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@ -49,3 +49,5 @@ src/notes.md
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src/acknowledgements.md
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src/afterword.md
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src/appendix/a/index.md
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src/appendix/b/bean.md
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src/appendix/c/teale.md
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---
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title: Appendix B
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created: Tue, 17 Jan 2023 08:09:58 -0700
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updated: Tue, 17 Jan 2023 08:09:58 -0700
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public: yes
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---
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## Appendix B: Bean
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**Note**: This story by mio was originally published in issue 6 of the
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tilde.town zine, and is included here with the author's permission.
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<https://tilde.town/~zine/issues/6/html/mio/bean/>
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~
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> This short story is dedicated to \~dozens.
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>
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> Several months ago he spoke of a [tabletop
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> game](https://dozensanddragons.neocities.org/30.html) that involved
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> growing cats from beans, inviting others to try it and share their
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> actual plays. As it happened, someone read the message and played the
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> game, but the narrative that was supposed to accompany the results never
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> materialised, having fizzled out in a desolate post-apocalyptic
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> landscape before it had barely started.
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>
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> Here instead is a story about growing, cats and beans, not necessarily
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> in that order. Discerning readers will observe its setting is loosely
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> based in a different game, the wonderful [Basement
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> Quest](http://tilde.town/~dozens/quest/) of which \~dozens is the
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> amazing author and thoroughly adept game host. He has also kindly given
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> permission to reproduce my tiny tale of tomfoolery under the [CC-BY-SA
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> license](https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/). The story
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> would not have existed without his support and the patience of fellow
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> players, though any lapses in judgement for churning out complete drivel
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> are mine alone. *Gratias maximas.*
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>
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> mio
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Deep within the bowels of the bustling city of Vay'Nullar was a building
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like every other and none other. The unassuming brick structure stood to
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one side of Cofe Street, so named after a giant automaton that had once
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occupied an empty plot of land for the sole purpose of selling coffee
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and the wonders of mechanical ingenuity before it broke down one day and
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the lot, overrun by weeds, was turned into an apothecary. There was no
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sign above the entrance to announce itself to the world, the windows
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shuttered and the wooden door bolted from within. It could be said that
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there was nothing remarkable about the building except for a colourful
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row of marching kidney-shaped beans painted in bas-relief than ran along
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the base of the tiled roof. The beans' faces were contorted in various
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expressions of merriment, from hopping up and down with silly grins to
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flipping on their backs, eyes screwed tight and mouths wide open in
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laughter.
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No one actually knew for sure if it was a shop, or what it sold, because
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the doors had never opened for business. Passers-by can be forgiven for
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thinking it was probably an ill-fated foray into fame and fortune by
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some enterprising young upstart that had floundered at the last moment,
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and the place had long since been abandoned to the cobwebs of aurs and
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dust bunnies. However, the neighbourhood's residents knew differently.
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If anyone had cared to ask, they would have recounted in tense, hushed
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voices of eerie sounds emanating from the building at night. Some said
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they heard loud whooshing noises; others swore someone or something was
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lighting crackling bonfires inside, though they had neither seen light
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nor smoke from a fire. Still more spoke of a sound --- the more
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musically-inclined might liken it to a note blown from a long horn,
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lowered then abruptly dampened. The children --- the ones who were old
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enough or secretly sneaked out past their bedtime --- would have simply
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described it as if a crowd had gotten together in a room and farted at
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the same time.
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None of the residents had ever heard nor seen the landlord; as far as
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the eldest grannies could remember, the building had always appeared the
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way it did. When the city finally sent an inspector to assess the
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property after multiple complaints from the most vocal residents, the
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man had returned so shocked by whatever he had seen that to this day he
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could not utter a syllable, his entire body frozen in fear whenever the
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subject of the bean building was brought up. Cursed, was the conclusion
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of a guild of wizards three districts over, though one that seemed to
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evade their scanners. A few of the bravest and more curious among their
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ranks offered to investigate, but never returned with their findings.
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Children were sternly warned by their parents to stay away and behave,
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or they would be snatched up and eaten by the monster that lived within
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its walls.
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One afternoon, a young girl who was studying the painted relief along
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one side of the building heard scratching, mewls, then a whimper coming
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from somewhere nearby. Following the sounds, she rounded the back of the
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building and spotted a grey kitten with light charcoal stripes slumped
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against the wall, paws on their furry tummy, with a pinched expression
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on their face. As she came closer, she could hear a low gurgling sound
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coming from somewhere near its tummy. "Oh!" She exclaimed, her face lit
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up in understanding. "Stay here, kitty." she told the kitten.
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She returned from a nearby shop with a glass bottle of oat milk, two
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small dishes and three skewers of tofuna balls. She set the items in
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front of the kitten, removed the skewers from the first dish and filled
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the other with milk. "Go on, it's for you." The girl smiled
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encouragingly at the kitten, who stared at her with wide eyes before
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pouncing on the tofuna balls. When the kitten had emptied the plates,
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they licked their face and paws, then looked up at the girl and mewed
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once before disappearing into a small hole in the wall of the building
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partially covered by a loose board. The girl tried to peer into the hole
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but it was too dark within to see anything.
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The next day and the day after, the girl returned to the same spot with
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food for the kitten, who seemed to be expecting her, mewing once again
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before retreating back inside the hole in the wall after the meal. On
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the fourth day, the kitten was nowhere to be seen when the young girl
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arrived. She bent down to fill a saucer with more milk, and found a
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single brown bean in it slightly smaller than a cherry potato. She
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waited but there was no sign of the kitten. Eventually she left the
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offering of food near the hole and went home.
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As the girl lay in bed that night, she examined the bean by the light of
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her bedside lamp. She held it up between her thumb and forefinger,
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rubbed a thumb against its smooth contours, then clasped it gently
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between her palms, gradually warming it as she peeked at it from between
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her fingers. After whispering to the bean for some time, she carefully
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tucked it under one end of her pillow, and yawning, turned down the lamp
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and went to sleep.
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When she next opened her eyes, it was to find herself inside a gigantic
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storehouse with a high ceiling that seemed to stretch on and on into the
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horizon. One side was lined with glass partitions, some of which were
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obscured with thick curtains, while others had curtains parted aside to
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reveal the activities of the occupants within. On another side,
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separated by a path the width of two streets, was an open grassy area
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dotted with large translucent domes, like hazy soap bubbles on a summer
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day. The entire area was bright and well-lit even though she couldn't
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make out any significant source of light aside from the little caddy
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lamps twinkling from the desks inside the partitions, or the campers'
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lamps inside and around the domed tents.
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A cat wearing bright yellow boots, blue overalls and a construction hat
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was beckoning her over. She recognised them as the kitten she had met in
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the alley earlier, though now they appeared as tall as her. Just as she
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was about to call out and ask where they were, the cat suddenly appeared
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in front of her and said eagerly, "There you are! Come along now!"
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Everywhere she turned, there were now cats in all shapes, colours and
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sizes --- short, large, skinny, tiny, chubby, striped, spotted, black,
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calico, white, brown, grey, and so on. Many were patting rectangular
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panels with various tiny buttons on the desks. Some were on all fours or
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sitting in various positions in front of stools with small boxes that
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made whirring, clicking sounds. After each click, the cats would shift
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positions, as if striking poses for some invisible audience. One cat was
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mixing and matching several new outfits in light colours. Another was
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hugging stuffed toy chipmunk while sorting mushrooms at a picnic table.
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A few were holding a burger with an oversized cheese wedge between their
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paws.
