Everyone stared at Bando incredulously, then spoke in unison. “A TIE!?”

Bando laughed darkly. “Called em’ both terrible. Oh, but also, they’s wantin’ more.”

There was a chorus of groans and cursing.

“S’what ya get fer usin’ a buncha elfin’ nobs.” Bando sneered.

Rosie shook her finger at him. “Don’t you be speakin’ ill o’ our guests, Bando Digger!”

“Bah!” Bando muttered a few more choice expletives then stalked off in a teenage funk.

In the meantime I was feverishly trying to remember what happened with a Feud in the case of a tie. As best I could recall, according to Nation of Crack Ordinances Ver. 1130, Chapter 1, Section 4, Subsection 28, Feuds kept going until someone won. Each time, the party that got to set the Contest switched, so technically the Diggers got to pick the next task.

They could also choose to end the Feud.

The eyes of everyone turned to Darrel and Bran. The two chefs looked miffed at the description of their hard work, so we waited in silence while they decided what to do.

Then they locked eyes, rolled them simultaneously and began laughing.

Darrel wiped away tears. “It’s always tha same with ‘em. They’re just hankerin’ fer more free food. Nobs got the deepest pockets and the thinnest beards.”

Bran nodded. “We had a few of ‘em in the Goat during the contests. They could be a right pain. We’ll need to tell you about Blackbeard.”

“So, the Feud?” Annie hazarded.

“I’mma thinkin’ it’s yer win.” Darrel said. “I burned one, but you made em’ all perfect. If’n they’re thinkin’ it’s a tie, then that’s our next judge.”

Bran shook his head. “The only true judge of food is the customer. The customers said it’s a tie, so it’s a tie.”

“Well, mighty gracious of ya. We’ll end the Feud there on a tie then.” Darrel smiled, then went ramrod straight.

I groaned. Here we go….

Darrel jumped to his feet. “I just got a Blessin’!!!”

Rosie jumped to her feet as well a moment later. “YOU DID!?”

Those of us from the Goat glanced around the table. Or rather, everyone glanced at me. Some pointedly. Annie looked wistful, likely imagining selling me as Blessing bait again. Dammit! It wasn’t my fault the creepy stalker Gods were handing Blessings out like candy to everyone around me!!

Darrel was staring at a little blue box only he could see. “It’s – it’s from Aaron. Fer challengin’ a champion of dwarves to a Feud in his field and me not losin’.”

Rosie turned shocked eyes on us. “By all o’ them Bits o’ tha Gods, what does that mean?”

Opal answered before Bran could, practically preening at hearing Bran described as a “champion of the dwarves”. “Bran here won the regional Octamillenial cooking contest in Minnova. He’s the champion chef of Minnova.”

Rosie looked simultaneously shamefaced and bursting with pride. “And I insulted yer cookin’. I oughta give ma beard to y’all.”

“That’s not necessary Rosie.” Annie waved her apology off. “Congratulations on your Blessing! You’re finally Titled!”

Darrel couldn’t even nod, he was so shocked. “I never thought…”

“Aaron and Barck are a good set.” Bran said, “It’s what I’ve got. [Artisan] is excellent for a chef.”

Kirk called from where he and Malt were still propped up in front of the fire. “You should become an [Oracle]! You’ll be able to tell when someone wants a refill on their beer!”

He then held up his empty tankard and waved it pointedly. Rosie snapped her towel in his direction and he grinned back.

Darrel shook his head. “Naw, I didn’t become no chef ‘cause I loved cookin’. I did it to support ma Rosie. Takin’ a Title to become a better chef would be a waste. It wouldn’t be me.”

He paused and read over more options, and his face slowly grew firm. “Yup. That would be it. Rosie’s been talking ‘bout us needin’ more hands ‘round tha inn, and I could use summa it myself.”

Rosie smiled. “Yer thinkin’ - “

“Aye.” Darrel stared at a spot just above the middle of the table and said, “[Generate]”.

