Evaleon Hill Death Comes to the Archbishop
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EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
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one summer, the fryer, who did not make long journeys now that he had grown large and girth, decided that he would like company someone to admire his fine garden, his ingenious kitchen, his airy lo jyh with its rugs and water jars where he meditated and took his after dinner. See Esther? So he planned to give a dinner party. In the week after ST John's Day, he sent his runner to Zuni, Laguna Ysleta and Bad the Padres to a feast they came upon the day four of them. For there were two priests that Zune You, the stable boy, was stationed at the foot of the rock to take their beasts and conduct the visitors up the stairway at the head of the trail Baltazar received, Um, they were shown over the place and spent the morning gossiping in the cloister walks. Cool and silent, though the naked rock outside was almost too hot for the hand to touch. The vine leaves rustled agreeably in the breeze, and the earth, about the carrot and onion tops as it dried from last night's watering, gave off a pleasant smell. The guests thought their host live very well and they wished they had his secret. If he was a trifle boastful of his air bound seat, no one could blame him with the dinner. Baltazar had taken extravagant pains. The monastery in which he had learned to cook was off the main highway to Seville. The Spanish novels in the King himself sometimes stopped there for entertainment in that great kitchen, with its multiplicity of spits small enough to roast a lock and large enough to roast a bore. The fryer had learned a thing or two about sources, and in his lonely years at a comma, he had bettered his instruction by a natural aptitude for the art. The poverty of materials had proved an incentive rather than a discouragement. Certainly the visiting missionaries had never sat down to food like that, which rejoiced them today in the cool refractory, the blinds just open enough to admit a streak of throbbing desert far below them. Their host was telling them pompously, that he would have a fountain in the cloister close. When they came again, he had to check his hungry guests in their zeal for the relishes in the soup, warning them to save their metal for what was to come. The roast was to be a wild turkey, superbly done, but that, alas, was never tasted. The course, which preceded it, was the hosts, a special care, and here he had trusted nothing to his cook hair Genia. His carrots and onions were tended and well flavored with a source, which had been perfecting for many years. This entree was brought from the kitchen in a large earthen dish, but not large enough for with it's luxury of sauce and floating carats, it filled the platter to the brim. The stable boy was serving today as the cook could not leave his spits, and he'd be neat, brisk and efficient. The fryer was pleased with him and was wondering whether he could not find some little medal of bronze or silver gilt to reward him for his pains. When the hair and it's source came on the priest from his letter chance to be telling a funny story at which the company were laughing uproariously, the solving boy who knew a little Spanish was apparently trying to get the point of the recital, which made the Padres so Mary. At any rate, he became distracted and as he passed behind the senior priest of Zuni, He tipped his full platter and spilled a stream of rich brown gravy over the good man's head and shoulders. Baltazar was quick tempered, and he had been drinking freely of the fiery grape brandy. He caught up the empty pewter mug It is right and threw it at the clumsy lad with, um, Al Addiction. It struck the boy on the side of the head. He dropped the platter, staggered a few steps and fell down. He did not get up. No, Did he move? The padre from a junior was skilled in medicine, wiping the source from his eyes. He bent over the boy and examined him. Whereto, he whispered. With that, he plucked his junior priests by the sleeve and the two bolted across the garden without another word and made for the head of the stairway in a moment, the positives of Laguna and this later unceremoniously followed their example. With remarkable speed, the four guests got them down from the rock, saddled their mules and urged them across the plain. Baltazar was left alone with the consequences of his haste. Unfortunately, the cook, astonished at the prolonged silence had looked in at the door. Justus, the last pair of brown gowns were vanishing across the cloister. He saw his comrade lying upon the floor and silently disappeared from the premises by an exit known only to himself.