Lapvona(40)

‘But she must have some party tricks,’ Villiam said, a little concerned. ‘If she doesn’t talk, what does she do?’

‘Maybe she dances,’ Dibra said.

‘A dancing nun? Of course, that’s wonderful,’ Villiam said with his mouth full.

Now Marek made his presence known, trudging into the great room with his ruined shoes. Nobody turned to greet him. Lispeth followed him to the table, gently pulled out his chair, waited for him to sit, and pushed it in. Like a little child, Dibra thought. Helpless and full of himself at the same time. Oh, Dibra hated him. But there was something strange about his face tonight. It, too, looked scorched, like the nun’s. Preoccupied. Lispeth poured Marek a cup of wine and went out. Another servant came forth to dish out the roast lamb around the table.

Marek put his hand on his plate.

‘I don’t want meat,’ he said.

‘Why not?’ Villiam said.

‘I don’t want to eat meat anymore.’

‘Give him the whole platter,’ Villiam said, nodding to the servant. ‘No son of mine will starve.’

But Marek did not eat. He looked carefully in the candlelight toward the nun.

‘Is she the singer tonight?’ he asked.

Dibra thought his question a bit forward. Marek hardly ever spoke at the dinner table and certainly never asked anything before. It was his role to be quiet and accept without question anything that happened at the manor. Marek was surprised by his question, too, and immediately covered his mouth to apologize. He had asked it automatically, without thinking. He looked down at the plate of lamb set before him. It smelled of the pasture—dead flesh cooked in the hot dirt. He didn’t want to eat it. Especially not now, in front of the nun.

‘Eat your meat,’ Villiam said. And to the nun he asked, ‘Do you sing, sister?’

‘You idiot, she’s mute,’ Dibra said.

‘Temper, temper,’ Father Barnabas said.

Dibra was hungry. She took a piece of lamb and ate it, hoping her irritation would subside. She didn’t want the nun around. Her humility was too annoying. And she worried for Luka’s safety. It was not like Villiam to send him out on some fool’s errand and have him killed, but the famine made people crazy. The bandits must be starving, too, she thought.

‘The nun dances,’ Villiam said to Dibra.

Marek pushed the plate of meat away and knocked over his cup of wine. It spilt onto the plate, washing the cuts of lamb so that the meat now sat in a pool of red.

‘Clumsy!’ Dibra screamed.

‘Now, now,’ the priest said, wiping his mouth piously with the cloth. ‘The heat has got everyone in a rage. Calm down, Dibra.’

Dibra sighed. Villiam lifted his cup again in absolution.

‘Marek, eat your meat.’

Marek picked up a piece of lamb.

‘Sister, sing us a song,’ Villiam said forgetfully.

‘No need to be cruel,’ Dibra said under her breath. ‘She’s mute, she’s not deaf.’

Agata turned pale now. She stood.

‘Is she leaving?’ Marek said. ‘Where is she going?’

‘Shush,’ Villiam said.

Agata turned her back to the table and stood in the darkness, just out of range of the glow of the candelabras. The four left at the table watched her figure, their faces glowing in the light. She could leave, she thought. She could starve and die. That would be fine, wouldn’t it?

‘She’s going to do something,’ Villiam said.

The priest sipped his wine, waiting for the entertainment to begin. He had never met Agata before. And he hadn’t requested anyone from the abbey in months. But good that the girl was here, for Villiam’s sake, he thought. Without a visitor to keep him happy once in a while, he got more and more demanding. Maybe Agata could do something really strange. Maybe she could make herself disappear. A few had come with the promise of such an act, but all they had done was throw smoke and run out. Maybe this nun was the real thing. Real magic. She did have a haunted kind of look about her. Her hands shook a bit when she’d sipped her wine, he’d noticed. Perhaps she would have a conniption. Barnabas had seen people go into fits before, but they usually fell on the ground and shook and had a look of terror in their eyes. He couldn’t imagine this nun doing that.

‘What’s she going to do?’ Marek asked.

‘She’s already doing it,’ Dibra answered.

‘What?’

‘Turning her back on us heathens,’ Dibra answered, chewing.

‘Sister, we are ready! Please, turn around, entertain us!’ Villiam said. He laughed and ripped his teeth into a chunk of lamb. ‘Sing!’ he cried and chewed.

Agata turned to them and opened her mouth as though something might come out. Of course she could sing. She could sing beautifully. But she could not sing with words.

‘Sing!’ Marek cried with curious exuberance, which was so uncharacteristic of the boy’s usual sheepishness that Villiam burst out laughing again. And then he began to choke.

‘Oh, no,’ Villiam coughed. He had sucked a chunk of lamb the wrong way down his throat. He gasped and turned red, but still laughed, banging his hand on the table as if that might dislodge the meat.

‘Villiam, spit it out!’ Dibra yelled across the table. Villiam shook his head violently, gripping his throat with his hands.