Chương 144: Chapter 89 – Dinner without Beer

Alric arrived on foot, which in hindsight may have been the first indication that something about the evening was going to go wrong. He'd received a letter from Moreen the day before inviting him to a merchant dinner, and Alric had been looking forward to it. There was a reasonable chance of securing honey. Vale arrived beside him a moment later, adjusting his cuffs with the quiet precision of someone who understood that first impressions mattered and had already decided he was not going to enjoy this one.

They stood for a moment outside the townhouse. It sat directly on the main avenue, its stone clean, its windows tall, and its front door polished to a degree that suggested regular inspection rather than simple maintenance. It was the sort of place that expected people to arrive with purpose, and more importantly, to arrive correctly. Alric, who had walked and who was dressed in what could most generously be described as practical, looked at it, then at Vale.

Vale, who was dressed correctly, looked at it, then at Alric.

"…this already feels expensive," Vale said quietly. Alric shrugged.

"It's a dinner." Vale did not respond to that. He simply knocked. The servant who opened the door took one look at Alric, then at Vale, and immediately shifted his stance to accommodate the more reasonable option.

"Name?"

"Alric." A pause.

"…the brewer?"

"That's the one." The servant straightened, stepped aside, and this time the gesture came with the correct amount of respect. This happened so fast Alric wondered if it was rehearsed.

"Of course, sir. Please, inside." They stepped through. Alric made it three paces into the room before stopping. Vale made it two. The first thing that struck him was the colour. Not simply bright, but deliberate and unapologetically excessive, with fabrics that caught the light from every angle and refused to give it back in any consistent manner.

People moved through it in slow, controlled patterns, each shift revealing a different shade, a different texture, as if the entire room had been designed to ensure that nothing remained visually stable for long. It took him a moment to process it all, and when he did, the only conclusion he could arrive at was that it looked less like a merchant gathering and more like a nightclub for chameleons on very hard drugs.

"…no," he said quietly. Alric glanced at him.

"No what?"

"This is not a merchant dinner." Alric looked around properly this time. No ledgers, no samples, no crates or sacks, no lingering smell of grain or dust or transport. Instead there was perfume, strong and competing, spice carried faintly through the air, and the underlying note of wine that suggested this room had been expecting conversation long before it had been expecting commerce. The third thing he noticed was the people wearing all that bright cloth.

There were too many women, too many older couples standing in arrangements that suggested familiarity rather than negotiation, and not nearly enough men who looked like they had ever needed to concern themselves with storage capacity, delivery schedules, wagons, or the very real problem of something going bad if left unattended for too long. He stood there for a moment longer than was strictly necessary, taking it in. Vale inhaled once, slowly, and did not exhale for a moment.

"…oh," Alric said. Vale's smile had appeared. It was tight.

"We should leave." He said between gritted teeth. Alric's attention had already shifted.

"To the food?" Alric said already stepping toward it. Vale closed his eyes briefly.

"You should have brought Seren," he said through his teeth, still smiling at no one in particular.

"She glows in the dark right now remember?" Alric replied, already moving. Vale followed because the alternative was standing still and being noticed.

"People don't eat at these things," Vale said, still smiling, his voice low and strained in a way that suggested he was holding several nasty comments.

"That's stupid," Alric said, moving to the plates. One side of the hall, which now that he properly looked at it could no longer be described as a room without doing it a disservice, was dominated by a long table set with the kind of deliberate care that suggested the food had been arranged for observation first and consumption as a distant second.

People stood near the table, spoke beside it, gestured occasionally in its direction as if acknowledging its existence was a requirement, but not a single person appeared to be eating. There were no half-finished plates, no crumbs, no evidence of someone deciding they liked one thing more than another and committing to that decision with enthusiasm.

He moved toward the table with the quiet determination of someone about to correct a wasteful mistake that was not technically his responsibility but was, nevertheless, something he could fix. A stack of small white ceramic plates sat at one end. He picked one up, turning it slightly in his hands out of habit, running his thumb lightly along the surface. The glaze was thin in places, uneven where it should have been smooth, with a faint dullness that suggested it had been rushed or fired at the wrong temperature.

