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Chapter 24: Threading the Needle
🕑 Added 2024-10-30 12:18:03 +0000 UTCChapter 24: Threading the Needle
I was taking a bit of risk, letting Damien go after our rather heated exchange of views, but that was somewhat inevitable. Like in business negotiations, I had to show some promise in order to interest the other party, in this case whoever was looking to hire me, but not so much that they saw all of my cards. This way, I’d hopefully get a decent role right off the bat, while holding my trump cards in reserve for when they inevitably attempted to alter the deal while we were underway. Besides, Damien was definitely projecting a bit in our conversation just then: whereas I had plenty of options I could explore, he was the one relying on the generosity of the state until his next Class day. If he were implicated in anything that would cause his standing to drop, he’d be seriously hard pressed to survive that long.
Putting my fellow orphan out of mind for the time being, I took a look out the window, where I could see that it was already getting dark, as my lazy day had bled into evening, the sun just about to sink beyond the horizon.
“Come on, Pumpkin, dinnertime!”
I beckoned the cat, who leaped into my arms with remarkable alacrity; more and more, I suspected that he was able to understand me, though I couldn’t yet return the favour. Holding him in my arms, I headed downstairs to find the inn quite busy, the dozen tables already filled to the brim with a mixture of locals and travellers. Like any modern hotel, you didn’t actually need a room to eat at the restaurant: as long as you were willing to pay, there was a table for you, unless, like the two of us, you arrived late and they were already gone.
“Looks like we’re eating in our room again,” I noted, giving Pumpkin a stroke behind the ears.
He sniffed imperiously, before curling up against my chest and starting to make biscuits: clearly, he couldn’t care less where we ate, so long as we did. The innkeep was at his usual spot, parked at the desk by the entrance, which, as I walked past, raised a few questions.
“If you’re here, who’s cooking?” I asked over my shoulder, because I’d seen the chef and waiter leave for a supply run in the morning, and their cart had yet to return, as a quick glance outside confirmed..
Inne Keeper - whose name I didn’t believe real for a single moment - didn’t reply, instead opting to tap his finger on his desk. His quill flew up, dipped itself into his inkwell, and began to draw on a spare scrap of paper.
“Usually, when people talk about household magic, they aren’t being so literal,” I remarked, which got a light chuckle from the innkeep, before I headed to the bar counter to fetch my meal.
The menu flew over on its own accord, alighting softly within my hands, and I couldn’t help but marvel at the level of control that implied: the innkeeper wasn’t even looking in our direction, nor had I said anything to initiate a desire for service. There had to be a catch with household magic, I reckoned, either a prohibitive cost or other such consequence for prolonged use, otherwise there wouldn’t be a need for full-time staff at all, just a couple contractors for work that happened outside the inn. Shaking my head, I turned my full attention to the menu, scrawled in chalk on a thin blackboard, as was the trend in retro steakhouses on the West End.
The food on offer emphasises quality over variety, culminating in a limited menu that changes daily: today, I’d be getting beetroot soup with cabbage and potatoes, a rice pudding, and the finest fresh cuts of offal for Pumpkin.
“Looks good to me, all paid in advance,” I declared to the menu, because here it wasn’t a question of what to order, but rather whether you wanted what was on offer, and I definitely wanted it.
I wasn’t even surprised when the food floated out on a tray, in three large bowls heaped to the brim. The food here was good; simple, hearty fare that had yet to leave me hungry: something that far too many Michelin star restaurants, with their beautiful but tiny portions, could learn a thing or two from. Pumpkin climbed up my shoulder and settled around my neck, freeing up my hands to carry our bounty back upstairs, once again showing a remarkable level of intelligence where his food was concerned. This was earlier than I tended to eat dinner, given it was barely sundown, but that was all part of the plan. After all, I was going to a job interview the next day, and I refused to attend such a meeting wearing anything less than my best. An early night was in order, after which I’d be doing some… Alternative shopping.
—
By alternative shopping, I meant theft, just in case that wasn’t clear. That was the only reason I was willing to get up in the pitch black, well after midnight with hours to go before sunrise, and slip into the night with only Pumpkin by my side. I didn’t have any money, yet, and wearing the same set of clothes was getting old, even if I could instantly clean them by shoving them in my pocket dimension while leaving any accumulated filth behind. I wasn’t going to make my first impression in a threadbare shirt, torn trousers and a pair of shoes two sizes too big for me, not when there were simple alternatives around.
What a difference a single Class makes, I couldn’t help but think, as Pumpkin led the way towards the town’s commercial district. I wouldn’t have dared do this even a week ago: being caught in the commission of a crime was one of the very few things that would cause a child’s protection to be rescinded by the Kingdom, at which point I would be at their mercy, whereas now? I doubted there were more than a handful of people in Allensward I’d need to worry about. With that in mind, my first stop? Some new threads.
