Trepidation dogged my steps all the way through Rolstein's town square.
Well, not my steps. Apple's steps. But even so, neither his gratitude at being saved from his solitude, nor the time it'd taken to pillage his would-be owner's store had dented my deep feelings of apprehension mixed with academic curiosity for the night ahead.
For as I dismounted upon viewing the large building situated at the corner of the square, all I could do was gulp before gathering my courage to proceed.
It was beneath me to display fear in my own kingdom, and yet the greatest challenge I'd ever faced now stood before me as a monument of mediocrity.
It was an inn.
Three floors high. Brightly lit windows. Wonky black tiles for a roof. Stonework which, for some odd reason, seemed darker near the bottom than the top. And more kegs stacked outside its walls than could surely be consumed by the entire populace of this forgettable town.
It was like that pub near the Royal Villa. But bigger. More imposing.
More sinister.
An inn. But not just any inn.
No … it was the inn that I, Juliette Contzen, Third Princess to the Kingdom of Tirea, would be residing the night in.
My entire body shuddered as the ghosts of my forefathers passed through me, their ire evident in how I could feel their disappointment magnified as my own.
An inn! A place where groups of travelling companions put aside their toils while enjoying the rare comfort of a bed, a roof and a fiery hearth. Here was where the plucky heroes and heroines of all the bestselling adventure romance books took stock of their journey … and then of their sordid affections for one another!
It was a den of depravity!
And I would not merely be passing through … but staying the night.
The … The shame!
Were it not for Coppelia's need for a bed, I would never entertain the fleeting curiosity I possessed to peek upon what disreputable actions occurred within such a vile establishment.
“Sooooooooo ...” Coppelia tapped her foot. As did Apple. “You want me to check this door for traps as well or … ?”
“Do not check this door for traps,” I immediately said, assaulted by the premonition of her crushing some peasant with the inn door. I had no time to pretend to be apologetic tonight. “I'm merely … yes, I'm merely gathering my bearings!”
“The inn is right there.”
“I'm … I'm aware the inn is there! However, I also recall the guildmaster saying there were two inns located within the same vicinity. Why, it'd be terrible if I accidentally stayed the night in the less reputable establishment. I might leave this town with an even lesser opinion than I already have!”
Coppelia pointed at the giant sign above the door.
The Black Fowl.
“I'm going to count to ten and then walk in,” said Coppelia, already edging towards the door. “And I like cozy, so I might not book the biggest room.”
I immediately swept past her and flung open the ramshackle door.
Inside, I was met by a barrage of warmth, light and noise as the common room opened up to me. Lanterns hung on the wall, their glow competing with the hearth that was occupied by a small group of older men. Other patrons sat around little tables occupying the floor and a raised platform, sharing a quiet word amidst sips of a pale liquid. Some sat by themselves, slurping from bowls as the aroma of something highly unfamiliar pulled me in before I could even judge the worthiness of the menu.
It was busy. But it wasn't hectic. And although there were as many people in this inn as there were in that pub, the atmosphere was muted, almost polite.
The attire of those present indicated why.
Travelling garb.
The sight of long cloaks, tall boots and heavy knapsacks filled the common room. The local farmers didn't use this establishment. It wasn't rowdy enough.
A problem for someone who wished to hide the unseemly sound of a rumbling stomach.
My arms tried and failed to mask the sound.
Other than the sparse provisions I had in the saddlebags, I'd more or less done away with eating anything substantial today. What morsels I'd possessed had been given to Apple, who bore the brunt of our journey.
Beneath the chatter and the clinking of cups, my hunger could be heard.
“Let's … Let's choose a table!” I said, raising my voice and pointing wildly to hide the unspeakable noises. “I don't see an obvious proprietor! We should take a seat! H-How about by that very chatty group over there?!”
Coppelia looked over at the table nearest the group I was gesturing to.
“I want a window seat,” she replied, immediately searching for other candidates. “I like being able to look outside at all the people in the cold while I'm nice and snuggly inside.”
