Soul fire sale, chapter 4. (Patreon)

Here we are, the next thing. Enjoy fine dining! Please enjoy.

The woman in the mirror was the very picture of elegant beauty. Somewhat tall seeming, statuesque, with delicate features that bore a hint of Asian ancestry and long black hair that cascaded down around her like a dark waterfall. the hints of color provided by both youth and artfully applied makeup drew attention to certain places; the long lashes, the vivid green eyes. The dark gray dress she wore was almost prudish, but boosted her already impressive chest to almost obscene heights with its collection of straps.

If she weren't me, she'd totally be my type. Someone up there, God or man, really hated me: it was hard to imagine a worse hell than being trapped in a body you find attractive.

Whatever, I'd make do. These heels were going to kill me, however. The maids had insisted on shoes with a heel far taller than the shoes I'd been wearing.

I was going to kill myself, but I couldn't deny it had an effect; the woman in the mirror could pull off a loom of sorts, especially when I leaned my shoulders back a little. That combined with my best frosty gaze made the woman in the mirror look no nonsense and unattainable.

It'd do.

"My lady, we must hurry," Fellis said. She was wringing her hands, unwilling to order me around, but clearly worried about getting punished somehow if we were late.

"Lead on then." Still a little too goth for my tastes in the makeup department, but I had to admit it worked. At least no one had slapped me with that whitening powder or cream or whatever it was that women use.

I was afraid I'd be expected to learn all that crap soon enough. I'd better not be; there could not be any supposed skill more useless than the one meant to fool men into thinking you were hotter than you were.

I doubted any of the demons or monsters or whatever else we were fighting were going to care if my eye lashes were suitably thick or my eyeliner was caked on.

Fellis all but ran down the halls, which seemed to be just fine; as long as I stayed on my toes, I didn't have to worry about placing my heel wrong and turning an ankle. I seemed to be pretty sure-footed now.

The others, servants and soldiers alike, cleared the way as we approached, not wanting to get run over. Some even bowed as I passed. How was I supposed to respond to that? Simple acceptance? Acknowledgment?

I decided to ignore it.

Fellis led me to a set of double doors to the side of the far end of the first floor hallway, and the two soldiers there swung the large doors open without a change of expression.

The dining room thus revealed was large, with enough space for a good thirty people at the extra long table. There were only five place settings, at the far side of that table, however. Two were even occupied.

The one to the left was Sir Klien, out of his armor and in a... what were the words? Doublet and hose? An old timey shirt that would have been from medieval times on our world, and pants to match. Thankfully for my sanity, none of it was too tight or anything.

The other was taken by a man I didn't yet know; he was small, and more pale than your average ghost, with lank shaggy black hair and bags under his eyes he could carry luggage in. His look was pure baleful, and he stared at me without seeing me for three strides before he blinked.

Since the empty place settings were to either side of the men, with one at the head of the table, he was the obvious choice for eating partner tonight. Even if his robes were a simple black and bore random stains here and there.

"Good evening. I don't believe we've met."

The man raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. "Mateo."

"Isobel."

"Charmed." Mateo replied, sounding anything but.

Ferris joined Hiron near the head of the table. There was a door there which likely led to the kitchen somehow - and that wouldn't have been where I'd have placed my back, but I wasn't in charge. The seat I was in was close to some windows, but it would be pretty hard to snipe me from here; the high backed chair would offer some resistance to anything less than a gun, and they didn't have those.

"I expected your counterpart to be here first, lady Isobel," Sir Klien commented almost idly.

I couldn't fault that. "I had too, to be honest."

Just at that moment, Oliver burst in with Graven hot on his heels. He slowed immediately, noticing he technically wasn't late since the man in charge wasn't here yet.

Graven immediately took his place next to Ferris while Oliver shot me a look of pure hatred from the doorway.

I gave him my best grin, and everyone could hear the sigh as he finally moved again and took the lone spot next to Sir Klien, who clearly loved us.

Then it was time to get up again because everyone else was; the would-be King entered the room, and apparently that was the thing to do.

I was a little late because a dress wasn't something you just popped up while wearing, but it was enough to bring the gaze of the eye of Sauron, as it were.

That... the man stopped utterly, same as Oliver had just before - and was that a breath hitch? His eyes were glued somewhere, and they roved up and latched on my face for a moment, before he took a breath and visibly centered himself.

Ew. Was that what we looked like, doing that? No wonder hot women got annoyed or disgusted. The only thing the man hadn't done was lolled his tongue out like a dog, and for all I knew, that was next.

But no, he gathered himself and managed a more or less stately walk to his own high seat, which was ever-so-slightly higher than all the others at the table. He was dressed in rich clothes, a set like Sir Klien's but clearly a cut above, and with a cloak over his shoulders.

Once he sat, he motioned, and the others who were used to this began to seat themselves again. I followed suit, noticing the would-be slaver shooting me another look that seemed to have his heart in it.

The good news is that he was too busy staring at my face and chest, so he wasn't looking at the back of my hand. The water seemed to have done a number on it, or maybe it was simply the time. I'd need to take steps once I wasn't being watched so closely.

