Several minutes later, Timothy himself entered the hall where the students ate their meals. He was greeted by a loud buzz of conversation mixed with the clattering of plates and utensils and the delicious, overpowering smell of goat and garlic soup. The room itself was spacious in spite of the thirty or so large tables arranged across it. Huge, ornately carved stone buttresses stretched from the worn stone floor to where the ceiling was lost in shadows, far above the warm glow of lamps and candles.
“Timothy!” someone called through the noise. “Timothy, over here!”
He spotted John and another friend sitting at one of the wooden tables on the opposite side of the room, and began walking towards them. Various members of the younger classes were scrambling here and there, fetching food and drink for their elders on wooden platters so that Timothy had to do his best to dodge them. Despite his efforts, however, he had soon bumped into a girl carrying a tray of bread, knocking her to the floor and scattering the small loaves.
“Oh, I’m very sorry,” he said, blushing
Several younger classmen walked hurriedly by, stepping over the fallen girl and the bread.
“Here,” Timothy continued, holding out his hand to help her up
She was an olderclass girl, wearing a plain, dark green dress and a strangely shaped, oddly carved hairpin in her auburn hair.
“Thank you,” she said. Once she was on her feet again, she began to pick the loaves up off of the floor, setting them back on the tray.
“Seyanna, you don’t have to get food anymore, you know,” Timothy commented, helping her pick up the loaves. “You’ve been an olderclassman for almost a year now.”
She shrugged. “I don’t mind it.”
“Anyway, I really am sorry,” he said again, picking up the last loaf.
“You stopped to help me,” she replied, smiling. “That’s more than most.”
So saying, she took her tray and walked away. Timothy paused for a second after she had gone, lost in thought. Finally, he shook his head and continued across the dining hall to where his comrades were seated.
“John, Yule,” he said, nodding to his two friends when he reached the table.
“Soup, Tim?” John asked him as he sat down.
“Sure,” he replied.
At this, John suddenly banged his fist on the table, staring down to the other end where three younger classmen were seated.
“Donny!” he shouted.
One of the younger class boys immediately stood up from his chair, knocking it backwards.
“Donny, why are you so clumsy?” John demanded, still shouting.
“Sorry sir,” the boy said. His two companions choked back snickers as he attempted to replace his chair.
“Donny!” John shouted again.
“Yes, sir!” Donny shouted back.
“Forget the chair, get another bowl of soup!”
“Yes, sir,” Donny said, running off toward the kitchen.
As soon as Donny had gone, Yule leaned back in his chair, laughing. “You give that one a hard time, John,” he said.
“Well that’s how it’s supposed to be,” John replied, biting into a thick slice of barley bread. “Anyhow he needs it.”
Timothy smiled and exchanged glances with Yule, remembering how ridiculous John had been their first year.
It was not long before Timothy’s soup arrived. The three friends sat for a while, slowly eating and discussing the various end-of-the-term tests for which they would be studying. There was history, which John thought would be difficult; advanced medicine, which they would take the next day; battlefield strategies; and finally, a mysterious three-section test on the Secret Arts.
“And then, of course, the weapons trials after that,” Yule commented.
Just then, they were interrupted by a member of the new class, carrying a wooden platter with a smashed apple tart on it.
“Sir!” he said in a loud voice, addressing John.
“Close your mouth and go back to your table,” Timothy said forcefully.
“Sir,” the boy said again, not heeding Timothy. “I have been instructed by Kyle of the house of Helender to deliver the following message to John of the Doures.” By this time, the boy had the attention of everyone in the room.
“No professors around, of course,” Yule mumbled
“Go ahead,” John said to the messenger.
“Sir,” the messenger began again, even louder. “This smashed tart is a symbol of how Kyle of the house of Helender will crush you, both in the weapons trials and in the Quest.”
Then, before anyone could say anything, the boy slammed the platter down in front of John, breaking it in half and scattering pieces of smashed tart across the table. Timothy watched as the messenger ran back to his own table, where several older classmen were looking back at them with smug expressions on their faces.
“All over my favorite vest,” John mumbled.
“I told you he hates you,” Yule said, gingerly wiping tart off of his shirt.
“No joke?” John replied. “Say, would you mind sliding that pasty under the table? Nice and easy like – don’t make it obvious.”
“Leave it be, John,” Timothy interjected. “It’s probably exactly what he wants.”
“Well if it’s what he wants, then I’d better be a good boy and give it to him, eh?” John replied sarcastically.
So saying, he stood up, and began walking towards his antagonist’s table with the pasty hidden behind his back.
“Do you want me to get more pasties, sir?” Donny asked Yule.
“No,” Yule said impatiently, watching John.
John was approaching the offending table with a ridiculously fake smile and an exaggerated display of courtesy. Timothy and Yule could see him bend down and say something in Kyle’s ear, to which Kyle seemed to agree.
“What’s he doing?” Timothy asked
“It’s coming,” Yule said, nodding.
Suddenly, John whipped the pasty out and smashed it into Kyle’s face. In an instant, all five of Kyle’s friends were on their feet, shouting at John. Two of them grabbed him by the arms and flung him onto table top, scattering bits of food everywhere. There was a moment of horrified silence throughout the dining hall, and then John leaped up and began kicking platters and bowls at his opponents.
“Come on,” Yule yelled. Jumping up from his chair, he bounded from table top to table top, knocking over pitchers and sending plates of food flying through the air. When he was only two tables away from the scuffle, he preformed a magnificent leap, landing square on the back one of Kyle’s friends and knocking him to the floor. John now had Kyle in a choke hold, but was being beaten savagely as Yule attempted to break in to his rescue.
Timothy arrived about two seconds behind Yule. He had taken a lower rout, dashing in between tables and avoiding spilt food and scattered plates and bowls. Just before he entered the fray, he grabbed two wooden platters off of a nearby table and apologized to the wide-eyed students seated there. He took one platter in each hand and charged the fight, using them as clubs. The first one was soon smashed over the head of one of Kyle’s friends, while the second wrought havoc among the remaining foes.
Yule was now standing on the table top facing Ivan, one of Kyle’s friends. Both were armed with platters and were glaring intensely at each other, but neither one moved. The hall grew silent again, and the fighting around the table stopped, as all eyes turned toward them.
For several moments, no one moved. The two adversaries stood tensely, knuckles white as they gripped their weapons. Then, suddenly, the door at the far end of the hall swung open, and three men walked in.
Most of the students suddenly became very busy eating, though none spoke. The two on the table top slowly lowered their platters.
“Now they show up,” Timothy whispered, dryly.
John said in a low voice, “It’s over.”