I had no choice but to nod. It was a reasonable request.
Adhering to her wishes, I scooted over to a table nearest the cleanest window. I pulled all the chairs back, then selected the one which made the least sticky noises as it was dragged across the floor.
Coppelia, meanwhile, went to the corner, picked up a fresh chair from a stack, then placed it down at the table.
I blinked at her.
After a few moments, I rose from my chair, went to the corner and picked up one for myself as well.
This girl! The chasm in practical experience between us! I could see it like the gap of a great canyon! I'd done well to choose such an accomplished future handmaiden to help guide me through these holdfasts of peasants!
Experience I intended to fully reward with a demonstration of my generosity towards my loyal retainers.
“Welcome to the Black Fowl!” said a barmaid, her smile as wide as the tray laden with bowls and drinks she carried. “What can I get you?”
“We … We require lodgings for the night,” I answered, distracted by the shocking contents of the bowls on her tray. They looked ghastly. Congealed bits and pieces of unidentifiable gristle dressed in a brown slather. The leftovers that patrons couldn't finish, no doubt. “And … food.”
“Excellent. For one room and two meals, the price will be 7 silver crowns. I've given you the smile discount.”
I touched my cheeks, then raised a brow in confusion.
“I'm not smiling.”
“No—but she is.”
I looked at Coppelia. She wore a wide beam as she looked at the gristle pooling in the bowls.
While I admit that there was little I understood about this clockwork doll, why she seemed joyful at the sight of a barmaid carrying away people's leftovers simply confounded me.
Still, I wasn't one to let her eccentricities go to waste.
“Why, thank you for your kindness.”
Reaching into my pouch, I retrieved a handful of requisitioned silver coins from Marina Lainsfont's now defunct shop and placed it on the least reflective part of the table. The barmaid scooped it into a pouch around her waist. I found the efficiency somewhat gratifying to watch.
“You're welcome,” she said cheerfully. “I'll let you know which room is yours later.”
She lowered her tray onto the table, then slid two bowls in front of us.
Hmmmm?
“... In the meantime, please enjoy!”
I looked down at the bowl suddenly placed before me.
It was filled with, yes, congealed bits and pieces, gristle, brown slather and, oh my—did that speck of orange betray a carrot among the grease and sediment?
I stared at the bowl for several seconds, my head only slowly beginning to comprehend what my eyes were witnessing in front of me.
This …
This was not leftovers.
This was not the regurgitated remains of somebody's meal after they'd suffered an allergic reaction and all the results of someone's choking fit was now piled up in a bowl to see.
This was the food. The one they served. The one people ate.
Oh no.
“Is something the matter?” asked the barmaid, clearly puzzled at why I hadn't acknowledged her instant delivery of our food.
I looked up at her.
“My apologies. I actually wished to view the menu first.”
The barmaid blinked, then lowered the tray again. There were several bowls. All of them slightly different shades of brown. One of them was so brown that the carrots couldn't even be seen. That was good. Very good.
“This is the menu,” she said simply.
“I see.”
I looked more carefully at the choice of dinner fare.
Sludge, sludge and, ah, what was that? … No, it was just more sludge.
“May I inquire as to what manner of food this is?” I asked, smiling. “Is this … Is this a bespoke recipe utilising a new variant of braised slime? I … I'm afraid I'm not up to date with modern gastronomy techniques. I've been away from my usual circles for over a day now. Time moves fast in the world of haute cuisine. As a result, I now find myself at a loss in regards to identifying what dish this is. Was this perhaps inspired by the Death Swamps of Nargarion? Or maybe a metaphor for the chef's nascent struggle against the black tide of prejudice he faces as he climbs the unremitting ladder to satisfying the beau monde?”
The barmaid blinked at me.
Then, she broke into a smile and a giggle.
“Ahaha, very funny. Enjoy your meal!”
She left, humming as she approached the next table. I saw a man raise his hand, then readily accept a bowl of braised slime being presented to him.
Stunned, appalled and still somehow hungry, I peered down at the bowl of assorted goo.