The other two didn't know how the mark was supposed to look; I was certain. If they did, I'd already be in jail. Or a dungeon, something like that. Whatever.

The other door opened, and servants began appearing from behind the King's chair, with wheeled trays in front of them laden with food. Why now? There must have been some signal, but I hadn't heard anything.

A whole roast pig, complete with apple in its' mouth, with slices already cut out of it. Two roasted birds of some kind, set and dressed. Soup of some kind, with chunks of something I didn't recognize floating within, and a salad of all things. Various bowls of sauces and the like, and bread that was still steaming a bit as the woman in charge of it served it. It looked like a form of rye.

A bit... rough, as fare. Medieval even, but it looked tasty enough. Then again, compared to what I'd had so far, just about anything would be an improvement... wait, was that pie?

It was. I didn't even care what kind of pie it was; I was just so happy to see something I recognized.

The plates placed in front of us already had food on them, complete with sauces drizzled on the courses, so that we all knew what stuff went on what food. I kept a mental note and looked around.

Everyone was working with the outermost set of silverware first, so salad, soup, then bread. Then main course, then desert it seemed. Not that different than back home, really.

I matched the King when he ate, and for a time the room was silent, and all conversation halted.

Then Sir Klien had to go ahead and ruin it. "So, my King. we have these two. Where should we send them?"

"I should like to send them to the capital with me," the would-be slaver king replied. "They need training. However, I'm afraid we can't wait, so they will be learning on the job. The forest here and to the West. With luck and support they will be able to clear to the border, and give our farmers some much-needed assistance."

"Understood." How Sir Klien made a comment of acceptance sound so... spiteful, was a talent.

"You'll be in charge of assigning tutors for them in weaponry and basic tactics, should they need both. Lester should already be on his way."

"Knowing Lester, he is not," Mateo commented, not seeming to speak directly to either man as he carefully lifted his soup; there was poise in the man. "I'll fill in until then, if you so desire."

"I do," the King replied immediately, taking a large, aggressive bit from his bread, his soup seemingly forgotten already. "They have spells and skills already, yet you might be able to teach them a trick or two which might save lives."

Laudible, except the inference was that it might save our lives; I didn't think other lives were being considered here.

"The more quickly they can make progress, the better," Sir Klien responded. "Our troops are beset, even now."

I knew they were in trouble, but this much trouble? "I do know some things. It might be enough. At the very least, I might be able to help your farmers another way."

"Ah, of course. Witches are known for their connection to the land, for good or ill." Mateo said, finally sounding vaguely interested. He was still staring at his soup, though, as if it would run from him or something.

The King gestured with his bread, as if with a sword making a cut. "Such magics can be best investigated later. Should you survive to winter."

What a charmer. "As you say."

I'd felt a hint, a whisper of command there sent through the mark on my hand, but it was obvious the man hadn't meant it that way, and such spiderweb feelings wouldn't deter me. I'd use what I wanted, when I wanted to.

I'd still need to be careful, of course. No sense casting a spell and having it screw things up and make things worse for a class of people that historically were already beleaguered.

I mean, plant growth sounded fine in general, but the devil was in the details; what grew exactly and how much? How did the growth affect the edible parts we needed? No sense making apples as large as someone's head, which poisoned people with increased amounts of arsenic or something.

Were demons vulnerable to poisons? I sure hoped so, since it seemed like I had more than a few spells touching poisons in some way. If not, I could make one hell of a living just providing lethal stuff for assassins. Assassins were a class; we'd had a few in our 'class' summoned here.

Surely there was the same stigma here... yet those assassins had found a home quickly, while I was here. For a moment, I felt a certain kind of way about that.

Then again, there would be a spate of deaths among people of power soon; I was sure of that. Many more people falling out of high windows.

The meal wound down, and at last it was time for pie. The pie was apple, as it turned out. Or something close enough to an apple to trigger the nostalgia for it, even though according to my memories, the last time I'd had pie was two days ago.

Either way, this recipe used meant someone from my world had shared a favorite at some point.

"This is a reminder of your world, or so I am told," the King said as he finished his.

Odd, that we finished simultaneously. I put my last fork on the last plate, so the servants could take both away. "It is indeed. The fruit tastes much the same as the one we use in this form of desert, and the crust is an almost perfect match. If pressed, I would say that the person who crafted this recipe was from the region I too called home."

The Midwest to the South in America, we all had the same pie recipes. I'd have preferred blueberry. They probably didn't have blueberries.

"I had always wondered if my nanny had lied to me. It is good to know she did not."

Okay, what? "Your nanny?"

"She met one of you, many years before my birth. A traveling champion who did much to quell the fires of rebellion and down marauding monsters in her youth. She always spoke most, not of the man, but of his cooking."

Ah, made sense. He might have been a professional chef in training in another life. Not an actual chef, these people seemed to like their 'champions' young.

"We learn many varied things on our world."

"Do you know such cooking, lady Isobel?"

Oh, This better not be going where I think it is. The first person to tell me to get back into the kitchen was going to eat one of these shoes. Maybe even both. "I am at best an amateur. I know the basics of our world, and little else."

