Chương 51: Dinner Date

Cormac nervously knocked on the door to the small cottage. From the front it was identical to every other residential building he'd seen in Láthair Maol, but in walking up to it he had noticed an extension built off the back. It seemed to be an extra room's worth of space, constructed in a very different style than the original cabin had been. It sported an extra chimney up top. The door swung open and Luíseach smiled.

"Come in, please." Cormac attempted to doff his hat as he entered, only to remember that, tragically, he had no hat. Fighting through a renewed sense of loss, he took a look around Luíseach's house. It was sparsely decorated, just some odds and ends here and there. Some keepsakes that might have been inheritances from her parents, some flowers. Sturdy furniture. As she led him into what was clearly the extension of the house he'd seen from outside, he saw where the heart of her home clearly lay.

The extension was a finely appointed kitchen. The marble countertop was immaculate on a polished dark wood island in the center of the room. The extra chimney he had seen before ran down to an oven made of fine stone that blazed merrily with cut logs burning below a cooking rack. There were further counters and cabinets, with pots, pans and utensils bursting from every seam.

"This is quite an impressive kitchen!" Cormac said.

"I'm not much of a chef, but I've been around my fair share of fancy setups in well-to-do mansions, and this would not be amiss in any of those." Luíseach smiled sadly.

"My mother made this extension to the house for my father. He was a ship's cook who got stranded here with his crew. They all tried to escape, but he knew he couldn't make it. So, he settled down, married my mother and had me. My mom could tell he missed all the fancy cooking equipment that had sunk to the bottom of the lagoon, so over the years, she put this together for him, piece by piece."

"Do you share your father's love of cooking?" Cormac asked. She shrugged.

"I enjoy it. It reminds me of him. But I don't have his passion for it."

"And what are your passions?" He asked, before immediately regretting it. That was way too close to a pickup line. She didn't seem to notice.

"I think I'm still searching for mine in Láthair Maol. If I could leave though… I would want to be a merchant."

"Fascinating!" He pulled up a tall stool by the island at her prompting as she checked the food in the oven.

"Not much call for that on an island where everything's free, huh?"

"I know it's crude," she said.

"Ungrateful for how easy our life is for the most part. But I like the idea of challenges, and I enjoy running my store in the square. I wish I could expand it, build it more - do more." She shrugged, pulling two wine glasses from a cabinet.

"But we don't always get to pick the cards we're dealt, do we?" Cormac hesitated.

"Luíseach, I want to ask… why did you invite me to dinner tonight?" She smiled wryly.

"You don't think a lady should ask a man to dinner?"

"No, no! It's just… I know I put on a particular sort of face, from which you could reasonably infer that I am a particular sort of man. Róise doesn't help either - she paints me as a womanizing cad every chance she gets," he grumbled.

"But I just want to say… I'm not the sort of man who takes advantage of a lady he's only just met." Luíseach huffed with amusement.

"You think I asked you here to have you take advantage of me?" Cormac shrugged.

"It's usually why women ask me to dinner."

"You really are a saint," she teased, slicing a fruit with a finely made chef's knife.

"You're not at all what I expected."

"Oh? And what did you expect?" Luíseach paused to look him over. Cormac hadn't known many Banshees, but she had the stereotypical look - dark, floating hair, sallow skin with a touch of gray. She seemed to be sizing him up again.

"Maitiú doesn't think much of you."

"Ah," Cormac said.

"You have been spending a lot of time with him. Róise noticed and mentioned it to me."

"He thinks you're a selfish, irresponsible imbecile who careens through life without a care for anyone else, due to your unfair fórsa Nature." Cormac sighed.

"I wish I could argue with him, but he's probably right. You were at my training today. You saw." She grinned.

"Seemed like you were having a hard time." He scowled.

"I just don't do things directly like that. I've been training with Miriam for a week now and she gets the best of me every time. I'm not used to trying to use my Luck consciously. I used to think that was an advantage, that the way I manipulate luck fields around me was better than Natures that tried similar things but required manual direction. Now Cian has me trying to directly use my Luck in combination with hand-to-hand combat moves. It's… exhausting."

"How does that work?" Luíseach asked.

"I don't recall another visitor ever having that Nature, at least during my time. You just walk around and good things happen to you?" He tapped his fingers against the marble.

"Not exactly. Like right now, I'm casting out some threads to make your cooking go as well as it possibly can. It's something I kind of do unconsciously now - but I don't direct it. I don't say 'make sure the fire pops in just such a way as to call attention to when the food needs to be turned' - it just happens as a result of my desire for it to go well." The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Speaking of, Luíseach reached into the oven with a pair of tongs and removed the pan from inside. The smell of roasted peppers and garlic filled the kitchen.

"So it is an active ability. You had to ask it to improve my cooking skills."

"Most times," Cormac said. He found the bottle of wine she had set out and began to uncork it.

"Sometimes I get alerts spontaneously. Gold threads when something good could happen. Black threads when bad. It's pretty inconsistent though. Usually only in High Luck areas, or when I'm well rested. Is this what this dinner is about, then? Am I a research subject?" She pulled the peppers onto two plates and began applying various seasonings - Cormac wasn't a good enough cook to identify them all.

"I admit to some curiosity, but no. I want to ask about Maitiú."

"Maitiú? What about him?"

"Ah… well, as you said. We've been spending time together. I can't tell if I actually like the man or if knowing the same seven hundred people all your life makes anything new seem appealing. You lot will be gone soon enough - escaped or dead - but he'll still be here." Luíseach slid his plate over to him.

"Is he trustworthy? Is he a good man?"

