Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Once again, night had fallen since the last time Professor Cyrus Albright looked up from his book. He sighed, feeling the pinch of sore muscles in his neck and rolled his head around, trying to relieve the burgeoning headache. How long had he been reading for this time? Either way, perhaps it was time to take a little break.

Finding his bookmark, he closed the admittedly hefty tome and stood, switching off the desk lamp and marvelling at how dark it was. The only light in the room came from the moonlight, shining in through the window. Now that he was paying more attention, he could tell two things. One, he was rather hungry, and two, it wasn’t as quiet as it usually was when it was at this late hour.

Was something going on in the centre of Atlasdam? Perhaps a festival? he thought, pulling his coat from the back of the chair and draping it over his shoulders. It might be early summer, but the nights had still been a bit cool lately. Best not to chance it.

Whatever else Odette might say about his common sense, he knew how to take care of himself.

Well, he was getting better at it, at least.

Outside, a loud cheer rang out, and he could hear some lively music from afar, something modern, heavy with discordant beats and guitar. Whatever could that be? Cyrus wondered, gathering up his belongings and leaving his office. He locked the door behind him, and finally left the Royal Academy of Atlasdam.

His stomach rumbled, and he laughed sheepishly as he walked out onto the road that would lead him to the main street. Perhaps one of the restaurants was still open, so he could grab something to eat before he sought sleep. He realised he hadn’t actually checked the clock before he left, nor had he brought his watch, so he had no idea what time it was.

I hope there are still some places open, he thought wryly. However, as he turned the corner and out into the main square, he suddenly remembered why Atlasdam was so lively.

Aha! The Atlasdam Night Market! I should have remembered it was this week. Why, Princess Mary was just talking about it this very afternoon. If that’s so, then this is the perfect chance to get something to eat.

The Atlasdam Night Market had been started a few years ago by the King, as a gift for Princess Mary’s birthday. She had wanted to travel, to see more of the world and its cultures, but she was too young, and so the Night Market had been arranged instead. Food vendors, chefs, cooks, merchants, and all kinds of entertainers were invited to come from every region of Orsterra to share their best wares, their favourite foods, and their music and dances.

Princess Mary had loved it. So much so, in fact, that the Night Market became a yearly occurrence, and the whole of the centre of Atlasdam was off limits to cars and other traffic whilst it was going on. For one week every year, in the middle of summer, Atlasdam became an epicure’s paradise.

Cyrus drew in a deep breath, inhaling the wonderfully savoury smell of countless mingled cuisines. There were too many people milling about to see exactly what each stall was selling, but the smells spoke of rich Sufra Masala spiced mutton from the Sunlands, of Valorian honey-mustard chicken skewers, or of the shining soy glazed foods from the Eastern lands he’d always been meaning to visit.

He gave it some thought as he absent-mindedly dodged the market’s visitors, wondering what he fancied. Whilst he’d certainly like to educate his palate in something new and unusual, there was no denying how tired he felt. Perhaps something simple would be best? Now that he knew the Night Market was in town, he could always make time tomorrow to do some taste testing.

Simple, then. Perhaps some pasta? Or a good burger? I’d better make up my mind soon, else all the food will be gone!

With his mind made up, he looked around for any stall that was selling burgers, and he found one with a sign written in both common and Hornburgian script. Curious, he thought, and instantly joined the back of the queue. He’d had Hornburgian cuisine before, but nothing casual like this.

I wonder what it’s like, he mused.

The stall was set up around an old delivery van, with the side doors open to allow a glimpse of iceboxes and other containers within. Bottles of beer or soft drinks stood in a large bucket of ice water on the floor, and there were festive lights hanging around the van’s roof, twinkling softly. It looked so charming that it didn’t matter that it wasn’t as professional as some of the other stands.

When he could see the front at all, he could see burgers sizzling on a hotplate in front, tended to by two men who both wore Hornburgian crests on their shirts, but the customers crowded in front of him again before he could see their faces properly. One was blonde, Cyrus could tell that much, and the other had dark hair, slightly streaked with silver.

Slowly, the line moved up as each was served, and soon there were only two people ahead of him. They appeared to be together, two young men who looked like they might be students; one with scruffy sandy hair, and one with curiously white hair. They looked at the menu for a while and then Cyrus all but spluttered at their order.

“We’ll take two of your Hornburgers, please. No onions on mine,” the white haired youth said.

“Wow, Theri, ya can’t just say that!” the other said urgently, tugging on his friend’s sleeve. “Ya know what happened to Hornburg, right? It’s rude!”

Cyrus nodded in agreement. It was rude, even if it was a rather clever play on words. The fall of Hornburg had only happened ten years ago, and countless people had died in the coup. Given his love of history, Cyrus had been so caught up in the television reports at the time that he could almost recite the events of the entire war from memory.

“Oh, please, don’t worry about that,” a deep voice said, breaking Cyrus out of his thoughts. “Perhaps we’ll have to add that to the signs. It might bring more people here. What do you say, Erhardt?”

A lighter voice spoke up, this one sounding more cheerful to Cyrus’ ears. “I think that sounds like an excellent idea, Olberic. Now, what else would you like with your Hornburgers?”

Erhardt and Olberic? Those are familiar names. Wait! Are they..? Cyrus frowned, but was once again jostled out of his thoughts as the two young men in front of him started chattering about lettuce and bacon and other toppings. Eventually they both left with burgers in hand and smiles on their faces. Well, the taller one was smiling, at least.

And finally, it was Cyrus’ turn.

He walked up to the front of the stall and looked at the menu appraisingly. “Hmm… I’ll have the basic burger, no cheese or bacon as it’s a bit late and I don’t want to challenge my digestive system. Just some lettuce, tomato, and onion please.”

“Would you like anything to drink?” Olberic, the taller of the two men, asked. Oddly, Cyrus found he didn’t need to strain to hear it over the celebrations and music around them, and the man hadn’t particularly spoken loudly. The taller man certainly looked like a former soldier. Not even the tight fitting black t-shirt and jeans covered by a long blue apron could hide that warrior’s physique.

“I’ll have some apple juice, if you have any,” he replied, and then smiled ruefully and added. “I don’t think my students would appreciate me turning up to classes tomorrow with a hangover.”

“You’re in luck, then!” the other man, Erhardt, said before reaching down and plucking a bottle from the bucket of ice water on the ground next to the stand. He wore a similar outfit to Olberic, but his apron was red and his wavy blonde hair was tied back from his face. “We picked these up on our way up here. Freshly pressed, and bottled right there at the orchard, or so the merchant said.”

“That’s perfect!” Cyrus replied. “How much do I owe you?”

Erhardt rattled off the total and Cyrus paid it easily, grateful that he’d remembered his wallet this time. As he handed over the leaves, he wondered again how two apparently prominent soldiers from Hornburg came to be serving up artisanal burgers in the Atlasdam Night Market. The more he thought about it, the more he realised he knew who these two men actually were.

Olberic and Erhardt. The Twin Blades of Hornburg.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking,” he began, “but how did you two come to this profession? I believe I recognise you from your exploits a few years ago.”

Cyrus’ words hung in the air, and he wondered if he’d been too bold with his questions again. A quick glance behind him showed that there was no-one else in the line, and he sighed inwardly in relief. Odette was always telling him he’d get into trouble again for his obliviousness…

Eventually, Erhardt laughed, breaking the tension. “I should have known someone would recognise us,” he said, jabbing Olberic in the ribs, making him grunt. “Oh, don’t worry,” he added, seeing Cyrus’ slightly worried expression. “You’re the first, actually. You’d be surprised how anonymous you can be, working as freelance caterers like this. No-one really pays attention to the people making the food.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Cyrus mused. “Well! You don’t have to worry about me! I was just satisfying a curiosity, that’s all. It must be quite the tale, changing from gloried soldiers to travelling chefs, but I can understand the journey.”

“It was a tough time,” Olberic began, his voice soft, almost reticent. “When the coup happened, Erhardt was implicated in the events that led to the fall. We managed to clear his name, but the coup happened anyway and… well. The rest is history.”

“It’s better like this,” Erhardt said, putting the bottle of apple juice down on the counter. “People always need to eat, and we’re good at what we do. Well then, shall we make a start on your burger? I don’t know if you want to take in some of the sights, but the market will probably be closing soon.”

“Ah, no, I just came for something to eat, but thank you! I’m very curious indeed to see what the legendary Hornburger is like.” He hoped he hadn’t overstepped the mark by using that term, but Erhardt just laughed again, and even Olberic gave him a lopsided smile.

“One Hornburger, coming up,” he rumbled, the grin not leaving his face.

Cyrus watched as Olberic took a ready-prepared ball of minced meat and started moulding it between his palms. He was shaping it far more delicately than Cyrus thought someone of Olberic’s size could manage, and he was impressed! Shaping turned to flattening, and he watched as the patty was gently pressed down onto the hotplate with a hearty sizzle.

He cast a glance down at his own hands, complete with ink stains and the small dimple along his finger where his pen frequently rested. Perhaps I should have learned to cook, he mused, lifting his gaze back up and watching as Olberic pressed the burger again with a spatula, then expertly flipped it over to start browning the other side.

It was almost like theatre. Erhardt, Olberic’s partner? Assistant? Olberic’s friend (Cyrus finally settled on the word) was splitting a bread roll and then placed it cut side down on the hot plate, before holding up two bottles: tomato sauce or mustard, from the looks of them.

“Well, professor, which would you like?” the blonde man said easily.

“Ketchup, please,” Cyrus replied with a smile. “Perhaps I’ll try the mustard another night.”

“Oh, you’ll be coming back? Good to know,” Erhardt replied, setting the mustard aside and picking up the now warmed buns. Freshly cut lettuce was piled onto one half, along with a fresh slice of tomato and some onion, and Cyrus watched in awe as Olberic dropped a perfectly cooked patty on top of it. More lettuce and tomato followed, along with a good squirt of ketchup, and Erhardt placed the other half of the bun on top with a flourish.

“My word, you’ve certainly got this down to a fine art!” Cyrus exclaimed, and then winced as Erhardt somewhat professionally stabbed a skewer through the top of the burger, to make sure it didn’t fall over.

“Ha! Don’t mind me, old habits die hard,” the blonde man said, popping the burger into a cardboard takeaway box and setting it down in front of Cyrus.

“Oh, not to worry, please! I’m very impressed, though. I never thought a burger could be an art form,” he replied, marvelling at the masterpiece before him. He did wonder how he could eat it without dropping most of it down his jacket, but well… he wouldn’t be the first to come back from the Night Market with food stains on his clothing. His students were always doing it.

“An art form, he says,” Erhardt replied with a grin, nudging Olberic’s arm again. “We really should put the Hornburger on the menu.”

Cyrus bit into the burger, and he couldn’t help the small murmur of contentment at the sheer quality of the meat. “Oh, please forgive me. I’m not used to such flavour! This tastes like beef from the Eastern lands, from cows that are pampered and massaged to get the perfect balance of meat and fat. However did you get this for your burgers? I hear the Eastern merchants are loath to part with it.”

“You have a discerning palate, my friend,” Olberic said, wiping his hands on a cloth and then turning off the hotplate. “It’s true, those merchants won’t easily sell meat of this quality to just anyone. Over the years, we travelled around a lot, and made some friends over there. They were more than happy to sell us some.”

“How fortuitous! It certainly makes for a splendid treat! I was not expecting food like this at the Night Market. I really should have come earlier.” He took another bite of the burger, unaware of the fond looks that Olberic and Erhardt were casting at him.

“Well,” Erhardt began, folding his arms across his chest. “We don’t start til late tomorrow night, so how would you like us to show you around the market? I don’t know what hours you keep at the Royal Academy, but the market opens at 8pm. There aren’t too many people around right at the start, so it’d be perfect for a little… culinary research.”

Olberic laid the cloth he’d been wiping down with over his shoulder. “Usually, Erhardt can get a little carried away, but this time he’s right. It would be our pleasure.”

Cyrus set his burger back in the takeaway box and beamed at them. “Why, then, I would be most happy to take you up on your offer, thank you!”

Chapter Text

Game night was always frustrating, even when he was on the road. Auguste's publisher had them travelling between all the towns and cities of Orsterra, promoting his latest book, and a quiet night at the inn had been his original plans for the evening. All it took was one phone call from Herminia to change all that.

The wealthy heiress was in Atlasdam to visit the Night Market, ostensibly for socialising but she also had a couple of employees running a wine stall for her. Apparently she had met up with Tytos, who had been dragged to the Market by his staff, and "did Auguste want to join them for Games Night, even in Atlasdam? It'll be fun!"

Whilst he’d just wanted to call a certain someone and chat the night away, he didn’t have any good reason not to go. Since both Herminia and Tytos were influential people, he had shrugged and said, “Why not?”

His publisher had given him plenty of time before they moved on to the next town, after all.

And now, two hours later and thoroughly exhausted, Auguste had wandered out into Atlasdam’s main street, seeking comfort food.

“That woman is a menace!” he exclaimed to himself, glad that the music and chatter around him would cover his little outburst. “Honestly! I’ve never met a more competitive person. Ever since she found that Fortune’s Gameboard, she’s been insufferable. She was a lot better when she just used to want to play Monopoly all the time. Even Tytos looked like he wanted to play something else. I would've enjoyed playing Risk with him, just to give us both a break.”

Auguste checked his watch, curious at how long Herminia had actually kept them playing for. Nearly ten. At least he had another hour before the Market started to wind down, and the inn didn’t mind how long he took. Perhaps a little tour would be in order? In another life, he had no interest in food, but right now, he was famished.

A firework sizzled up into the night sky, briefly putting the stars to shame with its flare and then vanishing to nothing. He smiled, looking up. Gilderoy would like this kind of thing, he thought fondly, wondering what the jeweller was doing now. Probably in Cragspear, on his business trip. Their schedules kept them apart so often, Auguste was beginning to feel like the lead in a romantic play.

Such is life, when both parties are world-renowned, he reflected, putting his hands into his jacket pockets and striding out into the crowd. He missed Gilderoy. They hadn’t met for nearly a fortnight now, and whilst phone calls helped, they weren’t enough.

Perhaps Gilderoy would still be awake by the time he got back to the inn. There may still be time for a quick good night phone call.

