The three friends linked arms and made their way back to the Grits and Greetings, and from there to Toby’s eatery, where they stayed for all of the morning.
RYAN HADN’T REALIZED just how hungry he was until he saw the steaming platters of food brought in from the kitchens by the stout owner of Toby’s.
The menu was chalked on a board on the wall, and he’d read it, feeling his mouth filling with saliva at the thought of eating properly again.
“Decided?” Toby had asked him. The others had already picked out what they wanted.
Ryan had nodded. “Sure. The lot.”
“Everything?”
“Everything. Then after that I might just go through the menu again.”
There was a goblet of orange juice to start, with a bowl of fresh fruit and cream, followed by three eggs, over-easy, with slices of smoked ham, link sausages and rashers of lean bacon; deliciously tender breasts of pigeon in gravyone of the specialties of the placewith both whipped potatoes and hash browns; a pot of refried beans, with a dish of mixed chilies, and a side salad with a bittersweet cheese dressing. The whole thing was served with corn bread hot from the bakery.
Despite his boast of coming back for seconds, Ryan struggled to finish the meal, finding that his appetite had outrun his stomach. In the end he had to leave one of the pigeon breasts and some of the potato.
But by the time he’d washed the food down with a couple of mugs of passable coffee sub, he was ready to tackle a few slices of whole-wheat toast and a variety of homemade conserves.
The meal was mostly eaten in silence, prompting Doc to give a barking laugh as Ryan sipped at his third mug of coffee sub. “That is the sad thing about modern Deathlands. Food is killing the art of conversation.”
DURING THE LONG MORNING and through into lunch, the tales were told on both sides.
Ryan spoke of the days and nights of deep coma, waking to find himself in the filthy hut of Paddy Maxwell, and the adventures during the next few days, then the trip toward Twin Forks and its tragic conclusion for Ryan’s rescuer.
Krysty told of their search and the encounter with the stickies. “Seems that slaving’s going on around here, using the muties.”
Ryan leaned back in his chair, nodding. “Brings back memories of Wolfram and the Magus, doesn’t it?”
J.B. nodded. “Names from the past”
“Is bad blood between you and them?” Jak asked, nibbling on a blueberry muffin, which he said was essential to carry him through until lunch, even though Toby had promised the meal within the hour.
The Armorer answered. “Goes back to Trader.” He took off his glasses and polished them on his napkin. “Bad blood? Could call it that, Ryan?”
“I don’t much like picking at old wounds. Just say that things that Trader and J.B. and me did harmed both Wolfram and the Magus. Harmed them badly. Have you actually heard that they’re involved in slaving?”
Mildred leaned forward across the loaded table. “Haven’t heard anything about who might be behind it. But are you just going to leave it at that? Not tell us the whole story?”
She turned to J.B. “Come on, John”
Ryan shook his head. “One day, mebbe. Not now. I want to hear about the Montana Queen.”
He spoke to Jak and the Armorer. “Good to see you’ve both got an honest job for once.”
By the time everyone was up-to-date with what had happened and was happening, it was time to set out clean cutlery and glasses and bring in the lunch.
“You got any of that bubbly wine?” Krysty asked.
“We have some of the finest champagne in this or any other ville,” Toby replied, beaming, wiping his hands on his apron. “You would like a bottle?”
“Yeah. I reckon we’ve got something to celebrate, don’t you, folks?”
Toby carefully unwrapped the wire and eased out the cork, letting it go with a soft popping sound, the wine foaming into the crystal flutes that he’d brought out specially.
“Absent friends recovered,” Krysty said, raising her glass, chinking it against Ryan’s and against the others.