And then I heard a gulping sound opposite me.
Coppelia, loyal future handmaiden as she was, had endeavoured to test the edibility of this dish first. Ignoring the spoon in the bowl, she'd picked it up with both hands and was now swallowing the unidentifiable mixture in a single, brave attempt.
When she lowered the bowl, she offered a satisfied smile.
“Mmh … mystery stew. My favourite.” She pointed at my bowl. “You want that? If not, I'll eat it.”
I waited, counting the seconds to see if any poison or curse took hold of her.
And then slowly, very slowly—
I lifted the spoon from my bowl.
My hands shook as the brown concoction wobbled, half of it dribbling back down into the bowl as I hesitatingly brought it towards me.
However, after inhaling a deep breath, I found the courage to push the mixture into my mouth.
“What do you think?” asked Coppelia, beaming as she waited for my reaction. “Not bad, huh?”
Moments later, I swallowed the concoction.
And then I smiled.
“Oh ... Oh my.”
“Like it?”
“Yes, I do, actually.”
“Wow, really? … Okay, that's surprising. I have to be honest, I figured you'd toss the bowl over or something.”
“Hmm? What bowl?”
“Eh?”
I looked down at my meal.
A wonderful plate of fresh sole a la meunière on a bed of buttered watercress and a warm chocolate soufflé to the side.
“Why, this freshly caught fish is so delicious. I've never experienced sole as wonderful or complex as this before. It's almost like the taste of salt and sadness mixed together. It's so marvellous. I'm going to eat some more. Especially this warm chocolate soufflé.”
“Salt and sadness? That's … That's not a flavour, I think? And that's definitely not fish. There's no chocolate soufflé there, either. Hey, Juliette? Juliettteeee? Are you okay? Your eyes have become all faint and dim. Hello? Helloooo?”
And so—
I, Juliette Contzen, Third Princess to the Kingdom of Tirea, came to experience my first taste of commoner food.
The next day, I did not remember a thing.
Trepidation dogged my steps all the way through Rolstein's town square.
Well, not my steps. Apple's steps. But even so, neither his gratitude at being saved from his solitude, nor the time it'd taken to pillage his would-be owner's store had dented my deep feelings of apprehension mixed with academic curiosity for the night ahead.
For as I dismounted upon viewing the large building situated at the corner of the square, all I could do was gulp before gathering my courage to proceed.
It was beneath me to display fear in my own kingdom, and yet the greatest challenge I'd ever faced now stood before me as a monument of mediocrity.
It was an inn.
Three floors high. Brightly lit windows. Wonky black tiles for a roof. Stonework which, for some odd reason, seemed darker near the bottom than the top. And more kegs stacked outside its walls than could surely be consumed by the entire populace of this forgettable town.
It was like that pub near the Royal Villa. But bigger. More imposing.
More sinister.
An inn. But not just any inn.
No … it was the inn that I, Juliette Contzen, Third Princess to the Kingdom of Tirea, would be residing the night in.
My entire body shuddered as the ghosts of my forefathers passed through me, their ire evident in how I could feel their disappointment magnified as my own.
An inn! A place where groups of travelling companions put aside their toils while enjoying the rare comfort of a bed, a roof and a fiery hearth. Here was where the plucky heroes and heroines of all the bestselling adventure romance books took stock of their journey … and then of their sordid affections for one another!
It was a den of depravity!
And I would not merely be passing through … but staying the night.
The … The shame!
Were it not for Coppelia's need for a bed, I would never entertain the fleeting curiosity I possessed to peek upon what disreputable actions occurred within such a vile establishment.
“Sooooooooo ...” Coppelia tapped her foot. As did Apple. “You want me to check this door for traps as well or … ?”
“Do not check this door for traps,” I immediately said, assaulted by the premonition of her crushing some peasant with the inn door. I had no time to pretend to be apologetic tonight. “I'm merely … yes, I'm merely gathering my bearings!”
“The inn is right there.”
