Origami Narwhal
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The Drake of Craumont - 1.1
🕑 Added 2025-03-24 18:00:00 +0000 UTCA cold, hard edge is at my throat a heartbeat faster than I can duck away. I can’t look down to see it clearly, but I can feel how it catches and tugs at the collar of my blouse.
“Let’s make this easy, pretty lady.”
Tsk. They’d snuck up from behind far too easily. I’ll take the compliment, though.
But I can’t just get lost in my own head like this. Should’ve listened to my gut and not taken this shortcut to begin with. Maybe I can blame it all on the soft pattering of rain, or how dark the alley is from the rain-slicked brick looming on either side. Gloomy and cramped, as old Imperial cities always are at night.
Doesn't matter, though. I've been expecting something like this! Not hoping for it, but preparation is part of my profession. I’m a woman wrapped in a rather nice rain cloak, far from the flickering crystal streetlamps, and my tail isn’t really visible when it’s coiled around my leg to stay dry. I can’t exactly afford to be oblivious to my surroundings, but here I am with a mugger behind me and a knife to my throat.
'Oops' doesn’t quite cover it, but, oops! My first night back home and I’m ready to leave again. That’ll show me for answering my cousin's call for help, I suppose.
I draw in a quiet breath, feeling my throat scrape the bare edge of the man’s knife. My tail slowly uncurls, sliding into the same puddle my nice boots were slowly soaking up. Gods, it's utterly infuriating when something slips through the cracks. Breathe, Ivy, and get your head in the game.
So I put my thoughts together, and the path of action comes along naturally. Well, as natural as anything around being mugged could be, but I’m hardly going to make a habit of it.
“Of course. I know how these play out,” I say softly, hiding my irritation and gently pitching my voice upward. “I’m going to need to reach for my coinpurse.”
"No funny business," he grunts, and I feel a hand slide around my waist, digging at my hip. I hope he can't hear my teeth grinding.
“I’m in no rush to die.” I say in that same quiet tone, reaching for something that definitely isn’t a coinpurse, or even a pocketbook. “No funny business.” Only a spot of violence. Two or three, depending on the bruises.
I flick my coinpurse on the way down my leg, letting it jingle loudly. His breathing changes, and a reflection from a well placed puddle shows his head moving. Perfect.
Another deep breath, and my lowered hand brushes the handle of a partially-concealed knife. On one, then. Three...
“Good girl. Making this--”
Oh, Gods no. One!
I straighten, which is just enough to get him off balance. My tail lashes up in a spray of water, curling around his leg even as I slam my head backwards into his chin. An elbow slams into his side, once, twice, three times before something cracks and his grip loosens. He starts to stagger back, but I take a step forward and the leg held by my tail comes with me.
He drops to the ground with a series of curses, a pained yelp, and a loud, satisfying splash.
Then I draw my knife like planned, spin around, and pin him to the soaked ground with a knee. I feel a grin spread across my face, flashing a mouth with too many sharp teeth.
I should say something here. Something clever, showy, intimidating--
“Let’s make this easy, boy,” I bark through my grin, letting my voice drop to its usual roughness. I wince immediately, regretting everything. That sounded a lot less like a radio drama quip in my head.
My punishment for hesitation is swift and almost entirely deserved: the grimy man bucks under me, snarling and snapping up an arm to slice across my side-- I’d forgotten to take that knife away from him. I really am off my game today. I blame the awful sleep I’d gotten on the train, and being back in Craumont. Can't really decide which is worse for me.
I can’t get away in time, not from the position I'm in, but I’m able to yank my knife-arm up to take the brunt of it with my forearm.
It cuts straight through my rain cloak--
And it skitters across the black-brown scales creeping up my wrist. The most I feel is a little nudge.
I curl my lips to expose a bit more tooth, letting frustration bubble up and out as a rumbling snarl. Rain cloaks are replaceable, but I liked that one.
