“That barmaid saved a lot of lives,” Ryan said, using his own spoon to sample the stew. The food was hot, thankfully, and even had a few herbs floating about, but there was a lot more vegetables than meat, and grease seemed to be the primary ingredient, even above water.
“Yeah, theirs,” Jak growled, dipping the black bread into the brimming bowl and biting off a mouthful. “Bad!”
“We’ve eaten worse,” Mildred reminded him, forcing down another swallow. Her foot was throbbing painfully, and she did her best to ignore that and concentrate on eating. The physician debated taking an aspirin, but held off taking one until later so she could sleep.
“Not by much,” Krysty said, chewing on a piece of gristle.
“Bacca would not have been pleased,” Doc noted sourly.
He scanned the tabletop. “Any chance of some salt, my good doctor?”
Mildred reached into a pocket, extracted a small container and slid it across the rough wood. “Our last,” she warned.
“Thank you.” He applied a sprinkling. “Pepper?”
She barked a laugh.
“I’ll take that as a negative,” Doc said sadly. Such was understandable. Salt could be garnished from the ocean, while pepper had to be specially grown, dried properly and then finely ground. He recalled that in ancient Rome during the reign of Augustus Caesar, soldiers were often given the choice of a pound of black pepper for their monthly wages, or a pound of gold, the price of the two being equal. Most took the pepper.
“Over here,” Dean said, and the salt began to make the rounds.
In spite of the lack of additional condiments, the companions dug into their meal with gusto. Hunger was always the best sauce.
“Damn mutie,” Krysty whispered, using her tarnished spoon to push away a glob of grease to reach the thin stew underneath.
“Huh?” Dean said, arching an eyebrow. “The mercies are discussing us,” she replied, not lifting her head or motioning in that direction. Her hearing was much better than a norm’s, and while she was missing the occasional word, most of what the mercies said was perfectly audible.
“Not favorably, I would guess,” J.B. said, ripping apart some bread. Taking a bite, he frowned but chewed and swallowed anyway. Acorn bread. Dark night, he hated the stuff. The Trader used to love it and often went out of his way to get more of the delicacy. J.B. would trade his away for cigars, or spare brass, or anything else available.
“They’re talking about chilling us to get our blasters,” Krysty answered, dicing a potato. The tubers were brown on the inside, but not black with rot, so she ate them anyway.
“When?” Jak asked, chewing on a bit of overcooked rabbit. He started to spit it on the floor when he saw Lily glancing his way while she was storing the bottles from the wall shelf. She winked, and the teenager swallowed the inedible bit of fat and smiled as if the meal were fit for a baron.
“Soon,” she replied. “They’ve also been watching how much we’ve been drinking.”
Ryan swallowed to clear his throat. “Ambush?”
“When we go to the lav,” Krysty said, wiping her mouth clean on a pocket rag.
“Thought as much,” Ryan said sourly, pushing away his bowl. “We hurt their pride, and now it’s a matter of honor to get us. Triple-stupe fools. Okay, if they’re going to do a night-creep, then we choose the time and the place.”
“Well, this table is no good,” J.B. said, running his hand over the surface. “But the one behind us should do.”
“Agreed. Jak?”
“Yeah?” the teenager replied, pausing in the act of picking his teeth with a sliver of wood. Lily was beautiful, but apparently couldn’t cook to save her life. He damn near broke a tooth when he found buckshot in the meat.
“Go flirt with the barmaid and warn her there’s going to be a fight. Nothing we can do.”
“And dally a bit,” J.B. added. “Don’t make it seem you’re just there to deliver a message.”
“Gotcha.” The teen rose and walked casually to the bar, smiling and radiating charm.
“Tight quarters,” Mildred noted, measuring distances with her eyes. “Not much room for maneuvering.” Out of sight below the table, she took J.B.’s hand and gave it a squeeze. He replied in kind, maintaining the contact for much longer than necessary.