Chương 9: The Long Way Home

I had done what I needed to do for the morning. The rice had been washed. The vegetables had been cleaned. Monster-boar meat rested in two different marinades while I decided which one would survive a full evening service without drying out. The Second Spark reopened tomorrow. This time, I meant it. I had taken down the CLOSED FOR IMPROVEMENTS board, though I had not yet turned the sign to OPEN.

Opening early would invite customers inside, and once customers entered, they developed the unreasonable expectation of being fed. Today was for preparation. The new tables stood in their final positions. The menus had been placed in their holders. The wall lamps gave off a warm glow, and the recording crystal played a quiet string melody that did not contain drums. The automatic brooms followed their routes without trapping themselves beneath chairs.

The order cabinet continued accepting requests through the front wall. Everything worked. The supply shelves were nearly empty. I had purchased enough rice, vegetables, eggs, and meat for the reopening. If the guards arrived in the same numbers as before, the food might last two days. Three, if they suddenly became less hungry. That seemed unlikely. Carrying ingredients from the market every morning was possible. It was also a poor use of several hours and both of my arms. I needed regular deliveries.

Mara supplied bread, but her bakery did not produce rice, meat, cooking oil, or vegetables. She would probably attempt it if I asked. That did not mean I should. Amon's father worked in expedition logistics. Jacob Clovefield would know suppliers. I trimmed a piece of boar meat and placed it in the heavier marinade. I might ask Amon when he returned. The front door opened. Speaking of Amon. He stood beneath the entrance with a travel pack over one shoulder. Mud covered his boots nearly to the knee.

His coat had torn beside the right elbow, and several fresh scratches marked the lower plates of his armor. One side of his hair had dried flat against his head.

"Hey, Joe."

"You are late." Amon looked at the board beside the door.

"The restaurant is closed."

"That is unrelated."

"I said I would be back after the evening bell."

"That was yesterday."

"Yes."

"You are late." He stepped inside and closed the door.

"The trail washed out."

"You could have taken another trail."

"We did. That is why I'm here one day late instead of at the bottom of a ravine." I set down the knife. Amon lowered his pack beside the nearest table. He moved carefully. Not badly. Carefully. His right shoulder remained slightly lower than his left. A dark stain marked the torn sleeve near his elbow. It could have been mud. It probably was not.

"You are injured."

"I'm tired."

"That was not what I said."

"I'm not injured."

"You are standing unevenly."

"I have been carrying a pack for seven days."

"That does not make your shoulder less uneven." He straightened.

"There."

"You have changed your posture. The underlying problem remains." Amon looked toward the kitchen.

"Are you making fried rice?"

"Yes."

"Then I can be examined after I eat."

"That sounds like an attempt to avoid the examination."

"It is an attempt to improve it." I pointed toward a chair.

"Sit." He sat. That had been easier than expected. I returned to the kitchen and placed a pan over the heating plate. The rune beneath it brightened to a steady orange. Amon looked around the dining room.

"You changed everything."

"I moved the tables."

"You bought new ones."

"Two."

"And chairs."

"Six."

"And cloths."

"My mother brought those."

"The lights are different."

"They can be adjusted by section." Music drifted from the wall. Amon tilted his head.

"And music."

"The recording crystal was inexpensive." A broom passed behind him. He turned in his seat. The broom continued toward the service counter, gathering a thin line of dust.

"You enchanted the cleaning tools."

"They follow fixed paths."

"Does that one shock anyone?"

"No." He appeared disappointed.

"The order cabinet still has a warning pulse," I said.

"That's good." I added boar fat to the pan.

"You could have sent another message," I said.

"My communication sheet went into the river."

"How?"

"The ground beneath Garrick disappeared."

"Was Garrick carrying the sheet?"

"I was."

"Then why did the sheet enter the river?"

"I used both hands to stop him from entering it."

"You chose Garrick over the communication sheet."

