Chapter 21: The Worst Coffee

Rafe carried the pot up the hill himself, with a dish towel wrapped round each handle.

He set it on the long table in the lodge kitchen, and forty-one Brocklehurst wolves looked at him.

"It's soup," said Nan. "Don't stare at it."

"It's a very big pot," said the boy who had counted a hundred and seven.

"It's a very big pack."

Nan had put Rafe at the far end of the table, between the old guard with the white moustache and a sleeping dog.

Demelza sat at the other end.

She could see him the whole meal.

He ate like a man who had not had a hot dinner in a week, and he said "thank you" to the cook three times.

"Alpha Kincaid," said the old guard. "Is it true you gave up your seat to say a thing you didn't have to?"

"Suspended."

"For a thing you didn't have to?"

"I did have to."

"Huh," said the old guard, and passed him the bread.

At the other end of the table, Demelza kept her face straight, and Nan gave her a look.

When the bowls were empty, Rafe took the thermos out of his coat.

"Don't," said Demelza.

"You've never tried it."

"I've smelled it for three weeks. It smells like a tire fire."

"It's coffee."

"It's a grudge in a bottle."

He poured a capful and held it out down the length of the table.

Forty-one wolves watched it pass from hand to hand, all the way to her.

She drank.

She set it down very carefully.

"Well?" Rafe said.

"That's the worst thing I have ever put in my mouth."

The whole kitchen roared.

Rafe put his head down on his arm and shook.

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