I won't give him a chance to go for another hit, if he happens to be that foolish. Muggers are cowards, after all, not murderers.
Lightning crackles across my fingers, flickering spurts of violet and white that sear the eyes and send strange shadows across the soaked alley. I make a show of it, letting arcs lash out at the puddles below.
The man stumbles back a few steps as he drags himself up, hands out in front of him and knife splashing to the ground. He manages some swears and useless platitudes before sprinting away. My grin widens when I see him slip and splash into a puddle as he rounds the corner.
I feel my thudding heartbeat, now, just as it starts to calm down. The sounds of rain rush back in, a gentle undercurrent to the distant sounds of horses and their carriages.
I move my focus to my free hand-- crackling still with my Lightning. It sputters and fades when I cut off my magic, leaving my hand entirely unmarked by the experience.
It takes much longer for my shiny, blackened claws to meld back into something more mundane, and the black-brown scales still haven't retreated up my arm by the time I look away. Who knows— some day, if I push too hard, I might have to use magic to hide the scales, rather than growing them.
My tail lashes behind me, digging another trough in the water and getting my socks more soaked than they already are.
The whistle of a train shrieks in the distance, muffled by the quiet pitter-patter of rainfall.
"...ugh." I sigh to the empty alley, rolling my neck. "So much for shortcuts. Hope Benny keeps the food warm."
My stomach rumbles mutinously, no doubt aware of what comes next. I groan in agreement, running a hand along my face.
I should report this to the constables, shouldn't I? They're actually a decent sort in the Ayldom.
Even if I scared off this mugger for good, I doubt they’re the only one, and I can’t just leave that idea to rot. I’d gotten only a brief look at his face-- would that be enough?
***
Constables aren't that helpful for investigations, at least on their own, and a random failed mugging from an incredibly oblivious mugger doesn't really have the weight to call in a detective anyways. But still, I slosh through the drizzle as it turns to rain, knock on the big blue door, and deliver my testimony to a rather startled looking constable.
I must be quite a sight, honestly. A tall, scaly woman with unnaturally white hair, too-bright brown eyes... a tail three times thicker than a clenched fist, long enough to drag against the ground. A very obvious Mageblood in a city that I doubt has gathered many Magebloods in the years I’ve been gone.
The only personal benefit from all this is a lovely little bakery I spotted— I'll visit tomorrow. That almost makes it worth it.
***
A beautiful manor of stone and brick stands alone in the distance, windows gleaming in the dim light. Once upon a time, the Manor was the pride of the Crawford family, a veritable fortress of enchantments over the finest Imperial architecture. I'd walked its halls the first nineteen years of my life, memorizing every step of the East and West wings my parents permitted-- and much more besides.
The fact that this manor still stands is proof that the Goddess of Justice is deaf to my prayers. The fact that it's so clean and well-kept almost seems like an insult.
I’m being far too dramatic about it, and maybe it sounds like I hate the place, but I don’t. Not anymore, anyway.
Once everything started falling apart, I’d started sneaking out, weaving my way into town to visit the apothecary, the blacksmith, and that grumpy old brawler. Before I grew wise to it, I’d pray to Adamantine that Mother would knock over a candle and burn the damned place down. That’d be the just option: going out tragically, and taking the house with them.
And if Adamantine was listening, back when I prayed, then I guess she just isn’t a house-burning type.
But for years and years now, the Manor’s been mine, despite Father’s best attempts to give it away. No crazy parents, creepy parties, or snooty Restoration members; just Benny and a bunch of enchantments. The Manor’s magic embraces me now, settling warmth over my shoulders and brushing a stray leaf off my poncho. A tingle of magic rushes downwards, curling and hesitating over my tail before vanishing entirely.
"I'm here, I suppose." I say to the heavy wooden door, stopping halfway up the steps. "Hello."
The Manor answers with a pulse, coating me in a faint greenish gleam that casts odd shadows against the door. A moment later, the layer of mud on my hood is wicked away, deposited in a muddy puddle by the side of the path. I give a vague nod of thanks towards the front door.