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Some who were walking around the partitions were also holding mugs, the
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aroma of coffee wafting through the air as they passed --- except for
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one cat whose paws were wrapped around a glass of a clear brown drink
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topped with cherries. A cat sped by on a contraption with a handle and
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two thin wheels, which emitted tinkling sounds from a tiny, nondescript
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box attached to a basket in front of the contraption. They passed a
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group of six cats gesturing to a black board covered in numbers and
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symbols; one of them chanted something that confused the girl and pushed
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a button on one edge of the board, which sprayed water over the surface,
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erasing the chalk writing. After wiping the board dry, the cat began
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rapidly filling the board with more symbols. When the girl looked over
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her shoulder, the board had already washed out the writing, and another
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cat had taken up position in front of the board.
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Outside one domed tent, a metal arm was mixing a vat of pink and yellow
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cream while a cat sat beside it reading aloud from a scroll. At the next
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tent, two cats huddled over a thin, grey bulbous metal stump placed on a
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tiny wooden table. The cats seemed to be engaged in a serious
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conversation at first; then the girl blinked and they abruptly dissolved
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into laughs, thumping the table with a paw and barely grappling onto the
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table edge with the other to keep themselves from tumbling and knocking
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over the metal rod. A cat reclined against the frame of a bubble opening
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and seemed to be intently listening to something, while a stockpot
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bubbled merrily on a stove and spewed out dumplings into a large crusty
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bread bowl behind them.
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A few steps from the path, a cat hung up pictures onto a pie-shaped box
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under the glow of a lamp affixed to their tent. The lamp slowly changed
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colours, each new colour followed by strings of words floating and
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fading in mid-air like intangible poetry. Behind them, half-hidden by
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big rows of vertical posts made of paper tubes, a cat perched atop a
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stack of ten thick black writing pads and was writing in a notebook at a
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furious pace, only occasionally stopping to bite into a slice of pie
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with a light yellow filling. A blue panel displaying several lines of
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indecipherable characters flickered occasionally from below. Remotely
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she could barely make out another cat stacking containers of different
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sizes neatly as they spoke to a sliding black case on a table covered in
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tools and fossils. Inside another tent, a cat was moving a small stack
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of old boxes with lights blinking blearily through the tent walls and
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shuffling them inside an animated green cabinet in the shape of a
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possum. As the girl stared, some of the cats grinned at her, and others
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waved.
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At random intervals, a group would gather around a large pipe made of
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dark grey metal at the base, which gave way to a translucent material at
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knee height, towering up before disappearing into an opening in the
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ceiling. Venturing closer, she realised the translucent pipe was
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actually made of many transparent small pipes with beads of light
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passing through them at impossibly fast speeds. As the lights spun
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faster, a low purr emanated from the pipe, which became louder and
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louder in a roaring crescendo as the group fixed their gazes upwards at
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a spot where pipe met ceiling, some clapping their paws to a soundless
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rhythm that was nonetheless familiar to them all, until the noise was
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abruptly cut off to barely a whine and a chuff once more. The crowd of
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cats dispersed as if nothing had happened.
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Further on, another group wielding oversized sporks was shovelling piles
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of pea-sized, dark brown beans at a glass pane the size of a large smoke
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screen, behind which an ornate fireplace was set over a well-used
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hearth. The beans seem to pass through the glass, to be devoured by the
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giant blaze that flared and snapped briefly each time it received more
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tinder. Some of the cats looked on with somber expressions, and the girl
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had the feeling that whatever the fire did was as important --- if not
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more so --- than the stream of lights in the pipes. As the flames
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gradually changed colour from blood orange to pale lavender, the group
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seemed to relax into relieved smiles and slowed their shovelling, only
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halting when the fire had turned a vibrant purple. Her guide gave the
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group a thumbs-up before ushering her along the path.
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When they had walked a few score feet onward, the young girl suddenly
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noticed almost all the cats in their immediate vicinity had a small
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rectangular apparatus on them --- whether held in their paws, hanging
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from a waist pouch, jutting out from a back pocket, strapped to their
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caps or arms, or placed within reach on a nearby desk or table. In that
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instant, a resounding chime like a bell rolled across the area where
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they were standing. The cats glanced down at their apparatus, which were
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lit in varying levels of brightness. Some of the cats looked up at one
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another and sported identical grins on their faces. Then, as though
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following an unannounced but practised cue, the cats applied light
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pressure on their apparatus. For a moment it was quiet, before the hall
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erupted into a very loud raspberry. It was as though a giant balloon had
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deflated over their heads and air was coming out of it in one big gush,
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only there was no strong burst of wind to blow them all off their feet.
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Distantly she heard the answering giggling of babies and children
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somewhere around her, though there were no infants or other children in
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sight. The cat with the yellow hat turned to her with a chuckle and
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said, "Snazzy, huh? Let's keep this a little secret between us, okay?"
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Before the girl could reply, she awoke with a start in her own room. It
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took a moment for her to ascertain where she was as her eyes focused on
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the shelf by the wall filled with toys and books, and the morning
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sunlight streaming in from the bedroom window. Recalling the cat in
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boots, she felt around her pillow for the bean, but her hand only met
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soft bedsheets. She shook out her pillow while pushing aside her
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blankets, checked the floor and peeked under the bed, but the bean had
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disappeared. As she looked around her room, she noticed the mug adorned
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with tiny butterflies that she used as a brush holder had been moved
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from its usual spot on her desk. She got out of bed and padded barefoot
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over to the desk. Instead of one baby potato-sized bean, the mug was
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filled with a number of small red beans. Shaking them out in handfuls at
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a time, she counted 43 in total.
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The girl smiled. When the time came, she and the beans will be ready.
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@ -0,0 +1,879 @@
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---
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title: Appendix C
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created: Tue, 17 Jan 2023 08:09:58 -0700
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updated: Tue, 17 Jan 2023 08:09:58 -0700
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public: yes
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---
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## Appendix C: Teale
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This story by mio, while technically part of the *Barefoot Quackery*
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compendium, stands on its own enough to earn its own entry in the
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appendix. I hope you enjoy it as much as we did.
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~
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#### I.
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It had been an accident at first.
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Inky had just returned from the market with two bags of produce and was halfway
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up the back stairs when one of the radishes tumbled from its paper bag and
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rolled down the steps to land on the ground somewhere near a first-storey
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window below. Setting down the bags on the second floor, Inky went downstairs
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to retrieve the missing radish, which they found easily amid light from the
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open window and a brass lamp next to the back door several paces away. As they
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straightened from their crouch with the vegetable in hand, a movement from the
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window caught their attention.
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Illuminated by lamps hanging from the rafters, a large turtle was rolling on
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the floor of what appeared to be the restaurant's kitchens. As the imp watched,
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the turtle turned in multiple directions over and over, gradually stretching
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out the dough while moulding different textures onto the surface through the
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various glyphs and markings on his shell. Inky was intrigued — they had never
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seen empanadas prepared this way before. It reminded them distantly of a
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retired ceremonial bull fighter turned pub owner they had met who would
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sometimes form cornucopia rolls with his horns to impress the tourists, but
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still generally preferred to use his hands or a rolling pin to roll out dough
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for other breads. Over the next several days, Inky would pause briefly to look
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through the kitchen window before ascending the stairs. Eventually they were
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able to watch the empanada-making process from start to finish, and on some
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late evenings, observing the way the chef would frown at a small sample of
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partly-eaten pastry on a plate, followed by a sigh, as though dissatisfied with
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the contents.