His long legs took him past stalls of so many different cuisines, he couldn’t believe it. The Night Market had certainly grown since he was last in Atlasdam. He passed a stand with a glass cover, full of hot crimson crab pies, or so the sign said. Then there was the stall in front of a van with fairy lights around its roof, complete with a hotplate full of burgers, a long queue, and Hornburgian script on the menu.

That was new. He remembered the curries and the more exotic dishes like herb-grilled Killer Chameleon or Alpaca stew, but not these. It’s good to see, he smiled, looking at the happy faces still waiting in line. Cooking can be theatre, if it’s done correctly. Now… What do I fancy?

A familiar scent caught his nose, and he smiled. Garlic. Marvellous! If he was going to be alone, then he was going to eat something amazingly garlicky. He didn’t have to meet up with his publisher until late the next day, anyway.

Mind made up, he started looking around in earnest. Shaggy Spider meat, sauteed with wild garlic? No, thank you! Garlic Embershrooms, stuffed with sheep’s milk cheese and breadcrumbs, and baked until they oozed? Perhaps another time.

“All right, here ya go!” A familiar voice said, and Auguste stopped in his tracks, stunned. “One plate of classic Saucy Shrimp, and another plate of the Spicy Shrimp! You’re not afraid of a bit of garlic, are ya? That’s the spirit!”

Well! What a marvellous surprise! What was he doing here in Atlasdam? Garlic shrimp sounded very appealing, as did the person selling it, so he followed his nose and ended up at a stall that looked like it wouldn’t be out of place at a country fair.

Two rough looking wooden tables sat in front, draped with blue gingham tablecloths and set with bowls full of salad, flatbreads, bread rolls, or mixed rice. A tray of wooden cutlery sat on either end, as well as paper napkins and several bottles of sauce. If not for the small fridge full of soft drinks plugged into a generator nearby, Auguste might have thought he’d gone back in time.

And then his attention was drawn to the man behind the stall. There, dropping chopped garlic into a sizzling pan and tossing it expertly, was Gilderoy. His Gilderoy, somehow here, in Atlasdam. Auguste watched as the man set the pan back onto one of three big braziers and stood back, wiping the sweat off his brow with a cloth.

He looked good.

The line was dwindling, but Auguste continued to watch as Gilderoy dropped shrimp, onions, wine, and cream into the pan, stirring it flamboyantly and serving it into bowls with a practised air. A sprinkle of chopped parsley was added to the top, and it was handed over to the customer with Gilderoy’s typical merchant’s smile.

What is he doing here? Auguste wondered, completely enraptured as Gilderoy took another order, this one with shrimps, chilli, garlic, and more onion. Then another, only this one was something new to Auguste, probably from the Eastern Continent. His nose definitely detected soy sauce and ginger.

“Auguste, hey! Didn’t expect to see ya here, but welcome!”

Gilderoy’s voice startled him, but he recovered quickly and stepped up to the stall. He straightened his purple shirt and gave Gilderoy a winning smile. “Ah, my dear Gil, I did not expect to see you here either, but it’s most welcome, I assure you! However, I’m curious as to why someone like you is running a stall like this in the Night Market. I was always under the impression you preferred to eat food rather than prepare it.”

Gilderoy laughed heartily. “Yep, ya got that right! I’m doing a favour for a friend o’ mine, that’s all. He got sick and couldn’t leave Clearbrook, but he didn’t want to disappoint anyone, so… Here I am!”

“You have such a big heart, my muse,” Auguste said softly, wishing he could go behind the stall and give Gilderoy a hug.

“Aww, anyone’d do the same,” Gilderoy said, scratching his head with the back end of his wooden spatula. “Oops, sorry. That’s bad kitchen hygiene,” he said ruefully, trying not to laugh.

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Auguste grinned back. “But what about your work? I thought you were snowed under, designing jewellery for the new Queen of Edoras’ coronation?”

“I sent the prototype pieces off to the castle already, so there’s not much left to do but wait for confirmation,” Gilderoy shrugged. The little apron around his waist suited him, Auguste thought. “If they like ‘em, Lebrandt will give me a call and I’ll get to work on the real thing. I’ve still got months to go, so a little diversion like this is fine!”

“And my publisher gave me a couple of days off, too,” Auguste said, thanking his lucky stars for the coincidence. He would, however, draw the line at thanking Herminia for the suggestion of having their game night in Atlasdam. Without that, he wouldn’t have visited the Night Market at all. He would sooner die than owe that woman a favour. “How long are you in town for?”

“Tonight and tomorrow night, and then my friend should be back to take over,” came the reply. “I guess it depends on when I hear from Lebrandt. I think I’ll stay in town until I find out.”

“Then, if you’re not too busy, perhaps you’d like to come back to the inn with me, when you’ve finished here?” Auguste said, gesturing to the stall and the market around him. “I don’t know if you have a place to stay or not, but I’m more than willing to share my room. It’s so busy here, after all.”

“Yep, I didn’t have anywhere, so I was planning on bunkin’ down in my car.” Gilderoy laughed.

“Well, we certainly can’t have that! You shall stay with me, and we’ll have a lovely night, even if you do smell of garlic,” Auguste slapped his forehead melodramatically, affecting a woeful expression. “My dear man, you’ve gone and distracted me! I came for some food, after all. I really fancied something garlicky, and now you can give me just what I want!”

“Oh?” Gilderoy raised an eyebrow curiously.

Auguste gestured to the sign. “Why, Saucy Shrimp, of course,” he said innocently. “Please, my dear garlicky muse, give me something saucy.”

“Even as a writer, you’re goin’ to run out of double entendres one of these days,” Gilderoy snorted. Auguste watched as he took a box of already cleaned and shelled shrimp and put them on the table.

“Well, if I run out, then you can always give me one,” Auguste quipped back.

Gilderoy shook his head, but his shoulders were shaking with mirth. “One thing at a time, Auguste!" he chuckled. "You wanted somethin’ to eat, right? What sort of Saucy Shrimp would you like? These shrimp are one of Clearbrook’s Claims to Fame! We’ve got three types: white wine, cream, and garlic," he said, pointing to the first of the braziers, "then sweet chilli and onion, and a new one: soy sauce, ginger, honey, and some of that rice wine you see in fancy shops. I can add more garlic to any of 'em, if ya like.”

They all sounded good. From what he’d seen before, it didn’t seem like a big portion, so they could always trouble the inn for a bigger breakfast, if need be. Now that he knew Gilderoy was more than a decent cook, perhaps he’d ask him to make the other two at a later time.

“I haven’t tried the last one you mentioned, so give me a portion of those, please. With a little extra garlic, of course,” Auguste said, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. “How much do I owe you? Oh, and what time do you finish? I can give you a hand, if you like?”

“This one’s on the house,” Gilderoy replied easily. He reached into several plastic boxes and pulled out handfuls of chopped garlic, ginger and spring onion, which he added to one of the pans, making them sizzle. “But you? You want to try your hand at cooking like this? Are ya sure you’d be all right with that?”

“I know it’s not usually my style,” Auguste said, watching Gilderoy’s skilled fingers pick up the shrimp and drop them into the mix, making them change colour immediately. Whilst waiting in line earlier he had thought about it a little, and had come to a sudden understanding. “After having no interest in food for so long, I now find myself fascinated by it. People go to so many lengths to avoid hunger. I want to understand the mentality of someone who prepares that food for them.”

Gilderoy opened a bottle of soy sauce and splashed it into the fragrant smelling stir fry, followed by a spoonful of honey and a drop of what looked to Auguste like a very good brand of rice wine. “So, you’re doin’ it for research, then? Got another story in mind?”

“You can never stop a writer from thinking up stories, and I also just want to spend more time with you.” Auguste replied, meaning every word. He picked up some wooden cutlery and twirling it in his fingers. “Besides, the sooner you finish, the sooner you can come back to the inn with me. Multiple birds, with one stone.”

Gilderoy expertly tossed the stir fry a couple of times, and then poured it deftly into a bowl. “There ya go! Clearbrook’s Saucy Shrimp, Eastern Style! Hope ya enjoy it!” he said, and then passed it to Auguste.

Auguste skewered a shrimp with his fork, and tasted it. Too hot! he thought, regretting that he hadn’t thought to cool it down first, but after that the flavours mellowed on his tongue into something sweet and savoury. If only he'd tried it with the mixed rice on the table. Still, if word got around they had food like this, then they could probably put some of the Eastern chefs selling food here to shame.

“This is good. I didn’t know you were so skilled at cooking!” Auguste marvelled, taking another bite.

“I’m just followin’ a recipe, that’s all. My friend deserves all the credit for that.” Ah, Gilderoy. Always so fair. “But he showed me how to cook it, so I guess I can take credit for that! People who like to eat often make good cooks, don’t ya think?”

“I don’t know about that,” Auguste said slowly. “But I do know that it helps if you love what you do. And it shows, my muse. It shows.”

Chapter Text

Tressa had always loved the Night Market. The combination of the heady rush of making a sale and seeing the satisfaction on a customer’s face was such a great feeling, and everyone was so happy, so joyful when the event was going on. The hustle. The bustle. It was a merchant’s dream!

She could see people starting to gather at the entrance to the main street, waiting for the festivities to begin. Every night, the market would open at eight, but without fail the people started gathering early. They came in their business clothes, straight out of work, or dressed up in their festival best. Some were even carrying bags to bring home as much different food as they could.

Tressa’s eyes glinted. This time, she hoped they’d be taking home some of her chilli!

When she was younger, she used to help out on the stall whilst her father cooked, and her mother served the customers. They were a popular fixture every year, with people coming from miles around to see what foods they were serving this time. Her father always said that it wasn’t about the profit: it was about the experience. If they made a decent profit along the way, well. So much the better.

Now she was eighteen, and she was doing a lot more than running childish errands. Not that there were such things as childish errands in business - fetching more supplies was always useful! - but this time, her parents had suggested that she try cooking something as well as selling it, too.

“What are we doing this year, Dad?” Tressa had asked, as the family gathered at their kitchen table to plan for the next Night Market. The Colziones had always had a stall in the market, ever since its inception - “to raise the Colzione brand!” - her father had said, and every year they picked a different ingredient to focus on.

The only rule? It had to be a product they traded in. The Night Market would be a perfect showcase for the quality of their goods!

“Beans, I think,” Olneo had replied, rubbing his chin thoguhtfully.

“Beans,” Tressa echoed flatly.

“River beans, to be precise,” her father went on. He had laughed at her somewhat sceptical expression. “I got a good deal from a fellow in Riven. They’ve had a bumper crop this year and the price was really good!”

“Yeah, but beans at a food festival?” Tressa had frowned. “That’s… kind of plain.”

“By themselves, beans are humble. A good foodstuff to keep in the cupboard, and excellent to pad out other foods to add bulk and nutrition,” her mother had said with a smile. “But when you add herbs, spices, and other ingredients to them, they become completely different. There’s a Grandport dish I’ve been wanting to try for ages, and this would be the perfect opportunity!”

“Marina has the right of it,” Olneo had said, smiling at his wife. Tressa rolled her eyes, but she did so with a grin. “We’ve always taken a chance like this at the Night Market, and this time will be no different. This time, however, why don’t you try your hand? We’ve got plenty of beans, and we’ve got lots of other ingredients in stock. This time, we’ll be serving two dishes!”

“It’ll be my turn? Really?” Tressa’s eyes had lit up, and she’d got to her feet in excitement. “I wonder what I can make. What was the recipe you were thinking of trying?” she asked her mother. “I want to make something as a contrast. To show the full versatility of the Colziones!”

“River bean vichyssoise,” Marina said, getting up to fetch a cookbook from the shelf behind her. “It’s a creamy dish, served chilled, and although it usually uses leeks and potatoes, some in the Grandport area substitute river beans instead.”

“Cool and creamy…? Then something warm and filling, maybe spicy, too!” Tressa had tapped her fingers on the tabletop for a moment, and slapped it sharply. “A chilli con carne - but with river beans instead!”

“That sounds like an excellent idea, Tressa,” her mother had said. “We’ll be counting on you, then.”

“Leave it to me!”

That had been a week ago. Since then, Tressa had been swept up in a storm of cookbooks, ingredients, and supplies, and she had put everything she’d learned into practice. Since the dish her parents were preparing was simpler, they had ceded the kitchen to her the night before the market, and she had eagerly set to work.

The recipe said that the infamous river beans should be soaked and cooked until they were tender, so that was what she did. While they were cooking, Tressa had browned some ground beef in a pan until the fat had just started to come out, and then added onions and other vegetables to soften.

Then she’d added tomatoes and spices, sometimes having to guess at the amounts because of the sheer size of the portion, but was pleased when the final result resembled the images she’d seen on the internet. It bubbled away merrily in the pot, and when she added the beans it had been perfect!

Now, five minutes before the market was supposed to open, Tressa made sure the burner under her giant pot of chilli was set to low, and then gave it a final stir. She went through her mental checklist, tapping the items in question as she passed to make sure she hadn’t missed anything: Rice. Flatbreads. Sour Cream. Extra chilli sauce (you never know). Bowls. Cutlery. Napkins…

“Are you ready, dear?” Tressa’s mother called, standing next to her daughter.

“Yep!” Tressa replied, a beaming smile on her face. “You and Dad did a great job setting up the stall,” she said, gesturing around her. The familiar sign "Colzione Trading Shop: purveyors of fine goods and foods!" had been carefully placed above the stall’s canopy, whilst paraphernalia similar to that you’d find in an old fashioned general store sat on the tables.

“It’s comforting to the customer to see the same layout as always, even if the food is different,” her father said, setting a big tray of ice down next to the bowls. He turned and went to the back of the stall for a moment, and returned carrying the tureen of river bean vichyssoise, which he set gently onto the ice.

“If you need a hand with any customers, just let me know,” her mother said, and Tressa felt herself being drawn into a sideways hug.

“I’ll be fine!” Tressa said breezily.

“Well, then, we’ll be on this side, and we’ll see how well we did at the end of the night!” Olneo chuckled. He looked at his watch. “Any second now…"

A cheer went up, followed by the usual loud blend of music that accompanied this event. Some stall owners played their own music, which mingled in with the tunes coming over the loudspeakers yet still somehow managed to avoid being discordant. Happy chatter from eager visitors started getting louder as the crowd started coming down the street, and Tressa could see all the cooks and traders stepping to the front of their stalls, all ready to go.

Finally, it was her turn!

