“It’s temporary,” said Mizuki. “But there’s a part of me that wishes it weren’t. If we somehow manage to get through the next two rings of dungeons, we’ll be traveling further afield, and… well, eventually we’ll have to leave Pucklechurch.”
“I don’t think that would be so bad, if you were with people you like,” said Basil. “I know after your fallout with the Pedder boys you retreated for a bit. And there are others you’ve had your disagreeable moments with.”
“True,” said Mizuki, frowning. Some of this she’d relayed directly to Basil, and other bits of it had surely been collected as gossip. “You’d miss me though, right?”
“Oh, many people would miss you, but no one goes dungeoneering forever.” Basil shifted. “And perhaps some of the problems of the past would be forgotten in that time?”
“The boy troubles,” said Mizuki.
Basil nodded. “I’m sorry you’ve had problems. Too many things not working out. Never a game I was too interested in playing, but for those that play it, I know it can hurt.” She stepped back and looked at the Kiromon goods. “Was there anything you wanted?”
“Oh, all of it,” said Mizuki. “It’s all dry goods and shelf-stable sauces, and I need to stock up on the staples anyway. It’ll take some work to get accustomed to things that are actually made in Kiromo though. Can I ask why you got these? Marta said something about wanting to sell to people for nostalgia.”
“There’s a strong Kiromon influence in this town, thanks in part to your grandfather. Most of us grew up around a few Kiromon foods, at the least,” said Basil. “But the bigger part is that Kiromo is putting more of a focus on exporting now, and I don’t mind admitting to you that the prices are good. They say that with the current emperor, there’s a chance that Kiromo will be absorbed into Inter within a generation.”
“Huh,” said Mizuki. “But that won’t make traveling there any easier.”
“Have you thought about taking a trip?” asked Basil. “I suppose you’re busy with your party now, but once that’s concluded? It’s been some time since you’ve seen your parents. Your sisters?”
“Maybe,” said Mizuki. “But if I went, I know there would be pressure to stay, and with the portals, it would be at least a month there. Someday, maybe. You know, if I didn’t know better, I would think that you were trying to get rid of me.”
“I want you to be happy, and I’m not sure what happiness will look like for you if you stay in Pucklechurch.” Basil placed her hands on her hips. “You don’t seem to have the need to leave, not like some of them get, but to see the wider world, even if you end up back here… You’re treading water, and I’m afraid that you’ll end up drowned if you keep at it. That’s just my opinion, and I know you haven’t asked for it.”
“No, it’s welcome,” said Mizuki with a sigh. “I know where I am in life, and I know it’s not quite where I want to be. Thank you.” Her eyes went to the goods. “Okay, let me buy this, but I’ll be back later once I’ve taken stock. It looks like we’ll be eating Kiromon for a bit, and I’m going to have to remember how that goes.”
By the time the transaction was concluded, Mizuki’s satchel was about as full as it could get, and it weighed quite a bit. She trudged back to her house, mulling things over, but once she was there, she had people to talk to, and the uncharacteristically gloomy thoughts had left her.
“So,” said Hannah. “I know you’ve gotten the ingredients by now, but I was thinkin’ that I could cook tonight.”
“Really?” asked Mizuki. “Do you cook?”
“Ay, and I’ve said as much,” said Hannah. “But you didn’t seem to take it seriously, and I confess I’m better with baking, and if I’m bein’ honest, the kind of things I like to cook are the ones that seem most like it’s just another bake. Meat pies, egg bakes, a terrine from time to time. And you’re properly good at it, while I’m just good enough that no one complains.”
“Oh,” said Mizuki. “Well… yes, I would like that very much, just for tonight.”
“I’m happy to take a load off for you.”
“Can I ask—did you talk to someone in town?” asked Mizuki.
“About my takin’ a turn to cook?” asked Hannah.
“Yeah,” said Mizuki.
“Well,” said Hannah. “Ay. It seems a lot of people in town know your business.”
“I’ve definitely been getting that feeling today,” said Mizuki. “More than usual, anyway.” It seemed as though there had been a bit of a friendly conspiracy going on. She didn’t mind that people had been talking about her life, but she did wish that they’d had fewer criticisms or possibly that she’d given them less to criticize. “Did you come from a small town, originally?”
“Oh, ay, smaller than Pucklechurch even,” said Hannah. “A scant hundred people, and I was related to most of them. And then I was in the seminary, and there were so many people from all over the world, with a big city beyond the seminary’s walls. But having seen both ends, I have to say that I like a smaller place like Pucklechurch. Large enough that you don’t know absolutely everyone, small enough that you mostly see the same faces. And small enough that people will make some well-meanin’ interventions.”
“Well,” said Mizuki. “I like it. But I wouldn’t mind seeing what a proper city is like, if Liberfell doesn’t qualify.”
“If we can stick together, we’ll probably have our chance,” said Hannah. “Now, let me know what you have for ingredients, and I can try to make a Mizuki meal.”
It turned out okay. If Mizuki had been invited over to a friend’s house and been served the chicken and vegetables that Hannah made, well, Mizuki wouldn’t have complained. The seasoning wasn’t quite what Mizuki would have done, and the chicken was a bit overcooked while the vegetables were a bit undercooked.
Still, it tasted all the better because Mizuki hadn’t been the one to make it, and she felt grateful that people both inside the house and outside of it were watching out for her.
Chapter 42 — Singing Slow
When Cynthia broke the news, Verity was surprised how much it stung. The Fig and Gristle had found itself a new bard, one who was taking up Verity’s old room. It was made all the more awkward by Verity being informed of this when she’d shown up with her lute in hand, ready to sing for the night. There was a part of her that had wondered, earlier, whether she would feel good about losing her job, but no, it was mostly just a sort of emptiness. She’d known that she wasn’t going to be at the Fig and Gristle forever, that was part of the reason she’d agreed to go dungeoneering in the first place, but to have that chapter of her life finally closed felt awkward and unwelcome.
Having nothing else to do with her night, Verity brought her lute in anyhow and ordered a plate of food, waiting for the new bard to start up. She did have some loyalty to the place, where she’d lived for what felt like quite a long time. The patrons had gotten used to her, and she to them. There were some she saw almost every night and groups that congregated on certain days of the week. She wondered whether they would even notice the difference or whether it would reflect poorly on her to have a replacement, but it was entirely possible that the new bard was actually good.
When the new bard took the small stage, the first thing Verity noticed was how shockingly young she was. Verity would have been surprised if the girl was older than fifteen. She played a lute, too, which made the evaluation all that much easier, and from the outset, as the lute was being tuned in preparation for playing, Verity could tell that the girl was, at the least, not conservatory-trained. Once the song actually started, Verity winced. It was acceptable quality, for a place like this, but Verity had instructors who would have beaten her if she’d played that poorly. The girl’s form was poor and strained, her tuning was slightly off, and she was doing a poor job of keeping the rhythm.