"He is more expensive to replace." That was reasonable. The fat began to shimmer. I added rice, then strips of monster-boar meat. The mana within the meat was weaker than I wanted. The butcher had probably stored it for several days before bringing it to market. Enough remained to move through the fat. I adjusted the heat and allowed the meat to brown before adding the fermented cabbage. A narrow thread of my mana passed through the pan's handle. The currents shifted. The boar's dense energy spread through the fat.

The sharper trace from the cabbage settled into the remaining moisture. The rice held the structure together. The pattern formed with less resistance than before. I no longer needed to search for it. That was useful. It was also becoming ordinary enough to worry me. I prepared a bowl of rice, reheated a portion of stew, and poured one of the drinks I had been testing. Tiny bubbles gathered against the inside of the glass. Amon accepted it cautiously.

"What is this?"

"Cold berry water."

"It is moving."

"The bubbles are releasing." He drank. His eyebrows rose.

"It bites."

"It does not." He drank again.

"It does."

"Do you dislike it?"

"No."

"Then it is acceptable." Amon began eating. For several minutes, the only sound from the table was his spoon against the bowl. He did not slow until half the fried rice was gone.

"Guild rations?" I asked.

"Mostly."

"That explains it."

"We had dried meat."

"That was included in my question."

"Hard cheese."

"Also included."

"One of the scouts brought oat cakes."

"Did they contain oats?"

"Probably." I returned to the preparation table.

"Did you use the shield?" Amon reached into his coat and removed the scroll. The outer wrapping had been scratched. The seal remained intact.

"No."

"Good."

"You sound disappointed."

"I would have preferred field information."

"I preferred not being hit by anything that required it."

"That is the correct preference." He placed the scroll beside his bowl.

"You can keep it."

"I planned to."

"Do not demonstrate it to Garrick." Amon paused.

"I did not."

"You considered it."

"He asked."

"That is why I warned you."

"He said he would stand far away."

"That does not improve the idea." Amon returned the scroll to the inner pocket of his coat.

"The mission went well."

"You arrived a day late with blood on your sleeve." He looked down.

"That belongs to a hollow wolf."

"Where is the wolf?"

"Dead."

"Where is the wound?"

"There is no wound. Its claw caught the coat."

"Remove the coat."

"Now?"

"Yes."

"I am eating."

"You can continue afterward." Amon sighed and pulled his arm free. A shallow scrape crossed the outside of his forearm. The wound had already closed, though the skin around it remained red. I inspected it.

"You said there was no wound."

"That barely qualifies."

"It broke the skin."

"So do cooking knives."

"Not when used correctly." Amon looked toward my left hand. A small cut crossed one knuckle from that morning.

"That appears to be a cooking-knife injury."

"The carrot moved."

"Carrots are dangerous." I cleaned the scrape and applied a small amount of salve from the kitchen cabinet. The fried rice had already begun easing the stiffness in his shoulder. Amon rotated the joint when he put his coat back on. His expression changed.

"Better?"

"It wasn't bad."

"That was not my question."

"Yes." I returned the salve to the shelf.

"What did the guild send you to do?"

"Clear two hollow-wolf dens near the northwest ridge. Map the trail beside the old breach. Collect stoneback glands for an alchemist."

"Any unusual monster movement?" If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. Amon's spoon slowed.

"Some."

"What kind?"

"Stonebacks farther north than they usually travel. Wolves moving closer to the roads. Nothing we could not handle."

"That sounds like more than nothing."

"It happens. Weather changes. Food moves. Monsters follow it."

"And the neighboring kingdoms?" He looked at me.

"Who told you about that?"

"You did."

"I did?"

"Before leaving."

"I was tired."

"You said there were concerns regarding monster incursions and one of the neighboring kingdoms." Amon leaned back.

"The northern roads are becoming less reliable. Merchants have reported soldiers near the disputed border. If armies start moving through the forests, monsters move away from them."

"Toward us."

"Possibly." The western wall stood beyond the front windows, visible above the rooftops. Scaffolding still covered the section Engineer Hart's crew had repaired.

"How serious?"

"No one knows."

"That usually means serious enough to discuss quietly."

"It means no one knows, Joe." That was also reasonable. I returned to the vegetables.

"You said your guild was growing."

"We received three more contracts while we were gone."

