Watching as his father returned to guard the carriages, Mateo carefully placed the black card in his pocket and proceeded to enter the tavern. Given the large number of people visiting the village, the tavern was packed with patrons. Not a single table was available, and all the stools around the bar had already been occupied.

To make matters worse, the tavern wasn't very big. The majority of the tables with customers were in the back courtyard of the establishment, and inside the tavern, only a few round tables filled with seats could be seen. These tables, although few, were large enough to take up almost the entire space inside. Most people seemed willing to sit with anyone at the table just to receive a well-prepared meal and a drink. As a result, conversations at each table were incredibly diverse and, in most cases, exaggerated.

From what Mateo could see, it appeared that the bartender had enlisted his entire family to work in the business. The bartender at the bar was a child no older than 10, and the one serving food inside the tavern was a girl no more than 12.

Feeling somewhat embarrassed to have to demand food from a child, Mateo approached the bar, dodging the food on the floor and what appeared to be the vomit of an unfortunate soul. Upon reaching the bar, Mateo found a space between the stools and, when he had the chance, said to the "bartender":

—Hey, kid, I need you to prepare a plate of food for me!

—Sure, today's menu includes vegetable broth and beef broth— the child commented, looking at Mateo with happiness. It seemed he was enjoying the feeling of being somewhat more grown-up today.

—Those menus won't do for me. I need you to make me some chicken soup, young man— Mateo responded with some discomfort.

—There are too many people. I'm sorry, but we don't make special dishes for each person— the child said, shaking his head from side to side, exaggerating his refusal.

—Tell your father to make an exception. The food isn't for me; it's for a nobleman— Mateo commented nervously, seeing how the people at the bar were looking at him not so friendly.

—We can't make exceptions. There's only vegetable and beef broth available— the child replied, shaking his head from side to side —You'll have to make do with that.

Mateo, already quite embarrassed about having to complicate a child's life, mentally prepared himself and set out to try to convince the "bartender." Fortunately, one of the drunks at the bar spoke before him.

—Hey, kid. Go tell your father that the food is for a nobleman. You could get in trouble if you don't.

—But my dad specifically told me to refuse to cook special dishes— the child replied reluctantly. It seemed he might throw a tantrum if he was contradicted further.

—It's for a nobleman! They could throw your father in jail, kid! Go and tell your father!— the drunk shouted, scaring the child.

With some fear, the child went to the back of the tavern. He was more inclined to tell his father to kick another drunk out than to mention the matter of food for a nobleman. The back of the tavern was a common and not very large kitchen, featuring a stove, a long table, and a pantry big enough to store what was necessary for cooking.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

—Dad! There's another drunk shouting— the child shouted with a fearful look as he entered the back part of the kitchen.

The child's father was stirring a quite large cauldron, and inside it, a mixture of vegetables could be seen. This must have been one of the day's menu items. Upon hearing his son's shout and seeing his frightened face, an ugly expression formed on the bartender's face. Without much ado, he grabbed a meat cleaver and said to his son:

—Tell me who's being a smartass in my tavern.

While all this was happening, Mateo waited at the bar with a triumphant look on his face. He was close to fulfilling his first big mission. However, the triumphant expression didn't last long. It completely faded from his face when he saw the real bartender emerge, looking angry, and more importantly, holding a cleaver as big as a rolling pin in one of his hands.

—Which one of you is yelling at my son?— the bartender shouted forcefully, causing everyone to stop eating and look toward the bar.

Hearing the thunderous shout echoing through the bar, Mateo's back was drenched in cold sweat. He reminded himself to stay strong: nobody had said being a servant was easy, and no matter what, he had to leave this place with a bowl of chicken soup in his hands. Fortunately, before he could say anything, the drunk spoke up again for him:

—I did, kid. A nobleman is asking for food, and your son was refusing.

—What?!— the bartender yelled with even more anger, looking the child up and down. In his heart, he was grateful that a neighbor happened to be eavesdropping on the conversation between the nobleman and his son. Otherwise, things could get complicated for his family.

The child looked at the angry expression on his father's face and knew it was best to pretend to be deaf and look at him with pity until his anger subsided. If not, he'd be severely punished.

—Don't look at me like that and tell me what I told you a few hours ago!— the bartender commented with displeasure, seeing his son looking at him like a scared puppy.

—Y-y-you told me that if I wanted to tend the bar, I had to behave like a responsible adult— the child responded fearfully.

—And what kind of responsible adult throws their family in jail?— the bartender shouted angrily—I specifically told you to be smart and cautious, and from what I can see, you're still not mature enough to tend the bar. Go inside, learn from your mistake, and take care of the broth!

—But...— the child wanted to retort; he had managed to escape the kitchen with much effort and didn't want to go back to the cook's position. However, from the fierce look his father gave him, the child understood it was best to stay quiet and follow his instructions.

Seeing the child leave, the expression of anger on the bartender's face was replaced by one of concern. Fearing what might happen next, he calmly said:

—Aside from that, who's the nobleman we need to attend to? We'll do it right away!

—I hope so...— Mateo responded in a very low voice, paying more attention to the intimidating cleaver in the bartender's hand than his worried face.

—You'll see. My family has the best cooks in this town. You'll be satisfied and ask for seconds. As an apology for my son's mistake, we'll provide your meal for free.

—I'm just his servant... There's no need to apologize...— Mateo corrected with red cheeks from embarrassment. Uncomfortable to notice that the people in the bar hadn't resumed their conversation and were instead still eavesdropping on his conversation with the bartender —Otherwise, we'll pay for your effort like everyone else: How much for a whole chicken?

—One-third— the bartender replied joyfully, seeing he had escaped punishment.

—One-third of a crystal, right?— Mateo asked uncomfortably. As a servant, everything was logically paid for by Apollo's steward, and this was the first time he was buying something in his life. He tried to recall what he had learned from the steward before starting the journey.

—Yes, one-third of a crystal— the bartender replied patiently.

—We'll give you three crystals for a bowl of chicken soup, but let me specify exactly how it should be prepared, and let me observe the process— Mateo said as he pulled out his notebook with the recipes. According to what he had learned from the steward, money had always been insignificant for Apollo's family. The important thing was to ensure the quality of everything rather than its value.

—No doubt, we'll fulfill your request. Come with me to the kitchen!— the bartender replied with a smile so wide that his cheeks hurt.