She waited patiently until two customers had approached the stall. “Don’t give them the hard sell as soon as they get there,” she remembered her father saying. “Say hello and ask polite questions, but no-one likes pushy salesfolk.”

Fortunately, it looked like the two customers did want to buy something. Two young men, possibly a little older than herself and dressed somewhat casually. They may well have been students at the Royal Academy too, and some of those students were famous for always being hungry when the Night Market rolled around.

“Hiya!” the taller of the two said. His sandy hair was pulled into a scruffy tail, and he wore a green shirt which was only a little threadbare. “What’cha sellin’? My friend and me just got out of classes and we’re looking for somethin’ good!”

Her first sale at the Night Market. Putting on her best business smile, Tressa picked up her wooden spoon and tapped the side of the pot of chilli con carne. “River bean chilli!” she said proudly, dipping the spoon in and gently mixing it. “It was made last night, so it’s had the chance to mellow a bit. It’s the first time that the Colziones are selling it at the Night Market, so you’d be the very first lucky customers to try it!”

“Ooh, that does sound good!” the young man replied. “And there’s a lot of medicinal value in chillies, too. That sounds like just what I need after a day like that."

“I don’t know, Alfyn,” the smaller of the two said, his deep voice sounding somewhat subdued. “I’m not in the mood for anything spicy. You got anything else?”

As loath as Tressa was to lose her first sale, the customer always came first. “We’re also doing river bean vichyssoise!” she said, pointing to the tureen on her parent’s side of the stall. “It’s a creamy dish, like a soup, and it’s served chilled. Perfect for those warmer nights when you’re hungry, but you need to cool off.”

“Whaddaya think, Theri? Chilli or this fishy-swahs soup?” the one called Alfyn said brightly, and Tressa had to stifle a laugh at his pronunciation. The smaller man frowned in thought, then scowled when Alfyn ruffled his white hair. “Tell ya what. Why don’t I get a bowl of the chilli first, and you can try some o’ mine. If ya like it, we get more. How does that sound?”

Thank goodness for a reasonable customer! Tressa thought, nodding and picking up one of the bowls. She put the wooden spoon to one side and picked up the ladle instead, pouring a generous portion for them. She held out the bowl to them. “Would you like some rice or a flatbread with it, or will you eat it as it is?”

“I’ll have some rice, sure,” Alfyn said, and Tressa popped a spoonful into the bowl, remembering what the recipe had said and making sure the presentation was decent. When she was satisfied, she passed it over to him with a smile.

“Thanks! Uh, what should I call ya..?” he added sheepishly.

“Tressa!"

“Then thanks, Tressa!” Alfyn picked up a spoon and took a taste, his eyes crinkling when the heat of the chilli hit his tongue. “Ooh, that’s a good ‘un! Might be a bit too hot, even fer me!” he said, laughing as he fanned himself with his hand. “Y’know, chillies have a lot of capsaicin in ‘em, which can be a really good painkiller when used in the right way.”

“I did not know that, but there’s no such thing as useless information,” Tressa said politely. Evidently, this Alfyn was a medical student. She watched as he grabbed another spoon for Therion, and gave it to him so he could give it a try.

Therion narrowed his eyes and sniffed cautiously at the contents of the spoon, before trying a small amount. His face instantly screwed up in pain, and the one visible eye was watering. “If something in this is meant to be a painkiller, then why am I in so much pain?” he accused the taller man.

Tressa was aghast, but Alfyn only laughed. Laughed! How could she have treated a customer like that! “Aww, sorry man, I guess you’re not used to spicy food, are ya?”

“That’s not spicy. That’s murderous,” Therion growled. “I think I’ll try some of the vichyssoise instead. Hopefully it’s less of a challenge,” he said, dropping the spoon onto the tablecloth.

“I am so sorry! I genuinely didn’t think it was that hot!” Tressa gasped out, tasting the chilli once again. Sure enough, it was hot, but she didn’t think it was that bad. Then again, she had been the only one to taste-test it. She took a bottle of lemonade from the mini fridge at the back of the stall and wordlessly handed it to Therion. It might not have been the best thing to deal with chilli, but it was the first thing to hand.

“The pair of you are monsters, if you can eat stuff that hot,” Therion said darkly, looking a little better after a long drink. “I don’t mind spicy food, but that’s too much.”

“What am I going to do?” Tressa gasped, peering into the pot of bubbling chilli. “I can’t serve up river bean chilli if it’s going to be too hot for everyone. My first time at the Night Market, and it’ll be a failure!”

“Naw, there’s no need to worry. Ya can just do what my family used to do when we made it too hot by accident. Add some cream or somethin’ to cool it down,” Alfyn said easily. Tressa tried to get her racing thoughts in order. That could work! Thank goodness these two had come along first - who knows what might have happened if someone less easygoing had come along first instead!

“That’s right! The recipe said something like that. I’m sorry: I didn’t think to test it on others first.” Tressa apologised as she looked around the stall. Finally her eyes settled on the silver-coloured jug of pouring cream near the river bean vichyssoise.

“Hang on,” Therion said, absently rubbing his lips where the chilli had affected them.

“What’s up, Theri?” Alfyn asked. Tressa winced inwardly. She was half expecting him to be angry.

“I probably shouldn’t be saying this, but why don’t you split the batch? Pour half into another pot, and add cream to the other one to cool it down.” The white haired young man was eyeing the pot of chilli with a calculating look.

“I could, but why?” Tressa wondered. “Surely people wouldn’t want to eat something that’s far too spicy for them?” Especially not at the Atlasdam Night Market. People came to experience the best of Orsterra’s cuisines, not to set their tonsils on fire.

“How does this sound?” Therion smirked. “Test your palate against the Colzione Chilli Challenge!” he said, hands spread wide as if he were speaking to an audience. “Can you brave Atlasdam’s spiciest chilli? One night only! If you can finish it, you get it for free!”

“Ohh, now that’s clever!” Alfyn grinned. “And ya can still sell the milder version, to those who just want to eat. Theri, that’s one hell of an idea!”

It really was. One that possibly saved her night. “Thank you! Both of you!” she said, reaching over the table and grasping their hands. “For that, you can eat for free tonight. Just tonight, mind, but I owe you. You saved me!”

“Aww, shucks!” Alfyn reached over and nudged his companion, jostling him whilst he was taking a drink. “Thanks, Tress, and to Theri for the idea, then! I think I’ll try the milder chilli next, if that’s ok with ya? I’ll try a flatbread, too. Always wanted to try one o’ those with it."

“I might try the vichyssoise after all,” Therion said, and whilst Tressa felt the brief pang of a lost sale, it was her parents’ dish so it was still good for the family business. She nodded eagerly and wrote that down on a pad, so she wouldn’t forget.

“I’ll just split the chilli, cool one half of it down, make a sign with ‘Colzione Chilli Challenge!’ on it, and then I’ll be right with you!” Tressa was fired up now. Her first time serving at the Night Market wouldn’t be a failure after all!

“I can’t thank you both enough,” she said, picking up another big pot and the ladle, and setting it on the other burner. “This could be the start of a beautiful friendship!"

Chapter Text

As she had stepped down from the bus onto Atlasdam’s main street, Sofia realised that quite a bit had changed since the last time she’d been there. The city still managed to blend its scholarly charm and old fashioned buildings with more modern shopping areas and business districts, only now it looked like they’d expanded the main park as well. There was also a new railway station, and she could see the bright signboard of a new multi-level shopping centre a few streets away, too.

It’s only been a few years, and yet they’ve finished the park and added a shopping centre, she mused, settling her shoulder bag and looking around. It’s good that they’re keeping the traditional feel, though. The King’s been busy!

If her memory was correct, then her hotel should be just a little way off the main street. She’d been lucky enough to be able to book a single room, the very last one they had, back in early spring when she’d been planning her trip.

The sun was warm on her face as she made her way down to the side street her hotel was on. It was only early afternoon but there were already enterprising traders selling Night Market merchandise, like plastic food containers with the Atlasdam crest on them, or colourful cutlery or napkins. There was already a steady stream of tourists, too.

I remember the tourists, even I wasn’t able to visit the market back then, Sofia thought wryly, neatly side-stepping a pair of somewhat oblivious visitors. Back then, had she been as oblivious as those tourists had been? She’d been focusing solely on her studies back then, her nose always in a book.

Perhaps I missed out, she mused, looking at a colourful sign for the Night Market. I should have visited the market whilst I was studying here. Still, I can make up for lost time now!

As a student, food had always just been fuel to keep studying. Something quick to make and eat, and then get back to the books. Before that, it was something quick and easy she could make for her sisters when their parents were busy.

Now that her studies were finished, and she had set up her own floristry business, Sofia had finally found the time to do a little research of the culinary kind. A customer had been talking about their experiences with all the good food at the market and Sofia had suddenly known how she wanted to spend her week off.

She’d left the shop in Valore in the hands of a capable assistant, and had hopped on the bus for a well-earned holiday a month later.

I wonder what kinds of things I’ll be able to eat, Sofia mused, closing the door to her hotel room. She crossed the floor and put her travel bag on the side table, along with her shoulder bag, and then fell backwards onto the bed, her arms outstretched. She lay there for a moment, eyes closed and just enjoying the feeling of comfort, before taking out her phone and scrolling through the list of vendors coming to the Night Market.

She flicked through pictures of all kinds of dishes. Casseroles made with alpaca meat, spiced and braised over a low heat for hours until it was tender. Pizzas made from the finest Valorian tomatoes and four types of cheese, baked until it bubbled. Skewers made of fresh fruit from Sunshade that had been dipped into boiling sugar syrup and left to cool, so they were crisp and sweet…

Everything sounded so good!

The sound of music starting up outside her window woke her, and she realised she must have fallen asleep. I must have been tired! she thought, sitting up and looking at the clock. Already eight… the market must just have opened. I hope I haven’t missed anything!

Feeling a little sheepish that she hadn’t even unpacked yet, Sofia straightened her hair, put her phone in her pocket, and picked up her shoulder bag again. Everything else would be safe as it was, she decided, but she made sure she had her coin purse with her as she locked the door and headed out.

After all, there was so much to explore!

Music and chatter were already filling the air as she rounded the corner and out onto the main street, and it looked as though the Night Market was already in full swing. Looking around, it was easy to get overwhelmed by the bright lights and the sheer amount of vendors lining the streets.

But what did she fancy? Traditional or modern? Sweet or savoury? Junk food or healthy? Street food or gourmet? Or gourmet street food? There were almost too many choices!

Sofia almost wished she’d done a bit more research before her visit. Still, she was here now! Best to take in the sights and learn from experience. I’ll go for something familiar, she decided, making sure her shoulder bag was secure and venturing into the excitable flow of people milling around.

Noodles, perhaps? she thought, catching sight of a stall that was more of a push cart than a stall in the traditional sense. She thought the Eastern Countries called it a yatai? The counter and hobs were covered by an elaborate roof, and the sides had folded out to create tables for customers to sit at. Behind the bubbling hobs, a man with long black hair was styling thin noodles into a bowl and drenching them with a lovely looking broth, and the smell that arose from it was enticingly savoury.

With a fond smile, Sofia remembered the instant noodles she’d had when she was younger. Her parents had forbidden her from eating them when she was a child, so when she first started at the academy she had smuggled a pot or two of them back with her to try. Maybe it was because it was forbidden, but she had really enjoyed them at the time. Now? Not so much, but if the noodles were made by a professional…

No, no noodles tonight, she decided. Maybe another day. I wonder what else there is?

Sofia wandered around for a while, feeling a little bit stumped. I’m so unprepared for this, she thought ruefully. I wonder if my friend would like to come with me next time. I’m sure she’d love it!

The Night Market really did have everything, but it was the cheerful little food van that caught her eye. Curiously, Sofia looked over at it, smiling at the blue and green paintwork, decorated with little yellow flowers and bearing a sign that said “Shepherds Rock Community Kitchen” on the door.

A handwritten menu sat by the van’s front tyre, and finally, Sofia felt that she’d found what she was looking for. The Community Kitchen sold a variety of hot sandwiches, and that brought a memory bubbling back to the surface for Sofia. Back in her student days she had lived on toasties and rarebits, often making them for herself and her sisters, and she couldn’t stop the smile from appearing on her face.

The menu had been written in a flowing Hornburgian script, and there were little flowers and herbs decorating the border. It seemed like there was a sandwich for each region of Orsterra, and the price of it was listed alongside each entry.

”Highland Toastie: A toasted sandwich made with sheep’s milk cheese from Shepherds Rock, with hot caramelised onion relish and a sprinkling of parsley and chives.

Flatlands Rarebit: A slice of home-made sourdough bread, slathered with butter and topped with a rich cheese sauce and more cheese, grilled to melting perfection.

Coastlands special hot sandwich: A toasted Rippletide Roll, filled with river beans in tomato sauce, topped with griddled courgette slices and plenty of melted cheese.

Sunlands special hot sandwich: A flatbread sandwich, served hot, with spiced squash and spinach, lots of local cheese, and a splash of chilli sauce to give it a kick.

Woodlands Panini: Contains sheep’s milk cheese and lots of tomatoes and basil, fresh from Valore.

Frostlands Toastie: Filled with embershrooms in a creamy white sauce, with finely chopped shallots and the finest Flamesgrace Brie.

Cliftlands Quesadilla: Hand-made flatbreads, served hot and filled with spicy river beans and lots of crumbly Cragspear Jack cheese.

Riverlands Grilled Cheese: Plain and simple - home-made bread, with mature Clearbrook cheddar, relish of your choice, and served with a watercress side salad.”

What a selection! Mind made up, Sofia found a way out of the throng and went up to the van.

There weren’t any customers when she approached, so she went up to the window and looked in. Sure enough, the van’s interior had been converted into a proper kitchen, complete with a hotplate, sandwich toasters, even a small fridge, and a woman with long hair bustled about, apparently not noticing Sofia at all.

“Umm… excuse me?” Sofia called, wincing as the woman abruptly straightened in surprise, nearly banging her head on the van’s roof.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” the woman exclaimed. She adjusted her apron and beamed at Sofia, seemingly genuinely pleased to see her. “I’m Merrit, from the Shepherds Rock kitchen garden. What can I get for you? We’ve got a wide variety of hot sandwiches, and at low prices, too!”

