June – Chapter Six

We hadn’t moved far when I felt my stomach aggressively punching me in the…Well, punching itself, I guess. As soon as it happened I hid my face in shame and Sir Mirroheart laughed, with Key staying quiet but noticeably looking in my direction.

“Right, we haven’t eaten yet today and you’re probably not used to going this long without.” Sir Mirroheart patted my shoulder. “Come on, then. I know a good spot.”

“Ya still need me?” Key asked, hands in her pockets and looking off toward the inner city.

“How about we meet up again in an hour or so?” he told her, to which she nodded and waved goodbye. I did catch that she took a while to turn away from me and then did a double take after. She must have been sizing up my potential like all the rest of Sir Mirrohearts’ associates. We stayed put to make sure she was safely out of eyeshot before we continued, and before I even finished the first syllable of my questioning, Sir Mirroheart was answering me.

“Golems are man-made, as she said. However, the Golem is still a person like you or me. They build their children instead of the organic method, and since there are so many of them now, they’re accepted as another primary sentient species.”

“So, do they, you know… Breathe?” I asked, stupidly.

“Not the same way. They don’t have an organ for it like we do, so they can actually go underwater. They also don’t age, meaning whatever they’re built as, that’s what they are until they either rebuild themselves safely or stop functioning – And that could take centuries, if not longer.”

My stomach made itself known once more, and I hid my face again. Another laugh from Sir Mirroheart, and we continued to move in a new direction.

We made our way to the Market District again, just down the great stairs of what I assumed was the Northwest gate. At the base of the gatehouse was the smell of cooked meats and steaming veggies that was unmistakable from home cooked meals, but also a new scent to me – something that was strong in oil and butter, for certain, but it was more than that. I followed my nose to the source and saw a building with several benches and wooden tables outside it, small in size compared to the rest of the buildings nearby but certainly not as small as a family home in my village. I supposed that made sense considering the scale of this place so far, and I finally snapped out of my stupor to read the sign above the door. It read ‘Night at the Empire Cafe’ and I was immediately eager.

“Spot on, good senses.” Sir Mirroheart said, approaching from behind me. “I was going to take us here, it’s my favorite cafe in the city.”

“It’s Empire food?” I almost felt like a toddler asking such an obvious question, so I had to clarify. “I mean, I guess I just didn’t think about it being different.”

“It’s not very different, but it is just that tiny bit less healthy for you, which always makes it taste better.”

“Right, I guess.” I shrugged. “It smells good. That’s all I need.”

Reflecting on it a bit more, the Imperial sigil was plastered on the door and the tapestry of the building, so I probably could have guessed it was Imperial in some way if I paid more attention. I mad enote to do that more in the future with an asterisk that said no promises and carried on, pushing the door open ahead of Sir Mirroheart.The moment I was between that door and the entrance I could hear activity inside as well: Whooping and chatting melding together in a way I was unfamiliar with. Even more strange, as soon as Sir Mirroheart entered the building, there was applause in abundance to be heard. I knew he was famous, but I guess the reaction to that fame was somehow still able to floor me. Perhaps I was used to him by now, but it had only been a little under half a day in reality.

“Richter, a round o’the usual for our man an’ his guest!” I heard a gruff voice call out, followed by “Drey y’old bastard good ta see ya again!”

The voice was attached to a man I recognized as Lopriel, fairly small for the roughness his voice would suggest, with brown hair and ears to match. His stood up more than others I’d seen on the way here, and I could see two or three piercings in them of gold circles. He also seemed to have what I’d say was the most standard clothing I’d seen since arriving here, almost matching my own current attire in quality, though admittedly his slacks were a bit better kept. For what I’m assuming was just to help poorly hide the stains of the working life, his clothing was mostly black and brown, with the Imperial crest on his collar as a necklace adorning a somewhat opened shirt and well built muscles underneath.

“Robey, you salt.” Sir Mirroheart put out a hand and they shook, which was an odd sight considering the size difference felt much smaller than when he had greeted me despite the Lopriel being shorter than myself.

“This yer new rookie?” he asked, before taking a long, deliberate look at me. “She don’t look like she’s old enough to be in here.”

“It’s fine if she doesn’t drink, right?” Sir Mirroheart defended. “Besides, we can eat outside if it’s easier. I’ll have my usual, and for her-” I cut him off.

“If you’ve got anything spicy I’ll take that!”

“Kids’ got guts.” The Lopriel said, arms crossed. “Alright then, all on the tab?”

“As always.” 

The exchange of money was not present, so this tab must have been more a trust system between the two men I thought. Despite feeling out of place and noticing many looks from the patrons, Sir Mirroheart and I headed back outside after our order to a small table, silverware already laid out for us in a fairly organized manner, and we each took a seat across from each other. A thought then occurred to me; This mask of his would have to come off to eat, so I would probably get a chance to see what was underneath it. I imagined many scars as proof of his battles, or perhaps the visage of some old, wise man that I imagined perfectly fit his voice. It was a fun thought experiment that was cut short as a taller gentleman in similar attire to Robey came up to us. This one was human, and looked to be in his thirties if I had to guess, as he looked about the same age as my uncle. His features were pleasant on the eyes, if not slightly unremarkable. The average human male appearance I’d wager; short brown hair, brown eyes, a slightly tan complexion, and overall in what I’d guess was decent shape.

“On the house.” he said, setting down two glasses for us. One was filled with some darker tinted brown liquid that was frothing up, and seemed to have the consistency of thin honey. The one he placed down for me was just plain water, and even I wasn’t naive enough not to understand that one was alcoholic and one was not.

“Thanks.” I said, immediately taking the glass the instant it touched the table. The man departed quickly, and I turned to Sir Mirroheart. “So, after this, I’m just headed to the office to register and then… To my new room?” I asked.