And, of course, my stomach rumbles to ruin the moment. "...Gods, I'm hungry. Benny, pull through!"
I shake my head, checking the windows. With the gray sky oozing towards black, Benny may well be in bed; at least the brass-and-crystal firelamps are here to see by. My old room even has a light in it, shining faintly through the thick red curtains.
“Madam? Could I encourage you to step inside, so you might begin to dry off?”
A voice: wizened, buttery smooth, and achingly familiar. My tail digs into the wet soil between stones, the cold shock just enough to drag me out of my wandering thoughts.
I smile widely, and I take a long sniff at the warm breeze coming from the now-opened front door. It takes everything I have to not crash through the door with a bone-crushing hug.
“Depends. Is that actual wheat bread I’m smelling, or just that trick you used to do with the potato bread?”
Benny swings the door open a little wider and a gust of wind follows, pushing out the rain to keep the inside free of water and mud. As always, Benny looks impeccable in their charcoal black suit, gray eyes and grayer hair illuminated in the bright light pouring from inside. Their face looks just how I remember it, all narrow lines and warm smiles, even with the extra wrinkling around their mouth.
I can’t meet their piercing gaze, tail curling back under my poncho. What’s their deal? Did someone draw on my face or something?
Did they see the scales, peeking out of my sweater’s collar, and know that I’m a Mageblood?
“You there, Benny?” I ask quietly. “Hope the years aren't getting to you.”
“I assure you I am as sharp as ever, Madam Ivy.” They say quickly, hurrying to push the door open wider. “I did indeed prepare wheat bread for dinner, alongside a beef stew and--”
“Baked potatoes, seasoned to perfection,” I finish, copying their voice poorly. “Let me guess, you want to know if I’ve gone full meat-eater?”
“You would have complained about it in your yearly letter to the Estate, Madam.”
Thank the Gods they can’t see my face. I bark out a harsh, rumbling laugh, and raise a hand to wave it aside. "So is it ready to eat, or are you gonna have to heat it up? I know I’m late, sorry.”
I step to the side to let Benny past, stomping and scraping my boots out on the floor mat. They hand me a towel pulled from Gods know where, and I swing my tail around to start getting the mud and dirt off it.
Benny flicks their eyes down, lingering on the black-scaled length of my tail, and then looks away without comment. A little frisson of relief and shame runs up my spine, blooming into heat on my cheeks. Of course they don't bat an eye-- it's Benny, after all.
Suddenly, blessedly: silence, as the door thuds closed behind me.
Without the drone of the rain that I'd been blocking out for hours, now-- even audible inside the constables' station, faintly-- I'm left with the thudding of my own heart for company. Perfectly silent, just like my parents had liked it.
A moment longer is all it takes for the silence to turn stifling. I shake my head and exhale loudly, letting a growl escape to fill the air.
"Your food will be ready in quarter-hour's time, Madam. Most was kept warm, but I will need to begin a new batch of baked potatoes," Benny tells me, striding past to bow to me again, "And there is a set of loungewear awaiting you in the baths. The cleaning enchantments have become quite adept at drying clothes, so you may leave them on the rack without worry."
"Not bad," I smile through the pang in my chest, spreading my arms wide. "Hug? Or am I too damp?"
Benny, to my great relief, takes a step forward, and that's all it takes.
I sweep my arms around them, dragging them up into a tight, warm hug. It doesn't quite fill the sudden aching need for regular hugs, but it'll do for now.
"Madam? Could you let me down?"
Oh. Right. I drop them back down and avert my eyes as they move away, rubbing the back of my head. "Thanks, Benny."
"But of course." They incline their head and take a step towards the east wing, so I wave them off.
And, when they hesitate, I flash them a toothy smile. "Don't let me keep you. It's been years since I've been to this place, I've got some catching up to do."