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One night, Inky passed through the Milk Market at a later hour than previous
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days. The lamps had by then been extinguished, but someone had left a window
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open and when Inky glanced in, the kitchen had been cleaned, a thin sheen of
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water evaporating quickly on the floors from the warm air outside, and the wood
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counter tops shone where they were worn smooth in some spots. The surfaces
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which would by day be occupied by trays of pastries were bare. In that moment,
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an awful idea took hold in Inky's head. Clambering nimbly through the window,
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Inky entered the kitchen, carefully avoiding the area where the pastries were
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rolled out. They checked the racks of pans and utensils hanging below the
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cabinets, the ovens, the iceboxes, then inspected the pantry. After giving
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themselves an impromptu tour of the kitchens, including a peek into the brewing
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room and root cellar, Inky went out the way they came in what was to become the
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first of multiple unannounced visits. The following night, Inky returned with a
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small plate of tapas — just a slight twist on simple fare that could be paired
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with the ale being sold at the shop. The plate was left on a table to be later
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discovered when the chef came in early to begin preparations for the day.
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The flavours of the tapas gradually increased in complexity, though not
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straying too far from the earthy undertones of the shop's signature ale. Inky
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didn't know if Enrique would even like the little tapas, though they supposed
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they could find out one way or another. In a way it didn't really matter; the
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snacks would serve as inspirational aids for the chef to pick out flavours
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and combinations for his own pastries. At worst, if the tapas irritated him
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immensely, he would likely be too busy trying to catch the intruder red-handed
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to be sighing over his efforts. Inky decided the giant turtle looked better
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with his annoyance directed elsewhere. Either way, if the turtle truly wanted
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to be rid of the tapas, he was going to have to "up his game", as the dillball
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kids in the neighbourhood would say.
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~~
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A small turtle wearing overalls, a smock and rain boots is sitting on the grass
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next to a muddy puddle of water, forming a wet ball in his hands. Sunlight
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spills into the forest clearing, illuminating the turtle's smock and boots
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which are covered in dirt and mud. Inky walks over and sits across from the
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turtle.
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"Hi, I'm __ , what's your name?" Inky asks.
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"Enrique," replies the turtle.
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"That's a great name. Hi Henry!" Inky greets their new friend.
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The turtle frowns. "My name is Enrique, not Henry," he says.
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"It is now. Why are you making mud pies, Henry?" asks Inky, pointing to the
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slightly lumpy pies stacked neatly a short distance from the turtle.
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"They're cool, and it's Enrique," the turtle replies, a little defensively.
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"They are," Inky agrees, "What's in them?"
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The turtle gives Inky a funny look. "They're called mud pies. Of course there's
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mud inside."
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"That's not a pie! That's a crusty …" Here child-Inky struggles to find words,
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"crust," they finish weakly.
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Enrique looks at Inky, unimpressed. "What else would there be if not mud?"
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"Loads! Fruits, lots of berries, nuts, custards and jams," Inky exclaims,
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picturing the table spread for tea-time. After some thought, they add, "There's
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also mushroom pot, but I don't know where to get that yet."
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"Mushroom pot? There's no such thing," the turtle says, sceptical.
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"There is, I've tasted it," child-Inky insists. "Want to go find mushroom pot
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together? We'll get some blackberries, redcurrants and sunflower seeds for your
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pies too."
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"Fine," the turtle replies eventually, after thinking it over. "But you're
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wrong about the sunflower seeds. Nobody puts that in their pies."
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"Then you'll be the first to do it, Henry!" Inky laughs. "Race you to the
|
||||
giant oak with the big nose!" With that, they hurtle off through the trees.
|
||||
|
||||
"It's Enrique!" the turtle huffs, but trots towards the direction of the oaks.
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
#### II.
|
||||
|
||||
"Why don't you ask him?"
|
||||
|
||||
"Because it'll ruin the surprise! He'll know in a pinch something's fishy,"
|
||||
child-Inky wails a bit in desperation. Lowering their voice, they finished
|
||||
imploringly, "I got him a pair of mittens after he said he lost one last week,
|
||||
but I want to make him something he can eat too. Like food cooked on a real
|
||||
fire. Mud cookies really aren't very tasty."
|
||||
|
||||
The large matronly turtle chuckles, a deep, throaty sound. "No, I don't suppose
|
||||
they are," she concedes. Tapping a claw on her chin in thought, she blinks a
|
||||
few times then smiles. "But I know just the thing."
|
||||
|
||||
~
|
||||
|
||||
"Another five minutes should do it," Enrique's mother tells Inky.
|
||||
|
||||
Inky peers into the cob oven at the tapas sitting on a wooden board with a long
|
||||
handle. "Thank you, Mrs. T." child-Inky says politely.
|
||||
|
||||
Over the past few afternoons, Enrique's mother instructed child-Inky on making
|
||||
a basic bread tapa with three different topping combinations based on her son's
|
||||
favourite foods, while Enrique had gone with his father to visit one of the
|
||||
barley farms that supplied the brewery where Mr. T. was chief brewer. The
|
||||
results were now bubbling a little as the enticing smell of tostadas and pepper
|
||||
sauce slowly wafted out from the oven.
|
||||
|
||||
The lady nods. "It'll be good for Enrique to have a friend over to celebrate.
|
||||
He takes after his father, being too serious for his young age. He's already
|
||||
learning beercraft from him when he ought to be outdoors playing with his
|
||||
fellow schoolmates."
|
||||
|
||||
"Is there anything else I can help with?" Inky asks.
|
||||
|
||||
"It's all right, dear, I'll manage. Why don't you wash up and wait in the
|
||||
parlour? Enrique and his father should be back from the brewery any moment
|
||||
now." She sounds put-upon at the last words.
|
||||
|
||||
At Inky's curious look, Enrique's mother explains, "Our birthday boy wanted to
|
||||
try the ale." She sighs. "I'd put my foot down but he looked so disappointed
|
||||
when I objected. Well, I did make his father promise not to let him get too
|
||||
drunk. Besides," she adds with a wink, "We spent all this time baking him a
|
||||
cake and snacks, we can't have him falling asleep on us before he's had any of
|
||||
it, can we?"
|
||||
|
||||
~~
|
||||
|
||||
Inky was avoiding the kitchens downstairs.
|
||||
|
||||
While it had been amusing at first, and Inky was fairly sure they wouldn't be
|
||||
caught (it helped that the chef's routine was awfully predictable and the staff
|
||||
were even worse, especially that surly hobgoblin who always sneaked off three
|
||||
hours early on Primedays), they didn't really want to end up in Enrique's bad
|
||||
books or banned from the shop if he found out. The blood pudding had been a
|
||||
sobering reminder of the consequences of meddling in other people's business.
|
||||
|
||||
Still, they could not bring themselves to stay away from the shop entirely,
|
||||
just as they had been drawn to the weathered sign over the door and the aroma
|
||||
of bread fresh from the oven mixed with the malty undertones of robust ale
|
||||
within the first few days when Jarrod had invited other members of the party to
|
||||
his newly-acquired premises. There was something almost homely about it, which
|
||||
was strange since Inky rarely made empanadas (in the strictest sense of the
|
||||
word, though some breadpunks would argue anything edible with a filling counts)
|
||||
and did not particularly favour most alcoholic drinks (ink had a wider sensory
|
||||
range and none of the hangovers, in their opinion) and only imbibed when an
|
||||
occasion called for it. This feeling carried into the kitchens, with its wooden
|
||||
counter tops covered in scratches and stains, shelves stacked a little
|
||||
precariously with sauces and spice jars, and even the gaping maw of a big stone
|
||||
oven next to the more conventional mechanical oven. It had to be the most
|
||||
common sight of every bakery on the continent and yet, there hadn't been any
|
||||
place quite like it ever since Inky had left a small town for life in the city.
