“We can probably answer some questions too,” said Alfric, who had come in from the living room. The couch and chairs there had been covered the day before, but now the covers had been removed, revealing soft cushions of rich leather. Hannah and Verity stayed there, in low conversation with one another.
“I was reading a book last night,” said Isra. “A book from Tarbin. It was about a boy who discovered he had magical powers.”
“Oh?” asked Alfric. “And… you think it’s like that?”
“It’s a book my father read to me,” said Isra. “I don’t think it’s like that though. I think it’s like discovering that everyone else doesn’t have magical powers.”
“Well, technically, everyone but Alfric has magical powers,” said Mizuki.
“We understand what you mean though,” said Alfric. “And we’ll help you in any way that we can. Having a druid in the dungeon might be a powerful thing, it’s just not something that I had planned for. If I had, I’d have read more books on druids in Dondrian. From what I know, the animals and plants in the dungeons are unlikely to respond well to you, but you’ll still have diagnostic powers that will be virtually invaluable.”
“Diagnostic?” asked Isra. “The word is unfamiliar.”
“It means figuring things out,” said Mizuki. She was making a type of lunch that Isra had had once before, with thinly sliced cold meats between two slices of bread, called a sandwich. The way that Mizuki was doing it seemed alien though, because she was using far more ingredients than seemed reasonable, two types of meat, a layer of greens, slices of tomato, cheese, two sauces… it seemed extravagant, for a lunchtime meal.
“You want me to tell you about the animals after we’ve killed them?” asked Isra.
“That’s one of the applications, I think,” said Alfric. “Dungeon eggs or newborns can also be fairly profitable, though you have to keep them sealed, and… I’m not so sure about where we would sell them. There are markets, in Dondrian. I suppose I don’t know how they get the dungeon animals in the first place.”
“Are they really dungeon animals if you take them out of the dungeon?” asked Mizuki.
Alfric nodded. “They are. They’re considered a bastle until the first viable breeding generation. After that, the terms for them are different, but it’s not very important for us, since we won’t be the ones breeding them.”
“We won’t?” asked Isra.
“Well,” said Alfric. “We could raise bastles, or clandes if we find plants, but we’ll be away from any potential farm for most of our time, so we would need someone involved in plant and animal husbandry, and we would need to be able to pay them.”
“Why are those sandwiches so big?” asked Verity, looking at what Mizuki was preparing. The sandwiches had grown in complexity and height as Isra watched and were now in the final stages of assembly.
“Are they too big?” asked Mizuki, lowering herself until the sandwiches were at eye level. “I don’t think they’re too big.”
“How are we meant to fit them in our mouths?” asked Verity.
“We’ll cut them in half,” said Mizuki, making a chopping motion with her hand, then taking down one of the knives from the wall.
“Is that actually going to help anything?” asked Verity.
“Personally, I like a sandwich that you need a strategy to eat,” said Alfric.
“Can you add some egg to mine, or is it too late?” asked Hannah.
“I’m not making you a fried egg,” said Mizuki as she cut the sandwiches.
“Och,” said Hannah. “Not fried, a hard-boiled one, sliced thin.”
Mizuki stopped cutting and blinked at her. “Are you serious?”
“It’s traditional,” said Hannah. “Don’t look at me as though I have a second head, ay.”
“Traditional to Cairbre?” asked Alfric.
“Where else?” asked Hannah.
“I don’t know,” said Alfric. “The seminary?”
“They don’t eat eggs there,” said Hannah, rolling her eyes. “Too oblong.”
“What?” asked Verity. “You’re making that up.”
“’Strue,” nodded Hannah. “In the seminary, there are many pains taken to eat only that which brings us closer to Garos. It’s silly, of course, but the thought is that it might help with a better awareness of what it means to be a cleric, for it is said in the Book of Garam Ashar, ‘The studious man spends his life in devotion to his subject of study, lest he split from his path’. The only real way to be an expert is to devote yourself, mind, body, and soul, to live, breathe, eat, and dream the object of your obsession.”
Isra was watching Hannah as she spoke. It wasn’t the first time she’d quoted the Book of Garam Ashar. When she did, her voice changed somewhat, her accent becoming less thick, as though she was mimicking a teacher. Isra’s bookshelf was quite short, but she had all six of the holy books. She had read them all at least once. She’d hated the Qymr Mos, but the Book of Garam Ashar was inoffensive, if a bit strange.
“Wait,” said Mizuki. “Was it just hard-boiled eggs, or were fried eggs fine?”
“Just hard-boiled, ay,” said Hannah. “Take a form with asymmetry and give some symmetry to it, and that would be no problem.”
“Are we ready to eat?” asked Alfric. He’d been eyeing the sandwiches.
“I don’t keep hard-boiled eggs in the house, so we’re good to go,” said Mizuki. “Keep in mind the dining room hasn’t been used in a few years, and I didn’t have time to dust.”
“I dusted,” said Hannah.
“Oh,” said Mizuki as she scooped up the plates. “Well, thank you.”
The dining room was just off the kitchen and was dominated by a large wooden table. It was, curiously, square and set in the middle of a square room. It held seating for eight, and Hannah shared a side with Mizuki.
“Whoever built this place liked symmetry,” said Hannah. “It’s refreshin’. Reminds me of the seminary.”
“The worship of the gods is a little different in Kiromo,” said Mizuki. “They have a philosophy of ‘living by the gods’, and one of Garos’ domains there is buildings. So buildings, according to Kiromon philosophy, have to be really in line with Garos, if they’re going to be places of importance. When my grandfather came to Pucklechurch, he was a powerful, important guy, and he wanted a place that would serve as a kind of… well, temple, which is why the house is the way it is. The timbers of the house are actually all from a single tree, and the stones are all from a single block.”
Hannah had been eating her sandwich but stopped as Mizuki talked. “They are?”
Mizuki nodded. “All imported from Kiromo by my grandfather when he came. The tree was, ah, a giant cherrywood, I think, a huge tree almost as thick as this entire house. They don’t cut them down often, but he had a thick part of it or something.”
“Well, then I can’t work on the house now, can I?” asked Hannah.
“You can’t?” asked Mizuki.
“It’s a religious rite,” said Hannah. “A split tree or stone like that is probably testament to Kesbin.”
“God of Nothing?” asked Alfric. His sandwich was halfway gone, and Isra had hardly touched hers. “Why?”
“Division and subtraction are aspects of Kesbin’s will,” said Verity. “A divided tree or divided stone is a powerful invocation.”
“I should have thought of it,” said Hannah. “I saw the testimony to Garos in the design of this place but failed to see the others.” She clucked her tongue. “This will need some thinkin’ on.”
“Can’t you just do it anyway?” asked Mizuki. “You’re not a cleric of Kesbin, right?”