"One of the outland tunes you learned far-voyaging," called Cagu, the bodyguard.
I complied with the Beer Barrel Polka. They pounded the table and hallooed when I finished, and I got my goody pan. Sime stood watching me scrape at it.
"Why don't you claim the Chief Piper's place, Drgon?" Sime said. "You pipe rings around the lout. Then you'd have freeman status, and could sit among us in the kitchen almost as an equal."
I went after the last of the chocilla frosting, licked my fingers, and laid the pot aside.
"I'd gladly be the equal of such a pastry cook as yourself, good Sime," I said. "But what can a slave-piper do?"
Sime blinked at me. "You can challenge the Chief Piper," he said. "There's none can deny you're his master in all but name. Don't fear the outcome of the Trial; you'll triumph sure." He glanced around at the kitchen staff. "Is it not so, goodmen?"
"I'll warrant it," the soup-master said. "If you lose, I'll take your stripes for you."
"You're going too fast for me, goodmen," I said. "How can I claim another's place?"
Sime waved his arms. "You have far-voyaged long indeed, Piper Drgon. Know you naught of how the world wags these days? One would take you for a Cintean heretic."
"As I've said, goodmen: in my youth all men were free; and the High King ruled at Okk-Hamiloth——"