|
||||
|
||||
So it was in the evenings when Enrique was most likely busy in the kitchens or
|
||||
in storeroom taking stock of supplies for the next day that Inky would visit in
|
||||
the guise of a tea seller, either to put in a larger order for whoever of their
|
||||
party was around upstairs or have supper in a shadowed corner of the
|
||||
restaurant. At the latter times, Inky would request different items from the
|
||||
previous day, partly to not draw attention from the kitchen, as well as to keep
|
||||
things more interesting for a little game they liked to play which involved
|
||||
coming up with various inks to complement the evening selection in the time it
|
||||
took to eat it. Sometimes, when mulling over new produce from the market, Inky
|
||||
would also try to rearrange the current dish in their head, replacing
|
||||
ingredients and preparations until it resembled nothing like the crispy
|
||||
delectables of the original. Inky wouldn't really do that to the empanadas with
|
||||
actual ingredients, but it was funny to picture the turtle's annoyed expression
|
||||
at the very thought anyway.
|
||||
|
||||
When Inky was satisfied they had an answer for inks depending on the most
|
||||
recent harvest and season, they would sit for a while, back to the wall and
|
||||
glass of kale juice in hand to idly survey the room or half-listen to the
|
||||
breadpunk gang debate the merits of quick rise yeast over traditional starters.
|
||||
The staff (whose names and shifts Inky had long since obtained for security
|
||||
reasons and definitely not because they were a little obsessed) were probably
|
||||
used to customers of all sorts, including reticent ones, and mostly left Inky
|
||||
to their meal. Leaving a decent tip (and on one occasion, a tea-based poultice
|
||||
for a waitress who had been holding her left arm at an awkward angle the entire
|
||||
time, with pictorial instructions for its application sketched on a sheet of
|
||||
fine notepaper), Inky would depart with a small bag of treats for their
|
||||
marketing manager before the shop's proprietor emerged to check on the dining
|
||||
area and chat with his regular customers.
|
||||
|
||||
Said marketing manager also became Inky's quality assurance tester, and was
|
||||
rewarded with an extra sample of each tapa recipe that met the duck's
|
||||
discerning taste. Only recipes that had the duck's stomp of approval were
|
||||
delivered by hare mail to the Emporium. It didn't see a need for the recipes to
|
||||
be put through the post — the shop was right below their feet! — but Inky had
|
||||
gone to the post office each time and even spoke in rabbiton to one of the
|
||||
delivery workers there.
|
||||
|
||||
Gradually, however, the duck noticed something strange — the more Inky had
|
||||
dinner at the shop downstairs, the fewer and farther in between the recipes
|
||||
came, until they eventually stopped appearing altogether. Initially it had
|
||||
tried to remind Inky by stomping its foot and nudging their hand with its beak,
|
||||
but Inky had only smiled wanly and said they didn't have any good ideas right
|
||||
now. The duck began to suspect this was patently false when, while following
|
||||
Inky around on a trip to the market one afternoon, Inky had opened to a page in
|
||||
their notebook to jot down a few words. Hopping up onto a wooden crate to get a
|
||||
better view, the duck saw the notebook was almost completely filled with
|
||||
ingredient lists, preparation steps and extensive notes.
|
||||
|
||||
It looked up to admonish Inky, and saw the rabbit imp was staring wistfully at
|
||||
a barrel of pimientos. When the duck looked back again, the expression had
|
||||
vanished, as did its owner, who had already crossed to the other side of the
|
||||
road and was walking at a brisk pace towards a juice stand. The duck gave an
|
||||
indignant quack and hastily waddled after them. How is a marketing manager to
|
||||
keep up when the recipe developer is twelve steps ahead of the process?
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
#### III.
|
||||
|
||||
"How did you do on the writing homework?" the turtle asks the imp.
|
||||
|
||||
They are sitting at their favourite spot in the forest clearing — or rather,
|
||||
Enrique is leaning back against a tree with his knees partially drawn up, while
|
||||
Inky is sprawled on their back on the grass gazing at the clouds overhead,
|
||||
the schoolbooks next to Inky's head momentarily forgotten.
|
||||
|
||||
"I don't know. I only know you wrote that you plan to be an ale brewer." Inky
|
||||
replies airily.
|
||||
|
||||
Enrique looks down at the imp. "How did you know?"
|
||||
|
||||
"It's written on your face, Henry. Literally. There's still hops pulp on your
|
||||
forehead. I'm sure you'll get a good grade though, most of the teachers like
|
||||
boring bottle answers like that."
|
||||
|
||||
The turtle glowers at the imp's chuckle and swipes at his own forehead.
|
||||
|
||||
"What did you write?" he retorts.
|
||||
|
||||
Inky does not immediately respond.
|
||||
|
||||
"Well? What *did* you write?" he asks again.
|
||||
|
||||
"Invisible Ninja Kookie Yulestarter."
|
||||
|
||||
The turtle blinks, slowly. "What— what's that?"
|
||||
|
||||
"I don't know." replies the imp.
|
||||
|
||||
"You don't know?" Enrique echoes, perplexed.
|
||||
|
||||
"I just made something up. How would I know what I want to be in two-score
|
||||
years? It's not like I've met and had tea with future two-score-year me. Next
|
||||
year I'll be an Intergalean Neuestar Kickback Yorkie for sure." Child-Inky nods
|
||||
at Enrique sagely.
|
||||
|
||||
"You really are something." The turtle shakes his head in exasperation, though
|
||||
a small smile appears on his face.
|
||||
|
||||
"A terrible infant? That's old news, Henry." laughs the imp.
|
||||
|
||||
"Telling the truth never gets old."
|
||||
|
||||
Inky pouts. "Ouch. You win. But only because it was a quote from your mother."
|
||||
|
||||
"Finish up your homework. I'm going back to the brewery soon to check on the
|
||||
new batch." Enrique gets up and brushes off his clothes.
|
||||
|
||||
The imp gives him a pointed look. "Yes, Hen-reek."
|
||||
|
||||
~~
|
||||
|
||||
"Henry—" Child-Inky pleads.
|
||||
|
||||
The young turtle looks extremely frustrated, almost angry. "For the umpteenth
|
||||
time, it's Enrique! See, that's your problem. You have no respect for other
|
||||
people's wishes and boundaries. Everything is a silly little game to you. Can't
|
||||
you be serious for once?"
|
||||
|
||||
"Okay. Are we *seriously* going to the play—"
|
||||
|
||||
"No." says the turtle firmly.
|
||||
|
||||
They are standing at the dark iron gates leading into the brewery. Enrique has
|
||||
finally exited a huge building after Inky had stood for half an hour outside
|
||||
repeatedly yelling his name. But no matter how child-Inky wails and pouts,
|
||||
Enrique has still refused to accompany him to see the new garden play being
|
||||
performed in a field of scorpion grasses up the road from the forest.
|
||||
|
||||
"Why not?" Child-Inky asks, head tilted to one side, not understanding.
|
||||
|
||||
"Because I have things to do at the brewery. A new dryer has arrived. Father is
|
||||
going to show me how to use it and I need to get the moisture levels right."
|
||||
The aspiring brewer seems to be at the end of his patience.
