H - 77: It is Rather Difficult with Claws (Patreon)

Kaln awoke to a good day.

The uniform glow of Timeglass obscured the time of day, but he was an early riser—a habit formed in his youth in the Archives, and reinforced during his year of scrabbling for survival. When he emerged from his house, there was no sign of Percy yet, but noises from the kitchen revealed Zhiiji was already up and at work. Well, that figured; she was probably accustomed to being up even earlier than he. Somebody had to feed the early risers, after all.

He paused, gazing around the huge vault. The addition of a third residence—a cozy apartment he’d constructed for Zhiiji directly on top of the kitchen, reached by a single fight of stairs—changed his perspective on this place. Suddenly it no longer felt like he had roommates with their own spaces, but more like an indoor village. A very tiny village, but still. It all still felt uncomfortably empty, though. He would have to work on that.

But not before breakfast.

Kaln indulged in a bath to wake himself up fully, and found he had the place to himself for once. Lounging in the steaming water, feeling the breeze of the mountains contrasting with its heat, and watching the sun rise between the looming peaks ahead was such an indulgent experience he found himself boggled anew that this was in his home—that he could do this every day.

That was it, he realized while toweling off. The adventure of it all was beginning to wear off, but that was the opposite of a letdown. This place truly felt like home.

When he returned to his vault, he found it now alive with activity. Percy was awake, though still yawning, and sitting at the table placed outside the kitchen, sipping a cup of tea. Nor was she alone.

“Why, good morning, Izayaroa, Pheneraxa,” Kaln said, striding up and kissing Izayaroa on the cheek before taking his own seat next to her. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Pray forgive my brazenness in inviting myself, husband,” she said, smiling. “I do hope it is not an imposition.”

“Your presence is never anything but a pleasure. And in general, this is not the kind of household where any member of my family is unwelcome at my table. I was a bit surprised, that’s all. I’d thought it would take more time to warm everyone up to the idea.”

“Did you really?” she asked innocently, glancing at Pheneraxa. The younger dragon had already drunk half her cup of tea and was munching on a handful of the sliced fruit which had been laid out in a bowl in the center of the table. Pheneraxa noticed the look, paused in her chewing, and then resumed with defiant vigor, scowling.

“Well, in some cases more than others,” Kaln acknowledged with a grin. “Regardless, I am glad to see you all. I see Zhiiji has not skimped on the preparations.”

“It goes without saying!” Zhiiji boomed, swaggering out of the kitchen. “Ah, and here he is! Good timing. Breakfast is ready.”

She was followed by a Phantom Legionary, one of those assigned domestic duties and wearing a maid’s skirt and apron with her crisp uniform. This one was pushing a trolley laden with steaming dishes.

“I’m accustomed to working with servers,” Zhiiji explained as the ghostly maid carefully set bowls of food before each of them. “Not that I’m shy about doing it myself, but it’s a bit of a problem for me to reach human-sized tables. Don’t worry, I’ve given very clear instructions! And I’m keeping watch, besides. Undead may touch serving dishes, not food. I don’t care how incorporeal and thus theoretically sterile they are—undead do not handle food. Gross.”

“Zhiiji, don’t call the staff ‘gross,’ especially not right to their faces,” Kaln reproved. “You know she can hear you, right?”

“Yeah, she follows orders pretty good. Do ghosts even have feelings?”

“Why…why would they not?” Percy asked, blinking. “Was that in question?”

The maid just laid out dishes with the discreet efficiency of a professional server. It was impossible to tell how she felt about it from her translucent skull with occasional flickers of half-mummified features.

“Ah, how novel!” Izayaroa said, picking up a spoon and smiling at the dishes laid in front of her. “I do enjoy shakshuka. I have never seen it served topped with cheese, however.”

“It’s one of the classic dishes!” Zhiiji declared, craning her neck to keep watch as the ghost set meals before of each of them. “You know what that means: everybody has their own recipe, and mine is obviously best.”

