Chapter 4 #3
Not long after, they tucked into a fine meal.
Oste had eaten at banquets on a number of occasions, most of all at the Orensanz estate, but the taste of home always held his heart.
He’d pick his mother’s freshly baked breads and dishes made from his father’s catch over the alternatives any day of the week, and he wasn’t alone in that regard; even Jeanne and Eflamm, rich darlings that they were, had come over for supper well into adulthood.
Oste did have to hand it to Dorotèa; it was a great daube.
However, she may have been even better at entertaining his parents than cooking.
He’d certainly known she had no misgivings against using her tongue, but not even being an unexpected guest had stilled it.
She rambled away, asking after both his parents and relaying the latest city gossip.
When the rumor that the university would start teaching Hebrew came up, they all discussed that one of old King Rene’s physicians had been a Jew, which swept into the sanitation laws he passed, and thus got Oste involved in the chatter when questions about new ones subsequently came up.
Oste thought the meal was going to be downright ordinary until Dorotèa kicked the hornet’s nest.
“How goes the watch, Monsieur Lézin?” Dorotèa hummed. “I’ve heard the wolves have been politely at bay. Are there any other critters I ought to be worried about?”
The wolfcatcher’s green eyes brightened. Oste felt a sense of foreboding.
Martin inclined his head and held his hunk of bread aloft.
“The animals have been civil to counter how our fellow men have behaved, I’d say.
We’ve not had an attack by any in some time, though one must be careful—for wolves, yes, but one can’t forget the lynx.
Beautiful creatures. Don’t threaten people, but they’ll go after our animals if they’re desperate enough.
Then, of course, bears. Now, the bears will get you, if they set their minds on it. ”
Oste’s spoon caught on his bowl with a high-pitched squeak.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bear!” Dorotèa remarked brightly. “I accompany my father sometimes on close transports, and we’ve been lucky. Not that I’d expect to find them on the roads, mind, and I try to avoid wandering through forests alone—naturally.”
“I’d also recommend you be wary of caves.”
“Oh?”
Oste looked at his mother in desperation, but Clotilde stared the other way and chewed idly on some hard cheese.
His father nodded. “They’ll make dens sometimes, but—and I’ll preface by saying that I have not confirmed this with my own eyes yet—I believe there’s another bear variety that calls them home, and they’re even more troubling.”
“Papa, perhaps Dorotèa is not very interested in bears…” Oste whispered.
Dorotèa blinked at Oste and raised a brow. She soon turned her attention back to his father. “What makes you say that? You mean to say there could be multiple kinds of bears?”
“Indeed,” said the grave wolfcatcher. “You see, I’ve been in caves myself from time to time.
Stumbled upon them on long treks or when I’ve been told where they are.
A few of them are the damnedest things; people lived there long before, mark my words, and the walls are painted with all sorts of creatures.
Lots of bears, with slight differences from the ones I’ve hunted.
There were bones, too. Like our usual bears, but massive.
Bigger than any man or beast I’ve seen.”
“No!” Dorotèa gasped, then leaned forward in her chair. “Bigger as in taller? Or bigger everywhere?”
“Everywhere. Huge. They’re Goliaths, Mademoiselle.”
“Wow! And you haven’t found one?”
“Not yet.” He bit off some bread. “No one I know has seen a cave bear, but that doesn’t mean they’re not out there.”
“Perhaps they’re very shy?” Dorotèa suggested. “Perhaps they very intentionally hide from humans, and aren’t dangerous at all?”
He nodded rigorously. “It’s crossed my mind. I haven’t found fresh carcasses around the caves. I can’t say I’d blame them; humans don’t always make for great company.”
Oste grumbled quietly. “Papa…”
“I can say, without a doubt, that the company this afternoon is lovely,” said Dorotèa. “Though I agree that there are times, I think, I wouldn’t mind being in the company of cave bears instead.”
“They could be excellent companions for all I know,” said Martin. “I’d even take a regular bear on several occasions. I’d take ten instead of some of the bastards running Provence.”
“Mmh,” Clotilde nodded in agreement. “Or some of the other men I might have married.”
“Tildy,” Martin snorted.
“I’m going to keep that one in mind,” said Dorotèa with a smile, and she raised her glass of wine.
“Hear, hear,” said both Lézins. They, too, raised their cups.
“To the benevolent cave bear,” Dorotèa said merrily.
Oste stared. Was this really happening? Was he in hell? He was so slack-jawed and stupefied that he didn’t even think to do the polite thing and raise his glass for the toast.