"What rank is your guild?"

"The guild itself is still under a limited regional license."

"And you?" Amon looked down at his bowl.

"C-rank." I stopped cutting.

"You never told me."

"I thought you knew."

"You lead missions outside the wall. That did not provide an exact classification."

"You never asked for the exact classification."

"I have asked about your work."

"You usually ask while repairing my armor."

"That does not make the question less valid." Amon smiled and finished the rice.

"Father is B-rank. Close to A, if the review board ever decides to meet." Jacob had spent most of his life taking expedition contracts. His name carried enough weight that merchants trusted his company with expensive supplies. C-rank suited Amon. It also meant he could supervise lower-ranked guild members.

"What is the going rate for joining a nearby expedition?" I asked. Amon stared at me.

"You?"

"Yes."

"You own a restaurant."

"I am aware."

"You want to leave it."

"Occasionally."

"For what?"

"Ingredients." He continued staring. I placed the knife down.

"Monster meat loses mana during long storage. The market sells the common cuts, and most merchants cannot tell me when the monster was killed. Magical herbs are worse. Several are dried incorrectly before they reach the city."

"You want to hunt monsters for restaurant supplies."

"I want to join a supervised gathering contract."

"You are F-rank."

"I know."

"You cannot accept hunting work."

"I know."

"You can only join as support."

"That is sufficient." Amon leaned back and considered me.

"As support, you carry supplies, prepare camp, process materials, and follow the party leader."

"I can do those things."

"You would be paid a support share."

"How much?"

"Depends on the contract."

"I need a number."

"There is no single number."

"That seems poorly organized."

"That is how contracts work."

"Then give me a range." Amon gave me one. The lower amount barely justified leaving the restaurant. The upper amount would cover a week of ingredients, assuming the party completed the contract and returned with useful materials.

"What would increase the share?"

"Providing specialist work. Field cooking. Material processing. Repairing equipment."

"I can do all three."

"I know."

"Then I would receive more."

"If the contract leader agrees."

"You are a contract leader." Amon narrowed his eyes.

"I see where this conversation went."

"I asked directly."

"You began with my rank."

"That information was relevant."

"You planned this."

"I considered it while you were gone."

"That is somehow worse." The front lock turned. Mara entered carrying a bread basket against one hip. Lysa followed with folded cloths held against her chest. Perry came last, carrying a smaller basket with both hands. Mara took two steps inside. Then she saw Amon. She stopped. Amon still held his empty bowl. For a few breaths, neither spoke. Perry continued forward and nearly struck Mara's back.

"Auntie Mara?" She moved aside.

"You came back," she said. Amon placed the bowl on the table.

"I said I would."

"You said four days."

"Four days if the trail was clear."

"It was not clear."

"No."

"You also said a week."

"It has been a week."

"And a day." Amon looked toward me. I returned to cutting vegetables. This was not my conversation.

"The trail washed out," he said.

"So did your communication sheet."

"Joe has already objected to that."

"I am objecting separately." Mara placed the bread basket on the counter. The wicker creaked beneath her fingers. Her gaze moved over Amon's armor, pausing at the scrape near his hip and the torn sleeve.

"What happened there?"

"Hollow wolf."

"You said you weren't hurt."

"I'm not."

"There is blood on your coat."

"Mostly the wolf's."

"Mostly?"

"The rest is mine, but Joe already inspected it." Mara looked at me.

"Shallow scrape," I said.

"No sign of infection." Her shoulders lowered slightly. She turned back to Amon.

"You could have sent another message."

"With what?"

"Another communication sheet."

"I only brought one."

"Then bring two."

"They are expensive." Mara stared at him. Amon glanced at me. I continued cutting.

"That was the wrong answer," he said quietly.

"Yes," I replied. Mara began unloading the bread. From beneath the cloth, she removed a small wrapped parcel and placed it beside Amon. He looked down.

"What is that?"

"A honey bun."

"It has more glaze than the others."

"It came out uneven." The glaze was perfectly even. Amon noticed.

"How much?"

"Nothing."

"You always charge me."

