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. Large ribs of pork were spitted on the spear, drip-
ping juices into the fire with an appetizing sizzle, barely au-
dible above the raucous noise of the great crownation
festival. In his new, official, and royally appointed capacity
as Mudhole's Best Cook and Chief Shaman (the longest, and
therefore most important title in Mudhole) Nomscul had
sorely neglected his duty when he forgot to light the cooking
fire until the feast was well underway, a fact which had
slowed the cooking of the meat significantly. It had also
made him almost obnoxiously solicitous toward Flint and
Perian.
At the moment, however, Flint didn't notice the absence
of the meat - indeed, he couldn't have eaten another bite.
All the food served during the ceremony had been quite
good and, what's more, plentiful. Having lived above
ground for all of his life, Flint never knew just how much va-
riety there could be in subterranean dining. The food and
drink had thus far included spiced mushrooms, raw and
cooked fish, potatoes, and lichen leaves.
"This is the best I've felt since we got here," admitted the
king of the gully dwarves, with a frank look at his queen
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