Chapter 245 - Scorching Embers III

Kane swallowed a ball of saliva as he nervously tiptoed down the street. His eyes darted all over, stopping briefly on every shadow that disturbed the otherwise calm city street. He couldn’t help it. It wasn’t safe to be out and about, and the theatre—the building he had just passed—had just the right bits and bobs to spook him. The dark splotches it cast were humanoid in shape, thanks largely in part to the wooden figurines placed atop its roof.

He was beginning to regret going out for ingredients. They could have easily lived off the remaining sugar and flour for a solid few weeks. It wouldn’t have been healthy, but at the very least, he wouldn’t have had to endure the terror that was venturing back and forth between his home and the market. It had only taken about an hour and a half for him to buy everything and make his way home, but he felt at least a hundred years older. He had spent the whole trip shaking like an aspen leaf, cowering before every gaze that happened to find itself upon his frame.

The man was three meters tall when he stood at his full height, but less than half that when he proceeded on all fours with his back hunched and his tail between his legs. In his mind, his cowardice was not at all to be blamed. The queen’s assassins could be lurking around any corner with their blades drawn and ready, and he was like a splotch of paint on an empty canvas. While their shop would not have been nearly as popular back home in Kurnagy, given how average it was amongst its peers, he was beginning to suspect that it would be better for them to return. The money they earned was worth little when weighed against the threats to their lives. His wife, however, had refused, citing that they couldn’t simply pack up and abandon their home.

It began with an innocent transaction. They had been invited to cater for an event at a nobleman’s manor, some four or five years ago. They rejoiced at the time; it was a rare, lucrative opportunity that came with wallets crammed full of gold. For three days and three nights, they steeled their focus to ensure that everything, everything, was perfect. It was hard work, but their efforts bore fruit. The catering event spawned numerous similar opportunities; their names spread through the ranks of the nobility like wildfire, and they soon became one of the most popular and prestigious catering services positioned within the city’s walls.

Meeting the sudden uptick in demand was impossible. Kane himself was good for nothing in the kitchen and focused primarily on menial tasks. Their son had inherited his mother’s refined nose, but even with the Ryllian’s chefs being of such renown, none of the locals they had hired were able to live up to their standard. With only two cooks in the kitchen, they were forced to turn down most of the requests for their service. Their bookings grew more competitive with every season, and before long, they found themselves with the upper hand in their negotiations. The powerful nobles that had elevated their shop bent to their will and abided by their demands. Of course, they never asked for anything too absurd, only the occasional small favour here and there. At its core, Kane’s Sweet Cons was just a tiny Ma and Pa Shop run by a family of immigrants hoping to get by. They had no intention of budding their noses into the locals’ political games.

Their lack of diligence, however, was precisely what drove their downfall. They had failed to recognize one of the customers they had nonchalantly declined as a direct aide to the queen. It wasn’t an unjustified refusal. They were already overbooked, and had not the time to experiment with the absurd request that was creating a cake with blood as a central ingredient. When the man in question discovered that they were serving at one of Count Ray’esce’s parties instead. He declared that they had cast their lot and stormed off.

It was not until they spoke to one of the admiral’s servants, some two weeks later, that they learned of the man’s identity and the political forces that had fueled his claim. They had been informed that they would be assigned guards if they determined that the threat was relevant. And just three days ago, they had received a letter claiming that it very much was.

All three of those days, Kane had spent trembling in terror. Maura, his wife, insisted on continuing as usual, but he had shut down the storefront in the interest of their safety. He had even volunteered to go get the groceries, even though his tail refused to part from the nook between his legs. It was his duty as the man of the house to shoulder any risk to their persons.

And that was what brought him back to the present. He was already on fourth street; the end was in sight, and he was sure to make it if he just sprinted, but he didn’t dare. His senses had started to tingle as soon as he rounded the corner. A shiver ran up his spine, and a whine inadvertently escaped his throat. He wanted—needed—to flee. He couldn’t tell where the observer was, but he knew that someone was there, stalking him through the urban jungle.

He felt like he could see something out of the corner of his eye, a faint, blue, glowing something. But it vanished whenever he turned towards it. It couldn’t have been a hallucination. It hovered too well on the far edges of his peripheral vision and neatly vanished behind him whenever he turned. He didn’t manage to catch it until he looked at a nearby shop’s window and saw its reflection hovering behind him.

It was a massive, blue-white serpent with legs. Looming just behind him with its jaws open and ready to consume him. He shrieked when he saw it and bolted straight home. His groceries spilled all over the street as he ran, but he didn’t care. Not when he was about to be murdered by a monster. He fumbled for his key and missed the hole three times before finally getting it into the doorframe. But it didn’t turn. He twisted and twisted, but the metal remained exactly where it was, as the figure behind him closed in.

He could hear the footsteps, the crushing of the fresh snow underneath as it lumbered after him. It took two more tries for the man to finally give up and spin around with a banana brandished in his trembling hands.