“I’m Sofia,” she said, introducing herself in turn. She looked at the menu again for a second, scanning the options and wondering what to have. Everything looked so good! “These remind me of my student days so much,” she said, noticing a similar grin appear on Merrit’s face, too.

“I used to make these all the time, too,” Merrit reminisced, folding her arms on the little table under the van’s window. “They’re healthy, they’re cheap, and they’re quick. You just need a few decent ingredients and you’re good to go!”

“My sisters all used to want different fillings,” Sofia said with a small laugh. Merrit nodded, and Sofia thought she must have had similar problems. “One would want extra cheese, one would want bacon, and the other would fried onions. I had to make three different batches at times!”

“Oh my! Well, my parents were always working late, so I often had to make my own food,” Merrit looked somewhat sad, but Sofia said nothing. “Ah, sorry. They were lost in the attempted coup in Hornburg, ten years ago. It’s a little bittersweet, but it’s why I’m here, making these sandwiches to share! Well, that, and making sure that anyone who wants something cheap and tasty can get something. Going without food is terrible!”

“On behalf of the church?” Sofia guessed.

Merrit shook her head. “The church is where I work, yes, but I only look after the kitchen garden for them. This is my initiative!” She spread her arms wide, being careful of the bottles and jars on the counter. “Whatever I don’t sell, I donate to the food banks here. Anyone who can’t afford a good meal can get one, free of charge!”

“That’s wonderful!” Sofia exclaimed, clasping her hands together. “Do you grow your own produce, too?”

“Of course!” Merrit turned and took a fresh looking lettuce out of the icebox, holding it up for Sofia to see. “Well, whenever we can, at least. Some ingredients we need to buy in. Still, it’s one of the best ways to make sure people get the right nutrition! Honestly, I swear I was an apothecary or something in another life,” she laughed.

Sofia looked at the menu again. The Highlands Toastie sounded really good, and was close to the version she used to make when she was younger, but… the Riverlands Grilled Cheese and the Coastlands Rarebit sounded tasty, too.

“I’ll have the Highlands Toastie,” she said, making a mental note to come back tomorrow and try the others. As soon as Sofia had reached for her coin purse and paid for the sandwich, Merrit started to work. She cut two pieces of crusty bread from a loaf, spreading them lightly with butter, and then piling it generously with torn sheep’s milk cheese.

Sofia watched, fascinated that the method Merrit was using was extremely similar to the one she used, back when she was a student. The ingredients might be different, but the process brought back happy memories for her: seeing her little sisters tugging on her dress as she made each sandwich in turn, all wanting to get theirs before the cheese cooled.

The pull of the melted cheese was something she loved, too. Looking back, it might have been a bit of a guilty pleasure, but with her interest in plants she’d always made sure to include some herbs or salad with it.

Merrit reached behind her without looking and plucked a ladle from its hook on the other side of the van. Impressed, Sofia saw her deftly dipping it into one of the pans on the small hob and scooping out a nice amount of sliced red onions, steaming in the night air and sticky with some sort of sweet-smelling sauce. They went on top of the cheese, and Merrit put the other slice of bread on top of that to complete the sandwich.

“I hope you don’t mind a bit more butter!” she said cheerfully, and Sofia shook her head. Merrit grinned as she spread more onto the outside of the sandwich and then popped it onto the hotplate, pressing down on the top with a spatula.

“Father always liked this recipe,” Merrit smiled wistfully. Sofia’s heart went out to her. “Believe it or not, Mother always liked the spicy one! I could never eat it - it’s a bit too much for me, but every time I make it I think of her. Both of them.”

“Food is so intricately tied to memories, isn’t it?” Sofia murmured. “But you’re doing a wonderful thing here. I’m sure they’d be proud of you.”

Merrit flipped the sandwich over, and Sofia could see the cheese already starting to melt down the sides. “I’d like to think so,” she said, regaining her spirit a little and pressing down vigorously on the sandwich. She put a heavy-bottomed pan on top of it for a while, then scooped it up and popped it onto a paper plate.

“Now, how do you want it? Some people can get picky when it comes to whether they want their sandwich cut diagonally or horizontally!” Merrit laughed, picking up a sharp looking knife.

“Either is fine!” Sofia smiled back.

Merrit cut the sandwich diagonally in half, and then sprinkled the top with some finely chopped parsley and chives. “Hope you don’t mind the extra herbs,” she said, handing the plate to Sofia.

“Not at all! I used to do that myself, as a bit of extra nutrition,” she replied, delighted when Merrit clapped her hands and nodded, a big grin on her face.

“That’s exactly it! We can still have our treats and stay healthy,” Merrit said with a wink. “Can I interest you in any salad or extra sauces?”

Sofia smiled down at the hot toastie, filled with nostalgia. “No, this will be fine by itself, but… may I stay and chat whilst I’m eating this? It’s always nice to have company with food like this, and I might just try another sandwich while I’m here,” she added, discarding her earlier plan.

“Of course!” Merrit said, dropping the spatula and ladle into a small washing up bowl to clean them later. “Hmm… Perhaps I should get some folding tables and chairs, like some of the other stalls have.”

“Oh, I don’t mind standing,” Sofia said, biting down into the toastie then sucking air in to cool her mouth as the hot cheese scalded her a bit. “I should have waited - that’s a bit hot!”

“Best way to eat them!” Merrit laughed. She wordlessly passed Sofia a bottle of water, and Sofia took it gratefully. “My mother and father did the same, and you and your sisters probably did, too. Those memories will stay with me forever.”

“That they will,” Sofia agreed with a soft smile. “That they will.”

Chapter Text

Kersjes’ Fried Chicken. It was, quite frankly, a stupid name, but the kids at the orphanage had insisted, and who was he to ever begrudge them anything? He did regret the big “KFC” written above the stall in brightly coloured paints, though.

Kids, he thought, trying to decide if he was angry or not about it.

He sighed and decided he wasn’t. This time.

Kersjes shook his head and dipped his hand into the bowl of raw chicken, pulling out a likely looking piece and dusting it with seasoned flour. He tapped the excess off on the side of the bowl, and then dropped it into the batter mix.

More chicken pieces followed, and he felt himself lucky he’d made this dish himself several times in the past. When it seemed like the first batch was done, Kersjes reached into the bowl with his fingers and started removing the now-covered pieces and dropping them carefully into the pot of bubbling oil in front of him.

They always said I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty to get the job done, he thought wryly, placing piece after piece into the pot, but this isn’t exactly what I’m used to. Oh well. It’s for the kids.

The orphanage at Victors Hollow had always been represented at the Atlasdam Night Market, and this year was no exception. Usually, however, the people running the stall had been volunteers, but since a particularly nasty bout of sickness was running through the town, he had offered instead, and they had gratefully taken him up on it.

He never could say no, not when it was for the children.

So now Kersjes was standing behind the orphanage’s usual stall, a cheerful-looking thing made up of three solid counters set on sturdy trestles, and a fourth set behind them where he would do all the cooking. The roof of the stall was covered in pink patterned cloth which draped down the back and sides in case it rained, and above that stood the hand-painted sign, in all its childlike glory.

He’d borrowed a portable gas hob and enough equipment to get the job done, and the orphanage had provided the basic ingredients, so all he’d needed to find was a good recipe.

Fortunately, spending time after “work” in various bars and pubs had given him access to a wide variety of recipes just like this. He even had contacts who knew all about the perfect types of seasonings, too. The particular type he was using to season his flour came from a gentleman in Valore who specialised in a certain blend of powder, one that made chicken taste amazing.

This is such a pain, but if a job’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well. Even a messy one like this, he thought to himself, looking around at the rest of the market. Everyone was still in the early stages of getting ready to open, and honestly, he had no idea how this would go. Hopefully people would just be happy to get some fried chicken and a beer. Or a soft drink, he amended. This wasn’t a bar, after all.

Kersjes wiped his hands clean and sprayed some sanitiser on them, then bent over to check the ice box. I know I got some soft drinks, he thought, moving the beer cans aside and sighing with relief when the cans of fizzy pop were revealed. He moved some a bit closer to the surface and turned back to the hob.

The first piece of chicken had floated to the surface now and was sizzling away nicely, so he plucked the spatula from the side of the hob and broke up the others, which were starting to clump together in the oil. The secret, he knew, was to fry them twice, so he fished them out when they were starting to turn golden and set them to drain on the side whilst he prepared the next batch.

It was simple work and, if he was honest with himself, he found he actually enjoyed it. It was certainly better than some other things he had done in his life.

Music started playing from somewhere, and a night breeze picked up, bringing with it the sound of excited people, all apparently ready to start eating. Clearly they had just opened the gates and let everyone in. With a weary sigh, he focused on his task instead. Surely people would be looking for the more unusual foods first, which gave him time to breathe before the rush.

Not that many would come to a stall decked out with pink gingham tablecloths, a sign that looked like it had been painted by children, and a gruff-looking ex-gang member like himself standing behind the counter. They’d have to be pretty unusual to do that. He really didn’t fit in such a gentle place.

“Chicken and beer, please,” a man’s voice said.

Kersjes twitched. That was fast, he thought, looking up and seeing a familiar face. A well built man with sandy hair had slid into one of the stools on the other side of the counter, resting callused hands against the surface. He remembered this man. Damn, it’s been ages, he thought, as he wiped his hands on a cloth.

Aloud, he said, “Been a while, ‘Crow,” and he grinned when the man nodded, a slight smile parting his lips.

“Indeed it has. I’m glad we could meet again under better circumstances,” the man called ‘Crow replied.

‘Crow, or Scarecrow, was a gamekeeper for the Lady Herminia Bertolini of Valore, a woman of positively frightening wealth. A few years ago Scarecrow had come to Kersjes for help, as his wife and daughter had been abducted by one of Herminia’s rivals and was being held to ransom. The police were far too cautious, Scarecrow had felt, and had sought out help from the friend of a friend.

Namely, a former gang member turned problem solver called Kersjes.

Together they had freed Scarecrow’s family and brought the kidnappers to justice, and he hadn’t heard from Scarecrow since. Kersjes had always wondered how he’d been getting on. Maybe it had been worth taking this job after all.

He plucked several of the best looking pieces of chicken from the pot and dropped them onto a plate, before passing them over to Scarecrow. “Careful, they’re hot,” he warned, and then reached down to the icebox to get him a can of beer.

“Best way to eat them," and Scarecrow actually laughed as he picked up a toothpick. That was new. Before, Kersjes remembered him as being very stoic. This was definitely a change for the better for him.

Kersjes cracked open the beer for him and set it by the plate. “Do you want any sauces?” he asked belatedly. He pointed with his spatula to the bottles lined up on the counter, one each of Hot Sufra Masala, Honey and Valorian Mustard, and Spicy Sunlands Sweet Chilli.

"Not this time," the man replied, turning the can around and raising an approving eyebrow at the choice of beer.

“So what brings you all the way to Atlasdam?” Kersjes asked curiously. “Better yet, are you still going by the name ‘Scarecrow’? Always was an odd choice, but I can see why you picked it.”

“Better to have a name like that than be able to be tracked down again,” Scarecrow shrugged. “Besides, all I do all day is stand in the fields and watch for poachers. The name fits me.”

Kersjes watched as Scarecrow stabbed a piece of chicken with the toothpick. “I’m glad you got your family back,” he said softly.

“I couldn’t have done it without your help,” Scarecrow replied. He took a bite, blowing a little as the batter crunched open and the chicken inside was piping hot. “This is really good.”

“I got the recipe a while ago from the owner of a bar in Grandport,” Kersjes said, turning back to the hob and dropping more chicken pieces into the oil. “He was from the Eastern continent. I think he called this dish karaage? Anyway, it was so good with beer that I thought it might be a good seller here.”

Scarecrow cast a discerning eye at the stall. “It’s a very cute stall,” he said, completely deadpan.

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” Kersjes said flatly. Then he broke into a lopsided grin. “It’s all for the kids,” he admitted, shaking his head. “They needed help, so I…”

“You helped. Of course you did. You couldn’t do anything else,” Scarecrow observed. He bit down into another chicken piece, nodding with satisfaction. “You picked a good choice with this chicken,” he added.

“First plate’s on the house, for an old friend,” Kersjes said, fishing more of the freshly cooked karaage from the pot. At Scarecrow’s grateful expression, he went on. “The next batch, however…” he trailed off, remembering something. “You never did answer my first question, either. What are you doing in Atlasdam, anyway? That’s a long way to travel. Are your family safe?”

“I’m on business for Herminia, picking something up for her. And my family is safe. They’re staying with friends in Valore,” Scarecrow said. Kersjes watched as the man dipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Besides, this time, my employer actually did me a favour. Look,” and he turned the device towards Kersjes.

The home screen was all lit up, and among all the other apps was one with a red icon bearing a white T. “My wife has one of these phones too, and so does my daughter. If anything happens, to any of us, we just press this button, and press something again once the app is open. We’ve been told that someone from Tytos Security will mobilise to our locations at once, and they’ve got branches everywhere. It’s… quite reassuring.”

That was quite a gift from Herminia. Tytos Security didn’t come cheap. He’d had to dodge their bodyguards once or twice in his past, too. “She must really value your services,” Kersjes mused, turning the flame down on the burner for a moment. “I’m glad,” he said then. “No-one should have to go through that sort of thing twice. I’m glad you’re doing well.”

“Thank you,” the other man said, taking a long drink of beer. “I thought I recognised you when I came this way, and since I wanted something to eat, I thought ‘Why not?’. I wanted to thank you again, too.”

“Just like before. I couldn’t say no,” he said, gesturing to the stall around him. Kersjes felt his voice catch in his throat as he explained, and he quickly stooped to pick up a beer for himself. Maybe he shouldn’t drink on the job, but he needed this. In fairness, though, the beer did a lot to soothe his suddenly dry throat.

“This time,” Kersjes said, “we should keep in touch.” He noticed the condensation from the beer can on his hands, and he swiftly wiped it off on his trousers before holding one hand out to Scarecrow. “You can never be too careful, and if you need my help, just call.”

“I will,” the gamekeeper said, taking the hint and handing over his phone. Kersjes tapped his private number into the contacts list and handed it back to Scarecrow, who solemnly locked it and put it away again. “But…”

“But?” Kersjes prompted.

“But I think we should probably just meet up anyway, even if I don’t need help. Good friends are hard to find,” Scarecrow said, again taking up his beer can and raising it in a silent toast.