Kaln also liked shakshuka, but back home had had trouble getting it the way he preferred. Zhiiji had remembered his stated preference, though, and the egg in his portion was cooked fully through. He saw, glancing around, that the others all had theirs soft as per the usual way, so clearly these bowls were individually prepared. Hopefully that meant Percy and Pheneraxa’s were less spicy. Zhiiji had also provided bowls of white Vale rice to accompany the main dish.

“I’m not familiar with this,” Percy said a trifle warily, picking up her spoon. Pheneraxa had already scooped up her first bite, heavy on the egg.

“Try it, hon,” Zhiiji said gently. “If it’s not to your taste, that’s no problem. I can whip ya up something else in two shakes.”

Kaln took his own first bite…and all his worries melted away.

Now this…this was the life. All the unfamiliarity and discomfort of the last weeks suddenly felt so distant he could scarcely recall it. Not that this was another grand experience; Kaln had been through both highs and lows since coming here. Rather, it was… It was as if the baseline had been reset. This wasn’t an adventure anymore: it was breakfast with his family. It was warm, and safe, and comfortable, and for some reason he was so struck by it that he had to stop chewing for a moment.

Funny. Kaln had never even read about such a…low-key epiphany. Something like this seemed like it should just build up over time, invisible. But suddenly—

“Pheneraxa, sit up.”

Izayaroa had truly masterful vocal control. She neither raised nor roughened her voice, but it snapped with such inherent command that Kaln and Percy both reflexively straightened their spines. So did Pheneraxa, jerking up from where she’d been hunched over her bowl, now staring wide-eyed with her cheeks bulging and her lips smeared with stewed tomato and egg.

The silence hung for a pointed second, and then Izayaroa continued in a more serene tone.

“Courtesy is the oil which enables the gears of civilization to turn, without which every soul would grind against every other. Each culture has its etiquette, the performance of which is mainly a signifier of allegiance and thus not truly important unless one is engaged in diplomacy or assimilation. What matters universally is an ethos of respect for other people. In the case of table manners specifically, it will suffice not to comport yourself like a slobbering beast in a manner which puts your fellow diners off their food.”

By the end of that lecture, Pheneraxa had hunched her shoulders again and gone pink in the cheeks, which formed a ghastly contrast with the red all over her lower face.

“On the subject of consideration, I don’t think it’s reasonable to expect someone to suddenly change a hundred years of eating habits,” Percy said, reaching over with her napkin to gently wipe Pheneraxa’s mouth.

“There is a proper way to hold a spoon,” Izayaroa said with a smile, demonstrating with her own. “It is rather difficult with claws, and not truly that important in my opinion. Just sit up straight, convey food to your mouth one bite at a time, and slow down. That is as much for your sake as everyone else’s; good food is to be savored. Make of each bite an experience. And by every named and forgotten god, girl, chew with your mouth closed.”

“Sage counsel indeed,” Zhiiji agreed, nodding. “We all good here, then? Any special requests, modifications? Percy?”

“Oh! Actually, this is delicious, I like it very much,” the princess assured her. “And thank you for making mine less spicy.”

“Now, how’d you know she did?” Kaln asked, smiling. “I thought you weren’t familiar with shakshuka.”

“Yes, but yours and Izayaroa’s portions have different peppers than mine and Pheneraxa’s.”

“You noticed that at a glance?” Izayaroa asked, thoughtfully.

“I…I wouldn’t describe it as a glance,” Percy said, frowning. “By definition, comparing different dishes requires multiple glances. But anyway, I appreciate the effort, Zhiiji. It must have been extra work for you.”

“You are welcome,” Zhiiji replied, nodding imperiously. “Extra work is never a problem when it’s appreciated. A professional puts in the effort!”

“Yes, I am very impressed that there are no hairs in the food,” Percy said seriously. “None at all! The cooks at home have to wear special hats to prevent that, and they only have it on top of their heads. How do you do it?”

“Regular bathing and fur oil,” Zhiiji said, grinning. “I make my own. You know something, kid? Out of all the royal households I’ve served, you’re the first person to make note of that.”

“Percy’s very observant,” Pheneraxa said, almost defensively.

“All right, I’ll letcha eat,” said Zhiiji, turning to saunter back into the kitchen and gathering up the ghost maid with a peremptory gesture. “Sing out if anybody has any requests, kitchen’s open.”