Abruptly, a roughly ten centimeter tall section of the air stepped into existence. That was the best way I could describe it; it looked like a piece of air had pulled itself out of the other air like taffy, and was now standing on the table. A light blue glow suffused the area, outlining a rotund and disproportionate blue humanoid shape. It had a tiny pair of nublike legs with no knees or feet and a large round belly that tapered like a raindrop up to an oversized featureless head. A set of tiny arms that looked identical to its legs – just shorter – waved merrily up at us.

“You became a [Summoner]!” Aqua squeaked, leaning forward. “I’ve only ever seen elementals at a distance over the Grand Market! It’s so cute!”

“What can it do?” I asked, standing and walking around the table to get a better look at it. I kept my distance though; I distinctly remembered that they could be dangerous.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Darrel chortled. “It can do lots! Fetch stuff, make water, oh, and this!” His eyes narrowed, and the elemental rose up into the air on a faint breeze then wafted over into the kitchen. An instant later Bando’s terrified screaming and the sound of rushing water could be heard.

Bando emerged from the kitchen looking like a wet cat, and just as angry. “Why is there an elemental doin’ the dishes? And why did it spray me first!? Ma, Pa?”

While Darrel, Rosie, and Bando shared in their happiness, the rest of us split up to our own devices. There would be a Blessing party later tonight, no doubt, and we could all use some rest first. I settled in front of the fire next to Malt and Kirk and pulled out one of the books I’d bought before we left Minnova.

“The Tales of Tea” was a memoir about the origins and history of the tea trade in Crack. I was searching through it for mentions and clues of past Chosen Catalysts of the Gods. The Great Game had been playing for many, many years, and following its course could be helpful for my own survival.

Back in Copperpot’s house, I’d seen a picture of the Pot Family’s first Oligarch, Grand Speaker Teapot, and he’d had a Union Jack emblazoned on his blazer. So naturally I was attempting to stalk him through history books, which was significantly more difficult than it had been to find my daughter’s boyfriends on Snapchat.

Seriously, they really had to stop posting everything online!

So far all I’d been able to learn was that he’d been close to a famous dwarven [Explorer] by the name of Jean Herder. 'Lucky' Jean had been the first to map and name large parts of Crack, including our own Minnova. He was also the one who’d named the capital city, though in a more roundabout way. Back in the days when the capital was the only dwarven foothold in the immense caverns, it – not the country – had been named Crack. They’d renamed it in Jean’s honour after he’d died in Blacktar Dungeon to the East. According to his diary, he’d wanted his bones to be laid to rest in the city of Kinshasa, so they’d buried him in the capital and changed the name.

It was dry reading, but interesting, and I was almost positive Jean was another Chosen.

A couple hours into my reading there was the sound of a throat being cleared, and I looked up to realise I was nearly the last one left in the Inn. The rest had decamped, leaving Malt passed out in front of the fire and Bando, who was standing next to my chair and looking attentive.

“Aye?” I asked.

“Can I get you a drink or somethin’?”

“Ah, sure. Some tea if you have it, please.”

“Tea? You drink that gnomish leaf water?”

“Sure, lotsa folks in Minnova do.”

Bando shrugged. “Not here. Not too many of ‘em gnomes come through Gemena, but we gots some Gnomish Breakfast just fer them.”

While he puttered about the bar preparing my drink, I asked, “Do ya mind me askin’ what you were yellin’ at yer mum about? I recognised the name Harmsson.”

I’d picked up Thad Harmsson’s little leaflet in Minnova. He was part of a growing movement to reduce the power of the nobility and influence of the Official Greybeards while improving the lot of the average greybeard. And presumably institute a little democracy or whatever the Erdian equivalent was. He was also pushing for more rights for gnomes. He was planning a massive march on the Octamillenial, where they were going to demand that the King sign something he called The Great Charter.

As a Canadian, I of course had to support anything democratic.