This time, it was Kersjes who took the hint, and he gently knocked his own can against it with a grin. “They certainly are,” he replied, before taking another long drink.

The silence went on for a while, but before the moment could get too awkward Scarecrow picked up his toothpick again and polished off the last piece of chicken. “That was good,” he said, sitting back and stretching out his shoulders a little. “Your portions are a little small, though. Can I get another?”

Kersjes had just been about to take umbrage at Scarecrow’s comment, but he shook his head and laughed instead. “Sure, why not? You’re paying for this one, after all. What’ll it be?”

“Another plate of fried chicken, and I think I’ll have the honey mustard sauce this time.”

As Kersjes turned back to the hob, he couldn’t help but smile to himself. He might have done it only for the kids, nor was he getting paid for it, but this job had already more than proved itself worth his while.

Chapter Text

Coming to Atlasdam was usually always a pleasure. The famed city of scholars was almost always polite and well-behaved, a fact that Sazantos usually found extremely appealing, but tonight…

Tonight was different.

The Night Market was in full swing, even at this late hour. The streets were full of people visiting various stalls, laughing and joking while they ate and often wandering all over the place as they did. Loud music thumped from the speakers nearby, and Sazantos’ eyebrow twitched, a sure sign that he was starting to lose his patience.

How had he forgotten that his scheduled stopover would occur at the same time as the Flatlands’ famous festival of food? His train left first thing in the morning, and whilst he hadn’t forgotten to book himself a hotel room for the night, there was certainly nowhere open to eat at this time of night.

Which left only the Night Market. A bustling, lively place full of people of all kinds. Full of laughter and revelry, and sorely lacking in peace and quiet. In short, it was a place that Sazantos would usually avoid.

With a sigh, he kept walking.

He wished he’d thought to change out of his suit. The perfectly tailored creation was too good to end up smelling of fried food or spices, and the gods forbid he should end up with any stains on it…

I’d thought that once my business in Grandport was done, I’d have a simple journey back to G’roha, he thought sourly, dodging a couple of exuberant teenagers. I still have to report back to Tatloch about the investigation, but at least I rooted out the corruption in her company. After that, I can take a break.

As one of Orsterra’s most accomplished investigators, Sazantos had been personally selected by Tatloch to uncover a potential embezzler in her multinational cosmetics company. His reputation had preceded him even to G’roha, and since the rumoured crimes had taken place in the Grandport branch, that was where he’d been staying for the past month.

It hadn’t always been like that, though. Once he’d been the shining star of the Knights Ardante, the church-led organisation that kept the roads safe for travellers everywhere, but after years of exemplary service Sazantos had found he couldn’t stay there any longer.

Not after that discovery.

Finding out that his parents, highly ranked within the church, were embroiled in a deeply rooted nepotism scandal and that he may not have earned his way to the top had shocked him to the core. He was good, and he knew it, but the doubt had set in by that point. Sazantos couldn’t stay. He had to leave. There were other ways to protect people from the evils of the world.

Not even the bright-eyed junior he’d taken on as an apprentice had been able to convince him to stay.

His stomach rumbled, and Sazantos belatedly remembered why he was wandering through the streets of Atlasdam at that time of night. He glanced around, trying to find something quick that would fill his belly so he could get back to the hotel and sleep, but more than a few stalls were starting to put their “Sold out!” signs out on the counters and were closing up for the night.

Wonderful, he thought, stepping to one side to avoid a rather tipsy older gentleman. I suppose I’m going to be stuck eating a terrible burger and greasy fries, or something similar. What I wouldn’t give for a good steak right now…

He turned into one of the side streets, closer to the library, where more stalls had been set up. These looked to have a bit more sophistication than some of the others, probably because they needed access to a more stable power or gas supply, and thus looked more promising to Sazantos’ keen eye.

It was also considerably quieter, a fact that brought the tiniest of smiles to his face. His pace quickened, and he found himself appraising the individual stalls closely. The range was quite eclectic: on one side of the road, a man from the Sunlands was making some ice cream rolls on a freezing metal plate, whilst on the other a woman wearing Donescu colours was scooping a live fish from a tank, ready to prepare it for a slightly wide-eyed customer.

Sazantos frowned at that. He liked his fish fresh, yes, but not that fresh.

And then he saw what could only be described as a most impressive barbecue, sitting under a sign that said The Blue Flame Bar and Grill. Meats of all kinds had been threaded onto skewers so long they looked like narrow swords, and were rotating slowly over tiny blue flames. Whilst it didn’t look like the steak he fancied, Sazantos rather liked the idea of a pile of well seasoned, flame-roasted meats instead.

He took a stool in front of the counter, glad that there was no-one else there but the stall owner, and looked at the menu board. Honey glazed chicken, smoky beef brisket, chilli and garlic pork shoulder, herb-marinated lamb… Paired with the flatbreads on the counter in front of him, and maybe some of the sauces too, it would be a most acceptable meal, possibly better than he had expected.

“Excuse me,” Sazantos said, trying to get the stallholder’s attention.

The owner, a tall man with his hair in a long ponytail, had been tending to the gas cylinders under the stall, and he stood up to face Sazantos with a welcoming smile. “Ah, I was hoping that wouldn’t have been the last of the visitors tonight! What can I… get for you?”

Sazantos noticed the slight pause in the man’s speech, and he frowned. Something about the man’s eyes - and his voice - was very familiar. He gave the man a scrutinising look, wondering if he knew him, and if so, where from.

Oh.

Two or three years ago, Sazantos remembered he’d been present when a carjack was taking place on the main road to the Frostlands, and he’d apprehended the criminals without much effort at all. Back then, he’d still been with the Knights Ardante, and his authority had been unquestioned. He’d handed the carjackers over to the police, leaving them to do their job, and went to help the victims instead.

The driver had been a young man, he recalled, travelling with his sister to visit friends in Emberglow. Immediately after the incident, the youth had been so impressed by Sazantos’ actions that he’d decided on the spot to follow in his footsteps, ignoring his sister’s protestations. He’d even moved to Flamesgrace and had enlisted in the Knights Ardante as an apprentice, becoming Sazantos’ junior in no time.

Rondo Ravus.

It had been as irritating as it was flattering.

But what was the man doing here, running a stall in the Atlasdam Night Market? Granted, he hadn’t talked to Rondo in the week before he left, but the young man had seemed determined to become a full-fledged Knight Ardante, just like Sazantos. Every time they’d spoken, Sazantos could have sworn he’d seen stars shining in Rondo’s eyes.

There were no such stars now, only a kind of cheerful weariness.

“I’m sorry. I know you must be tired Sir, but… can I get you something to eat?”

The voice broke into his thoughts, and his eyebrows drew down into a line. He hadn’t meant to get so lost in thought like that. “My apologies,” Sazantos said, looking the young man directly in the eye. “What would you recommend?”

Rondo looked like he had expected a different question, which wasn’t surprising. “Well, the brisket is particularly good, slow-roasted and covered with our own special spice rub,” he said, turning and gesturing to one of the skewers. Meat juices and fats dripped and hissed as they hit the flames below, adding a very savoury smell to the crisp night air.

“I’ll have some of that, then,” Sazantos said, and the man straightened, almost as if he was going to salute.

With a practised flair, Rondo took one of the flatbreads and set it on a plate, then turned and took a knife to the sizzling brisket. The meat sliced off with no effort at all, and soon there was a big pile on the flatbread, almost threatening to spill off the plate and onto the counter.

Sazantos raised one eyebrow at the apparent generosity, but said nothing. Then, when Rondo held out two of the sauce bottles, he pointed to the one made with Clearbrook bourbon and soon found another generous drizzle of it poured over his meal.

“Are you sure you can afford to be so generous?” he said, and Rondo laughed. That was unusual. Not that Rondo was laughing: back when he had been his junior, Rondo had spent a lot of time laughing. No, it was more the fact that he could be so casual with Sazantos, even after all this time.

“It’s quite late, and besides, it’s my policy to make sure everyone leaves with a full belly and a smile on their face,” the man said, handing over the meal and taking Sazantos’ leaves in turn. “Even back at the restaurant, we make sure the portions are generous.”

“Even for vegetarians?” Sazantos said, nodding at the array of skewered meats.

Rondo laughed brightly. “Oh, don’t worry, we make sure that everyone can get a good meal. We got some very good bean curd from a friend in the Eastern continent, and it’s great with a bit of marinade. You’d be surprised what you can do with the larger embershrooms, too.”

“You run a restaurant, then?” Sazantos said, too tired to curb his curiosity. The conversation was oddly pleasant, and if he was honest with himself, he did sometimes miss this kind of easy chatter. He bit down into the flatbread, and the taste of smoky beef and rich sauce filled his mouth. It was delicious. “Well, you can certainly cook, at least.”

“Thank you!” Rondo replied, taking a cloth and wiping down the counter in front of him. The expression on that open face changed, taking on a reflective cast. “Yeah, after the events back then, I actually left the Knights Ardante not long after you did. I know I joined to help people, but…I guess you could say I grew up a bit.”

Sazantos nodded slowly. He’d wondered what Rondo would do after he left, but he’d wanted nothing to do with the Knights after that. He hadn’t even contacted those he might have once called friends.

He said nothing and let Rondo keep talking.

“Everyone heard the rumours about you, and I just… I felt so bad for you. At first, I wanted to go after you, but I got a call from my sister, and we ended up having a long talk.” Rondo sighed, flipping the cloth over his shoulder. “Eventually, I handed in my notice and went back home. I realised I’d been childish. I shouldn’t have just left my family because I got infatuated with an ideal.”

Sazantos took another bite of his flatbread. It really seemed like Rondo had changed a lot since their last meeting. The Rondo he used to know would never have said something like that.

“Anyway, I was wondering what to do next, when Cordelia reminded me of this old traveller's hotel on the main road through the Cliftlands, and… I bought it. I used all my savings, and I renovated it.” Rondo gave a sheepish laugh, and folded his arms across his chest. “Part of it is now the Blue Flame Bar and Grill, and the other still functions as a travel hotel run by my friend Rinyuu. She and her husband look after it for me. We give travellers a safe place to rest, and a good meal."

Sazantos was looking at Rondo in a new light. Rondo had changed. A lot. The callow young man who had hung on Sazantos’ every word back then was now running a successful business. Could Sazantos really say he himself had grown in those few years? He was still the same man he was then: stoic, if not outright cold, and focused entirely on his goal of eradicating corruption.

Sazantos started down at the flatbread in his hands, heedless of the meat juices that were starting to dribble down his fingers. An acquaintance had offered him a job with his law firm as a consultant, and then had taken him on full-time as an investigator, but had it all been for his goals? Was that the only purpose in his life?

Had he actually enjoyed Rondo’s presence, back when they were in the Knights Ardante?

“Uh, Sazantos? Sir?” Rondo’s voice broke into his thoughts, and he looked up to see the young man standing there with a couple of napkins in his hand. He gestured to the mess on Sazantos’ fingers and gently offered the napkins to him.

I haven’t changed a bit, Sazantos thought, wiping off his hands with more force than necessary and trying to keep the irritation and chagrin off his face. Rondo had grown as a person, whilst he had been drowning himself in work to avoid feeling anything. All for the sake of his goals.

Had it been worth it?

Forcing himself to be calm, he set the napkin aside and drew in a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he said, unused to apologising but he felt like Rondo deserved it. “You’ve changed a lot, and yet not at all. It made me think about my own situation, that’s all."

“I always think too much when I’m tired, too,” Rondo said simply. Sazantos watched as he took a business card from his pocket and placed it on the counter, next to the plate. “Here. Next time you’re in the Cliftlands, please come and visit. It’d be great to keep in touch this time,” he smiled.

Sazantos thought about that for a moment. He had no idea when his job would take him to the Cliftlands. Did he really want to leave it that long before they spoke again? Even if they exchanged phone numbers, Sazantos knew that he might make excuses and revert to his old ways again, ignoring Rondo - as he had done with all his friends.

Maybe this would be what he needed. A fresh start, and a chance to actually examine his feelings and come to terms with those events, rather than burying them in work?

“While I do need to be away early tomorrow, I’d hate to miss the chance to catch up with you, Rondo,” Sazantos said, seeing the young man’s expression brighten immensely. So that part of him hadn’t changed at all. “I still haven’t finished eating, and I am curious as to how things have been for you since you left the Knights.”

“I was wondering the same thing,” Rondo said, pulling up a stool and sitting across the counter from Sazantos. “I tell you what: why don’t I give you a taster of all the things on the menu while we talk? This is my last night here, and I don’t want to miss this chance, either."

Sazantos allowed himself a small smile. “I’d like that,” he said, and found he genuinely meant it. “I’d appreciate it if you had a cold beer or something, though. The only thing I saw to drink on my way here was something called a Cactus Cocktail, and I don’t think I’d like that very much.”

Rondo laughed. “Well, you’re in luck. I brought some of the craft beers we sell at the bar, too. Let me get you one, and we’ll make a start.”

Picking up the business card, Sazantos wondered at the twist of fate that had brought him here. Had he been too focused on his past, that he had been ignoring his future?

As Rondo set a bottle of cold beer down in front of him, Sazantos reached out and took it, holding it out in a toast. Rondo picked one up himself, and the glass clinked when their bottles touched.

“To new beginnings,” Sazantos said.

Chapter Text

When Ophilia had been offered the chance to run a crepe stall at the Atlasdam Night Market, she had been overjoyed! The chance to travel, to see the world, and to bring some smiles to people’s faces… It was the perfect opportunity!

The fact that the church could use the proceeds towards their charity efforts was an added bonus. Indeed, it was a long running custom for the church to be represented at the Night Market, and they had thankfully been given a spot near the library, where the more reliable power source would be a godsend for the small fridge and freezer they used to keep everything fresh.

So now, as she tied the apron behind her back, she looked out over the assortment of stalls and food vans with a smile on her face. I’ve always wanted to visit here when the Night Market was on, she thought, picking up one of the bowls from underneath the cloth-covered trestle table, but to actually be here is amazing! There’s so much to see. I wonder if I could have a look around later? Or maybe tomorrow, before everything gets started? Either way, I’m so happy to be here!

“Thank the Flamebringer for his mercy in allowing us this wonderful gift!” she murmured, standing back and looking at the array of equipment that she and Telly had set up. The young novice had accompanied her from the Frostlands to help out with the stall, but so far, he had been somewhat less than helpful.

