Easing straps off shoulders, the group removed their backpacks and eagerly settled down to wait for the food. The cold horse meat had fueled their bodies, but tasted like red clay. There were no utensils of any kind in view, so each dug out a wooden spoon from their clothing, being very careful not to reveal any of the military hardware hidden under their clothes.
Ryan placed his two muzzle-loaders blatantly on the table, with both hammers cocked to forestall any trouble from the locals. The sailors at the far table noticed the weapons, and immediately stopped talking to concentrate on their own meal.
A few minutes later, the kitchen door swung open and out came two girls carrying an enormous iron pot. The servers dripped sweat as they hauled the cauldron of soup to the table, while an old man with no teeth placed cracked bowls before each person. The bowls were clean, but had seen hard use. Mildred recognized it as a nearly unbreakable brand, which was guaranteed to last a lifetime. She had to admit, for once, Madison Avenue hadn’t lied about the durability of a product.
Careful as if they were delivering liquid nitro, the girls ladled the hot soup into each bowl, filling them to capacity. Not a drop fell as the plastic ladle conveyed the steaming brew. As they hauled their cauldron back to the steamy kitchen, the old man returned with small loaves of bread. They were all of a different shape, but a smooth even brown and smelled wonderful.
Jak snatched one from the platter and took a bite.
“Made breadfruit,” he announced, chewing steadily. “Good.”
“At least they didn’t serve us fish heads,” J.B. said, stirring the contents of his bowl.
“No, sir, please sir!” the oldster gasped, backing away in fear. “No sweepings for nobles! Is good stew! Please, don’t beat me, sir!”
“The stew is fine,” Ryan said, unmoved by the display of fear. He had seen similar faces all his life. In most villes the people were little more than slaves, tortured and chilled at the whim of the sec men who ruled. Apparently, the same was true here; the strong ruled the weak. At least until the weak got blasters, then everything went to hell.
“Could we have some water, please?” Krysty asked politely.
Bobbing his head nonstop, the man hurried away. “Yes, sir! At once, sir. Without delay, sir!”
“Sweepings,” Dean said thoughtfully. “Must use the stuff that falls on the floor to make soup.”
“Probably what’s left over in other folks’ bowls, too,” J.B. agreed.
“Horrid,” Doc muttered.
From somewhere outside the sound of a whip was audible again, but this time the cries were female.
“Seen dogs treated better than these people,” Krysty said softly, tasting the stew. It was very good, hot and thick, full of fish meat, crab, mussels, some odd veggies, with floating bits of herbs for flavor.
The girls returned with coconut shells cut in two, the bottoms flattened to make crude mugs. The other put a bamboo bucket full of water amid the dinner, and Mildred slipped some bread into the girl’s pocket. The child glanced once sideways, but made no other indication that she knew what had happened.
“Baron idiot,” Jak said, dipping a loaf into the soup and tearing off a chunk. “No food, folks can’t work.”
“They’ll turn on him,” Krysty agreed, “and I hope they win.”
“When we sail away,” Dean said softly, “mebbe we could leave these flintlocks behind.”
Slurping clean a spoon, J.B. nodded agreement. “Won’t need them once we’re at sea. Might even make some friends in case we come back this way.”
“An exemplary idea.” Doc smiled. “The enemy of my enemy, and all that.”
“Freeze, outlanders!” a voice cried out from the doorway.
The companions looked up to see three sec men enter the room, blasters in their hands. Two of the men were dressed as sailors, while the third was a local sec man.
“Keep your hands away from those flints,” the sec man ordered, “and mebbe you live for a while longer.”
His flintlocks on the table, Ryan placed his hands in his lap and eased the safety off the SIG-Sauer hidden under his shirt. Unfortunately, the new arrivals’ weapons were already drawn. He needed a diversion to get a bead on them.