“Madam, please do not set fire to the estate again. It stresses the enchantments greatly.” Benny slips away to the sounds of my grumbled protest, no doubt with one of those tiny smirks on their smug face.
After a few moments to grouse about rebellious servants, I clear my throat and turn to face the entirety of the ‘entry room’. There was a fancier name for it, but I’d forgotten sometime between fighting shadow squids in the North, and getting knocked on the head by an ent.
Plus, it doesn’t need fancying up. Waist high wood paneling, plush-looking blue-and-gold wallpaper above, and a ceiling that had once upon a time been very fancily painted. A very comfy looking scattering of chairs and little tables is sat between the two stairways and below a balcony, which also has comfy looking chairs. It’s all so pointlessly fancy and posh and I would never be able to afford the cleaners for it--
Well.
I give a nod vaguely towards the center of the Manor. “Looking good,” I tell it, pouring a bit of magic into the spellwork. “Sorry about last time. Mother had awful taste in decor.”
I pause, and shrug. I'm apparently apologizing to the Manor now.
Not exactly the best excuse for my earlier intentions, but the Manor responds with a flush of warmth over my shoulders. The bond strengthens, and with only a twist of will, I'm able to get directions to the baths.
Forgetting isn’t that worrisome, hopefully. The Manor doesn't exactly have an intuitive layout.
... East wing, towards the back, just before the linens room. I follow the path, drifting through dimly lit hallways and slowly peeling off my soaked sweater. One sleeve is absolutely ruined, all torn seams and ripped fabric, with some of it even finding its way between the snakelike scales of my forearms. Plucking the threads out really makes the short trip fly by, I suppose.
Creak.
I take a moment to toss my sweater over the drying rack. Old houses do get creaky, and the East wing goes all the way back to Imperial times, as my parents loved to remind me. I, in turn, loved reminding them that we weren’t Imperials, and that the Craumont estate was even older. Always got them riled up, always got me sent to my room. In short, a perfect excuse for escaping parties to have a night in town.
Chuckling tiredly at the memory, I pull my tail around for a quick inspection. Gods, I really can’t escape the past here, can I? I thought I’d put it all to rest years ago.
Creak, creak.
I reach around, unbutton my pants in the back to free my tail, and hastily wiggle out of everything else. It’s time to take a bath, relax, and not worry about some creaking in an old manor. I do pat the wall, though; the Manor itself isn’t at fault.
“Mind turning it up a bit?” I murmur, hand still pressed against the cold stone of the wall. “I’ll need some steam to clean out these scales properly.”
The Manor, of course, obliges, and I pour a bit more magic into it as thanks.
***
I emerge a quarter-hour later feeling like a different person, and the mirror confirms I very nearly look like one, too.
Silvery hair rather than dust grey, skin that looks tanned rather than muddy, and I'm standing tall rather than hunching over. My last job had left me sore, and I'd made the questionable choice of making the four day train ride to Craumont right after.
The woman in the mirror looks back at me with bright brown eyes, and she's nothing like the scrawny kid that walked out of the Manor five years ago. Dare I say it, I might even be pretty now, in a harsh, muscular way.
The scales and tail feel so very right. Oh, and the teeth, without which biting through bone and soft metal would be a challenge.
I smile, inspecting my pointed teeth for bits of gunk just to be safe... and since I’m here, I might as well fix my hair, pull it back up into a low ponytail.
Creak.
This time, the creaking is accompanied by an odd swishing sound, right behind me--
My eyes flick to the corner of the mirror, my heart settles, and I turn around with my hands on my hips.
I squint at the floating broom and brush, dutifully picking up the bits of black thread I’d spread around from my sweater earlier.
"...huh." I say. "Aren't you supposed to use Wind for this? A broom isn't very, uh, efficient."
The broom... nods? at me, wiggling forwards and then back. A tray drifts out from a nearby closet, scooping up the little pile of lint and sweater-scraps.
Gods, enchantments are weird. I’ll have to head down to the basement at some point and make sure the ‘maid enchantment’ is getting enough power. I can’t tweak the wards, that would require hiring an actual mage, but I can at least see if I need to hire a mage.
