Chapter 29: 29 – Good Food

While she spoke, she touched her cleaver’s handle with one hand, retrieved the Tablet with the other, and set it down on the table. She went to her traits list, turning the device upside-down so Makhus could read. 

“First, second, fifth and sixth trait from the top. I’ve had them since I woke up.”

Makhus looked them over, and his befuddlement became only more visible. A strange twinkle in his eyes, the ex-soldier looked her in the eye and said, “Deal. Just keep quiet ‘bout this.”

She stowed the Tablet away, greatly amused by the subtle change in the way Zefaris looked at her. There was still more than enough appreciation in the purely physical sense, but the woman’s rarely-expressive face contained a subtle sort of wonder. Even Sigmund seemed intrigued, though considering what she had learned about him, Zelsys wagered he was curious about her past.

Zelsys couldn’t blame him. She was curious too. Did she have a past before the bunker, or was she just like the Failures? Would she ever find out? Dwelling on it had to wait, for Makhus had already counted out her six silver coins and slid the pouch over to her side of the table, before dividing the rest of the money evenly between himself and the others.

They each got five silver coins and one copper, and in the end, one silver and one copper coin was left over. A brief exchange of looks was all they needed to non verbally agree how it would be spent-  food and drink. As refreshing as Liquid Vigor was, even Zelsys was beginning to feel the pangs of hunger.

Briefly, they sat quiet, still exchanging looks. Finally, Makhus spoke. 

“Fine, I’ll order,” he relented, swiping up the two coins alongside his share of the sale money as he stood up, briskly stepping towards the bar. 

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Just as Makhus approached, a rather youthful-looking older man appeared out of the door behind the bar as if by providence, his face covered in scars and his hands missing more fingers than were present. He had somewhat long black hair and a short chin beard, and from his face there beamed unreasonably bright blue eyes.

With an agility that only the lack of digits could cultivate, the mutilated barkeep swung a pitcher of ale over the cups of the patrons who sat at the bar, prompting them to thank him in surprisingly cheerful manner for how grouchy they appeared at first glance. By the time he reached the bar, the barkeep was already waiting for him with a beaming smile only rivaled by that of the towering beast-slayer.

“New face, welcome! How may I serve you today?” the barkeep spoke in a sing-song voice, absolutely beaming with unfettered positivity. Makhus almost felt bad for dropping just a silver and a copper onto the counter as he opened up his coin pouch and uttered, “Drink ‘n food for four, please. How much?”

“We’ve got fish and spuds for two gelt a portion, or cabbage soup for one gelt a bowl,” the barkeep offered. “The ale’s one gelt a mug or four gelt a pitcher, that’s five mugs’ worth of ale. What’ll it be?”

“The fish ‘n spuds and a pitcher of ale, then,” he decided, fishing up his one copper coin and another silver for a total of twelve gelt. Two gelt for a single portion was considerable, about as much as one could expect to pay at an inn far nicer than this one. He only hoped the food would be worth the cost, rather than just being price-gouged to high heaven.

The barkeep snatched up the payment, promising “It’ll just be a minute.” before he disappeared into the kitchen.

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Makhus returned to their table, making no mention of his footing half the bill. Just as he sat down, he heard Sigmund’s stomach growling. 

Sigmund looked to him, asking, “What’d you order?” 

“They’ve got fish ‘n potatoes or cabbage soup. Take a guess.”

“I like fish. Hope it ain’t pickled.”

And so, they waited. 

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No more than fifteen minutes passed before the barkeep’s larger-than-life cheerfulness arrived straight to their table, balancing three plates on his left arm while carrying a large pitcher and another plate with the other.

“There you are, fresh off the stove,” he said, laying out the plates before he placed the pitcher down. “I’ll bring you mugs, just a moment.” 

With that, he walked off towards the bar, returning moments later with four large, tin mugs in tow, which he wordlessly planted on the table.

The metal plates held surprisingly generous portions of both fish and potatoes, covered in some sort of white, creamy sauce that smelled strongly of fresh herbs. The cutlery was almost buried underneath the fish, yet the fish fell apart when she pulled the fork from under it. No bones.

The four of them exchanged looks, poured themselves a mug of ale each, and took to eating. Immediately, it was obvious that this food was not just good. It was great, exceptional even. Both the fish and potatoes were soft, but not mushy, generously spiced and flavored by the tangy, refreshing sauce. The ale flushed it all down with a smooth finish, and before any of them knew, they had cleaned their plates. Makhus took the pitcher and topped off everyone else’s mug, then drank the rest of its contents directly, waving it at the barkeep to grab his attention.

He smiled and gave an affirmative nod before he disappeared into the kitchen, carrying three empty plates on each arm.

Although Zelsys felt nothing wrong, something made her stir in her seat. She felt like she had something to do here, like something vital to her goals was in plain sight, yet she couldn’t quite pick it out of the unfamiliar backdrop of the inn. Leaning back in her seat and taking a swig of ale, she leisurely looked about, scanning the inn left to right, up and down, her gaze meandering back and forth, until… She saw it.

The notice board, at the other side of the inn.

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