra’Henl had dropped them upon hearing the news.

“Well, perhaps it is just as well,” he said, calming himself for the moment. His hands fluttered about him in a fervid display of nervousness. “Perhaps this is a boon of Fate.”

“What are you saying? That your servants are not up to the task?” asked his apprentice, ls’Shen. In the last few cycles, ls’Shen had become accustomed to a certain volatility on the part of his master. Such as Ra’Henl were rare among the g’Khruushtani. They were artists of their craft, and artists often lacked the basics of self-control. It was the price they paid for their gifts and vision. As best he could, ls’Shen purged his mind of such patronizing thoughts. He bore much affection for the kindly old foodmaster. But more than this, Shen did not wish to be called to account by one suffering from an excess of emotion.

Ra’Henl frowned. The younger generation would never understand, he sighed. And they took affront so easily—though only days before, his whole staff was in a state of alarm, wondering how they could finish the preparations in time.

“No, Son of Shenchi. Even for Chosen Ones, you have all distinguished yourselves. But this is a Royal Feast! A Royal Feast, do you understand? And for a Royal Feast, much is expected. The smallest detail must not go unnoticed. Or else—or else—Catastrophe!”

“Yes, Grand One.”

“And you have seen the guest list, have you not? Is there any doubt but that the smallest slight will provoke an outrage, if not a Controversy of State?”

“No, Grand One.”

“And now—and now—well, ours is not the work of common laborers, young Shen. Our craft is as delicate as a songbird in flight. And just as helpless before the gullethawks of passing time.”

“Yes, Grand One.”

“And are we not all servants of the Governor’s Palace?”

“Yes, Grand One.”

“And have you forgotten upon whom our smallest failing will reflect?”

“No, Grand One.”

“So let us not stand here, like a crowd of idling rabble,” said Ra’Henl, his hands fluttering still, having worked himself into a proper Fit of Agitation. “Let us make the most of Lady Fortune. Turn her for good instead of ill.”

“Yes, Grand One,” sighed ls’Shen, watching his master flit about the room like a panicked hen. For a boy with talent and ability, his station was unequaled, and he well knew that he was the envy of all his peers. Still, the passage of time had impressed his young mind with one thing, above all else: life at court was less glamorous than it seemed.




© 2009 by Jeffrey Caminsky