My stomach rumbles, moving from its promises of mutiny to a threat of political assassination. It’s loud enough that the damn broom stops for a second, twisting in place. I wave it off, sniffing the air.
Mm. Potatoes.
Creak, creak, creak...
The creaking grows louder and louder, then fades away-- all from above.
I guess I’m going to be even later for dinner, because someone is in my house. It’s a thought that cools me off completely, heat and enthusiasm expelled in a single tired breath. I square my shoulders, roll my neck, and shove a bit of raw magic towards the Manor. Second floor. Where are they?
I’m already moving towards the main stairs when I get a response: unsurprisingly, the hall directly above me. Heading towards the back, which... okay, stairs and the servants quarters, so the back entrance. They’re sneaking out, probably. Maybe with a book from the library, or a fancy bit of decoration I hadn’t stowed in the basement.
“Madam?”
I turn a bit at the top of the stairs, looking back down at Benny. “Someone’s in the Manor. I’ll be a few minutes late, I think.”
Benny frowns, and I start scanning the hallways. “Visitors are somewhat infrequent. I assure you--”
Purple.
Purple robes in the corner of my eye, swishing around a corner.
I’m off in a dead sprint before Benny can even finish their sentence, Wind at my heels and a snarl bubbling up from my throat.
Of course they’d be here. Why wouldn’t they? I’d even seen their church’s steeple in town as I arrived. Assuming they’d calmed down in the past few years was a massive mistake.
I slow down to take the corner, conscious of the nice end rug and the conveniently placed window I didn’t care to hurl myself out of. My eyes snap up, scanning in front of me, and there! Purple robes, cinched at the waist and cut just above the floor. Deep purple, too, the same unpleasant shade as the berries out on the prairie.
Mother had called it “soothing”. I called it flammable.
The robed person hasn’t seen or even heard me yet. Time to go for the grab.
I bolt forwards, Wind at my heels once more, practically gliding across the hallway--
...hm.
Wouldn’t the wards have told me if this person was an intruder?
That thought would’ve been nice to have earlier, when I wasn’t lunging towards the rather short figure in the robe.
I do my best to stall out my momentum against the carpet without damaging it, but all I end up doing is tripping over like a fool. I tumble through them in a mess of thumps, thuds, cursing (mostly mine), and grunts (mostly theirs). We end up in a tangle by the west wing door, my arm braced against it before I can fall over again.
They’re staring at me, now. A girl, maybe, if I judge by the round face, frizzy, shoulder-length brown hair, and the faint hint of mussed makeup. Flushed cheeks, ragged breathing, scrambling to pull herself out from under me, and a mess of half-finished words as the poor girl tries to compose herself. The fear in her eyes tugs at my heart.
Gods, I’m making a terrible first impression, aren’t I?
“Um, could be worse,” the woman squeaks out. Oh, that’d been out loud. Great.
“Could be,” I agree immediately, then pause, easing backwards and well out of her personal space. “How about we try again? To introduce ourselves.”
“I’m... you’re the Dame that Benny war-- told me about. Probably... right?” she sighs, shaking her head. The flush is still there, and she can’t quite meet my eyes. I wonder if they’ve turned to slits?
Benny. So they’d told her about me, which is definitely worth a conversation with the butler on my payroll, but it also means she’s in the clear. So I back up further, carefully untangle my tail from her leg as she lifts it, and stick a hand out for her to grab.
“Yes,” I manage, feeling a smidge guilty. “No need to call me Dame. Just Ivy is fine, okay?”
“Ivy, then.” The woman nods to herself, grabbing my hand and letting me pull her up. It morphs into an awkward handshake, and then her hand slips away. “I am Helena Harkness.”
She’s incredibly light, goodness. Is there anything under Helena’s purple robes? It practically drapes over her, even as she pats herself down carefully.