It was the first glazed ceramic he had seen here, and each plate carried a small hand-painted scene; this one showed a man and woman either eating a flower or exchanging one, the distinction unclear. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings. He set the thought aside, because the plate, while disappointing, was not the point. The food, on the other hand, was.

Vale, with lack of other blending in options took a plate as well, Alric could hear what he assumed were protests being muttered. He started with the small pies. They were neat, uniform, and just large enough to be considered a single bite if one was inclined toward optimism. The crust flaked properly under pressure, which was a good sign, and the smell carried a faint spice that suggested someone had attempted to make them interesting. He took a bite.

There was a brief moment, right at the beginning, where it seemed like he'd found something good. Then the filling arrived. Something mashed, heavily spiced in a way that tried very hard to be bold and succeeded only in being confused, mixed with minced river fish that had not so much been integrated as introduced without warning. The texture was also a real problem, the mash soft where it should have had some resistance, the fish flavour however was so strong it overpowered anything else. Often.

He had learned to dislike river fish. Hal brought them home with great pride. Everyone else was thrilled. To Alric, it tasted like warmed dirt and a strong desire to buy street food. He paused halfway through the bite, considered his options, and then, with the grim determination of a man who refused to be defeated by something this small, finished chewing and swallowed. He looked at the remaining half of the pie in his hand. There were limits.

He placed it back down carefully, as if it might still have a future that did not involve him, and moved on. The next thing he picked up was a thin slice of cured meat wrapped neatly around a soft white cheese, the whole thing held together by nothing more than the cook's confidence. He bit into it and immediately relaxed slightly. Yes. That's better.

The salt from what tasted clearly like venison carried the first impression, clean and direct, followed by the cheese giving way without resistance, mild and smooth in a way that balanced the cure rather than competing with it. It was simple, which in Alric's experience was often the best possible outcome. He took another. Vale did the same, because at this point not eating would have required explanation.

"This is good," Alric said.

"Yes," Vale agreed, then added under his breath, "and we are still leaving." Alric reached for one of the sweet buns. It was already slightly tacky to the touch, which should have been a warning. He took a bite anyway. The first thing that hit him was the honey, not subtle, not restrained, but applied with the sort of enthusiasm that suggested whoever had made it believed moderation happened to other people and it made them miserable. It coated his fingers immediately. The second issue was the texture.

It was, somehow, both buttery and firm, yielding just enough to be bitten through cleanly while maintaining a density that made him briefly check his teeth with his tongue. He chewed, swallowed, and looked down at the bun.

"…why is this finger food?" Vale did not answer. He was watching the room.

"…we have a problem," Vale said quietly. Alric did not look up.

"Mm?"

"We are being noticed." His fingers were already sticky. He wiped them lightly against the edge of the plate in a gesture that did absolutely nothing to improve the situation, then resigned himself to the fact that this was now simply part of the experience. He would have to wait before shaking hands. Making it someone else's problem was a perfectly reasonable method; Seren would have approved. Still, for all of that, it was good, strange in an impractical way but good.

He took another piece of venison to reset his mouth, which felt like a sensible decision, and then, after a moment's consideration, took a second piece as well. Whatever else this evening turned out to be, this was, without question, the highest-end food he had encountered in this world so far, other than the pasta he and his staff had regularly. Which made it all the more confusing that no one else appeared to be eating it.

He had just reached the comfortable conclusion that the venison alone would be his whole supper when the first interruption arrived, not abruptly, but with the sort of timing that suggested it had been waiting for exactly the moment his attention was occupied.

"Your building is quite remarkable." The voice arrived from his left. Alric turned, still holding the plate, and found a woman standing beside them who had not been there a moment ago, or had simply chosen not to exist until she was relevant. She smiled. It was a complete smile. It was directed entirely at Vale.

"Oh, you mean the shine," Alric said.