|
||||
|
||||
"But we haven't done anything fun together for a whole fortnight!" Child-Inky
|
||||
protests.
|
||||
|
||||
The turtle wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. "I don't have time to
|
||||
trawl around the forest anymore."
|
||||
|
||||
"You're saying that now, but I'll come by tomorrow and we can go see it then,"
|
||||
child-Inky says anyway.
|
||||
|
||||
"No."
|
||||
|
||||
"The day after tomorrow?" asks child-Inky hopefully.
|
||||
|
||||
"No."
|
||||
|
||||
"The tomorrow after tomorrow?"
|
||||
|
||||
"No means no. This isn't the time for fun and games."
|
||||
|
||||
"What if I don't come back tomorrow? Will you go see the play with me?" Inky
|
||||
asks, eyes watering and expression wobbly.
|
||||
|
||||
"That's not how it works. Go home, __. I have to get back inside to check on
|
||||
the boilers." The turtle turns and walks along the path back into the building.
|
||||
|
||||
"Then I'll come the day after the day before tomorrow!" Child-Inky calls after
|
||||
him.
|
||||
|
||||
"You didn't say no, is that a yes? Henry!"
|
||||
|
||||
~~
|
||||
|
||||
Blurriness, gradually coming into focus in the form of an elderly man's face
|
||||
with thin eyebrows, kind brown eyes, round spectacles and a concerted frown on
|
||||
the unfamiliar features.
|
||||
|
||||
The man spoke slowly. "I see you've finally woken up. What's your name, little
|
||||
one?"
|
||||
|
||||
"I—I …" The imp winced as a sharp prickling pain in their head made itself
|
||||
known at the sudden movement, followed by confusion and alarm when they attempt
|
||||
to answer the man's question and drew a blank.
|
||||
|
||||
"It's all right, easy now, nib." said the elder as he helped the imp sit up
|
||||
with some rustling of bedclothes. "How are you feeling?"
|
||||
|
||||
"A bit sore but … okay? What … happened?" asked the imp.
|
||||
|
||||
"We found you two days ago on the river banks right outside of town. Some of
|
||||
the fisherfolk say there was a flash flood from a big storm a few hundred
|
||||
miles up the rapids which washed collapsed buildings and other debris
|
||||
downstream." The man explained.
|
||||
|
||||
"Then where … where am … ?"
|
||||
|
||||
The old man smiled. "Welcome to the township of Waterlan."
|
||||
|
||||
~~
|
||||
|
||||
"I'm sorry, Mr. Iridis. I haven't recalled anything yet." The imp said sadly to
|
||||
the ink craftsman as they sat at the small table over dinner. It had been
|
||||
almost a week since the elderly man had taken in the imp and assured them they
|
||||
could stay as long as they wished.
|
||||
|
||||
Mr. Iridis was unperturbed by the news. "Hmm, well, we should still call you by
|
||||
name in the meantime … how does Inkulos sound?"
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
#### IV.
|
||||
|
||||
"Uggghhh!! That group of flaming owes were such noisy slobs. Dropping chunks of
|
||||
bread everywhere on the floor, squawking at a hundred decibels a minute, then
|
||||
accidentally scorching the table. Why can't we have more customers like the
|
||||
Swanson family?" Marnie groaned, tail twitching in irritation as she rubbed her
|
||||
temples.
|
||||
|
||||
"Or that tea seller," added Gil sympathetically.
|
||||
|
||||
Enrique hadn't heard from old Takao in a long time. The elderly, jovial tea
|
||||
merchant who previously came with his partner and parakeet on weekends had
|
||||
retired a few years earlier to his ancestral home in Rana'For Valley. Maybe
|
||||
they had returned to visit relatives in the city.
|
||||
|
||||
"Tea seller?" He turned to his head waiter, a portly frog named Gilgamesh.
|
||||
|
||||
"Yeah, they've been coming almost daily for the past couple o' months now when
|
||||
they didn't disappear for a week or two in a row. Don't talk much but tip
|
||||
pretty well for a street vendor. Even left us free samples a few times. Marnie
|
||||
said the pepperwood blend did wonders for her headaches. I'm not a tea drinker,
|
||||
y'know, but she made me a cup once and it was definitely the real deal. Not the
|
||||
horse piss those shady asses over at Normington Mews try to pass off as tea."
|
||||
|
||||
It wasn't Takao, but someone new in the district. Months? How had he not
|
||||
noticed before?
|
||||
|
||||
"How does this tea seller look like?" he asked.
|
||||
|
||||
"Short imp, dark eyes, kinda young? Wears a brimmed hat, carries around a tea
|
||||
flask and a wooden box. One of my neighbours saw them a few weeks ago at a
|
||||
market and thinks they're half-rabbit, but he says stuff like that about half
|
||||
the people he meets anyway."
|
||||
|
||||
Enrique frowned. He knew all his regular patrons, young or old, and was sure he
|
||||
would remember seeing someone who fit the description.
|
||||
|
||||
On further questioning his wait staff, he found out a few more things about
|
||||
them: they usually came around the same time most evenings when he was in the
|
||||
kitchens; had no particular menu preferences that Gil or Marnie could name
|
||||
(which was unusual, even the most adventurous of his customers reverted to a
|
||||
few personal favourites after some time); sat at the same corner table, the one
|
||||
he himself made use of occasionally on slow days where he could have an
|
||||
unobstructed view of the room and out into the street; and sometimes ordered
|
||||
enough for a gathering of associates, who did seem to have more distinct
|
||||
selections.
|
||||
|
||||
He had seen his share of tight-lipped customers who were only there for a hot
|
||||
meal before or after a gruelling day of work and he was not one to pry.
|
||||
However, word of this new tea seller had piqued his interest. Maybe he'll buy
|
||||
them a round and have a look at their offerings. While ale would always remain
|
||||
his pride and joy, he did enjoy a good steaming cup on some of the coldest days
|
||||
of the year.
|
||||
|
||||
Time for tea and a new acquaintance.
|
||||
|
||||
~~
|
||||
|
||||
The tea was excellent.
|
||||
|
||||
It was easily the best tea he's had since Takao and Kaiya had moved away from
|
||||
the city and were unable to find a successor before they left. He ended up
|
||||
procuring more than he may have originally expected after sampling five
|
||||
different teas, including two recommended by the vendor, and found them all
|
||||
very pleasant, one even lightly invigorating. The tea seller, who went by the
|
||||
name Inky, was mild-mannered and polite as they described each blend in turn
|
||||
and answered questions about its origins. However, the imp had declined payment
|
||||
for the teas and when pressed, had mumbled some excuse and looked as though
|
||||
they wanted to leave. Eventually Enrique got them to accept some ale from the
|
||||
shop with a bit of haggling.
|
||||
|
||||
Enrique had begun their conversation by introducing himself and inquiring about
|
||||
the meal earlier, whether his new regular had anything they liked in particular
|
||||
from the menu. Inky had responded positively, but seemed genuinely confused by
|
||||
the second question and only repeated "everything". After tea tasting, the
|
||||
topic had turned to the daily running of the shop and the effects of the late
|
||||
barley harvest this year on the breweries and their products. As a brewer
|
||||
himself, he was always keen to talk about his ales and beercraft in general,
|
||||
and was only a little startled when after some time, Gil appeared at their
|
||||
table to let him know the staff were done with cleaning and bid him goodnight.