"You have been eating guild rations."

"That usually gives merchants a reason to charge more."

"Eat it before I reconsider." He unwrapped the bun.

"Thank you." Mara rearranged the same two loaves.

"You're welcome." Lysa placed the folded cloths on the counter.

"Mrs. Vale said you have to come for dinner." I looked at her.

"Me?"

"You and Auntie Mara." Perry pointed at Amon.

"He can come too." Lysa lowered his arm.

"She didn't say that."

"She always makes enough."

"That does not mean we invite people without asking." Amon stood.

"I need to report to the guild." Mara looked at him.

"You haven't reported yet?"

"I came here first." Amon seemed to realize what he had said. Mara stopped moving the bread. Neither spoke. I picked up another carrot. The room had become unnecessarily quiet. Amon cleared his throat.

"I'll go now."

"Your father may know suppliers," I said.

"That is a sudden change of subject," Mara replied.

"It remains necessary." Amon lifted his pack.

"I'll ask him."

"Rice, meat, vegetables, oil, tea, and anything with useful natural mana."

"Within what price?"

"Reasonable."

"That excludes most magical ingredients."

"Then bring me a list." Amon nodded. He took two steps toward the door. Mara held up the honey bun.

"You forgot this." He returned for it. Their fingers touched when he accepted the parcel. Both withdrew too quickly. Perry watched them. Lysa covered his mouth before he could say anything. Mrs. Vale's home stood north of the bakery, where the western district narrowed into residential streets. The house was wider than its neighbors. Every visible part had been repaired at least once. The shutters did not match. Three kinds of roof tile covered the upper floor.

New boards reinforced one section of the fence while the older wood leaned around them. A second building occupied the rear yard. Light shone through both. Children moved everywhere. Two sat on the front steps sorting beans. A boy carried folded blankets through the hallway. A smaller child ran past the open door wearing one boot and waving the other above his head. No one appeared surprised. Lysa entered first.

"We're back." Several voices answered from different rooms. Perry removed his shoes near the entrance. He left one sideways. Lysa corrected it with her foot without slowing. Mara followed them inside. I stood in the doorway holding a pot of monster-boar stew. There were more coats than hooks. Most had been repaired around the elbows or shoulders. Several were too small for the children wearing them. A woman emerged from the kitchen. She appeared to be in her late fifties, with dark hair threaded by silver.

Her sleeves were rolled above her elbows, and she held a wooden spoon. Her eyes settled on me.

"You're Joe."

"Yes."

"The restaurant owner."

"I lease the building." Mara closed her eyes. Mrs. Vale studied me for a moment.

"You are exactly as described."

"I am uncertain what that means."

"It means you should put the pot down before it becomes too heavy."

"It is not too heavy."

"You have been holding it in the doorway for almost a minute." That was fair. I followed her into the kitchen. The room was larger than mine and far more crowded. Three pots simmered over the stove. Root vegetables waited near the oven. Covered containers filled every shelf. A girl older than Lysa stood at the preparation table slicing onions. Her left sleeve had been pinned above the elbow. She worked one-handed without difficulty. Mrs. Vale pointed toward an empty section of the stove.

"Set it there."

"You already prepared enough food," I said.

"There is no such thing in this house."

"That seems mathematically unlikely."

"You'll understand soon." The dining room contained one long table and three smaller ones pressed against it. None matched. Children entered in groups as the food arrived. I counted twelve. Then another emerged from beneath the table. Thirteen. Lysa filled cups with water. Perry carried spoons. Older children helped the younger ones climb onto the benches. No one assigned the tasks. Everyone knew what to do. I watched Lysa place a folded cloth beneath the cup of a younger boy whose hands trembled when he lifted it.

She moved before the water spilled. Perry dropped a spoon. It struck the floor. He froze. Mrs. Vale pointed toward the kitchen.

"Wash it." He picked it up and went without complaint. We sat once every child had a bowl. Mrs. Vale placed me beside her. That was deliberate. For several minutes, the room remained too loud for conversation. Someone wanted more beans. Someone else claimed a carrot resembled a boot. The child with one boot denied responsibility. The monster-boar stew disappeared first. The remaining mana was weaker than I preferred, though enough had passed into the broth to ease ordinary fatigue.