"Temple did that. If he could, he'd ask them to make it stop." Gesturing with his head to Vale.

"So funny," she said, without a laugh. Her eyes remained on Vale. Alric followed the glance. Then, very deliberately, he made a decision, Vale had been describing him as ruthless for some time after all.

"…this," he said, gesturing with the plate, "is Alric. The brewer." Vale turned his head slowly. The woman blinked. Once. Her attention sharpened immediately.

"I see," she said, her tone adjusting with practiced ease.

"A pleasure." Vale smiled. It was the correct smile but Alric could see the corners twitching.

"The pleasure is mine," he said. Alric took another piece of venison.

"How large is your household?" she asked. Vale did not miss a beat.

"Modest," he said.

"Appropriately so."

"And your staff?"

"Managed."

"And you reside nearby?"

"For now." Each answer landed cleanly and gave nothing, though not quite with the ease Seren would have managed. Alric watched this with mild interest. And continued eating.

"…and your work?" she asked. Vale inclined his head slightly.

"Demanding." Alric reached for another slice of venison. Vale's smile tightened. He did not look at Alric.

"You mentioned a building," the woman continued.

"Quite unusual, from what I understand."

"It has its… qualities," Vale said. If they had gone to the shutters nearby, they'd be able to spot it easily. Vale inhaled slowly.

"We should be going," Vale said quietly, still smiling. Alric nodded, as if considering this. Then took another piece of venison. They began to drift, not abruptly and not enough to draw attention, but steadily, the way one exits something that has not yet decided whether it intends to stop you. The woman followed, of course she did.

"And your future plans?" she asked. Vale adjusted his cuff.

"Inflexible."

"And expansion?"

"Conditional."

"And…" Alric looked at Vale, then, loudly enough to carry, said, "It's still glowing." Vale froze for half a fraction of a second, then recovered.

"Yes?" he said questioningly.

"We should speak to the priest," Alric continued, already turning.

"He said he could stop that."

"Indeed," Vale replied.

"My apologies," he said, in a tone that suggested he was not especially apologetic.

"Wait..? didn't you say earlier that…" The woman began but the pair had begun a hasty if polite retreat. The air outside was cooler, and Vale exhaled in a way that was not subtle. They walked in silence for a while, their pace steady, the distance between them and the dinner increasing with quiet satisfaction.

"…why," Vale said eventually, "did you do that." Alric glanced at him.

"You keep calling me ruthless." Vale stopped walking.

"…that was not…"

"That was good food no need to waste it." Alric said, reasonably. Vale stared at him for a moment, then shook his head slowly and resumed walking.

"I think I need to speak to Seren," he muttered.

"Well we're almost there." Alric said, he glanced over at Vale and saw how slumped his shoulders were. Seren looked up when they entered, and it was immediately clear she had not been expecting them.

"You went?" she said. Alric shrugged.

"There was an invitation."

"That arrived yesterday," Seren replied.

"Why wasn't I told?"

"Figured Vale could handle it, you are still glowing after all." Alric said with a smile, Seren was after all was doing a fantastic impression of a human glowstick. There was a brief pause. Alric sighed.

"It was not about grain." Vale made a noise that was not polite.

"It was matchmaking," Alric continued. Vale stopped walking again.

"He threw me under a wagon." Vale recounted the story of how Alric had introduced him to someone as Alric while he stood around and ate venison with cheese. There was a small sound from the side of the room, then another, as the staff tried, and failed, not to laugh.

"It will get worse, you know" Seren added said with a sigh but also a smile. Alric shrugged. Seren studied him for a moment.

"Why don't you simply… pair with someone?" Alric made a face.

"It's complicated."

"You've said that before," Seren replied calmly.

"It isn't." He opened his mouth, then stopped, closed it again, and after a moment shrugged. Seren watched him for a second longer, then inclined her head slightly, as if confirming something to herself, and said nothing more. No one could overhear them, but Mara whispered to Hal "I think he has, proclivities", Hal gave a small nod.