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SWORD OF THE KING
Volume 2: People Of The Blood
by Eric Fretheim (“Fushigi”)
Jack
“Not what you were expecting? How so?”
Nam’s innocent curiosity seemed sincere to Jack, although he had expected she would already know the answer. He cast his eye around the room. What would be a polite way to put this?
The restaurant didn’t look at all like its American counterparts, with its real stone walls and its rustic appointments, but it reminded him of any number of ancient bistros he had visited while stationed in Europe. The whole country had a European feel, except for the people, who seemed very American. This was a country of many ethnics, a melting pot of cultures just like St. Louis. Caucasians and Africans were present in about equal numbers, although the most common were people he thought at first were Hispanics. It took a while, but he realized at last that they were Native American. A small smattering of Sino-Asians and others rounded out the mix.
Rogan’s leather shirt, trousers and boots proved to be the tee-shirt and jeans of Parha. Most men in the restaurant dressed in similar fashion, except their clothes were usually in better shape and not accessorized with a handgun and a military knife. A few substituted the leather trousers for tweed, and the leather shirt for cotton.
The older women wore vaguely Victorian fashions, while the younger ones might wear the same trousers and shirts as men, or plainer version of their elders’ clothing. A few wore outfits like one-piece bathing suits with matching sarongs, a style that might appear in a beachside lunch counter on Earth. A few women, mostly older ones with Native American features, wore an outfit that seemed part bathrobe, part sari and part kimono. Their waitress, a tiny girl of no more than thirteen, also wore such an outfit. He guessed this was a traditional garb.
Nam’s jungle girl outfit had no equivalent here though, and she drew many curious looks when she first arrived at the ‘inn’, despite the remarkable variety of women’s fashions. But once they were in their lodgings, Rogan’s pack had yielded an outfit similar to his own, except the leather trousers were replaced with a leather skirt and she continued wearing her moccasins. The moccasins, it seemed, were quite normal here.
Jack finally put his finger on what truly made everyone’s clothing feel so different. No clothing with logos or words. No tee-shirts. No jeans. No athletic shorts. No hoodies. American garments which had penetrated every corner of Earth were utterly absent here. No sneakers, either. Everyone wore either some style of boot or moccasin, or the traditionally garbed women wore a socks and sandals arrangement.
But Nam’s question stood, and he had to answer it.
He shrugged. “Based on the way you and Rogan dress, the last thing I expected was electric lights, paved roads, a jeep ride to the hotel, and dinner at a completely Earth-like restaurant. Even if the jeep was steam-powered.”
“Inn. The word here is inn, not hotel. And this particular style of food service is called an ‘Ordinary’. A restaurant is the sort of place you go for what Earthers call ‘Haute Cuisine’,” school-marm Nan lectured. Then she flashed a smile from across her dinner. “I think you will find Rogan and I clean up fairly decently.”
With embarrassment, he realized his words could be interpreted differently than he meant. “Look, I wasn’t trying to imply that you weren’t….” He wasn’t sure how to complete the sentence, but Rogan stepped in to rescue him with a gut laugh and a smile.
“Jack, you’re being teased. Nam is well aware that she and I give misleading first impressions of ourselves in the field. We dress for our specialties, after all. Do not worry about it.”
Still uncomfortable, Jack returned to his dinner. It was a late-night meal, in a little restaurant next to the ‘inn’ where the military had brought them. Rogan had ordered ‘Pints’ for himself and Jack, which were steins of dark ale that resembled Guinness. He chose “Fish and Fritters’ for himself, which looked like swordfish steak and croquettes, and ‘Beefsteak and Pomterre’ for Jack, which resulted in a sirloin steak and a baked potato, alongside which they both received an assortment of greens. Nam requested ‘Baked Egg and Tea’, which Jack did not expect would produce the Egg Foo Young-like dish now in front of her. From the smell, he knew her tea was the same hideous stuff the two enjoyed on Chald.
It seemed like the practice was to let the chef decide how to cook the food, or whether anything else went with it. No dickering over sides, or how the meat was to be done, or even what cut to expect. Jack realized belatedly that Rogan had even ordered the beer without stating a brand-name, and that concept was completely alien in his book.
He decided to try again. “I think what I was trying to say was, it seems more like some undefined foreign country on Earth than a different world. It’s as if this were just some corner of Europe. I expected it to be more different.”
Rogan munched thoughtfully on a piece of steak, then swallowed and grinned. “Best be over your first impressions quickly, lest the airship ride to the City tomorrow unhinge you.”
“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” A moment later, Rogan’s words finally registered. “… Did you just say ‘airship’?”