|
||||
|
||||
To his surprise, Enrique found himself a little reluctant to chase out his new
|
||||
frequent customer so he could close the shop for the day. He turned back to
|
||||
his guest apologetically, but the tea seller had gotten the waiter's hint and
|
||||
was already on their feet with their flask and box. The imp thanked him, gave a
|
||||
quick little bow and was out of the shop in two blinks of an eye.
|
||||
|
||||
The turtle stared after the closed doors for a moment, then returned to
|
||||
clearing away the tableware. Rinsing out their glasses, he collected the bills
|
||||
left on the table, counted them, and mentally shook his head. Little wonder his
|
||||
wait staff were so amenable to the tea seller's presence — it was enough to pay
|
||||
for a nice full-course dinner for two. Normally he would bristle at a potential
|
||||
insinuation that he was not paying his staff properly, but was oddly calmed at
|
||||
the sight of the boxes still sitting innocently on the table, almost as though
|
||||
he'd just had another cup of peppermint tea. Ridiculous, he told himself, and
|
||||
turned off the lights.
|
||||
|
||||
~~
|
||||
|
||||
"Why do you keep calling me Henry?" Enrique eventually asks as they walk
|
||||
though the forest on the way to his house. The imp is facing him as they trot
|
||||
backwards along the path, but at his question they turn and skip ahead a few
|
||||
paces before replying.
|
||||
|
||||
"Because."
|
||||
|
||||
"Because … ?" The turtle prompts.
|
||||
|
||||
The imp says matter-of-factly, "Either your name's Henry or it's too long.
|
||||
Would you like to be called Too Long?"
|
||||
|
||||
"No, but learning to call someone by their name properly wouldn't hurt."
|
||||
Enrique says evenly.
|
||||
|
||||
The imp spins around and comes to stand in front of him, hands clasped behind
|
||||
their back and leaning right into his personal space. "Yes, it would, Henry.
|
||||
How would you like people calling you 'Julienne' all the time?"
|
||||
|
||||
"I don't see anything wrong with that. Julien is a good name," he replies
|
||||
honestly.
|
||||
|
||||
The little imp wrinkles their nose. "It's irritating. They never pronounce it
|
||||
correctly. I'm not a bunch of little matchsticks." They say peevishly and take
|
||||
a short step back, arms crossed.
|
||||
|
||||
"Is that why you keep changing your name every other week?" the turtle wonders.
|
||||
|
||||
His friend swings their arms to and fro as they resume walking, this time on
|
||||
tiptoe. "I haven't changed it yet. It's just written differently," they reply,
|
||||
bottom lip jutting out slightly and looking a bit thoughtful.
|
||||
|
||||
Enrique recognises the expression as one that would appear whenever the imp was
|
||||
about to say something outlandish, and is proven right the next moment when the
|
||||
imp suddenly smiles.
|
||||
|
||||
"Aren't you going to ask how?" The imp hops from side to side, as though
|
||||
jumping across invisible holes in the dirt.
|
||||
|
||||
The turtle sighs internally. "All right, how is it written this week?"
|
||||
|
||||
"J-o-u-l-e." His friend recites proudly.
|
||||
|
||||
"That's … different." Enrique says consideringly.
|
||||
|
||||
"Obviously." The imp seems pleased with their announcement as they shift into
|
||||
step next to Enrique along the path.
|
||||
|
||||
"Didn't you say you were only changing the way it's written?" Enrique points
|
||||
out, and is rewarded with a cheerful reply.
|
||||
|
||||
"Nope. Changed my mind just because you asked. You're welcome."
|
||||
|
||||
~~
|
||||
|
||||
Over the course of several months he got to know more about his new tea
|
||||
supplier, partly from the imp themselves and mostly through rumours and hearsay
|
||||
from his other regulars, though what he'd learned only brought more questions.
|
||||
|
||||
He knew Inky occasionally departed the city on some business, joining a caravan
|
||||
with other travellers that went up and down the countryside to restock as well
|
||||
as hunt for new items and products. This Inky had told him once after they had
|
||||
been gone for almost two weeks and returned with a particularly zesty blend
|
||||
of citrus maghrebi. The imp had been adamant that it was a gift, and although
|
||||
Enrique had protested mildly at first, he was grateful nonetheless.
|
||||
|
||||
When the tea seller was in the city, they would peddle on the streets during
|
||||
the day around various districts including some of the poorest neighbourhoods,
|
||||
though from what he was hearing from other diners, they were succeeding at
|
||||
handing out more cups of tea than they were at selling them. They didn't have a
|
||||
shop or trading office that he was aware of — he had tried asking for
|
||||
directions or an address where he could request a new supply, but the imp
|
||||
assured him with a quirky little smile they would come around regularly to take
|
||||
orders for their special tea enthusiasts.
|
||||
|
||||
The lack of an address was bewildering. Surely with tea of such quality and the
|
||||
right customers they could afford rent for a small nook at the docks, or even
|
||||
near the shopping districts if they were serious about their trade? Moreover,
|
||||
what kind of tea seller gives away their wares freely like that? The imp's
|
||||
attire, while clean, was worn in several spots and had clearly seen better
|
||||
days, yet they had no compunctions about any of the menu items nor problems
|
||||
settling the tab afterwards. Maybe they were some type of mercenary who dabbled
|
||||
in a side business. If a customer did not wish others to be privy to what they
|
||||
did out of the city, he would leave it be.
|
||||
|
||||
Their menu selection was another puzzler. Enrique looked forward to the tea
|
||||
seller's arrival and had made a point of getting some of his next-day
|
||||
preparations out of the way a little earlier so he could talk briefly with the
|
||||
imp on less busier evenings. However, after months of conversation he was still
|
||||
no closer to finding out what this regular customer of his liked. Inky seemed
|
||||
to order anything with no discernible pattern in the way some diners would
|
||||
always order a herb bake on Liandays, only that they never ordered the same
|
||||
dish to the day before, and rarely the same dish more than once a week.
|
||||
|
||||
He did often have customers who relished variety, and this had been an impetus
|
||||
for Enrique to endeavour to come up with novel breads and recipes that would
|
||||
draw a new crowd and occasionally offer a bit of excitement for his repeat
|
||||
customers. Lately he had been trying out variations of the little elf's most
|
||||
recent recipe, but something was lacking. Offhandedly he mentioned his problem
|
||||
of the missing ingredient to the tea seller one night as the latter made their
|
||||
way through one of his carrot and cucumber loaves. Inky had merely looked at
|
||||
him and said "shishito". At that moment he was called away with another
|
||||
customer's request, but after all the patrons had left, he remembered their
|
||||
conversation earlier and went back to his recipe, this time adding the
|
||||
suggested peppers. The resulting flavours melded wonderfully — he had hit upon
|
||||
a winning combination.
|
||||
|
||||
The next evening he prepared a small plate of his new empanadas for the tea
|
||||
seller to try, but the imp did not appear.