Bando’s eyes sparkled. “Oh? You’ve heard o’ Harmsson as far as Minnova? I knew he was on the up and up!”

“I wouldn’t go that – “

“Ma friend Mica has been talkin’ ‘bout joining the march and I want ta go with him! His pa owns tha’ general store. Coupla the bigger clans here in Gemena are too. We’re sick o’ bein’ treated like tha nob’s toys. They come in here and take our diamonds, then leave us with bare silver. We merchants make tha’ country run, and we should have some say! It’s not the days o’ wild frontiers no more! City Hall’s enough, we don’t need no Lords to protect us!”

Bando finished setting up the mug and tea then leaned into the kitchen serving window and shouted, “Pa! Hot water!”

I watched in interest as a tiny blue elemental floated in from the kitchen. It squeezed its face, like when I made faces at Sammy as a baby, and hot steaming water poured from its lips into the mug. That was either neat, or gross. I tried to figure out which while asking, “yer ma doesn’t like Harmsson?”

“Naw. She thinks he’s a lyin’ snake, but I think he really wants to help. He’s done so much good in Kinshasa already! He helped solve tha problem with tha refugees, and got Kinshasa City Hall ta fix the roads! He’s only a minor Lord, but he’s done so much!”

“Ya’know, we had a lot of refugees at Minnova too. What’s up with that?”

Bando poured my tea before replying, his voice growing concerned. “Lots more monster attacks and Dungeon Breaks right now. Dunno what’s goin’ on, but they’re comin’ out from their regular haunts.”

When I’d first arrived in this world, there’d been muttering about a Monster Stampede at Greentree Dungeon. That was when the Mana within a dungeon spiked, resulting in a mass creation and exodus of monsters. In the end, beyond an increase in the number of singular Dungeon Breaks, and some inter-dungeon boss changeups, not much had come of it. Could it be related…?

“Is it safe for us to be travelling?” We hadn’t been told the road was dangerous when we were leaving Minnova!

“Yup, sure. It’s only a real problem off the main routes. It’s not till ya get to the outskirts, or right near the dungeons that you’ll see it.” The young dwarf came and handed me the mug. I took a deep sniff and closed my eyes with pleasure. While the alcohol in this world was a disappointment, the tea was everything I loved from back home.

Bando was still standing at my side, shuffling from side to side nervously. Exactly like Sammy when she wanted something, or had been naughty and was about to get caught.

“Yeeees?” I hazarded.

“See, Ma don’t want me goin’ with Mica. She’s all distracted cause o’ Pa tonight, but she’ll be on me harder than a [Brewer] on a bootlegger startin’ tomorrow. No offence.”

I smiled at the image. “None taken.”

“So I was wonderin’... if’n you lot could take me with you tomorrow. You seem like nice folk, and Guard Gloin approves of ya’. Without tellin’ ma Ma or Pa, that is.” He shuffled nervously from foot to foot.

I raised an eyebrow. “You seem a little young…?”

Bando guffawed. “Heck naw, I’m over one hunnerd! I can take care’a myself in Kinshasa. I just needs ta get there.”

DAMN! He was older than me! Age really was just a number around here!

I considered the bashful boy. One hundred really was old enough in dwarven society for him to be out on his own. At the same time, Rosie had been more than accommodating, and I didn’t want to get on her bad side when she could easily get our home address from the beer merchants.

So I made it someone else’s problem.

“You’ll want to ask Annie. She’s the one in charge of personnel on this trip.” Yeah, I hadn’t even known Malt was coming with us until the last second. Let her fret over it.

Bando gave me a look that combined disappointment with hope. “Aight, thankee Brewer.”

He wandered off to find Annie while I drank my tea and wondered what the laws were about kidnapping adult children in Crack.

We had the Blessing Party for Darrel that evening. Even the nobles came and had a wonderful time. Then we slept the sleep of those sleeping with feather beds for the first time in weeks. I didn’t think more about my conversation with Bando until the morning.

And then it was too late.