“That is rather unconventional conduct for a royal chef,” Izayaroa murmured, sipping her tea, “but for some reason I find myself feeling she is a perfect match for this household in particular. What an excellent acquisition she was, husband. I commend you.”

“I think the commendations should be Zhiiji’s,” Kaln said mildly. “She’s a hire, not an acquisition.”

“Merely a figure of speech,” she said, giving him a smile. “I will be going to Rhivkabat to attend some business of state today. Percy, I would like it if you joined me, if you are interested.”

Percy froze with her own spoon halfway to her mouth. “I—oh. Um. Me? State business? In Rhivaak?”

“Indeed,” Izayaroa said placidly. “You wish to study statecraft, yes? There is no better way than to observe it firsthand. I will be meeting with my spymaster to discuss the progress of internal anti-corruption measures in Rhivkabat. It seems an ideal exchange—her discretion is not in question, so there is no worry about revealing your presence to the wider world, and she will take no offense at any questions you may have.”

“That sounds…um…risky,” Percy said uncertainly.

“There are indeed risks,” Izayaroa agreed, “as there are with anything. In fact, I believe I would be interested in hearing your thoughts, if you were to examine the risks and benefits. That needn’t be done right away; it would be a shame to apply such pressure over breakfast. It is not a purely charitable suggestion on my part, lest you worry. At present I have certain concerns about the competence of my uppermost functionaries; seeing how they react to unexpected influences will be instructive for me. I mean to go this afternoon or evening, so you have hours to consider.”

“I see,” Percy said, frowning at her shakshuka. “Thank you. I will think about it.”

“So you’ve decided to take on an…apprentice?” Kaln asked.

“It would not be the first time I have taken a student under my wing,” Izayaroa replied with a smile, raising another bite to her lips. “Truthfully, I have rather missed it.”

“Well, good for you, Percy,” he said. “You couldn’t ask for a better teacher.”

“You have a tendency to flatter Izayaroa,” the princess told him matter-of-factly, “but in this case, I believe you are literally correct. At least, a strong case could be made for the argument.”

He blinked at her, Pheneraxa snickered, and Izayaroa none-too-subtly hid a smile behind her napkin.

Zhiiji picked that moment to re-emerge from the kitchen, causing Kaln to wonder whether her role as a royal chef had instilled a blithe disregard for authority and left her feeling entitled to interrupt meals at her leisure, or had done the opposite and she was deliberately rescuing him from an awkward pause. The tricky thing about Zhiiji was that both were unsettlingly plausible.

This time, she hopped straight over to him and laid several sheets of paper marked with her cramped handwriting upon the table to his left, just out of splatter range.

“Here we go. Updated list of ingredients and other supplies I will need to run a proper kitchen. Aside from quality food and a decent selection of spices, we need quantity. I get the impression you first ordered a food supply for one person, which is not the job you hired me for. If I’m gonna be feeding two humans and myself, plus however many dragons you can coax to join you for meals, we’re gonna need a ton more.”

“Yes, agreed,” Kaln said, nodding. “How’re supplies holding out so far?”

Zhiiji shrugged. “Well, none of us are gonna starve so long as you get this stuff here by…say, a week from now.”

“I’ll get on it as soon as possible,” he promised. “I don’t know exactly how soon that will be, but surely a week isn’t out of the question. We have plenty of options for transportation; the difficulty of ordering supplies from Boisverd is, you know, discretion.”

“Pretty awkward, with you having their stolen princess here,” Zhiiji agreed solemnly.

“We can have it by tomorrow, if you choose to forego negotiating with the merchants over the prices,” said Izayaroa. “Vale states have excellent, highly discreet messenger services, and Boisverd is no exception. There are merchant guild stations in most towns who will not bat an eye at a message which mysteriously appears in their offices, so long as it comes with proper postage. Teleporting an envelope and a few coins into one while the clerk’s back is turned is a trivial task for me; we needn’t trouble Emeralaphine with it, let alone Shadrach. A runner will have it at the Silver Hound within hours, and they will be able to send a delivery to our arranged drop point by tomorrow.”

“They’ll read your letter,” Percy said.