“That’s right.” he confirmed. “Tomorrow I’m going to be leaving you to do things on your own, and I’ll check in to make sure you’re figuring it out, but for the most part it’ll be you and whoever your roommate is helping each other out from this point forward.”

“It’s a little intimidating, but I think I can manage.” I said, sipping my water to mask my lie. As I went to set it down, I saw him pick up his beverage and place his little finger underneath it.

“Don’t put it down the way you’re used to. Cushion it like this, and let it roll off.”

He lowered his hand once more, and the glass rested against the table again with almost complete silence. I attempted to mimic the motion, and found it surprisingly easy to do, though mine was a little louder than his.

“Hypothetically, if you’re trying to stay covert in a tavern, you can minimize the noise coming from your table with a few changes in your grip.” he said, finally reaching for his beverage to take an actual drink from it. I looked with admittedly obvious curiosity, but I was more surprised than I expected to be when I saw the mask open instead of come off, and for some reason I couldn’t see what was behind it no matter how hard I looked. The alcohol seemed to just vanish as he drank it. I have to assume my disappointment was plastered on my face, as I heard him laughing again.

“You’re not the only one curious. But only my highest ranked soldiers know what I look like. It’s the final test I administer; You’ve gotta be able to take my mask from my face in a sparring match.”

“What’s the fastest a trainee has been able to do that?” I asked, continuing to sip on my water and try to silently put it down.

“Twenty-six years.” he stated directly, the stitches of my pride coming loose as I contemplated that. However, I decided to try and stitch them back together with some bravado.

“I’ll do it in five.” I said confidently, to which he seemed to nod and chuckle to himself.

“I’d expect no less from a recruit I hand-picked.” he confirmed. Before we could continue our discussion, I heard the voice of the gentleman from earlier, who had provided us with drinks. It seemed he was carrying food now, which I assumed meant it was what we ordered. In front of Sir Mirroheart, I saw a platter of some type of poultry, with grill marks on the top. It was browned to a near identical color as the beverage beside it, and smelled of herbs that I did not recognize. It was some foreign mixture of what I thought was garlic, but there was something more to it. A type of oily, yet sweet scent that complimented the way I could plainly see an oily slick dripping from one end of the meat and pooling around it. Around the other side of the protein, there were steamed vegetables with an even darker sauce drizzled atop them that had small flakes of some sort inside them.

As for the plate I was presented with, it was  seemingly a roll of well baked bread that glistened in the setting sunlight with a similar type of oily lathering, but it was also leaking what I could clearly identify as an orange grease, typically something I would see out of a well saturated sausage. The man cut the bread open, and inside it I could now see what precisely I was in for. There was a series of thinly sliced red meats surrounded by a brilliantly white cheese, stained only where the drippings leaked out. Immediately after the cut was completed I noticed just how much steam was radiating off the food wound, and also the dripping of the knife with an as of yet unseen red sauce. Upon closer examination, quite literally bringing my face closer I might add, I did notice the red sauce resting between the slices of meat. It seemed to have small flakes of herbal treatment just as the poultry Sir Mirroheart ordered, though I could also make out red vegetables buried within the slices as well. 

“Garlic butter with ginger vegetables for our best customer.” the man spoke, and then turned to me. “And for his plucky recruit, a house special; the Lava Calzone.”

“Thanks Richter.” I heard Sir Mirroheart say, unable to take my eyes off the first piece of food I’d seen since breakfast. The man departed shortly after, leaving us to our plates. Once I saw Sir Mirroheart pick up the silverware, I did so as well. That first bite is something I’ll never forget, as it was a mixture of the sweetness of the meat, the way the cheese played with the sauce, and the texture combination that came from the crunch of the vegetable that I was now able to identify as a ripe and sealed pepper. As soon as I bit into it, the pepper popped open and leaked a strong spicy filling, which was equally delicious as it was torture. I would have made my nitpick about the bread it was all contained in being thin and too well done, but with how juicy the pepper made the rest of the meal inside, I began to realize why it was so rigid and forgave it.

Hardly able to speak due to the glorious pain in my mouth, I barely caught that Sir Mirroheart asked me how my food was, and nodded with gusto, probably looking like a stuffed rodent as I did so.

We stayed like that for most of the meal, just silently eating across from each other. I noticed that a lot of people were taking looks at us, or rather, at Sir Mirroheart. I was again reminded that it is very strange for me to be casually having dinner with a legend like him, and the onlookers must have thought I was his daughter or something given our height difference and probably how old people assumed us to be. Those looks made the meal a little more intimidating than it already was, considering it was potentially lethally hot in every way I can exaggerate.

Nearing the end of the meal, Sir Mirroheart spoke up to me again.

“It’s getting pretty late. We should get moving and get you assigned a dorm.”

“Alright, let’s go then.” I confirmed, swallowing the last bit of my death meal and picking up my dishes. “Where’s the kitchen?”

“Excuse me-” I cut him off by taking his dishes too.

“They’re not gonna clean themselves. I’ll do yours too.”

There was silence between us for a few moments before I heard him laugh more heartily than he ever had in my presence before. So much so that Richter came back out to see what was going on. I turned to him and repeated my question, to which he joined Sir Mirroheart in laughter. I was beginning to feel like I was missing something.

“June, for Creations’ sake, it’s a restaurant.” Sir Mirroheart said between bouts of laughter. “They do their own dishes, we just pay them and eat.”

“…Oh.” I placed the dishes back on the table. “R-right, sure, that makes… sense…”

I spent the rest of my time in that building hiding my face while Sir Mirroheart and I wrapped up and left, thanking them for their hospitality.