Helena’s bright green eyes flick up to meet mine, and she frowns. I cross my arms, frowning back. “So. Benny let you in, probably. Why are you here?”
Her eyes flicker away, downwards. “Please don’t kick me out. I-- they won’t--”
Intruders on the property, murmurs the Manor, the words arriving as a shiver down my spine. Purple robes.
I’d just wanted to visit my old home for a bit, take on whatever nonsense my cousin is asking of me, and kill some monsters out in the wilderness. Gods, I can still wash my hands of whatever mess was unfolding in front of me, can’t I?
Frustration mounts, boiling over in a hiss and growl. My tail lashes through the air, I run my tongue over dry lips and sharp teeth... none of it helps. But Helena's eyes stay on me, and for all that she quails, she doesn't run away.
"Please, Dame Crawford. Ivy," she pleads, straightening her back. "I need your library to prove that they're--"
Helena's words stumble to a stop, cut off by a wave of my hand.
"Feh," I say to the open air, turning but keeping her in the corner of my eye. "You ever stayed long enough for Benny to feed you dinner?”
She shakes her head, and I’m treated to the worry melting away into a blinding smile. “No. Are you...”
“Obviously,” I snort, letting the sound rumble in my throat. “Come on, I’m sure they’ve got enough food for two ready.”
I'm probably going to regret this, but at least it won't be boring.
***
Intruders. Purple robes, no magic.
The Manor whispers to me, insistent and warm. I feed it just a bit more magic.
Where? I ask the Manor, fighting a grimace.
“You’re, um, very kind, Dame Crawford,” Helena says from somewhere behind me, and I spare a moment to smile at her. No teeth, of course.
Gates. Cannot enter. Waiting, the house whispers, louder this time.
Great, just great.
“The Manor likes you,” I say in lieu of a direct answer, because I’m letting my gut speak for me here. “Purple robes or no, you’re not a threat, and you asked for help.”
I hear her exhale sharply. “...thank you, then.”
“No problem. Now, come on, dinner’s getting cold, and I want some of that stew.”
Benny, bless them, picked out the smaller dining room for my dinner. Or maybe they’d expected all this, but I could never tell what they were thinking, honestly.
The ‘lesser dining room’ was only lesser in that it didn’t have one of those ridiculously long tables, terrible for any kind of talking and perfect for spilling wine over your neighbors. Just hardwood paneling, a window facing out towards the forest, and a proper round table.
Oh, and my dinner, steaming and deliciously fragrant. Actual wheat bread, a neat tray of baked potatoes... two table settings, and two bowls of stew.
Not really my dinner anymore, and of course Benny already knew. The Manor is a tattletale as always. Our dinner, now. Me and a girl from the Restoration Church, eating in the building I worked hard to keep out of their grubby fingers. It bothers me, just a little, but something about her just didn’t set me off like the rest seemed to. Worth a shot.
Whatever the case, Benny only raises an eyebrow when I stride through the door with Helena in tow, sticking a thumb over my shoulder.
“Found a girl running around my manor, probably by your leave. Anything to say for yourself, Benny?”
“Um, excuse me!” Helena says from behind me. “I, um, they didn’t do anything wrong! I asked permission and everything, and I stayed in the rooms they told me to. Promise!”
I snort, but Benny picks up from there. “Of course, madam. Helena has been nothing but a perfect guest since she started entering through the front door.”
Oh. She gets more interesting by the minute-- maybe this is why the Manor likes her.
“Really,” I roll the word. My tail lashes, and Helena moves up beside me, well out of range of the pointed tip. I think about it, mulling everything over, and turn to look at the woman. “So you broke into the Crawford Estate to, what, read books? Hide from your church?”
I pause, rubbing my mouth to hide my smile. This could get pretty interesting. Might even get to punch a priest!
“Yeah, of course I’ll help,” I conclude, shrugging.
She looks back at me with her chin tilted up, brushing wavy brown hair from her eyes. There... might be a few more reasons, but I keep them to myself.
