“I believe I am ready,” he declared, walking around the screen to let Gustav appraise him.
The older man nodded, looking Francis up and down. “May I make a suggestion, sir? A sash is worn as a belt. It does help hold the trousers up.”
“Oh, yes, all right,” Francis said. He allowed Gustav to pick out a red sash and help wrap it around his waist just so.
“A splash of colour, too,” Gustav said.
“Yes,” Francis agreed, and almost chuckled. “I didn’t know you appreciated fashions this much, Gustav.”
Gustav appeared flustered. “They do appeal, sir. Now, shall we to dinner?”
“Yes,” Francis agreed. He was feeling better now. Good clothes always helped with that. “Let’s go.”
They found their bearded, friendly fellow in green again, and he assigned them a younger attendant to escort them to dinner.
Despite the nerves, Francis was looking forward to finally meeting King Omar.
As they walked down the beautiful hallway, Gustav talking quickly about what food to expect for dinner and how best to eat it, Francis paid more attention to the decor, and the other people they passed. The palace was bustling with guests, and it seemed Francis wasn’t the last to arrive. His head was turned by the arrival of a very attractive East Asian man wearingbeautiful silk robes with billowing sleeves. His shoulder length black hair fixed half loose and half tied up with gold adornments.
Maybe a prince?
Francis wanted to ask Gustav, but there was no time. They passed by the new arrivals just as the maybe-prince raised his hands in confusion at his entourage, like he was expecting more of a welcome party.
As he walked away from the scene, Francis had to wonder if this was all a tactic to put the guests off their game. To shake things up and see how they handled being in a new situation, with new customs.
He refused to believe it was merely an organisational oversight; it had to be deliberate. With this now in mind, Francis took a deep breath, stood tall, and braced himself for dinner.
They were shown to a room so grand that Francis could only assume it was a throne room or ballroom, maybe both.
While the room itself was square, the ceiling was made of several domes and arches all finished in red, gold and azure-blue tile so that the whole canopy glittered. A crystal chandelier dangled down from the centre dome, lit up but not with flickering candlelight, a constant light Francis had never seen before.
And thanks to that chandelier, the room was brightly lit.
As they entered with the other guests, Francis spotted what he first assumed was a day bed or chaise to the right, decorated with a golden canopy. Perhaps the king sat there. Currently it was vacant, with nobody sitting on its blue silk cushion.
On the right of that chair was a gallery of sorts, raised slightly on a platform and with ornate blue pillars at regular intervals, setting it apart from the main room. A pretty paper screen had been set between each pillar, and Francis wished Christian could see the art on it; a talented artist had drawn amotif of peacocks and ferns. Lit from behind, the artistic screen was a marvel to behold.
Gustav noticed Francis looking, and said quietly, “The king’s family have that area to themselves. As well as the balcony.”
Francis glanced up, noting for the first time that there was indeed a gold railed balcony above the gallery. It was almost imperceptible in the ornate decor, but now it had been pointed out, he could see it. At that very moment, two small figures, possibly young girls, ran along the length of the balcony, giggling in delight, their dark heads of hair barely visible above the protective rail. Francis saw a young woman bustling after them, maybe a nurse or older sibling giving chase; and then they were gone.
Intriguing.
But sadly, there was no time to stand around admiring the place nor looking for clues. More guests were spilling into the hall behind them, and they had to move along. Everyone’s destination: a long, low table set in the centre of the room, already set for dining and full to the brim of exotic foods and drink.
Except, Francis noted, there were no chairs, only plump cushions on the floor.
“Gustav, there’s no chairs?” Francis said. He watched some of the guests bustling up to the head of the table in front of the empty throne. Some of them paused, clearly thrown by the lack of chairs, and others hurriedly sat upon the cushions claiming the best spots to presumably be closer to the king.
“Yes, we sit down cross legged or however is comfortable, sir,” Gustav explained.
“We’d better hurry, then,” Francis said. He found the nearest spot and lowered himself to a cushion. Gustav sat on his left so he didn’t block Francis’s view of the throne, nor the king’sview of Francis.
Francis was hungry, and everything in front of him smelled delicious.
Servants in robes of green and yellow filed in, depositing more full trays of food to the table. Some of the guests had started eating already, apparently ravenous.
Francis was too shocked to do anything but stare. He didn’t mind the informality itself, he was just taken by surprise. Wasn’t it rude to not wait for the king? Without direction, he floundered.