The poor lad kept getting so distracted by all the other stalls that she had sent him off to have a bit of fun before the majority of the customers arrived. It wasn’t so bad, setting up on her own. The equipment held such good memories for her, after all.

There was the flat iron pan they used to cook the crepes on, and the strangely-shaped wooden stick they used to spread the batter out into a circle, among other things. These were the property of the church, used for years in markets and festivals just like this one, and she remembered looking on with her foster father as a fancy crepe was first produced, decorated, and then handed to her.

It had been the best thing in the world! All that sweet cream and all the toppings… and it had been shaped like a cait! It had cookies for ears and a tiny pink marshmallow for a nose, and between its paws was a bright blue gumdrop.

Needless to say, the young Ophilia had adored it, and she had wanted to run the church’s crepe stall at the Night Market ever since.

And now she had been given the chance to do just that!

Ophilia stooped to light the gas under the iron pan, and she smiled. She and Telly had been making the crepe batter all afternoon, so they shouldn’t run out of it, but the toppings were another matter.

Well, it should be fine, Ophilia thought, opening the plastic boxes and double checking the contents. If we get too creative, we can always prepare some more, and the church made sure to set aside some extra supplies for us, too. Everything will be fine!

Lively music started playing in the distance, and before long the sounds of a crowd cheering reached her ears. They must have opened the Market. Time to make a start, then! If she had a couple of crepes ready to go, then she could present them to waiting customers all the faster.

She poured a small amount of batter onto the pan and spread it out, using the wooden tool to spread it into a perfect circle. It instantly started to cook, forming a beautifully thin crepe, and she slid a long metal spatula underneath it to lift it and flip it over.

“Thou art most skilled at that,” a woman’s voice said, and Ophilia looked up in surprise. Standing in front of the stall was a tall woman with long plaited hair, and dressed in comfortable clothes that looked more suited to the outdoors than to the city. She had a bag slung over her shoulder that was studded with countless tiny pin badges, all with an animal theme, and a plush snow leopard keychain dangled merrily from one of the zips.

Whilst the market was open, the majority of the customers hadn’t filtered down to her position by the library yet. Telly hadn’t even returned from his adventures yet either, but she was quite happy to deal with customers by herself!

“Why, thank you!” Ophilia replied, setting the crepe aside to cool. “This is my first time actually selling at the Market, but I’ve been wanting to do this for years. It’s fun!”

“It seemeth that way to me, too,” the woman smiled. She was looking at the menu that Ophilia had painstakingly drawn up the day before, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she spotted the novelty crepes with an animal motif. “Is it too early to make a complicated request? I wouldst try one of these, if thou dost not mind.”

“Not at all!” Ophilia said brightly. She came over to where the woman was standing and gestured to the board. “Which one would you like?”

Almost shyly, the woman pointed to the crepe styled like one of the Frostlands’ big cats. “Could I have that one, please? It remindeth me of mine dearest Linde.”

“Of course! Is Linde your cat?” Ophilia asked, getting right to work.

She picked up the crepe again and laid it on the board next to the pan, before turning to their small fridge and getting out piping bags. They had made sure to prepare those well in advance, and each one was full to the brim with fresh cream: one plain vanilla, and one flavoured with chocolate.

Here goes! Ophilia thought, drawing lines of cream across the top half of the crepe.

“That she is,” the woman replied, reaching into her bag. She pulled out a picture of what must be the biggest cat that Ophilia had ever seen! It must have been some kind of Frostlands crossbreed, because it had long, snow white fur and massive paws. Truly it looked more like the snow leopard on the woman’s bag.

“She’s beautiful!” Ophilia exclaimed, and then frowned. They were talking so familiarly, and she hadn’t even introduced herself yet. “Oh, where are my manners! I’m Ophilia. It’s nice to meet you!”

“H’aanit,” the woman - H’aanit - replied with a smile. She gave the photo one last look and then put it back in her bag. “It is a pleasure to make thine acquaintance, Ophilia. Truly, I had feared that the city folk might all be standoffish and rude, but thou art warm and friendly.”

Ophilia beamed at that. “Thank you! Well, it does take all types to make a city, but I’d like to think we’re all doing our best,” she said. Out of habit, her hand went to the left of the counter to pick up a bottle of chocolate sauce, but it was on the right side instead. Telly must have got them mixed up when he was helping to set up earlier.

She added a few swirls of the chocolate sauce to the cream, some chopped bananas and strawberries, and then sprinkled some cookie crumbs in for good measure. As she drew up the bottom half of the crepe, neatly aligning it with the top, she said, “So what brings you to the Night Market, H’aanit? I assume it’s your first time visiting?”

“Aye, and I must confess, there are more people here than I am accustomed to,” H’aanit replied, watching Ophilia’s handiwork with fascination. “I am here because my Master told me to ‘see the world’ after our joint endeavours to reforest parts of the Darkwood ended. Thus, here I am.”

“Reforesting the Darkwood? That sounds like a tough job, but so worthwhile!” Ophilia smiled. Now for the tricky part. She rolled the crepe from one side, turning it into a cone shape and spreading out the open edges. Biting her lip somewhat as she focused, she then dropped the crepe cone into a specially made holder and beaming in satisfaction.

“Aye, it is,” H’aanit said, and then she visibly grew wary as someone ran towards the stall. Her entire posture changed, making Ophilia think of the hunters from centuries ago. Both women relaxed when a harried-looking Telly came barrelling back into view, a full-looking plastic bag swinging from one hand and holding a bottle of fizzy pop in the other.

“Telly, you scared us!” Ophilia said, watching as the young novice hurriedly put the bag and drink down and took an apron from under the counter. “I didn’t mean you had to get back here this fast. Weren’t you enjoying the market?”

Telly pouted slightly, his eyebrows drawn in a line. “I ran into one of my sisters. She told me to get back here and do my job,” he grumbled, throwing his arms out wide. “So here I am! What do you need me to do, Ophilia?”

Ophilia looked around, wondering if there was anything Telly could help with, but she had it all in hand. “For now,” she said, giving him a gentle smile, “could you get me the vanilla ice cream from the mini freezer? And it couldn’t hurt to have some more fruits peeled and ready to go, too.”

“Right you are!” Telly said, suddenly regaining his former energy. “I’m sorry for scaring you, Miss,” he said to H’aanit, who shook her head.

“Nay, I was merely startled. You run quite fast, for a youngling,” she replied. “My Master is almost as fast as thou seemeth to be, for all he is somewhat advanced in age.”

“He sounds like a bit of a character,” Telly grinned, before putting a tub of the good vanilla ice cream on the counter next to Ophilia. With a cheeky smile, he disappeared to the table at the back of the stall to chop fruit.

“He certainly is.” Ophilia looked up, and H’aanit had such a fond look on her face. “He can run quite fast, when he wants to. Usually, when there are gambling places to visit. Why, I dare say he sent me off on my own so he could place a few bets.”

“Oh, he’s a gambling man?” Ophilia asked, turning her attention back to the crepe. She peeled the lid off the tub and soon she had a nice big scoop of vanilla ice cream, which she put in the centre of the crepe. It looked a bit like an ice cream cone as it was, but she wasn’t finished yet.

“Aye, that he is.” H’aanit’s sigh was heartfelt, and Ophilia looked up again to see her folding her arms across her chest. “I know that his old friend Susanna should keepen him on the straight and narrow when I’m away, but Master Z’aanta always has a way of finding his way into trouble.”

“Please pardon me for saying this, but it sounds like it might do you good to have some time away from him,” Ophilia said carefully. She took a piping bag full of fresh cream and began to pipe little swirls all over the scoop of ice cream, to the point that it looked like fur.

“You may well be right,” came the reply. “We haven already spent two months replanting trees together, so this may be his way of showing concern for me.”

Ophilia nodded, concentrating on her work. She added two larger swirls of cream to the front and smoothed them out so that they looked like paws, then drew another line from the back to the front to look like a fluffy tail. It was really starting to look the part now! She had practised these, but it was another thing entirely to do them for customers!

“Of course,” H’aanit went on, “the last time I left him to his own devices, he ended up stoned.”

Ophilia nearly dropped the piping bag, and from the back of the stall, Telly called out, “I’m sorry, did you say your master ended up being turned to stone?”

“Nay, lad. I said he ended up stoned. As in, he was affected by drugs of some kind. That is the correct vernacular, is it not?” She frowned. “I know my speech is a little different but I’m sure that was the word Primrose used…” the woman trailed off, her expression thoughtful, and Ophilia had to wonder about how H’aanit’s master had lived so long when he got into exploits like that.

“Ummm… what happened, if I may?” Ophilia asked curiously, reaching for a pack of chocolate sandwich cookies.

H’aanit was watching her with fascination again, and she had to fight to not make a mistake. Being under such scrutiny whilst making something for a customer was something she wasn’t used to!

“Apparently, he was offered a wager by some people playing cards, the last time we went to pick up more saplings,” H’aanit reflected, and Ophilia gave up on trying to finish the crepe while the woman was talking. She looked up instead, and she could see out of the corner of her eye that Telly was all agog to hear this as well. “The wager was thus: ‘Canst thou determine the secret ingredient in these brownies?’ I am not too proud to say that my Master fell for it, hook, line, and sinker.”

Telly burst out laughing, and Ophilia smiled sadly. “Did no-one warn him?”

“Aye, his wolfhound, Hagen, tried to pull him away, but Master Z’aanta was adamant.” H’aanit shook her head again, but when she spoke again there was laughter in her voice. “Afterward, Hagen came to fetchen me, and we got him to where he could safely rest. I wouldst like to say that he hath learnt his lesson, but…”

“Say no more.” Ophilia knew how stubborn some people could be. It didn’t sound like H’aanit’s master had been too affected by his escapade, but it must have worried her. If that was the case, then she could definitely see this Z’aanta wanting H’aanit to get away from him for a while, so she wasn’t wearing herself out chasing after him.

“All right! Time to finish this crepe!” she said then, taking two of the cookies and putting them on top of the cream, like a pair of cat ears. H’annit’s face lit up when she recognised what she was doing, and her expression gave Ophilia the ability to be a little more confident in her actions.

“Nearly there…” she murmured, piping another swirl of cream to be the ‘cat’s’ muzzle, and she placed a small marshmallow at the front as a little pink nose. She used chocolate buttons for eyes, and then sprinkled more cookie crumbs in little clusters to form what she hoped was similar to a snow leopard’s markings.

“Thou truly art skilled at this,” H’aanit marvelled, taking out her phone. “Mayest I take a photograph, to keepen the memory of this alive?”

“Of course!” Ophilia said brightly. “There’s just one more thing to do and then it’s all yours.”

With that said, she took a tiny piping bag full of chocolate sauce and daintily drew the snow leopard’s whiskers and claws. There! Her first complicated crepe for a customer, and she hadn’t made any mistakes at all!

“All done!” she said, carefully removing it from the stand and dropping it into a cardboard sleeve with the church’s logo on it. She held it out for H’aanit to quickly take a photo, and then waited for the woman to put her phone away and bring out her coin purse instead to pay.

“Thou hast outdone thyself,” H’aanit said with a smile on her face. She took the crepe and gazed at it, her eyes soft, before looking up at Ophilia. “Perhaps there was logic in my master’s decision after all,” she conceded, her eyes twinkling.

“Then I hope you enjoy your holiday!” Ophilia beamed. “Oh! I almost forgot. Here!” and she handed H’aanit a little disposable wooden spoon, to make it easier to eat the crepe with. “It gets a bit messy if you eat it like an ice cream,” she explained with a laugh, recalling a time in her youth when she had done just that. Lianna still reminded her of that to this day. “So… what will you do next, H’aanit?”

“I am meeting my friend Primrose in a short while, and we will go around the Night Market together,” H’aanit said, looking down the street, towards the area where the stalls selling Sunlands Sufra Masala dishes were. “I haven no taste for overly spiced food, but… Well. I haven not backed down from a challenge yet!”

Ophilia giggled. “Well, you both can always come back here if the food is too spicy for you. Maybe I could make you another crepe, and one for your friend, too!”

“I would liken that very much,” H’aanit smiled.

Chapter Text

Auguste sighed. He did so hate to be parted from his beloved muse, but the winds of fate frequently blew them in different directions. This was just another example of that...

Oh, stop being melodramatic, Auguste! he told himself, putting on his jacket and leaving the hotel. Making sure he had his wallet and the room key, the writer made his way through the lobby and out into the night. It’s only for a couple of days and then you’ll be back together again.

Gilderoy’s friend had returned to take over the Saucy Shrimp stall, leaving Gilderoy free to go on his way again. The jeweller had been staying with Auguste in his hotel room, but a phone call had brought important news that he had to attend to, and so had left early that morning. Something about another arranging another commission for a celebrity or the like. Auguste had smiled fondly at how popular his wonderful, wonderful Gilderoy was. The world should see how good he was.

Still, it left Auguste alone in Atlasdam for another night. After one more book signing in Flamesgrace, he was free! Well, free to go back to Theatropolis and take a break, at least, and since Gilderoy had promised to be there too, Auguste intended to make the most of it.

So, I leave town tomorrow morning, which means I have a whole night to myself, he thought, his feet already treading the familiar paths of Atlasdam’s main street. The Night Market was already in full swing, the vendors all busy welcoming travelling food connoisseurs, newcomers, and the hungry citizens of Atlasdam alike. Music and happy chatter drifted on the breeze, and the savoury scent of a multitude of different foods was already reaching his nose.

I might as well indulge a bit, he smiled, looking around. After all, I won’t get this chance again for a while, and there’s quite a few cuisines I haven’t tried… It’ll be good research for any future novels.

But what to have this time? Auguste didn’t consider himself a picky eater at all, but some of the foods on display didn’t really appeal to him. He passed by one stall that was selling bento boxes from the eastern continent, but the thought of the marinated and deep-fried Cetus Maximus put him off ordering that.

He passed another that was selling Reaper Crab salads, among other things. Auguste might even have tried it, if not for the ugly looking crab shell on the counter behind them, not to mention the tank full of snapping little crabs right in front of him.

Sometimes you didn’t need a reminder of exactly how fresh your food was.