Then again, looking at the meal, despite the taste, our basics might be an upgrade? We had at least progressed past roasting things on a spit. Well, mostly.

"A pity. Do you have nothing to share of your world's culinary arts?" Mateo asked.

He seemed genuinely interested. "I might, but I would need time to discover what you know first. Only then may I find something new to share.

The light dawned. "Ah, of course. How silly of me; my apologies."

I wasn't sure how to answer that. If I were at home, I'd ignore it and just hope the person went away. "Surely no apology is necessary for so trifling a thing."

There. That seemed like a good response... except no, now Mateo and the would-be slaver King were staring at me. At least Sir Klien was behaving normally over there, nursing his last bite of pie and radiating cold hatred.

Oliver had been so quiet so far, I found myself looking his way; yep, he was still alive. Good.

"Sir Klien. Have you finished your inventory of the armors and weapons possessed here?"

It seems the King did not want us in the capital after all. Not that I blamed him or anything.

"I have. We have some few items in our stores. Surely, fewer than other lands, yet we have enough."

I'd hope so. Starter gear for two people at the start of their role-playing game journey should be something any kingdom possessed, even a poor one.

"Is there some difference between the gear you would have us use here and the gear others use?"

"There is," Sir Klien replied, with even more disgust in his voice than before. "The equipment for your kind is only usable by your kind, and has special protections against both evil and the arcane."

"Despite our efforts," Mateo broke in. "We have yet to reproduce the effect such items possess. It has long been thought that those summoned have some special quality or sorcery which imbues into the items they possess. I would hope that when you are outfitted, you could answer the question to my satisfaction?"

"I'll do what I can. I can't really promise anything without seeing what I'm working with."

"You shall see it on the morrow," Sir Klien stated. "I have some people scouring the keep yet, in the hopes of finding more choice for you. I would that you both have the best start possible against our enemies."

Right, he seemed the type to want to make sure his position was unassailable, even as he stabbed us in the back.

"Right, you should both rest tonight; it is best not to try to journey through the forest at night," the would-be slaver King stated... with another look in my direction. A bold look the man wasn't even trying to hide.

Thank you captain obvious.

"Right. I'm a bit tired anyway. Something about a day's journey by horse and a miles long hike up a mountain."

"Indeed, those summoned from the other world often need to train their bodies at first. The historical accounts are quite clear."

Was he trying to start a fight with me? "The bodies we have now are not the bodies we were born to."

"Yet they are bodies constructed from the memories you possess from life," The annoying knight countered.

"Not always, clearly." I'd even argue that, as good as everyone looked, there was a bit of whitewashing of a sort there. Could all fifty of us look like at least eight out of tens? Even the most nerdy and introverted? The law of averages dictated at least some of us, no matter how small the sample size, had to be below average in the looks department. Yet I'd dare say none of us were.

The would be slaver King's eyes narrowed. He remembered my earlier confession.

Then they roved again, up and down. It seemed that didn't matter to the man? Ew.

"I should like to know your meaning," Sir Klien commanded.

"You think that all of us from our world appear so... handsome or beautiful? Certainly, your ritual could be cherry picking, that is, picking only those blessed by such luck, but it is far more likely our memories are making such things nicer, that we are imagining our best selves, and that is the body which forms around us as your ritual takes hold."

"...an interesting theory," Mateo said at last.

"There may be some merit to that," the would-be slaver King said. He was looking at me again as he said it.

Joke was on you, buddy; this was not how I pictured myself.

Sir Klien said nothing.

A hand signal from the King, what could that mean?

Everyone stood up. I joined Oliver in being late, and after I made it horizontal, the King stood up himself. Then he simply left, without a word. Not even a word of thanks to the chef.

Then he was gone. I guess he expected the same orders from before to bind us. I guess everyone did, because Graven and Fellis both began moving after he was out of sight, winding themselves up off the floor and toward each of us.

"If you please follow me, my Lady."

I went out first, and Oliver was right behind. We split up as before at the main hall, however, and our way was up the stairs.

It was a good thing I hadn't wanted seconds. Then again, if I had, after all those courses? I'd be fat by tomorrow.

This corset wasn't helping.

Fellis stopped before the door we'd started this farce in, and opened it at just the right time. I took the hint, and she followed me in: "Let me help you, my Lady."

No one else was hiding in the space, not even behind the changing screen. Fellis undid all the buttons and stays; the last one let go with an audible pop and I sighed. Being able to breathe was the best.

I stepped out of the dress puddle, and was handed something white and gauzy. A nightgown, one I could just pull over my head.

Easy enough. Pulling it over me made me realize, however, that my hair also needed attention. That and my ears. Shoot, even my face did, I couldn't just dig myself into pillows without getting this stupid paint off.

Fellis helped with all of it, and soon enough everything was back to normal - soon enough being a good twenty minutes later. I was never doing any of this again.

"Good night, my Lady." Her job done, Fellis was making good her escape, which was for the best. It was actually getting late.

The door shut behind the maid, and I was alone, with just the crackling fire set in the fireplace for company.

Well, that and the liquor collection on the far table, next to said fireplace. The one with two very comfortable looking overstuffed chairs in front of it.

It wasn't really that late.