Authors: Raymond E. Feist
He had asked Will if he would be given clean clothing, and was told that if someone in Opardum or City of the Guardian purchased clothing for him, and paid a bribe to the captain of the next ship that came bringing prisoners or supplies, then he could have them, as long as there was a bribe for Zirga included.
Realizing that was more than unlikely, Tal knew he would have to do with what he had, unless someone died.
Then he might get that man’s clothing, said Will, if they didn’t fit someone else the guards liked better.
Tal fought every day to keep despair at bay, for he knew that he would not give up and let death take him without a struggle. He had also wounded or trapped animals that stopped struggling, that just lay back and let the hunter take their lives. He would not be such an animal.
He would survive.
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COOK
Tal awoke.
Sitting in the window was a bird. He moved slowly, so as not to startle the creature. He tried to identify what variety of bird it was, but couldn’t. It looked somewhat like the mountain finch of his homeland, but the bill was different, longer and narrower, and the feathers had a slight white band on the wings the mountain finches lacked. He tried to get as close as he could, but when he approached the wall, the bird flew away.
He jumped and grabbed the bar and pulled himself up. He peered through the window and saw that the last of the ice and snow was gone. The breeze was cool, but not bitter. He let himself down.
Another spring had come.
He had now been in the Fortress of Despair for more _______________
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than a year. He had come to accept that for an unknown time he would simply abide there.
He had developed a routine to keep from losing his sanity, one based upon three tenets: that despair was the first killer; that his mission in life to avenge his people would fail if he died; and that his mind must remain alert so that any opportunity for escape, even the smallest, would not go unnoticed.
To fill his hours he did mental exercises learned at Sorcerer’s Isle, to remember things—books he had read, chess matches played, conversations with other students and lectures by instructors. He could remember things as if he were reliving them, so for hours at a time he would be submerged in memory, experiencing again things he had already once lived.
He avoided the trap of becoming lost in those memories, though, choosing not to remember the loving arms of women, the thrill of the hunt, the pleasure of winning at cards. Those memories were a snare, an avoidance of the suffering he endured at the Fortress, no aid in preparing him to end his captivity.
And to further avoid the lure of pointless memories, he forced himself to endure an hour a day of bleak observation, either of the stonework of his walls and floors, or through the window of his cell.
He ignored his own filth as best he could. He had convinced Will to bring him a little extra water when he was able, and Tal used that water to try to keep clean. It was a scant comfort, but it was comfort of a kind, and anything he could do to alleviate the unrelenting bleakness of his situation he did. Nakor had once said to him that joy in life often came from the small victories, the tiny triumphs, and while seizing pleasure out of a damp cloth and cold water seemed improbable, he took it.
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As best he could, he sought to stay fit. The meager food and constant cold made it difficult. He knew he had lost a great deal of weight, but now that the weather was turning warmer, he felt renewed. He exercised within the confines of his cell, walking and running in place, pulling himself up by his one hand on the bars of his cell. He contrived ways to take the exercises he had learned from Nakor at Sorcerer’s Isle and adapt them to his surroundings. He was not whole, and he was hardly strong, but he was as fit as he could manage under the existing conditions.
He maintained his regime and kept his mind agile. He tried to master patience, and he waited. Eventually, he knew—in a month, a year, or perhaps ten—something would happen. Something would change. And when that change came, he would be ready.
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At the end of his second winter in the fortress, Tal had learned to use his damaged arm to the limit of its ability.
He could do more than simply use it for balance when he exercised; he had contrived of ways to push, pull, and carry with it. He was sitting on his straw pallet one afternoon, when the door to his cell opened and Will walked in.
Will was empty-handed, and Tal asked, “It’s not time for supper, and you’re not carrying anything. Is this a social visit?”
“I came to tell you supper will be late.”
“Why?”
“Charles the cook is dead.”
“What happened?” asked Tal, always anxious for anything that broke the monotony of his days. He scratched _______________
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at his beard, which was now long enough to reach below his breastbone.