“It’s not the church,” she says firmly, holding my gaze while my smile crumbles. She looks away, taking a shuddering breath. “Just some people I need to avoid for the night. I-I’ll talk to Priest Dongbaek tomorrow, and that will be that.”
And I’ll bet those people are a few more rotten eggs in the Restoration’s basket. I hold my tongue, though; she’s definitely going to argue with me if I start making points. That, and arguing on an empty stomach just makes everyone lose. So I just shrug, gesturing towards the table. “Still helping. You want dinner or not?”
Helena’s expression clears, just a bit, and she runs a hand through her hair. “Y-yes, of course! Thank you. Sorry. It's just so much food, for only two people?”
“Sorry for what?” I wave it off with an only partially faked smile. I turn and give a nod to Benny. “Doesn’t really matter. I eat a lot, and you’re a guest, I think.”
I stride over to my seat-- and it’s definitely mine, given it’s backless-- and gesture for Helena to sit in the other one.
“You think?” Helena repeats, carefully arranging her robes before sitting.
I stare at her, fighting the urge to snort. “Yeah?”
She pales, only to rapidly turn a bright red. “Um. Thank you, Dame Crawford, for this meal?”
“Stick to Ivy. Dame Crawford is for strangers. Call me Dame Ivy if you have to.” I shrug, tearing my gaze back to the delicious food in front of me. Benny hadn’t bothered with courses, thank the Gods, and sometime between me nodding and us sitting down, Benny had returned with a tray of cured meats.
Intruders. Still here. The words creep their way down my spine once more, curling my tail around a chair leg.
Have they moved? I push the thought back with a brush of magic.
“I’d start with the wheat bread,” I say out loud, gesturing towards the rounded loaf in the center of the table. There’s even a nice little bowl of butter next to it, because Benny is the best. “You could also dip it in the stew, but I like to leave that for after I’ve eaten all the stuff in the stew.”
"Wheat bread?" Helena's brow furrows in thought as she looks at the bread. It’s the same expression I’d seen mages use when they looked at a new spell. "That’s a bit pricey for a dinner, isn’t it?"
Benny, just barely out of Helena's sight, quirks an eyebrow. I match it with a roll of my eyes.
Still at the gates. Impatient.
Impatient, huh? Well, they can wait.
I bring my thoughts back to the bread.
"Right, it’s more expensive around here,” I snap my fingers, nodding. “It’s cheaper down south, even with the civil war going on. But it’s not that expensive, really, and it’s worth it after... what, four, five years away?” I put butter, a sprinkle of salt, and a thin slice of beef on the bread in short order. I crunch down, and-- ooh.
"Hey, Benny," I say around a mouthful, "'s this a sour loaf?"
"Of course, madam."
I swallow and grin, hiding my teeth when Helena winces. "Definitely worth it. Want some?"
“I-I don’t know. Maybe I’ll have some of the stew first? I’m not that hungry.” Helena looks back at her food, then picks up a spoon and scoops up some stew.
She takes a bite. A slurp? Whatever it is you do with stew, Helena does it, and her surprise is delicious. She practically hums in delight, gives Benny an enthusiastic nod, and digs into her food.
“Benny is the best,” I chuckle, finishing off my slice of bread. “You should definitely try the bread. It won't bite back, promise.”
Helena giggles at that, stopping just long enough to swallow a mouthful of stew. "And the stew won't either, will it?"
I haven't had the stew yet. "This is your fault," I pronounce, jabbing a fork in her direction. I bring it down to my stew, frown, and swap with the spoon.
Rich, heady broth, tender vegetables, delectable beef, and the perfect amount of salt and pepper.
"Benny," I pronounce between two bites, "Is the best."
Helena nods sagely.
Keep them out, I tell the Manor, exchanging glances with Benny. They are not welcome.
I pause for a moment, passing the butter over so Helena can try it on the wheat bread and baked potatoes.
Prepare a guest room, too.