And then a most curious scent reached his nose. It was strong, even mingled as it was with the countless other aromas from the Night Market, and Auguste frowned. What could bring about such a peculiar odour? It smelled almost like…

He stopped right in front of a stall run by a young woman dressed in traditional I’cirlo garb, and on the trestle tables in front of her was a collection of unusual cheeses. Dishes were filled with cubes of different cheeses, and they sat alongside olives and slices of cured meat. There were even small earthenware jars of homemade pickles and relishes, standing in front of a stack of cornmeal flatbreads, and in an open cupboard behind the stall was a selection of I’cirlo wines, many of vintages that Auguste recognised.

In spite of the smell, Auguste was intrigued.

Evidently other guests appeared to be just as interested, as most of the tables set around the stall were full. Auguste spied many combinations of the various foods on their plates, but the mainstay was the cheese and pickles - and the wine.

This would make a fine tale to tell Gilderoy about, Auguste thought, strolling up to the counter. He smiled winningly at the girl, who simply raised her eyebrow at him, thoroughly unimpressed.

“What can I get for you?” she asked curtly, gesturing to the foods on display.

Auguste peered closely at the labels, and the minute he read the name of the cheese he nodded with recognition. That was what the smell was!

Alpaca cheese. Made from the finest alpaca milk in I’cirlo, and aged in ancient caves. A hard cheese with a robust flavour and a slight saltiness to it.

“I’ll have a bit of everything, if you don’t mind,” he said, turning to look at the wines next. Good cheese and wine… An idea was already forming in his head for his next night in with Gilderoy, making him smile. “I’ll have a glass of the white wine as well, if it’s no trouble.”

“Coming right up,” the girl said, and then briskly gathered his order together. Everything was plated a little haphazardly, but it looked good, and Auguste paid her what she asked. She brushed off his thanks and then ducked under the counter, bringing out a tub and starting to refill the pickles.

Carefully balancing the plate to make sure the olives didn’t roll off, Auguste looked for an empty space to sit. The tables only sat two at a time, which meant he would be sharing with someone, but who? Everywhere looked full…

He was just about to go and sit on a nearby wall to eat when someone got up and walked away. Swiftly, before anyone else could take that seat, Auguste walked across and sat down, setting his plate and wine glass down and smiling at his good fortune.

With a contented sigh at the prospect of getting somewhere to sit, he tore off a piece of the flatbread and topped it with a cube of the alpaca cheese. He sniffed it judiciously and shrugged, taking a bite.

The flavour was not what he had expected. It was strong, and he almost felt his eyes starting to water, but he was not about to be outdone by solidified alpaca milk! He reached for his glass of wine and took a sip, only to find that the flavour suddenly mellowed into something far more palatable.

Auguste peered curiously at the wine, and then at the small pile of cheese cubes on his plate.

“It’s quite a surprise, isn’t it?”

He looked up at the sound of his tablemate’s gruff voice. The other man had brown hair that had been slicked back, and a short trimmed beard framed a rather cocky looking grin. There was an air of supreme self-confidence about him, making Auguste somewhat wary.

“It is, although it’s often the way with wine and cheese,” Auguste said calmly, tearing off another piece of bread and dipping it into the relish. What was that sharp tang at the back of his throat? Definitely one of the more interesting condiments he’d tried! Gilderoy would probably love this, too.

“Oho! A fellow expert, are you? Well, you would have to go a long way before you matched my talent, but it’s nice to talk with those in the know,” the man went on, picking up a wine glass and swirling the contents around. It looked like he, too, had picked the white wine. “I see you picked the Western I’cirlo sauterne. Excellent choice! Oh, pardon me,” he said with a wink. “Not that the people from I’cirlo call it a sauterne, but you know what I mean.”

“Indeed,” Auguste murmured, wondering if it was too late to find a nice, quiet spot sitting on a wall to eat.

“Do forgive me for my manners. I am Varkyn, former advisor to the Frostlands military, but now I’m exploring all manner of career options,” the man - Varkyn - said, taking a long drink. “Aside from being a consultant to a few industries, I’m also dabbling in a spot of writing. After all, it’s so easy to just think up a story and put it down on paper that anyone could do it.”

Auguste’s eyebrow twitched. Maybe the girl behind the counter had been in a bad mood because of this gentlemen. Moreover, he recognised the name from Creators of the Continent, the fanfiction writer’s site where he posted the stories his publisher wasn’t interested in, among other things. It was too much of a coincidence for this to be anyone other than God-Strategist Varkyn, someone who had commented on his works any number of times, none of them flattering.

He also didn’t seem to recognise Auguste at all. Auguste felt he’d rather keep it that way! “You may call me Gus,” he replied tolerantly. Of all the people to run into at the Night Market!

“Oho, Gus, eh? Nice to meet you!” Varkyn certainly wasn’t lacking in confidence in real life! “And what do you do?”

The question put Auguste on the spot a little, but the perfect idea came to him. “I work in the publishing industry myself,” he said, and technically it was true.

Unwilling to let his tablemate spoil his evening, Auguste picked up some more of the cheese and wrapped it in some of the cured meat this time. It truly did have an interesting flavour by itself. It was such an acquired taste, yet somehow the wine really did bring out the best in it. He'd never really considered himself a cheese connoisseur but maybe there was more to it than he thought!

“Ah, publishing. That is noble work! Who knows? Maybe we might be co-workers in the future,” Varkyn laughed, making Auguste wince inwardly. “Between you and me, I’m testing my skills right now by writing fanfiction. It’s a worthy and interesting hobby, let me tell you!”

Oh. It was him.

“Fanfiction, you say?” Auguste smiled, deciding to play along. “I know a little bit about that.”

“I suppose you would have heard of it, in the industry. Well, let me tell you, I intend to be the tip-top writer on that site, and then the publishers won’t be able to ignore me!” Varkyn chuckled. “I’ll be the very best. The first and last. The alpha and the omega. The…”

Auguste pulled at his earlobe thoughtfully and then, struck by a sudden sense of mischief, he found himself speaking. “The alpha and the omega? I’m very intrigued to know how you’re going to be both of those at once.”

Varkyn looked at him in surprise. “Surely you jest!”

“Oh, I'm sorry! I assumed you knew and were making a joke! Well, in that case I don’t think you know what that means in fanfiction terms,” Auguste replied lightly, dabbing some relish onto the bread and topping it with more of the cheese. It really was rather good when you got used to it. “Perhaps you should do some research on that. It’s a curious form of literature, I must say.” How he managed to stop himself from laughing, he would never know!

“Alpha and Omega, you say? Why, then, thank you for the advice! I’ll do just that. I have some reading ahead!” Auguste would have loved to see Varkyn’s reactions to those kinds of stories! “At this rate, you may just help me become better than my rival,” Varkyn said, holding out his glass. Auguste took the hint and gently clinked his own glass against Varkyn’s, making the other man grin.

“You have a rival?” Ohh, this was too much! He had no idea that Varkyn looked upon him like that!

Varkyn leaned in close, as if to keep his next words a secret. Not that anyone could hear them over the noise of the Night Market, but Auguste decided to humour him. “A user by the name of AugusteSchwarzsBiggestFan,” Varkyn whispered conspiratorially, and then sat back and grinned. “I consider it a compliment of the highest order that I have a rival!”

If Auguste had been drinking his wine at that point, it would have been sprayed all over Varkyn. As it was, he had to hide his grin by popping the first thing he could find - which happened to be a piece of cheese - into his mouth. The taste filled his mouth, and he had to reach for the wine anyway to soften it.

“A rival, you say?” Auguste said, once he could trust his tongue to speak without laughing. He certainly didn’t feel the same way. They didn’t even write in the same genres!

“Oh, yes. We’re most different. In fact, you might say we’re like this cheese and this wine,” Varkyn tapped his plate with his fingernail, and then did the same to his glass. “One is potent, but apparently has their fans, and the other is elegant and refined, full of taste and experience.”

Comparing them to the wine and cheese? Auguste knew exactly which one Varkyn was likening himself to, but it wasn’t the wine. “Are you saying that together they make each other better?” he asked.

“I suppose I am,” Varkyn said slowly. “Rivals do often drive each other to greatness.”

“If it were me, I would suggest that both have their value, but the presence of one makes you appreciate the other more as well,” Auguste said, finishing up the last of his flatbread. The cured meat and cheese had all gone, too.

Gilderoy really would love this kind of food, and just thinking of his love made him decide it was time to leave. It had been an enlightening experience to run into Varkyn like this, but it wasn't something he'd like to extend. “Oh, would you look at that? I’ve run out of food!” he said then, feigning a mournful tone. He looked around, and then nodded, as if selecting his next foodie target. “I’m truly sorry to leave such sparkling conversation, but it’s my last night here and I want to try as many different things as I can. I hope you understand.”

Varkyn got to his feet, thrusting out his hand and obviously expecting Auguste to take it. He did, and found his hand being shaken by such a vigorous handshake that he worried about the state of his wrist bones. “It’s been great to talk to such a like-minded fellow!” he boomed, and Auguste was grateful when Varkyn let his hand go. “I do hope we meet again in the publishing world one day, Gus. It’ll be nice to have you on my side when I bring down my rival.”

Auguste would have loved to see that, too. “Good luck with your writing,” he said, patting the other man on the shoulder. With a friendly smile, he walked off, heading towards one of the other food stalls. He didn’t really fancy anything sweet, so while he would have usually avoided the Cragspear berry pies with apparent royal approval, they were far more appealing than another conversation with Varkyn.

Still, just wait til he told Gilderoy about this!

Chapter Text

There was always a kind of festival-like atmosphere around the Atlasdam Night Market, and Viola found she absolutely loved it. Things were always more fun at nighttime, especially with all the bright lights and loud music. All those people having fun and trying new things. Just about anything might happen… There could be thieves, or fights, or romantic encounters…

What a thrill!

Viola made it a point to visit every year, just to see try out all the newest foods and drinks she could find. She had always been adventurous - a fact that had gotten her in trouble on quite a few occasions - but it was hard to go wrong when trying out new things to eat!

Maybe I should try something different this year. Roasted goat, or that killer chameleon meat they were talking about on television… she mused, pulling her bag in tightly, just in case anyone tried to snatch it. Not that she envied anyone who tried! More than a few members of her family had connections to some of the groups of rival gangs from the Sunlands, and as such she’d learnt self-defence at a very young age. There’d even been one or two occasions when she’d been offered the chance to join them, but…

It’s amazing what love can do to a person. Viola looked around, her keen eyes picking out all the interesting menus as she walked past. If not for him, who knows what I might be doing right now? Would I be in prison? Fighting with one of the other gangs? …Dead?

Viola couldn’t help the sigh that escaped her lips. But even so, I’m still alone…

She shook her head, making her hair fall into her face, and she brushed it back irritably. Best not to think about what might have been, not tonight. It would spoil the mood, and she’d been looking forward to this all day!

Maybe I should look for a drink, as well as something to eat, she thought, casting her eyes along the row of stalls closest to her. I bet something nice and strong would help chase those bad memories away.

The twinkling fairy lights along the edge of a certain canopy caught her eye, and she smiled to herself when she read the sign above the stall. What luck! It seemed like this was the perfect place to get something to take the edge off her mood.

W’ludai’s Wines of the World!

What looked like four plastic garden tables were dotted in front of the stall, complete with matching chairs, and below the red and white canopy was something that resembled a bar. A polished wooden counter stood in front of a van with its back door wide open, revealing what could only be described as a mobile bar. It was quite ingenious, really.

Rows upon rows of bottles of all kinds stood neatly on a shelving unit that had obviously been made especially for this purpose, leaving just enough space on one side for someone to get into the rear of the van. On the counter in front were all the bartender’s tools you could think of, as well as a cocktail menu and a well-filled ice bucket that was just starting to bead with condensation.

Viola’s keen eye spotted the Valorian twelve year old whisky almost immediately, but on closer inspection there was all kinds of alcohol just ready for sampling. Bottles of the good IPA from Shepherds Rock, herb wine from the Frostlands, even some of the famous mead from Cobbleston she’d only recently heard about.

And was that wine from the vineyards near her old home in the Sunlands?

Moreover, what the hell was Catnip Juice?

“Yeah, this is definitely my kind of place,” Viola murmured, coming over to the ‘bar’ and casually leaning against the counter. Now that she was closer, she could see a small refrigerator sitting nearby, plugged into a generator behind the van if the sound was anything to go by, and there was a big cardboard box nearby filled with snacks of all kinds. Evidently the stallholder hadn’t gotten around to putting them all out yet.

“Excuse me? Is anyone here?” she called, looking around her. The other customers already sitting on the plastic chairs briefly looked up but otherwise didn’t give her a second thought, all returning to their drinks within seconds. Either they all had things on their minds, or the alcohol really was that good.

“I’ll just be a second!” a voice called from within the van, and moments later an elegant woman with long brown hair squeezed through the little gap at the edge of the liquor shelves. She was even dressed to fit the part, looking for all the world like a bartender you'd find in any fancy hotel or bar in Orsterra. With a little wave, the woman jumped rather daintily to the pavement and brushed off her hands, looking at Viola with a cocky grin. “Oh my, I thought I’d have enough time. Sorry, I was just cutting some fresh fruit for the cocktails.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Viola said easily, smiling back. “You must be W’ludai, then.”

“I am indeed! W’ludai and her wines, at your service.” The woman - W’ludai - flicked her ponytail over her shoulder and gestured to the display of bottles behind her. It was still impressive to think that all of this was based in a van, of all things. “What can I get for you?”

“What do you have for someone trying to avoid the wrong kind of memories?”

The words came out of Viola’s mouth before she’d even realised she’d spoken. She looked up and saw that W’ludai wasn’t even fazed by her question, a fact that oddly consoled her. If anything, the look on the woman’s face was sympathetic.

“Well now, usually I’d recommend something that makes you think about good memories instead!” she said brightly, taking a glass from under the counter and setting it down between them. “So, if it’s matters of love that’s getting you down, think of something fun you did with friends instead! That’s what I always do.”

Matters of love? Viola supposed you could call it that. Her thoughts flickered back to their first meeting, when he was visiting her hometown and she’d fallen for him at first sight. She’d known it was love as soon as she felt it, and she’d made up her mind to leave the family business and all its thievery behind. She’d go to university and turn her life around, putting her talents with money to good use in the financial industry instead.

All for him.