Several tired faces relaxed as the children ate. One boy stopped rubbing his wrist. Mrs. Vale noticed.

"This is the food people are discussing?" she asked.

"The fried rice produces a stronger effect."

"What effect?"

"Mild physical recovery. Less soreness and fatigue."

"You sound uncertain."

"I know the effect exists. I do not know its full limits." She tasted another spoonful.

"That is more honest than most healers."

"I am not a healer."

"Mara said you weren't a wizard either." Mara looked up.

"I did not lead with that."

"How long did you wait?"

"Until after his name."

"That is immediately," I said. Mrs. Vale smiled. Then her attention shifted toward Lysa and Perry.

"They've been visiting your restaurant."

"Yes."

"You feed them."

"They arrive near meals."

"That was not what I asked." I looked toward the children. Perry was attempting to trade a carrot for a piece of chicken. Lysa stopped the exchange and divided her own chicken between them.

"They were hungry," I said.

"They often are." Mrs. Vale said it quietly. The portions on the table were sufficient, though carefully measured. Bread had been sliced thinly enough for everyone to receive some. The older children ate slower than the younger ones.

"How many live here?" I asked.

"Fourteen tonight."

"I counted thirteen."

"One is upstairs with a cold."

"Has a healer examined her?"

"Yes. She needs rest." The stew might help with that. I looked toward the rear building through the kitchen doorway.

"Where do they come from?"

"The north, mostly. Border villages. Farms near the disputed roads. Some arrive with relatives who cannot keep them. Some arrive alone."

"The war ended."

"One war ended." Mrs. Vale tore her bread in half.

"People continue losing their homes after soldiers leave. Roads remain dangerous. Farms remain burned. Children become very easy to misplace when every adult is trying to survive."

"Mara said you funded the house."

"At first."

"And now?"

"Now Mara brings bread. The carpenter brings firewood. Guards contribute coins when they can. The temple sends blankets during winter and advice during summer."

"The advice is cheaper."

"Yes." Mara leaned across the table.

"I bring more than bread."

"You also bring honey buns before dinner," Mrs. Vale said. Perry stopped chewing. Mara looked at him.

"That happened once."

"Three times," Lysa said.

"You were not supposed to count."

"Joe says counting is useful." Mara looked at me.

"I did not instruct her to count honey buns."

"You encourage the behavior."

"I encourage accuracy." Mrs. Vale drank from her cup.

"You are looking for help at the restaurant."

"One worker." Lysa's ears turned toward us. Perry looked over openly.

"An adult worker," I added.

"Or someone old enough to handle the dining room without constant supervision." Their attention returned to their food. Lysa's ears lowered slightly. I continued before the silence settled.

"I need someone to take orders, collect payment, serve tables, and help with basic preparation. One person should be enough."

"Can I carry plates?" Perry asked.

"No."

"I carried spoons."

"You dropped one."

"Only one."

"That does not improve the application." Lysa looked at me.

"We can help."

"You already do." Her expression tightened.

"We don't work there."

"I did not say you did."

"Then how do we help?"

"You tell me when the carrots are overcooked. You return Mara's baskets. You stop Perry from eating ingredients."

"I only ate one," Perry said.

"You ate one after being caught." He considered that. Mrs. Vale watched us.

"They do not need employment," she said.

"I agree."

"They need lessons, food, clothes, and places where they are permitted to remain children." Lysa looked down at her bowl. Mrs. Vale continued.

"Children like these learn very quickly that adults value usefulness. They begin believing every meal requires payment." I looked around the table. Everyone had helped set it. Everyone would probably help clean afterward. That was part of living in a crowded house. It did not mean the younger children owed Mrs. Vale for dinner. Lysa had first refused my food because she could not pay. I had offered to call it testing. That had allowed her to accept.

It had also allowed me to avoid telling her she did not need to earn the meal.

"They can still visit," I said. Lysa looked up.

"That was not a question," Mrs. Vale replied.