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
#### V.
|
||||
|
||||
It had been some time since he had heard from the little elf, as Enrique had
|
||||
taken to calling them in his mind. The tapas had stopped appearing, replaced
|
||||
with delightful recipes by mail from wherever it was helper elves went between
|
||||
visitations (the letters had no return address). Meanwhile the brewer busied
|
||||
himself with expanding his selection of empanadas through the recipes, even
|
||||
adding a new kale telera in a stroke of inspiration.
|
||||
|
||||
More concerning was the fact that it had been at least several weeks since he
|
||||
had seen or heard from the tea seller. All manner of strange folk passed
|
||||
through his shop from time to time, so he shouldn't be surprised the tea seller
|
||||
may have decided to move on to another city altogether. Still, he did feel a
|
||||
pang of disappointment at losing good company, or the way the imp had left
|
||||
without so much as a farewell. There was something about the tea seller that he
|
||||
couldn't place that came with the ease with which they would talk of various
|
||||
subjects, from beer-making to the pilgrims who would stop in at the shop
|
||||
occasionally.
|
||||
|
||||
On his way back from the market on one of his few days off when the shop was
|
||||
closed, he passed by the post office and was struck by a sudden thought. He
|
||||
went inside and showed the rabbit postmistress on duty the last message he had
|
||||
received (he had taken to carrying one or two of them on him for new ideas
|
||||
whenever he went to the market) and inquired about the sender. The postmistress
|
||||
was initially reluctant to answer on account of customer confidentiality, but
|
||||
after hearing his concern over the plight of his little elf friend, eventually
|
||||
relented. She recognised his shop address and was able to recall the appearance
|
||||
of a half-rabbit whose description matched the tea seller. Enrique walked the
|
||||
rest of the way back from the post office to his shop, thinking hard.
|
||||
|
||||
Stunned bemusement soon gave way to vague worry — it was unlike the tapas chef
|
||||
to go silent for long without a leaving message, usually accompanied by a
|
||||
recipe. If the tapas chef and tea seller were the same person, it was possible
|
||||
they had gone with one of those caravans and something horrible had befallen
|
||||
them on the journey. He sighed and threw himself back into his ales and
|
||||
pastries with a single-minded focus, trying not to dwell on the possibility the
|
||||
imp might not return.
|
||||
|
||||
~~
|
||||
|
||||
"Enrique," his mother called.
|
||||
|
||||
When he appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, his mother hesitated before she
|
||||
said, "I have some upsetting news, dear."
|
||||
|
||||
"Mrs. Sapaverde came by earlier. She said one of the mill workers saw a small
|
||||
imp at the bottom of the hill from the brewery on her way home before the
|
||||
storm. The worker tried to warn the imp about the storm, but the child insisted
|
||||
they had to meet someone at the brewery."
|
||||
|
||||
His mother was looking at him now with concern in her olive-coloured eyes. "We
|
||||
think it may have been your friend looking for you, not knowing the brewery was
|
||||
closed because of the weather."
|
||||
|
||||
Enrique stilled. His father along with the other brewery employees had been
|
||||
anticipating the storm and had stayed late the day before carrying out
|
||||
preparations — elevating crates and barrels, tying down equipment, stacking
|
||||
sandbags, checking the waterproofing and other tasks. Before they left for the
|
||||
night, the employees were advised not to come in the next day due to possible
|
||||
flooding and mudslides. They had later learned the area around the hill had
|
||||
been flooded for the better part of two days. Fortunately the brewery sat atop
|
||||
of the hill and was mostly spared from damage aside from a small amount of
|
||||
rainwater in several rooms and some spoiled dry stock. Everyone had been aware
|
||||
of an impending thunderstorm and would have done the reasonable thing and
|
||||
stayed home … or so he thought.
|
||||
|
||||
"Thanks … for telling me, Ma." He managed after a moment, and was instantly
|
||||
brought into his mother's comforting hug. His mother eventually let him trudge
|
||||
back to his room with a mug of cocoa and milk roll in hand.
|
||||
|
||||
The first night he didn't have to return from storm cleanup at the brewery and
|
||||
immediately fall asleep from exhaustion, he dreamt of an imp at the gatepost,
|
||||
and of teatime, bears and tuckleberry jam.
|
||||
|
||||
~~
|
||||
|
||||
"QUACK!"
|
||||
|
||||
A small yellow duck was standing in the open doorway of his shop and looking
|
||||
directly at him while he was checking on the ale taps, almost as though it was
|
||||
beckoning him. As he came closer, the duck hopped out of reach and onto the
|
||||
street, looking from him to a spot next to the shop and back again, staring at
|
||||
him. When he was standing just outside the building, the duck nipped at his
|
||||
tunic, then padded towards a set of stairs that led up to the Milk Market on
|
||||
the second floor. It turned back and looked at him.
|
||||
|
||||
Thinking perhaps his affable landlord wished to speak with him and had sent a
|
||||
messenger, Enrique followed the duck up the stairs into a spacious landing with
|
||||
a corridor with a series of rooms along one side, and another that led to what
|
||||
appeared from a distance to be a larger area with big vats. The duck waddled
|
||||
down the corridor into a room at the end of the hall.
|
||||
|
||||
The brewer walked into what looked like a cross between a small office, a
|
||||
shisha den and a bath stall. At one end of the room was some sort of wooden tub
|
||||
filled with water attached to a mushroom sprinkler, and a thick towel laid out
|
||||
on the floor. Next to the tub in the corner was a short chest of drawers with
|
||||
all the drawers pulled out, like a staircase leading nowhere, and stuffed
|
||||
woollen carrots, toys and other objects peeking out. A chia plant with some of
|
||||
its leaves chewed off sat atop the chest. Croutons, a bag of candy worms with
|
||||
its contents half-spilled onto the floor, crumpled notes, an oval wicker
|
||||
basket, cushions of all shapes and sizes on a tartan rug, a writing block with
|
||||
notepaper, a quill case, an uncorked bottle of ink and a small stack of books
|
||||
were scattered about the room.
|
||||
|
||||
In the midst of the carnage sat the imp, hatless, cradling a cup of tea and
|
||||
looking dejectedly out the open window at the foot traffic passing through the
|
||||
alley below. The sight brought back a distant image of rainy afternoons and a
|
||||
child's face pressed against the window of his old bedroom, as though they
|
||||
could will the rain to stop if they stared long enough.
|
||||
|
||||
He would recognise that sulk anywhere.
|
||||
|
||||
The eyes that turned to him in surprise (chased by a slight edge of panic,
|
||||
though it was gone before he could be certain), outside the dim recess of the
|
||||
shop and lit by broad daylight coming from the window, were a startling deep
|
||||
blue. A colour he had many memories of in a different place and time.
|
||||
|
||||
"Joule?" he called out disbelievingly.
|
||||
|
||||
"Hullo Enrique," his irritating, impish friend replied sheepishly, casting
|
||||
their gaze downwards, though not before sending a tiny look of betrayal at the
|
||||
duck's retreating form.
|
||||
|
||||
Relief, amazement, annoyance and a myriad other emotions flashed through him
|
||||
and for several beats he was at a loss for words. He eventually settled for
|
||||
rightful indignation.
|
||||
|
||||
"You!" he groused. "Why didn't you send word that you had returned? Even Gil
|
||||
thought you'd tripped over a rock and broke your neck out in the country
|
||||
somewhere! Have you been right here above my shop the entire time?!"
|
||||
|
||||
"Not the entire time, I just got back last month and …" the imp's attempt
|
||||
at an explanation trailed off under Enrique's reproachful glare.
|
||||
|
||||
"And if you had the gall to break into my kitchen, you can sure as well have
|
||||
the guts to show your face and own up to it." Enrique bit out.
|
||||
|
||||
They remained silent for a long time, the turtle's bulky frame filling the
|
||||
room as he stood with folded arms and a heavy frown a few steps away from the
|
||||
entrance, and the rabbit imp on the floor looking thoroughly chastised with a
|
||||
half-empty teacup and legs tucked beneath them.
|
||||
|
||||
Enrique finally spoke. "You're a terrible adult." There was no heat to the
|
||||
words. When the imp didn't respond, he continued, "Come down downstairs to the
|
||||
back when you're done here, and bring some of that pepperwood if you have any.
