But he did also want his parents to be proud that he was following in their footsteps, despite the rocky start and the wasted months, so he checked the message over again before sending it off. They would get it in the morning, which meant that he wouldn’t get a response back until the morning after that, which was always an uncomfortable feeling.
And Lola would find out, if she cared to. She had too many friends among his family. There was nothing for it though; that part of his life was firmly over, and he tried to put her out of his mind.
With the message sent, there was nothing left to do but sleep. He stared at the ceiling, waiting for his mind to stop racing.
They were only just at the beginning. There was so much more to come.
Chapter 8 — Late Meals in a Quiet Kitchen
“Cynthia, please, it’s not even that late,” said Verity.
She was giving the puppy-dog eyes. Mizuki could respect that.
“Rules are rules, as much as I like you,” the tavern owner replied. “And it’s not just a matter of the rules, the kitchen gets shut down at ninth bell, and the boy has already started in on dishes and cleaning up.”
“Who’s the boy?” asked Mizuki, who had tagged along without asking if that was okay. If she had asked, Verity might have said no, and Mizuki wasn’t quite ready to be done. Doing the dungeon had filled her with a nervous energy that hadn’t yet dissipated, and sitting with that energy, alone in her house, with only her cat Tabbins for company, seemed a bit too lonely.
“Edmund Clarke,” said Verity, not so much as turning to look at Mizuki. “Cynthia, please, I went into a dungeon. I’ve had a long day.”
“There’s bread, meat, and cheese, all cold,” replied Cynthia. “I know you like your meals piping hot, but the kitchen is closed for the night. I can offer you drinks, but that’s about it.”
“I know Edmund a bit,” said Mizuki. “He was the year below me in school.”
Verity turned to her. “And you think you can convince him to open the kitchen back up?”
“We didn’t leave on terribly good terms,” said Mizuki. “I was just making conversation. But if you want some food, you can swing by Marta’s with me, and I can cook you up some venison. It’s no trouble really, since I was going to make something for myself.”
The assurance that it was no trouble didn’t seem to be needed, because as soon as food was mentioned, Verity’s eyes had lit up like a lighthouse in a dark fog.
“You know how to cook?” she asked, in an almost predatory way.
“It’s a hobby of mine,” Mizuki replied. “Come on, better to get started early.”
They walked through town together to Marta’s, where Mizuki kept the conversation short, taking her linen-wrapped venison loins. As they walked to her house, Mizuki was trying to think about what she was going to make, going through her mental catalog of recipes and the inventory of vegetables, herbs, and sauces available in the house. A soup would be best, to test her new magical spoon, but she had no stock or broth, and as this was her first time feeding Verity, she needed to make a good impression.
“Here’s me,” said Mizuki as they came down the path to the house. “Shoes off, please.”
She slipped out of her boots in the entryway, enjoying the feeling of her toes finally being free, then cast off her gloves as well, leaving her much more comfortable. From there, she went into the kitchen, flipped up the lighting discs, and went through to double-check that she really did have everything she thought she did. Venison went well with something a bit sweet, a role that Mizuki thought would be played by carrots, and it was hearty, which would be complemented with mashed potatoes that would soak up some of the gravy.
“All right,” Mizuki said, looking over at her guest. “How hungry are you?”
“Famished,” Verity replied. “Music takes it out of me, especially with so many layers. I should have eaten before we left. I didn’t think we’d be out so long.” It had been the pipes that had dragged out the proceedings.
“I’ll try to make it fast,” said Mizuki as she flipped open the stove. She held a hand over the heating element and waited until it came up to the right temperature, then moved a pan into place. It was possible to do everything with a single pan, but reluctantly, thinking about the extra dish she’d have to wash, she filled a pot with water from the tank and put that on the stove as well. “Do you like mushrooms?”
“I don’t know,” said Verity. “There are lots of kinds, aren’t there?”
“Oh, of course,” replied Mizuki as she melted some butter into the first pan, then moved over to start chopping up the carrots. “But if you don’t like mushrooms, then you just say that and I leave them out, and if you’re picky about your mushrooms, we can start a negotiation.” She held up some mushrooms for Verity to see. They were white, with long, thin stems and a cap that wasn’t much thicker around than the stalk. “Lily mushrooms?”
“At this point, I’m hungry enough that I’ll eat anything you serve me with a smile on my face,” said Verity, whose eyes were roaming over the ingredients.
Mizuki nodded and tossed the mushrooms and carrots in, got some diced onions from the chiller and added them, then added herbs mostly by instinct, including garlic, rosemary, and sage. When that was done, she turned her attention to the meat, but not before she gave the pot another skeptical look. The timing, she decided, was going to be off. The carrots, mushrooms, and venison would be done before the potatoes were boiled through, even if she cut them thin. She decided to do her best.
“So,” said Mizuki while she cut into the loin. “You’re not from around here? You mentioned a conservatory, I think.”
“Like Alfric, I’m from Dondrian,” said Verity. “At first I thought it was odd to meet another Donder so far out from the city, but there are enormous numbers of people there, so I suppose it’s not that unusual.”
“Mmm,” said Mizuki. She wiped her blade and began cutting the potatoes, throwing them in as soon as she had them in thin slices. “And why are you in Pucklechurch? It’s a very out-of-the-way place.”
“It’s a long story,” said Verity. “And I’m hoping that we don’t have too much time until we’re eating?” She was watching the proceedings with interest, though it was the interest of a hungry animal rather than a curious onlooker.
“We’ve got a bit,” said Mizuki. The meal was almost at her favorite part, which was when things were cooking along on their own and being tended to, without all that much interaction on her part.
“Well,” said Verity, seeming dejected that food was going to take a little longer to touch her lips, “like I said, I was conservatory-trained. I was four years old when I first started playing an instrument, and I was something of a prodigy at it, to the delight of my parents. Money wasn’t really a concern to them, so they spent enormous sums on getting me the best tutors, both for my ability to play and my magical talent. When I entered the conservatory, I started questioning why I was doing any of it. The training regimes were brutal, the demands to practice were merciless, the competition was fierce, and… I just dropped out, if I’m being honest. I was doing well, as far as the performances went, but everything else, my relationship to the music, my disposition, was going horribly. There was too much weight on my shoulders.” She paused for a moment. “From many quarters.” She paused again. “So I left.”
“To come here,” said Mizuki. She’d taken most of what was in the pan out and placed the rounds of venison there to sear. It was better to cook venison as little as possible to keep it from getting tough. Really, it would have been better to soak them in buttermilk overnight to get rid of some of the gamy flavor, and she resolved to do that with the remainder of the meat. “So Pucklechurch was picked out of a hat?”