"I know." Perry raised his hand.

"Can we still test food?"

"When testing is required."

"How often?"

"Less often if you approve of everything." He frowned. Lysa tried not to smile.

"You may help with small things when you visit," I said.

"Nothing dangerous. No knives. No cooking runes. No order cabinet." Perry lowered his hand.

"I wasn't going to touch it."

"You stared at the warning mark for several minutes."

"It glows."

"That does not require contact." Amon would have agreed with him. That was another reason to keep Perry away from the cabinet. Mrs. Vale studied me.

"Tell them they may come even when you have nothing for them to do."

"They may come even when I have nothing for them to do."

"I meant later."

"They are here." Lysa's ears lifted. Perry tore another piece of bread.

"Can we come tomorrow?"

"The restaurant reopens at sunrise."

"That means yes," he said.

"It means breakfast will be available."

"That also means yes." After dinner, everyone helped clean. Bowls moved into the kitchen. Leftovers went into covered containers. The youngest children carried spoons and cloths while the older ones washed. Perry dropped a cup. It rolled beneath a cabinet without breaking. He stared at me.

"That was an accident," I said. His shoulders lowered. Lysa retrieved the cup and handed it back to him. Mrs. Vale packed the remaining stew into a smaller container.

"For the girl upstairs," she said.

"It may ease fatigue. It will not treat the cold."

"I understood." She covered the container.

"You need one worker."

"Yes."

"Then hire one worker."

"That is the plan."

"You have been trying to solve the problem through furniture, menus, cupboards, and children who happen to visit."

"The cupboard solves a separate problem." Mrs. Vale looked at me.

"Hire one worker."

"Yes."

"Someone reliable."

"Yes."

"Someone you will pay properly." I frowned.

"That was already implied."

"Good." She handed me the empty stew pot.

"I do not have anyone to send you tonight."

"I did not ask you to."

"No. You only asked enough questions to make the problem obvious." That sounded like something Mara would say. At the front entrance, Lysa and Perry waited while I put on my coat.

"Tomorrow?" Lysa asked.

"Yes."

"Even if you don't need help?"

"Yes." Perry looked at her.

"I told you."

"You did not know."

"I guessed correctly."

"That is different." They moved aside to let us leave. Mara walked with me toward the bakery. Amon was still at the guild office, probably explaining the trail, Garrick, the hollow wolves, and the loss of an expensive communication sheet to his father. Mara carried the empty bread basket. For most of the walk, she said nothing.

"He came to the restaurant first," she said eventually.

"Yes."

"Before the guild."

"Yes."

"Jacob is going to be angry."

"Probably." She adjusted the basket against her hip.

"He should have reported first."

"That would have been more efficient." Mara looked at me.

"That is all you have to say?"

"I am glad he returned." Her expression softened.

"So am I." We reached the bakery. Mara took out her key.

"Do not tell him I was worried."

"I thought that was clear from the bread." She stopped.

"What bread?"

"The honey bun."

"It came out uneven."

"No, it did not." She stared at me. Then she opened the bakery door and went inside without answering. When I returned to The Second Spark, the order cabinet contained five new slips. Three breakfasts for the morning patrol. Two portions of fried rice for the wall crew. A sixth piece of paper had been pushed halfway into the slot. It contained one line in Amon's handwriting. Father can arrange weekly delivery. He wants to discuss quantities tomorrow.

Beneath that, in smaller writing: He is angry about the communication sheet. I placed the note beside the accounting book. The restaurant was ready. The suppliers might be arranged. Lysa and Perry would return in the morning, though they would not be employees. That left one problem. I opened the staffing notebook. Orders and payment. Serving tables. Cleaning during service. Basic preparation. No unsupervised use of runes. No allowing Amon into the kitchen. I wrote a new line above the list. Hire one worker.

One person. Old enough to manage customers. Reliable enough to handle money. Willing to learn the restaurant. I closed the notebook and went to the front door. The sign still read: CLOSED FOR IMPROVEMENTS. I turned it over. OPEN AT SUNRISE. For the first time in a week, I found no reason to change it back.