|
||||
Marnie's been hankering for more, and I suppose I wouldn't mind a cup myself
|
||||
after this." He gestured with one arm around the room. "If this is your trading
|
||||
post, I can certainly see why you don't invite your customers here."
|
||||
|
||||
"It's my marketing manager's office." Joule, or Inky, as they were now known to
|
||||
the locals, had started picking up stray bits of paper and books and was
|
||||
clearing a path through the litter from window to doorway.
|
||||
|
||||
"You have a marketing manager?" Enrique asked.
|
||||
|
||||
"QUACK!" The duck had re-appeared at the door and was looking at Inky
|
||||
expectantly.
|
||||
|
||||
"Five more minutes, okay?" Inky said to the duck. To Enrique, "It wants its
|
||||
bath and basket chair back." The candy and croutons had been scooped up into a
|
||||
small pumpkin-shaped metal bucket and set next to the chia plant.
|
||||
|
||||
Enrique stared at his friend in bewilderment after the duck wandered off again.
|
||||
"Your marketing manager is a duck."
|
||||
|
||||
"Yes?"
|
||||
|
||||
"How do you have a duck as your marketing manager?"
|
||||
|
||||
Inky shrugged. "It followed me back and we made a deal."
|
||||
|
||||
The turtle was unconvinced. "You mean you roped it into following you back."
|
||||
|
||||
"Have it your way if you must insist on rewriting history, but for the record
|
||||
there is no forced labour involved and it gets all the benefits and perks." As
|
||||
they talked, Inky opened the writing block lid (actually the tea seller's
|
||||
wooden box now that Enrique had a closer look), pushing aside items inside
|
||||
before extracting two bags of fine tea leaves which they tossed at the turtle,
|
||||
who fumbled a bit but caught them. With Inky's teacup, books and quills packed
|
||||
away, they left the room to a mildly disgruntled duck who waved at them before
|
||||
strutting inside for a well-earned nap.
|
||||
|
||||
Enrique looked around the hallway leading to the stairs. "Is your office also
|
||||
on the same floor?"
|
||||
|
||||
"No, don't need one." said the imp as they descended the stairs.
|
||||
|
||||
He frowned, but before he could ask, Inky answered his unspoken question. "I
|
||||
don't sell tea, Enrique." The ale brewer was about to argue the point when
|
||||
the imp's words abruptly came back to him: *Please consider it a gift.* He
|
||||
turned to Inky and found his friend already watching him from the bottom step.
|
||||
Waiting.
|
||||
|
||||
A grin slowly spread over Enrique's face. "That's a pity. I was just thinking
|
||||
my tea seller might want to try my new line of empanadas on the house after
|
||||
making the deliveries."
|
||||
|
||||
The imp only rolled their eyes. "Great. So your diners won't have to turn into
|
||||
skeletons to get their bread after all."
|
||||
|
||||
The giant turtle chased the laughing imp all the way back to the kitchens.
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
#### Epilogue
|
||||
|
||||
Enrique looked up from checking on the walnut bread in the oven when Inky
|
||||
walked in accompanied by an unfamiliar face. A toque, newly arrived to the
|
||||
city by the looks of it, he guessed.
|
||||
|
||||
After depositing a small box on one of the worktables, Inky settled atop an
|
||||
icebox and waved the visitor to a wooden stool nearby. Enrique greeted them
|
||||
both before closing the oven door again and stepping towards the worktable.
|
||||
"What brings you into my kitchen today?"
|
||||
|
||||
Inky gave the chef a serious look that was immediately undermined by the
|
||||
humorous tenor in their next words. "I bring you a problem."
|
||||
|
||||
Enrique snorted. "Just one?" he asked, but a small smile quirked on his face
|
||||
nevertheless. He opened the box to preview the contents and found one of his
|
||||
favourite blends. He set it to one side of the table for later.
|
||||
|
||||
"For now. This one," Inky gestured to the toque next to them looking around at
|
||||
the loaves cooling on the racks with barely concealed excitement, "has never
|
||||
had an empanada in their life. And they have the gall to call themselves
|
||||
Bread!"
|
||||
|
||||
Enrique shook hands with the toque. "Hi Bread, I'm Enrique. Unfortunately the
|
||||
troublemaker is right, you must try them. Made by hand as they have always been
|
||||
from the first day, every one of them!" informed the chef with a definite note
|
||||
of pride in his voice. He handed Bread a pair of enticing golden brown pastries
|
||||
wrapped in a paper sleeve from a tray kept warm on a broiler.
|
||||
|
||||
To Inky, he said, "So you wanted me to give them a quick demo?"
|
||||
|
||||
Inky grinned as they replied, "Even better, have you thought about taking on an
|
||||
apprentice? Bread here is a sturdy hand, hard worker and keen to learn."
|
||||
|
||||
The empanada chef stroked his chin with a thumb and fore claw thoughtfully.
|
||||
"Well, I suppose I have, actually. The nut breads we talked about have been
|
||||
flying out the door so fast I can barely keep up. At this rate I'd need another
|
||||
one of me to get more out there!" He chuckled.
|
||||
|
||||
He looked at Bread again, assessing. "When can you start? We'll be up early to
|
||||
get the dough going and all the ingredients prepared for a long day. How about
|
||||
we begin with the basics, see where you're at, and go from there?"
|
||||
|
||||
~
|
||||
|
||||
Inky had left with Bread shortly after the latter had further introduced
|
||||
themselves and they had arranged for the toque to return the following week.
|
||||
Although Enrique had reiterated it would be on a trial basis initially, he had
|
||||
a good feeling about the new hire. Maybe it was the way the toque's eyes lit up
|
||||
at their first bite of empanada. The fact that this was someone Inky had
|
||||
casually dragged in should set off all of his mental alarms. Still, despite his
|
||||
friend's often flagrant disregard for anything inedible, they could be very
|
||||
observant when they wanted. Clearly they had seen something in the toque's
|
||||
character to recommend them personally.
|
||||
|
||||
He was already going through lesson plans in his head, and was so engrossed in
|
||||
making a list of things to gather for his new apprentice that when he turned
|
||||
around to grab a pair of oven mittens, he had to do a double-take. There, on
|
||||
the icebox that the imp had recently vacated, a small green turtle stared back
|
||||
at him from where it sat on a cocoa-coloured pie slightly wider than the
|
||||
turtle. On closer inspection, the ensemble appeared to be a cake decorated with
|
||||
cream and dark chocolate buttons for eyes, set on a round wooden plank lined
|
||||
with parchment. Under the plank was a note in the now-familiar crisp blue
|
||||
lettering: "ENJOY YOUR TERRAPAN :)"
|
||||
|
||||
Enrique huffed out a laugh. He already knew what he would find on the other
|
||||
side of the note without turning it over. Pocketing the slip of paper carefully
|
||||
in his apron, he went to get a knife and plate to help himself to a slice of
|
||||
delicious mud pie.
|
|
@ -24,4 +24,4 @@ Paths:
|
|||
|
||||
- Retriever: Contractual Obligation, An Auspicious Start, Two In The Hand, The Triple Lindy
|
||||
- Were-Hare: Lepusthropy, Beast Sense, Hybrid Form
|
||||
- Tasseomancer: Reading, Ceremony, Steeping
|
||||
- Tasseomancer: Reading, Ceremony, Steeping, Blending
|
||||
|
|
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Reference in New Issue