“I'm … I'm aware the inn is there! However, I also recall the guildmaster saying there were two inns located within the same vicinity. Why, it'd be terrible if I accidentally stayed the night in the less reputable establishment. I might leave this town with an even lesser opinion than I already have!”
Coppelia pointed at the giant sign above the door.
The Black Fowl.
“I'm going to count to ten and then walk in,” said Coppelia, already edging towards the door. “And I like cozy, so I might not book the biggest room.”
I immediately swept past her and flung open the ramshackle door.
Inside, I was met by a barrage of warmth, light and noise as the common room opened up to me. Lanterns hung on the wall, their glow competing with the hearth that was occupied by a small group of older men. Other patrons sat around little tables occupying the floor and a raised platform, sharing a quiet word amidst sips of a pale liquid. Some sat by themselves, slurping from bowls as the aroma of something highly unfamiliar pulled me in before I could even judge the worthiness of the menu.
It was busy. But it wasn't hectic. And although there were as many people in this inn as there were in that pub, the atmosphere was muted, almost polite.
The attire of those present indicated why.
Travelling garb.
The sight of long cloaks, tall boots and heavy knapsacks filled the common room. The local farmers didn't use this establishment. It wasn't rowdy enough.
A problem for someone who wished to hide the unseemly sound of a rumbling stomach.
My arms tried and failed to mask the sound.
Other than the sparse provisions I had in the saddlebags, I'd more or less done away with eating anything substantial today. What morsels I'd possessed had been given to Apple, who bore the brunt of our journey.
Beneath the chatter and the clinking of cups, my hunger could be heard.
“Let's … Let's choose a table!” I said, raising my voice and pointing wildly to hide the unspeakable noises. “I don't see an obvious proprietor! We should take a seat! H-How about by that very chatty group over there?!”
Coppelia looked over at the table nearest the group I was gesturing to.
“I want a window seat,” she replied, immediately searching for other candidates. “I like being able to look outside at all the people in the cold while I'm nice and snuggly inside.”
I had no choice but to nod. It was a reasonable request.
Adhering to her wishes, I scooted over to a table nearest the cleanest window. I pulled all the chairs back, then selected the one which made the least sticky noises as it was dragged across the floor.
Coppelia, meanwhile, went to the corner, picked up a fresh chair from a stack, then placed it down at the table.
I blinked at her.
After a few moments, I rose from my chair, went to the corner and picked up one for myself as well.
This girl! The chasm in practical experience between us! I could see it like the gap of a great canyon! I'd done well to choose such an accomplished future handmaiden to help guide me through these holdfasts of peasants!
Experience I intended to fully reward with a demonstration of my generosity towards my loyal retainers.
“Welcome to the Black Fowl!” said a barmaid, her smile as wide as the tray laden with bowls and drinks she carried. “What can I get you?”
“We … We require lodgings for the night,” I answered, distracted by the shocking contents of the bowls on her tray. They looked ghastly. Congealed bits and pieces of unidentifiable gristle dressed in a brown slather. The leftovers that patrons couldn't finish, no doubt. “And … food.”
“Excellent. For one room and two meals, the price will be 7 silver crowns. I've given you the smile discount.”
I touched my cheeks, then raised a brow in confusion.
“I'm not smiling.”
“No—but she is.”
I looked at Coppelia. She wore a wide beam as she looked at the gristle pooling in the bowls.
While I admit that there was little I understood about this clockwork doll, why she seemed joyful at the sight of a barmaid carrying away people's leftovers simply confounded me.
Still, I wasn't one to let her eccentricities go to waste.
“Why, thank you for your kindness.”
Reaching into my pouch, I retrieved a handful of requisitioned silver coins from Marina Lainsfont's now defunct shop and placed it on the least reflective part of the table. The barmaid scooped it into a pouch around her waist. I found the efficiency somewhat gratifying to watch.
“You're welcome,” she said cheerfully. “I'll let you know which room is yours later.”
She lowered her tray onto the table, then slid two bowls in front of us.
