Mr. Darcy's Great Escape by Marsha Altman

rather put-out having to supply them for the two additional guests.
    Darcy looked down at the white soup and the two hoofs floating in it. “I suppose I ought not to inquire what this is.”
    â€œI think you can pass on drinking it,” Dr. Maddox said. The crowd at the other end was very noisy, so even if they were speaking in a language the others could understand, they would not be heard anyway. “The count will hardly notice.” He managed to hide his bowl between goblets and reached with his fork for something green and in a roll. “I believe this is cabbage. Probably with meat in it, I suppose.”
    Darcy went for the more obvious choice, the duck that was still recognizable as a duck, though it was surrounded by fried things Darcy couldn’t name. He was famished, so not eating was out of the question, even if the spices didn’t agree with him. Fortunately the meat itself was actually rather plain, if made sour by the cream it was covered in. As Dr. Maddox guessed, the servants were not at all concerned that the soup went untouched. Their main tasks seemed to be constantly refilling the goblets of wine and dispensing a clear liquor. Everyone else was dipping in, and the laughter could at times be deafening. They seemed to be at the quiet end of the table. Darcy looked to his right, and the Oriental was not eating at all. He had a shaker in his hand, with a wooden handle and metal top, and a small metal ball attached by string, and when he swung it, the ball made a humming noise as it circled around. He seemed to be mumbling to himself, his eyes closed.
    â€œHe’s a fortune teller,” said the man across from them in French. When the plate with a pile of stewed cabbage rolls and sweet cakes was moved aside, they could see a very pale, definitely European man with normal clothing under his cloak sitting across from them. He even had a fine pair of glasses. His gray beard was neatly trimmed, but the hair in the back of his head was a little long. “From Xinjiang, northeast of the Manchus’ China. You can try to talk to him, but he doesn’t speak any language of the white men. He won’t lower himself to it.”
    â€œHe’s not… fortune telling now?”
    â€œOh, no,” the Frenchman chuckled, though maybe he wasn’t French. He was just speaking French very well. “He’s just saying prayers. I hope it doesn’t bother you.”
    Dr. Maddox said with a wary little smile, “Does His Grace normally employ fortune tellers?”
    â€œHe’s a very superstitious man, though you might have guessed that already.” He chuckled. “Yengi always gets all the attention.”
    â€œAnd you?”
    â€œOh, forgive me.” He made a gesture as if he was tipping his hat to them, even though he had no hat. “Artemis Izmaylov. I translate for my friend here. So what are two Englishmen doing in Transylvania?”
    â€œMy name is Dr. Daniel Maddox, and this is Mr. Darcy,” Dr. Maddox said, a little relieved to be talking to someone at last. “My brother is Brian Maddox, the count’s son-in-law. I was invited to see him, and my friend Mr. Darcy is traveling with me.”
    Yengi the fortune-teller stopped his chant and said something, and Artemis said, “Yes, we met him briefly, the last time we were here, though we did not have a chance to speak. He was busy and so were we. Nice fellow. Refused to have his fortune read, but I can’t blame him, to be perfectly honest. Too much English in him.” His smile revealed a full set of slightly crooked, almost sharp teeth. “Enjoy the count’s hospitality, for what it’s worth. He can be a very interesting man.”
    ***
    There was little time for further discussion with the fortune-telling duo, as the various groups dispersed in different directions, and Darcy and Dr. Maddox had to turn down glass after glass, though it was impossible not to take a