Chapter 4: Dine and Dash

Lunch. My favourite meal of the day, and always the biggest by far. That used to be true for everyone, back before artificial light became a trend; go back far enough and lunch used to be called dinner, the final meal of the day, eaten in the mid to late afternoon while the sun was still up. Frontier wasn’t quite that old fashioned; turns out, magic could substitute for a lot of what modern society took for granted, like light bulbs, so they had an evening meal here as well.

At a corporate retreat, one of the speakers, a grizzled survivor type who had travelled the world, told me that hunger was the best seasoning of them all. Turns out, there’s a lot of truth to that. The food the nurse brought on her cart was simple, hearty fare: a large pot of stew made of lentils, root vegetables and breadcrumbs, the kind that peasants ate for centuries under the name pottage. Freshly awakened after god knows how long asleep, and with a body freshly healed from a traumatic head injury, I was ravenous.

The first bowl disappeared so fast I barely tasted it; the sides of my mouth burned as I inhaled it all. That impatience earned me several burns on the side of my mouth; uncomfortable, but not nearly enough to deter me from a second serving. This time, with something already lining my stomach, I even stopped to use the spoon provided with my meal.

“No problems with your appetite?”

I didn’t reply, because I was raised a gentleman and never spoke with my mouth full. Instead, I let my actions do the talking; namely, continuing to eat as quickly as I was able while maintaining basic table manners. Busy as I was, I spared the nurse only a single glance and shook my head slowly.

[Alice Meid - Level 1 Healer]

I maintained eye contact only briefly, because truth be told, five seconds is all I need. No, that came out wrong, let me rephrase that. It only took a few seconds to assess Alice, because she fit an archetype I was already familiar with from before: namely, the tired and overworked junior doctor. Thick bags were evident under her eyes, somewhat concealed by the application of makeup. She was leaning against the trolley that brought my food, looking halfway ready to fall asleep right then and there. Despite that, she was otherwise of good stature, filling in her overalls nicely.

Alice wasn’t distressingly gaunt, nor did her eyes, teeth or arms show any signs of substance abuse, so overall, she was in far better shape than most doctors I could recall. She also wasn’t a telepath, because one of those would have slapped me already, given my thoughts at the time.

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“I’m feeling fine,” I offered, once my second bowl was well and truly empty. “Hungrier than I can remember being, but maybe that’s normal, given how long I was asleep?”

“Oh, yes,” Alice bobbed her head, reminding me of the golden retriever my secretary sometimes brought to work. “You were asleep for nearly three days, so please, eat as much as you can!”

I relaxed at her words, helping myself to a third bowl immediately. Three days, whilst not ideal, was not long enough for refeeding syndrome to present itself, so there was no need to limit my calorie intake. Alice watched me eat for a while longer, before either her duties or her attention span called her elsewhere.

All told, I managed to eat a whole five bowls before my stomach began to protest, which I figured would tide me over for the rest of the day. I often skipped dinner during busy periods, so this was nothing new, on this I was and remain a firm adherent to age old wisdom: breakfast like a king, lunch like a prince and dine like a pauper.

Then, because my healthcare was free and therefore I didn’t owe the staff anything, I got out of bed, still wearing my complimentary hospital gown, and left. Thankfully, the local clinic was small, just a few rooms and a reception; the sort of thing more associated with primary care than the bustling hospitals of London. It only took a few minutes of wandering down the one long hallway, searching for an unlocked door, and then I was outside for the first time in my life.

“Damn,” I couldn’t help whisper, because I’d picked the perfect time to head out for my first look at Frontier.

The sun was setting over the horizon, painting the world a searing orange. West, I naturally thought, before correcting myself: for all I knew, the heavens were structured very differently in this new life, not that I had enough information to decide either way. My immediate surroundings were nostalgically rustic, that blend of small town and countryside that reminded me of my childhood, away from the big skyscrapers and neon lights that dominated later in life. Sure, the foliage was unfamiliar, and men with tall sticks were refilling what looked like methane lamps in preparation for nightfall, but set that aside and I could’ve been in any suburban village in South England.

Mothers, leading young children home before dark. Tired looking office workers stumbling home after a long day and longer commute. Old retired folks, sitting on their front porch with beer in hand and tobacco on their lips. I felt an itch, just then, and made a note to find some for myself. Minimum age limits weren’t a thing, here in Frontier, though there was still one big barrier to acquisition: money.

Children have all their essential needs met for free; the downside of this is that the concept of an allowance was nonexistent, and luxury goods were placed out of reach. Accordingly, my dreams of a pack a day would have to wait another week; in the meantime, I had a more immediate concern. Namely, getting back to the orphanage for a good night’s sleep.