"Ah!" Cormac latched onto this development with gusto. Wingman was a role he'd played many times with great enthusiasm. Now he felt like he knew where he stood.

"He's an excellent sailor, I can say that for sure! And, I think a very forgiving man. I know he has held a grudge about ending up in Cianán's Walk against his will, but in recent days I truly think he has learned to let that go. At first I had no hope of earning his forgiveness before I left, but I'm beginning to think it might be possible."

"I see." Luíseach poured the wine.

"Try this! It's a rare vintage here - from your home ring, I think."

"Really?" Cormac inspected the bottle.

"I don't recognize the label. Not that that means much - Róise and I never really could afford the good stuff." He sniffed the glass and smiled.

"I have to admit, First Ring alcohol barely does anything for me. I appreciate you helping me relax after a long and frustrating day."

"Of course!" Luíseach said, swirling her own glass absently.

"But… back to Maitiú. Did he ever do anything you saw that made you think he'd be dishonest? Again, we are a very small community… drama explodes here in ways you wouldn't believe. A girl would be wise to do her homework before diving in too deep." Cormac and Luíseach continued their dinner like a pair of old friends. Cormac regaled her with stories of Maitiú's integrity and valor, at least half of which she was certain were made up.

She talked more about what life in Láthair Maol was like, about her parents and their passing only a few years before. They drained the bottle and moved on to another, which Cormac declared was the perfect pairing with Luíseach's roast peppers and fruit. The hour grew late, but Cormac wouldn't have traded it for any amount of sleep. It was hard to admit, but he had missed conversations like these.

Dinners with Miriam and Róise aboard the Líadan were some of his fondest memories of the journey here, but since they'd arrived all they had done was train and train. He missed people. Cormac could sleep on the recliner by the window, Luíseach declared.

"No, I couldn't… my lady?" Cormac said, far unsteadier on his feet than he thought he'd be.

"It's not far to my… the… place I sleep."

"Nonsense," Luíseach said.

"Rest here. I promise not to take advantage of you while you slumber."

"Fine! I will… rest just a moment. I was right about those First Ring wines! I'm totally… out of practice with a proper Third Ring bottle." He heaved himself down onto the chair, his eyes struggling to stay open.

"Do not mention this to Róise, please. She will call me a lightweight for the next ten years."

"You'll find no spy in me," Luíseach said, throwing another of those wonderfully soft homemade blankets over him. In moments he was asleep, occasionally snoring. Luíseach sat in the chair opposite and watched his breathing for some time, lost in various thoughts that threatened at times to cause her to turn back from her present course of action, or to push forward even more aggressively. Thankfully she was saved by a soft knock at the door. She pushed it open. Maitiú peered in.

"Is he out?"

"Like a babe," she said.

"You didn't find what you were looking for in his cottage?"

"No," the sailor said, walking up to the sleeping Cormac.

"He must have it on him. You're sure he won't wake up?" Luíseach fetched the bottle from the kitchen.

"Told him it was Third Ring. It's actually Fourth. I'm glad I didn't forget and actually drink any. Probably would have killed me."

"Wonderful news," Maitiú said, throwing the blanket off the sleeping man. He began to rifle through all of Cormac's many pockets. He had an odd habit of letting his hands grab onto things and stuffing them into his clothes. In them Maitiú found little knots made of grass, acorns, even a nail or two, which bit him viciously as he delved in too quickly.

"There," Maitiú said, pulling out a soft cloth bag.

"This has to be it!" Hands shaking, he opened the drawstring and dumped the tiny little teardrop-shaped pearl onto his palm.

"That's it?" Luíseach asked, her breath catching at the sight. Was that freedom in Maitiú's palm?

"It is," the old sailor confirmed. He stood, staring deeply at the little stone, the tip of which always circled to point in the same direction. Inward.

"I'm… I'm going to get to leave?" Luíseach couldn't stop the tears as she held on to Maitiú's sleeve for support.

"I… Maitiú, I never thought this would… ever… Maitiú?" He replaced the stone into its bag and stuffed it into a hidden pocket in his shirt.

"I'm sorry, Luíseach. It ain't fair, what's happening with you. But I didn't cause it. And I can't fix it. But I can fix what's happening to me."

"No… what? What are you doing?" Luíseach clawed at Maitiú's shirt to try to wrench the bag away, but he was a First. She was nothing. He swatted her away like she was a mouse.

"This is the only shot I have at making it out of here," he said.

"I'm sorry I tricked you. I'm sorry I gave you false hope. Blame this man, not me," he snarled at Cormac's unconscious form.

"No." Luíseach trembled as her fury overtook her.

"No. You give that to me, Maitiú. You promised!"

"Goodbye, Luíseach. Fair skies and calm weather," he said, turning to leave. Luíseach screeched, the sound rocking the inside of the cottage with supernatural force, though somehow not waking Cormac. She grabbed her nearest cooking knife and ran full tilt towards the old sailor. Surprised, he turned too slowly and the knife lodged into his shoulder. Roaring, he backhanded her across the face. The blow flung her across the room, overturning a chair as she crashed to the floor, unconscious.

Maitiú pulled the knife free with a curse. That damn woman. Well, he couldn't blame her. They basically had the same problem and only one solution between them. He'd react the same, he was sure. He made to throw the knife down when a wicked thought crossed his mind. He walked over to where Cormac sat, still asleep on the chair. The knife felt heavy in his hand. He would be justified, he knew. Cormac had earned this and worse with his betrayal. So easy to slide the knife home and run off into the jungle.

Maitiú sighed. No. He would be the bigger man. Without the Drop of Intent this island was a death sentence for Cormac anyway. No need to hasten the end. The knife clattered to the floor and Maitiú was gone.