Hmmmm?
“... In the meantime, please enjoy!”
I looked down at the bowl suddenly placed before me.
It was filled with, yes, congealed bits and pieces, gristle, brown slather and, oh my—did that speck of orange betray a carrot among the grease and sediment?
I stared at the bowl for several seconds, my head only slowly beginning to comprehend what my eyes were witnessing in front of me.
This …
This was not leftovers.
This was not the regurgitated remains of somebody's meal after they'd suffered an allergic reaction and all the results of someone's choking fit was now piled up in a bowl to see.
This was the food. The one they served. The one people ate.
Oh no.
“Is something the matter?” asked the barmaid, clearly puzzled at why I hadn't acknowledged her instant delivery of our food.
I looked up at her.
“My apologies. I actually wished to view the menu first.”
The barmaid blinked, then lowered the tray again. There were several bowls. All of them slightly different shades of brown. One of them was so brown that the carrots couldn't even be seen. That was good. Very good.
“This is the menu,” she said simply.
“I see.”
I looked more carefully at the choice of dinner fare.
Sludge, sludge and, ah, what was that? … No, it was just more sludge.
“May I inquire as to what manner of food this is?” I asked, smiling. “Is this … Is this a bespoke recipe utilising a new variant of braised slime? I … I'm afraid I'm not up to date with modern gastronomy techniques. I've been away from my usual circles for over a day now. Time moves fast in the world of haute cuisine. As a result, I now find myself at a loss in regards to identifying what dish this is. Was this perhaps inspired by the Death Swamps of Nargarion? Or maybe a metaphor for the chef's nascent struggle against the black tide of prejudice he faces as he climbs the unremitting ladder to satisfying the beau monde?”
The barmaid blinked at me.
Then, she broke into a smile and a giggle.
“Ahaha, very funny. Enjoy your meal!”
She left, humming as she approached the next table. I saw a man raise his hand, then readily accept a bowl of braised slime being presented to him.
Stunned, appalled and still somehow hungry, I peered down at the bowl of assorted goo.
And then I heard a gulping sound opposite me.
Coppelia, loyal future handmaiden as she was, had endeavoured to test the edibility of this dish first. Ignoring the spoon in the bowl, she'd picked it up with both hands and was now swallowing the unidentifiable mixture in a single, brave attempt.
When she lowered the bowl, she offered a satisfied smile.
“Mmh … mystery stew. My favourite.” She pointed at my bowl. “You want that? If not, I'll eat it.”
I waited, counting the seconds to see if any poison or curse took hold of her.
And then slowly, very slowly—
I lifted the spoon from my bowl.
My hands shook as the brown concoction wobbled, half of it dribbling back down into the bowl as I hesitatingly brought it towards me.
However, after inhaling a deep breath, I found the courage to push the mixture into my mouth.
“What do you think?” asked Coppelia, beaming as she waited for my reaction. “Not bad, huh?”
Moments later, I swallowed the concoction.
And then I smiled.
“Oh ... Oh my.”
“Like it?”
“Yes, I do, actually.”
“Wow, really? … Okay, that's surprising. I have to be honest, I figured you'd toss the bowl over or something.”
“Hmm? What bowl?”
“Eh?”
I looked down at my meal.
A wonderful plate of fresh sole a la meunière on a bed of buttered watercress and a warm chocolate soufflé to the side.
“Why, this freshly caught fish is so delicious. I've never experienced sole as wonderful or complex as this before. It's almost like the taste of salt and sadness mixed together. It's so marvellous. I'm going to eat some more. Especially this warm chocolate soufflé.”
“Salt and sadness? That's … That's not a flavour, I think? And that's definitely not fish. There's no chocolate soufflé there, either. Hey, Juliette? Juliettteeee? Are you okay? Your eyes have become all faint and dim. Hello? Helloooo?”
And so—
I, Juliette Contzen, Third Princess to the Kingdom of Tirea, came to experience my first taste of commoner food.
The next day, I did not remember a thing.