Facing it, however, led him to question his sanity. It was not the toothy behemoth he had hallucinated, but rather a small girl with a similar colouration. The fruits that he had dropped were floating behind and around her. He suspected from the xylomancy that she was likely some sort of elf, but she had too many extraneous parts.

He was halfway through thanking the girl by the time he finally looked at her face. He immediately broke into a cold sweat. It poured from his mouth in the form of a nervous drool, intensifying for every moment that the silence persisted. She was smiling, but not in a way that was good for his heart. Her body language seemed genuine at a glance. Her lips were curved, her eyes were filled with kindness, and her ears were twitching, but something about the air around her was off. It was too rusty. Even with a dysfunctional, half-sensitive nose, he could pick up on the faint scent of blood still lingering about her person.

It came alongside a whiff of bird fat, a combination that told a story in and of itself. She had just killed a bird, sometime within the day. And she looked nothing like the part of a butcher’s daughter.

All the blaring alarms came together to form an obvious conclusion. Count Ray’esce’s guards were too late. The girl was an assassin, and she had come for him straight after killing a penguin, or perhaps a gull. Maybe even the mayor, given that he was a mix of both.

He was dead. His whole family was dead. All because they had mistakenly offended the crown. He screamed and threw his whole basket at her before bursting through the door and locking it behind him. The border collie immediately reinforced the barricade with chairs and tables, before adding his own weight to the pile.

“Is that you, Honey? What’s with all the noise?” He could hear his wife’s voice from within the kitchen, but he didn’t dare raise his voice to answer, nor was he even able to make out all of her words. His heart was beating like a drum, and tears were flowing from the corners of his eyes. The only thing he could hear in its usual definition was the ringing in his ears.

Maura sighed when she stuck her head out of the kitchen and caught him in the midst of his panic. She placed her chef’s hat on the counter, took off her gloves, and walked over to the door. “Oh, by the goddess. Enough of that! I told you, Kane, we’re going to be fine. No one is going to attack us.”

He slowly, silently shook his head and gestured towards the door, but she threw him aside and began rearranging the furniture. She was joined soon after by the desks and tables themselves, who got up on their own and moved back to their previous positions. Perhaps because she was too busy to notice, not even this fazed Maura. She continued moving around the room, stacking the chairs with the help of an invisible hand.

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Kane shook his head and tried pleading with his wife to stop, but he couldn’t find the words, and one of the chairs lightly bonked him on the head when he tried to physically interfere. And then, with a click, the lock was undone. The door swung open, the bells hanging off of it ringing to sign the killer’s advent. Kane charged her as a last ditch effort, but a kick to the jaw sent him spiralling to the floor.

“Is he always like this?” Claire bent over next to the giant border collie, and after prodding him with her tail, set his rearranged grocery basket down in front of him.

“You don’t know the half of it,” said the female. She paused to look the intruder up and down, carefully scrutinizing her outfit before settling on her face.

“Claire Augustus, abyssal hoarfrost scalewarden.” The former lyrkress got back to her feet and performed a quick curtsy. The formality was hardly necessary given the circumstances, but she decided to follow through regardless. It had been a while since she introduced herself with her full name.

“Oh, and I’m Sylvia! Errrm, Sylvia Redleaf, fox or something,” said her fluffy companion.

“Nice to meet you both, I’m Maura Doyle, chardherder,” she said, with a toothy grin. “You must be the guards my husband mentioned the other day.”

“Kinda!” said Sylvia. “Oh yeah, so I’ve been wondering for a while now, but weren’t you guys supposed to be con artists or something? How come your store looks like a cake shop?”

“Con artists?”

There was a brief moment of silence as two confused canids exchanged glances with a blank slate.

“We’re not con artists,” said the dog lady. “We’re confectionery artists.”

“Ohhhhh… No wonder they said that we’d know which shop it was right away…” said Sylvia. She shifted her eyes towards the overly horizontal moose responsible for the misunderstanding.

“That’s exactly what a con artist would say.” Claire narrowed her eyes as she scanned the mostly empty room.

“Oh, come on!” Sylvia leapt from her head to her shoulders and tugged on one of her ears. “Now you’re just being silly.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The lyrkress pinched the fox’s nose and directed her gaze out the window. “You’re just too quick to believe what people tell you.”

“No I’m not! You’re just throwing a fit ‘cause you’re too embarrassed to admit that you misheard.”

“False.” Claire hugged the fox extra hard.

“Ow, ow, ow! My ribs!”

“You can’t have ribs if you don’t exist.”

“Huh!? What kind of logic is that! And wait, weren’t you the one that said that I didn’t not exist! You can’t just suddenly backpedal on it ‘cause it’s convenient! Make up your mind!”

“No.” She squeezed with even more of her strength, a small smile on her lips all the while.