“Don’t rightly know,” said Will, sitting down on the floor. “I carried out the porridge like usual this morning, then when I got back to the kitchen, I found old Charles lying facedown on the floor. I rolled him over and his eyes were wide-open, like he had been startled by something.
His face was pale and his lips was blue. Very disturbing, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“So, who’s taking his place?”
“I don’t know. But I assumed as long as it takes Zirga to figure out who’s cooking, it’ll be that much longer before supper is ready. Not to mention, even longer, if whoever’s going to cook has to help burn Charles.”
“Thank you for telling me.”
“You’re welcome.”
As Will turned to leave, Tal said, “Will?”
“Yes,” said Will over his shoulder.
“If it comes up, remind Zirga that I know how to cook.”
Will nodded. “If it comes up, yes,” he said, and left the cell.
Tal sat back. He wondered if this might be the opportunity he had been waiting for. Trying to keep anticipation to a minimum, he returned to his meditations, but just in case, he started recalling his cooking lessons with Leo at Kendrick’s.
Supper never came.
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There weren’t many prisoners in the fortress, apparently, for the next morning when the early meal didn’t arrive, Tal heard only a small number of voices complaining. He waited.
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Some time in the mid-morning, Tal heard the latch to his cell move, then the door opened. Will entered, followed by Anatoli, one of the two guards who had met him at the dock, and after them came Zirga.
Tal stood up.
“You cook?” asked Zirga.
“Yes,” answered Tal.
“Come along, then,” said Zirga.
And so, Tal left his cell for the first time in more than a year. He walked down the long steps that led to the ground level of the keep, then followed Zirga and the others through the old main hall into the kitchen.
The place was a disaster. Someone had tried to boil up porridge and burned it. Zirga turned to him and said,
“We have a problem.”
“Apparently,” said Tal. “You have no cook.”
“Yes, and I have fourteen prisoners, three guards, and myself to feed.”
“Cooking for eighteen people is no problem,” said Tal.
“For you, perhaps, if what you say is true. But for Anatoli here, it is a problem.”
The large guard looked up, embarrassed, but said nothing.
“He claimed he remembered how his mother made porridge, and we can see the result. So, needless to say, I have no wish to see him make stew for the prisoners or cook supper for the guards. Can you do this?”
“I can, but I’ll need help,” said Tal.
“Why?”
Tal held out his stump. “There are things in the kitchen I could manage with one hand if I were cooking for myself alone. Cooking for eighteen? I will need help.”
Zirga thought about it a moment, then said, “I am _______________
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breaking rules by allowing you out of your cell. Specials are never let out of their cells.”
“But you need to eat,” said Tal. “And who else is to know?”
“Yes, that is true. Very well. You may have these two to help.” He waved at Will and Anatoli. “What can you do?”
Tal said, “Give me a moment,” and hurried over to the pantry. He took a quick inventory, and said, “I can make a stew. Is there any meat?”
Zirga said, “In the summer house. Will will show you.”
As the Governor turned to leave, Tal said, “But I’ll need to take a bath first.”
Zirga turned. “A bath? Why?”
Tal held up his left hand, shoving fingernails black with filth right under Zirga’s nose. “Do you want this in your stew?”
Zirga paused and looked at Tal, really studying him for the first time. Then he looked at Will and Anatoli.
“All of you, take a bath.”
“We’ll need clean clothing,” said Tal.
“There’s clothing in the armory. Anatoli will take you there.”
Less than two hours later, a fully revived Tal stood over two large pots of bubbling broth. He and the others had had to endure a cold bath, as there was no time to heat the water, but Tal didn’t mind. As a child he had bathed in the streams of the Orosini Mountains in the early spring, when the water consisted of ice melt. Will had seemed less thrilled about being clean than Tal, but after a bath and fresh clothing, he looked like a different man. Will did have a face under the grime and hair. It was narrow and constantly set in a grin, with eyes that seemed always to squint.