But on the day Viola had been about to confess, he revealed that he’d brought someone with him, someone he not only loved deeply, but was engaged to as well. She was clever and sweet, whereas Viola was sharp and fiery, and Viola found she couldn’t do it. He looked so happy with her... She couldn’t confess and break them up. She couldn't deny him his happiness.

The worst of it was that they had stayed in touch, at his request. Viola hadn't the heart to deny him that, either.

“Matters of love, you say…” Viola murmured, tracing the bottom of the glass with her finger. “I tried that once. Never again.”

“Work, then? Or friends? Either way, you should focus on the good things when drinking,” W’ludai said, turning to look at the bottles lined up behind her. “Oh, I know! How about a cocktail? I have a list right here…”

“Work is fine. A little too easy, if anything,” Viola replied, starting to relax a bit. W’ludai was right. Nothing good would come of dwelling on memories like that. “No problems with my friends, either.”

W’ludai gave her a shrewd look, and Viola found herself staring right back at the woman with a grin on her face. The Night Market continued to bustle around them for a while but they both ignored it, each too stubborn to look away first, until W'ludai slowly crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue. Viola couldn't help but laugh, inadvertantly looking away and making W'ludai let out a little cheer of victory.

“All right, all right, it was a matter of the heart, but it was a long time ago. As for me, right now? I’ll never love again. Lust will do me just fine,” Viola said, her grin turning wicked. “It’s more of a thrill to have a fling or two, don’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t know,” W’ludai said, her face the picture of studied innocence. “A lady never kisses and tells! But you’re right, it does sound easier. Not necessarily healthy, but definitely easier.”

Viola waved her hand dismissively. “It’ll be fine!” Suddenly she remembered what W’ludai had said about cocktails, and she looked towards the little menu on the counter next to her. The names all sounded so fanciful! Apple Thief, Steorra’s Starfruit, Tasty Tradewinds, Greengrass... Those all sounded pretty straightforward. Delight of Doubt however sounded intriguing, as did Meaningless Bloodshed and From the Far Reaches of Hell. What were those cocktails like to have names like that! There was also The Sacred Flame’s Warmth, but that didn’t exactly appeal to her right now.

That left Pitiful Playwright, Master Jeweler, and Coastlands Daydream, and although she was curious her eyes were fixed firmly on the last two cocktails: the Hunter’s Heart and one called First Desire. Both of them sounded really good to her, for some reason.

Then she remembered W’ludai’s words about not dwelling on the memories giving you trouble, and she grinned at the other woman, one eyebrow raised. “I’m interested in the Coastlands Daydream,” she said, forcing away memories of the one she knew as Crow. “It makes me think of this time in Goldshore where I met the most wonderful man…”

W’ludai gave her a perplexed smile, but she quickly turned and grabbed some bottles and started to make Viola’s drink. “I thought you weren’t going to think about love,” she said, her hands busy. Drops of sweet clementine juice went into the glass, topped up with some of the sparkling Valore white wine Viola used to love, as well as a scraping of zest and a sprig of mint. When she had finished, she presented it to Viola and then leant on the counter herself, her chin in one hand. “I’d love to hear this story, though!”

“Well, for starters, it’s not about love,” Viola said, taking a sip of the drink. It was subtle, and sure enough it reminded her of her time in Goldshore recently. “Although there was plenty of lust involved, that’s for certain!”

“Ooh, do tell!” W’ludai laughed, and for a moment, the noise of the Night Market faded away, leaving the two of them to chat like old friends. It was a strange feeling, but oddly Viola found herself really enjoying it.

“As I said, I met the most wonderful man. The conference I was at for work was boring, you know how the financial sector can be… We spoke a couple of times, both of us hinting at the same thing, and then we spent the night together. It was quite the thrill!” She picked up the glass by the stem and lazily swirled the pale orange liquid around, thinking back on the memory. W’ludai was right. It was far better to think about things like this.

“Well, the next day, we both went our separate ways and I thought that was the end of it. He went back to Noblecourt, and I stayed on for more corporate stuff.” W’ludai was avidly nodding along now, completely engrossed in Viola’s story. “It was a fairly dull day, but that night, I met the most amazing woman…”

The more of her tale she recounted, the brighter the expression on W’ludai’s face, and when she’d finished, the bartender leaned over the counter to whisper 'That's the spirit!' in her ear, making Viola look at her thoughtfully. W'ludai simply raised her eyebrows and flashed her a big smile in reply, leaving Viola wondering what the night would bring next.

Still, at least the thoughts of Crow and what might have been were now tucked away in the back of her mind, not forgotten, but not bothering her any more, either.

“So, after that story, what should I make for you next?” W’ludai asked, taking the glass and putting it to one side. She picked up a clean cocktail glass in one hand and a tumbler in the other, giving them both a shake. "Or maybe some wine? A beer?"

“I think I’ll try From the Far Reaches of Hell,” Viola replied, tapping the little cocktail menu again, and she was rewarded by the impressed look on W’ludai’s face. “I never was one to back down from a challenge!”

Chapter Text

With a little wince, Ramona replaced one of the now-empty plates with one containing a whole sticky ginger cake, before stepping back and throwing her arms above her head in a massive stretch. The stall had only been open for about half an hour, but it had already been much busier than she was used to!

The ginger cake had been a quick seller, just the same as it was in her bakery back in Valore. The little Emberglow teacakes, full of raisins and warm spices, had sold well too, as had the mini Everhold-style opera cakes, but the thing that just about everyone seemed to want was the one thing she thought would never sell.

Baffled, she turned her head towards her faithful old van, where box upon box of eastern continent inspired Jiggly Cakes sat waiting to be sold. Ramona had been shocked when they had come out of the oven and just wobbled like that, but when they served it with wild strawberries and fresh cream she knew she was onto a winner.

Especially with the way her fork had just slid straight through that fluffy sponge cake… She’d never seen anything like it.

In fact, they were so popular that just last night, they had actually sold out entirely. They had had a frantic morning trying to organise some space to make some more, leading to her friend and assistant Madelaine entreating the local church to see if they could borrow a kitchen for an afternoon!

She had only started making them after a customer showed her one of the viral videos on Mewtube. The recipe seemed easy enough, and since half of the profits were going to a local charity in Valore it was worth a try. Madelaine had suggested advertising it on the shop’s social media accounts, and even before Ramona had laid the first gingham tablecloth down on their stall there was a line of people waiting!

Jiggly cakes… Who would’ve thought it! Ramona mused, casting her eye over the Night Market. Smiling people were wandering around with plastic trays of food in hand, eating and laughing and having fun… it was such a good sight! The slowly darkening skies made the bright neon lights all the more eye-catching, and the music… Well, it wasn’t her cup of tea, but it made everyone happy!

Although, she did appreciate this little lull in proceedings all the more: as a baker, she was usually up before the crack of dawn, so doing business this late was a little tiring. By this time, I’d probably be laying on the sofa, catching up on some cheesy television before getting an early night, she thought, watching as another customer came over. Ah, Madelaine’s looking after her. That’s good! Oh, wait, I need to put out some more Creamy Cait chouxs. They sold fast, too!

Turning so briskly her ponytail flicked out behind her, Ramona headed to the van and found what she was looking for, returning just as Madelaine was starting to chat with the new customer. Leave it to Madelaine to strike up a conversation with anyone! The customer, a young woman with shining eyes and a lovely floral hairpin, responded shyly at first but no-one could resist Madelaine’s charm for long and she was soon happily chatting back.

This is what it’s all about, Ramona smiled, lifting the choux buns out one by one and rearranging them on the plate. Judging by the copy of Auguste Schwartz’s latest novel under her arm, the young woman was a big fan, and Ramona’s guess was all but confirmed when their customer said she wanted a small jiggly cake to herself to snack on while reading it.

She gave the choux buns a light dredging with powdered sugar and then stood back, startling a little when both Madelaine and the customer started cheerfully singing the jingle to the Stillsnow Snow Sugar advert. Thank goodness she’d kept a good grip on the sugar shaker - that could’ve been messy!

“You kept your calm very well,” a woman’s voice said, and this time Ramona did jump. She laughed at herself, making a show of carefully putting the sugar shaker down and smiling broadly at the new arrival, hoping she hadn’t made too much of a fool of herself.

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you to say,” she said, straightening her apron, her embarrassment internalised, if not forgotten. “I’m sorry you had to see me jump like that, though! Now then, what can I get for you?”

The woman smiled - or rather, she tried to - but it came across as rather cool. Her plain dress and jacket made her look like a minor politician or a civil servant, and with her hair neatly piled up in a bun it all added to the effect. Ramona couldn’t help but think this woman was somewhat more than all that, though it would have been rude to ask. Everyone had their secrets, after all!

“I came here to get some inspiration, actually,” the woman said, folding her arms across her chest. “Ah, but where are my manners? My name is Sarisa, and the lady I serve is in town for the Night Market. Just last night, she expressed a wish to eat more of these unusual treats every day.” Sarisa looked up, perhaps staring at the stars while gathering her thoughts. “To that end, I’m trying to get ideas so I can make them for her once we’ve moved on. We’re doing a lot of travelling right now, you see.”

“It sounds like you’ve got a complicated job on your hands.” Ramona sympathised, and then gestured to the stalls around them. “There’s so many different vendors here, all selling different things! But cakes? I might be able to help you with cakes. My name is Ramona, and I’ll be here all week, so you could always take a few back to her and see which ones she likes? Then I can give you the recipes!”

The woman thought about that for a moment, pursing her lips slightly as she considered it. Ramona took the opportunity to glance across at Madelaine, who was just waving goodbye to their customer with a smile on her face. Her friend was clearly happy that they’d made a sale! With a wink, Madelaine pointed to the van and its boxes of jiggly cake, and then to one of the plates that had held one of their loaves of plum bread, and Ramona gave her a cheerful nod back.

These jiggly cakes certainly were a good idea! she thought, turning her attention back to the lady in front of her. There was a somewhat uncertain look on Sarisa’s face, making Ramona wonder if she’d inadvertently offended her by turning her attention elsewhere, but that was dispelled the moment the woman spoke.

“I will buy a few to take back with me, as that is the best way to find out what my lady likes,” she said, her tone much softer than before, “but as for recipes… Well. Let’s just say that I’ve tried to make cakes and sweets for her before and they… did not exactly turn out well.”

Ramona looked sympathetically at her. “Well, baking can be tricky,” she said, and Sarisa looked at her sharply. “There are so many little things that could go wrong! It’s both an art and a science at the same time, and it takes a lot of practice. Even then things can still go wrong, so don’t worry!”

“As a woman who does everything, I really should be able to do things like this for my lady,” Sarisa sighed, reaching into her bag and pulling out a little notebook. She opened it and flipped through the pages until she found what she was looking for, and then read aloud from it. “So far, I have tried to make ginger cookies, butterfly cakes, dorayaki, several types of petit fours, and macarons, and I failed at each and every one of them.”

For all Sarisa said it so matter-of-factly, Ramona knew the woman took the failure as a personal slight. While it was true that some people just weren’t very good at cooking, there was always something to be done, some way to get the results you wanted…

“Some of those sound like very complicated recipes,” she began carefully, watching for Sarisa’s reaction. When Sarisa merely inclined her head in agreement, Ramona went on. “Am I to assume that your lady has enjoyed these things in the past, so you wanted to make them for her?"

Sarisa’s nod was barely perceptible, but it was there. “My lady said that they tasted fine, but I could tell. To say nothing of Yukes’ reaction…”

Admitting a flaw to a stranger was no easy thing to do… Especially when this woman apparently prided herself on her ability to do everything.

“Well, then! Why don’t you take some simpler things back with you? That way you should be able to replicate them easier,” Ramona suggested, quickly scanning the counter in front of her, her eyes coming to rest on the plate with slices of Hornburg cake on it. “This one, for example! Hornburg cake. It’s made by using two types of the same cake, only with two different colours added into the mixture.” She picked up a slice and handed it to Sarisa, who peered curiously at it. “You arrange the cakes when they’re cool so they form a checkerboard pattern when sliced, and wrap it in marzipan to hold it together!”

“And it’s the same cake, just different colours?” Sarisa asked, and Ramona nodded. “That would make things a bit more simple. Tell me: what else would you suggest?”

Ramona rubbed her hands together. This was where she excelled! Customers asked her questions like this at the bakery all the time. “If you want to keep it simple, then you can’t go wrong with these cookies. Riverlands raisin and oatmeal. Then there’s these…”

By the time she had finished, Ramona had suggested several different cakes for Sarisa to try. The Hornburg cake and the cookies notwithstanding, she also convinced Sarisa to buy some of the Cait choux buns, a simple sponge cake from Noblecourt, and a small apple cake from Bolderfall. She knew the choux buns wouldn’t be easy to replicate, but it might be something Sarisa could work on.

“Before you go, would you like to take some jiggly cake with you?” Ramona asked, putting all of Sarisa’s purchases into a box. As if on cue, Madelaine brought over a whole cake, already decorated with cream and strawberries, and Sarisa’s lips twitched in a little smile when she saw how it wobbled.

“I rather think my lady would like that,” she said, her smile growing. “Yukes, too. Although, I don’t think I’ll be able to make something this complicated.”

“I’ll just pop it into a box for you,” Madelaine chirped, leaving Ramona to finish serving Sarisa.

“All energy, that one!” she laughed, and Sarisa almost looked fond. Maybe this Yukes had a similar sort of energy to Madelaine. “And this is another example of how contrary baking can be! I found the jiggly cake rather easy to make, but others? There’s a marble cake recipe from Saintsbridge that’s supposed to be foolproof, but I still can’t get it right. We learn and improve every day. That’s the best way to keep going,” she smiled.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Sarisa mused, taking the boxes from Ramona. With a shy smile, she added, “I always did pride myself on being a perfectionist, but I’m always trying to get better.”

Ramona laughed. “That’s the spirit!” she chuckled. “I’ll print out the recipes tomorrow and have them ready for you, whenever you visit next. Between us, we’ll make sure you can make some cakes for your lady!”

“It’s not like that,” she murmured, and maybe it was the neon lights around them but it almost looked like Sarisa was blushing. “But I am grateful to you, Ramona. Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it! I’ll be here tomorrow, and for the rest of the Night Market, too,” Ramona told her, putting her hands on her hips. “If you like, you can pick out some more cakes then, too!”

“I’d like that,” Sarisa said, tapping the topmost box gently. “I’d like that very much.”