The dog lady reacted with a start when the fox projected a more translucent fox emerging from her mouth, but otherwise watched over them with a smile. It was only when they fully settled down that she finally began to speak. “Will you be able to cover the morning and evening shifts with just the two of you?”

“Oh, uhmm… there’s actually a whole bunch of us coming, but I dunno exactly how many there are. Some commander or something is gonna drop by and explain it later, but it’s probably gonna be a while before they show up.”

“A commander? They’re sending someone that important?” The dog lady opened her eyes wide.

“Mhm!”

“I told you, Dear.” Kane slowly got up to the ground, a paw against his still-ringing head. “We’re in some real deep…” he looked around briefly before he continued, “shit right now. We pissed off the wrong people.”

“T-that can’t be right. All we do is sell sweets, and besides, you’ve always had a penchant for blowing everything out of proportion.”

“I‘ve never blown anything out of proportion! It’s you that never takes it seriously enough! Remember that time with the truffles?”

“What in the goddess’ name, Kane!? I can’t believe you’d bring something that embarrassing up in front of our guests!”

“Like hell it matters! They don’t even know what the fuck we’re talking about!”

The argument continued until a much smaller dog walked out of the kitchen and smacked both chardherders over the head with a pan. “Both of you shut up. You’re bothering the guests.”

“T-they’re guards, sweetie.” His mother, who was already sitting down like a good pup, raised a paw in protest, but she was mercilessly smacked again.

“Doesn’t matter. They’re not family, and that makes them guests.”

“R-right, good point,” said Maura, as she rubbed her head.

“Good.” The meter-tall canine turned to his other parent. “And Dad? What did I tell you about minding your language? You’re going to have to shake your bad habits if we’re going to keep catering to the nobility.”

He was barely a meter tall; his parents towered over him even when seated, but they were both entirely subservient. He waited until he was done disciplining them before craning a neck behind him and shooting the curious onlookers a quick glance. “Ash! Grab some of the apple danishes we made in the morning! The ones that are just done cooling off!”

“Okay! One sec!” There was a set of hurried footsteps followed soon after by a child of maybe ten sprinting out of the kitchen with a tray in hand. “Oh crap!” She tripped on her way out, but the confections were unharmed, caught by a series of vectors and placed back on the tray before they could hit the ground. The grumbling child rubbed her nose as she sat up, only to cower in fear as she spotted her angry brother out of the corner of her eye. “Eep!”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to run in the kitchen!”

“Sorry.” The child flashed an unapologetic smile as she handed over the plate. “But it’s okay because nothing broke or fell, see?”

The older child frowned as he accepted the tray and approached the two halfbreeds. Rather than an apologetic look, like the type one would expect from a man greeting guests, he wore an expression not unlike that of a hungry shark. “Have some, and then try telling me we’re con artists again.”

Sylvia was the first to partake. She slid halfway down Claire’s arm, nabbed the closest specimen, and gave it a nibble. “Woah, this is tasty!” Her eyes sparkled as she spoke, the words only half intelligible, thanks to the way she immediately stuffed the rest of it into her cheeks as would a squirrel or hamster. The lyrkress took a few moments to contemplate voicing the observation before sampling one of the tarts herself.

The crust had a thin crunchy shell, but the soft bread within had been puffed to perfection. It had a pleasant buttery flavour, with earthy notes from the oils used in the dough’s base. It paired well with the flavour of the fruit, which itself was divided between the fresh produce and hot jam.

“You’re con artists.”

But a well-rounded flavour profile was not by any means enough to stop Claire in her tracks. To add further insult to injury, she put the half-eaten pastry back on the tray as she pulled up a chair with a vector and sat down.

The boy was left in a stunned silence. Completely stupefied by the evaluation. He even tried a bite of the half eaten pastry and confirmed that it lived up to his standard before slowly returning his eyes to the guest.

Ignoring him, Claire turned to his father with an icy cold stare. “Why aren’t you leaving if you know you’ve been marked?”

“W-what do you mean?” stuttered Kane.

“You’re an idiot.” Claire answered the dog’s question with a cold, unamused stare. “Pack your things. Come back in a week.”

“W-we couldn’t possibly do that!” shouted the dog. “Who knows what they’ll do to the shop while we’re gone! We might not even have a home to return to by the time we get back!”

The horse looked at the family’s other members, expecting at least some disagreement, but much to her annoyance, they all seemed to be in accord.

“We are chardherders,” said the son. “You might not understand, but to our kind, our territory is our pride. It’s even more important than our lives. It’s ‘cause we bleed that ou—”

Claire silenced the child with a glare. The rest of the family began to panic, but she met them all with the same treatment, opening more eyes across her body to suppress all their complaints before they could kick up a fuss.

“Uhmmm… Claire?”

“What?”

“Where are we going?”

“Nowhere.”

“Then how come you’re dragging everyone out the door?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A small smile across her lips, she burst out of the establishment and made for the sky.