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Anatoli looked like a large round egg with a head, arms, and legs. His muscle had all gone to fat, and Tal knew that he could easily best him in a sword fight, even using only his left hand. Tal suspected Kyle and Benson, the other two guards, were also limited in their fighting gifts. Big and powerful, perhaps, but not quick. And after five minutes of conversation with Anatoli, Tal was silently adding to himself, not very bright, either.
Tal had done a quick inventory of the springhouse, a cellar dug under the ground behind the keep, where meat and cheese were kept cool. It was still almost freezing down there, as the soil below the surface held the winter’s cold well into the summer. Later in the summer, when stores were used up, they would slaughter an animal as needed; cattle were pastured in a small meadow on the east side of the island, along with sheep, and there were pigs penned up downwind from the keep.
With Anatoli and Will to help him, Tal felt almost as if he had two hands again. He found the thief to be dex-terous, and they quickly adapted to each being one half of a pair of hands. Anatoli proved useful for simple tasks, such as washing vegetables and cleaning pots.
Tal found a box of jars of spices in the pantry, old but still useful. He knew that none had been used to flavor his meals since he had come to the Fortress, so even faded spices would be a welcome change.
He set water to boiling, then tossed in beef bones for stock, and added vegetables and chunks of diced beef. He also started boiling some turnips he had found that weren’t too far gone, and set out some cheese and fruit.
He showed Will and Anatoli how he wanted things placed on Zirga’s table, where he ate with the three guards, and started organizing meals for the fourteen prisoners.
The meal was hastily prepared, but still it was the best _______________
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meal seen in the keep in years, Tal wagered. While Zirga and the three guards ate, Tal got Will started on taking stew to the prisoners. He made sure each plate had a good-sized hunk of meat in it, and a healthy helping of potatoes, onions, carrots, and turnips. It took the better part of an hour to distribute the plates to the other twelve prisoners. When they were finished, Tal had seen every occupied cell in the fortress.
He now had a sense of the place’s true size, how to navigate it, and where he could find the items necessary for his escape.
Zirga came into the kitchen while Tal and Will ate their supper at a small table. “That was good,” he said to Tal. “I think you should cook until they send me someone to replace Charles. Now, stop eating and return to your cell.”
Anatoli approached Tal as if to escort him back, but Tal said, “I can’t.”
“Why not?” said Zirga, looking at Tal suspiciously.
“You can come back down here in the morning.”
“But tonight I must bake bread. That takes most of the night.” He pointed to a place on the floor by the ovens. “I can sleep there while the bread is rising, then put it in the ovens so that it’s ready in the morning.”
Zirga thought about it, then shrugged. “Well, it’s not as if there’s anywhere for you to go, is it?”
Tal nodded, keeping a straight face.
As Zirga started to leave, Tal said, “I’ll need Will to help me.”
Zirga looked over his shoulder. “Fine. Keep him.”
“And Anatoli first thing in the morning.”
“All right, you can have him.”
If the guard had any reaction to this, he kept it to himself. Zirga and Anatoli left, and Will said, “How did you do that?”
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Tal shrugged, pointing to the pots they would have to clean before making the bread. “Zirga forgot what good food tastes like.”
“I did, too,” said Will. “That stew was the best I’ve ever had.”
Tal smiled. “I think you just don’t remember. If I can get Zirga to order in some fresh spices and other things, I can keep us in this kitchen for as long as we need.”
“Need?” Will dropped his voice. “What do you have in mind?”
“Many things, my friend. Many things.”
They started washing, with Will scrubbing out pots that Tal held still for him. Then he set about showing Will how to help him make dough. The kneading was the most difficult part, but after a few false starts, they got a rhythm going and got it done.
Tal started fires under the ovens, then let them burn down and banked the fires. He put away the iron poker and rolled out a ragged bedroll, big enough for the two men to share.