Everyone paused, turning to stare at her.

“Who will?” Izayaroa asked.

“The messengers,” Percy said blankly, as if unsure why this needed to be explained. “They read everything. Information is vital currency in the Vales; that’s their real trade. It makes a lot more money than carrying messages, and more influence than money.”

“I…have never had such problems,” Izayaroa said, frowning. “I have always found the messenger services admirably discreet.”

“Well, do they know who you are?” Percy asked, tilting her head. “Because if you used a pseudonym and your business isn’t connected to any known player, it’s unlikely anyone would care. And if they know your identity, they would be afraid to antagonize you. So…actually, I guess it wouldn’t matter if they did or not. Same result: your message would get delivered and nobody else would react.”

Izayaroa’s frown deepened. “It has never been suggested to me that my messages were tampered with, on the rare occasions I have had cause to use such a service.”

“Well, did you seal it with magic?” Percy asked. “I’m sure you know enough magic to defeat most snoopers. Then again, using that would probably just draw more attention. If you just used wax or any of the normal means, they can easily re-seal that and make it look untouched. These are professionals.”

“Hm.” Slowly, Izayaroa shook her head and picked up her spoon again. “That is annoying to learn. But…in the end, I doubt it matters.”

Kaln opened his mouth, and then shut it. Suddenly he was reminded of her rather dismissive attitude toward security back in Boisverd, and the unknowable repercussions their actions had already had.

“Might it matter?” he asked after pausing for thought. “Percy, what do you think?”

“Me?” The princess blinked, expression quizzical. “Well, I mean… Same question as before, I guess. If some pseudonymous individual connected to nobody orders a bunch of high-quality food to be delivered to a drop-off point…that’s curious enough to attract attention. If you’re doing business openly as the Golden Empress of Rhivaak, which I assume you aren’t but just for the sake of argument, everyone will do exactly as you ask for fear of angering you, and then they’ll all know exactly what you’re up to and within a week so will every interested party in every capital city in the Evervales. Unless you pay the messenger guild not to read your mail in the first place.”

A faint flicker of exasperation passed across Izayaroa’s face, but she spoke with her customary serenity. “If that is an option, Percy, it rather obviates the entire rest of this discussion, does it not?”

“Not really,” Percy said frankly. “You probably don’t have that option. I mean, unless you tell them who you are. That kind of privacy isn’t bought with money, the guilds extend offers like that only to influential parties with whom they have a good, established relationship. What merchant company were you using? The Silver Hound, wasn’t it? Then yes, they can buy that kind of service. A mystery client can’t. If mysterious clients want privacy while using messenger services, they have to use codes.”

“Good,” Kaln said quickly. “Then let’s do that!”

“What cipher would you use?” Pheneraxa asked pointedly. “And how would they know how to decode it? You have to set something like that up in advance.”

He rubbed at his forehead, momentarily forgetting his own table manners in frustration. “All right, well… Why not bypass this entire rigamarole and just teleport an order directly into the Silver Hound’s headquarters, Roa? They already know you and value your business.”

She permitted herself the indulgence of an annoyed expression. “Alas, like most Vale merchant guilds, they are rather heavily warded against such intrusions. Not that such wards cannot be defeated, but for that we really would need to involve Emeralaphine. Whether or not that is worth it, I think it a bad idea to thus irritate the company upon whom we depend for food. Well… We can send with our order a request for the Silver Hound to henceforth buy discretion from the messenger guild, for which I will gladly pay them.”

“So there’s no way around letting everyone in Boisverd with the money to buy secrets find out about the contents of our first message?” he asked.

Percy shrugged, then shook her head.

“Not unless we go back there in person to discuss it with M. Champion,” Izayaroa replied. “That would enable us to bargain properly rather than simply paying whatever going rate they choose to charge.”

Kaln thought about their last visit, and about the fact that this time, the Verdi royal family knew exactly who had taken their daughter.

“Let us not do that, I was really looking forward to not having to run back and forth around the countryside anymore. Well,” he said grudgingly, “I guess…it’s just a shopping list, after all. To a theoretically unknown recipient. Realistically, how much harm could that do?”