When the Admin emerged from his private chamber, the first thing he said was, “Why is there a party going on in my audience hall?” Then he sniffed. “And what is that smell?”
Cheers and laughter came from the twenty or so soldiers who’d drifted in before Judge Steel set four of them to guard the door from more scroungers. Somebody said, “That’s the lady’s miracle bread!”
Ainsel looked tiredly at the sheet of hand pies she’d managed to put together. The pastry wasn’t much like the pastry she could produce with proper flour and butter, but it was crisp and much more flavorful than the bread she’d started with. Some of the pies were sweet, and some of them were savory, and each one was different. The fish, seasoned with the tart paste and the brine from the pickled snake, was steaming. There were tiny dinner rolls, too, but those were a disappointment. She needed days, not hours, to get a sourdough mix started: what she had was, again, better than the bread she’d started with but that was such a low bar to cross. She shook her head and rubbed her eyes. It had been a very, very long exhausting day—two days?—without any sleep. She surely could have done better if she’d been fresh, if she’d had another few hours, if she’d been more organized.
Nabi was walking through the room with the quartermaster, explaining all of the techniques he’d observed Ainsel using. Remy was watching the crowd and whacking hands that got too close to the spread. There were more pastries baking, which Ainsel fully intended on sharing with the audience, but the first set had to be for the Admin. Taking a deep breath to summon up her courage, she picked up the tray and carried it over to the master of the fortress.
He sat down in the chair behind the console as she arrived. Instead of looking at her, he inspected the shimmering field around the console, plucked some of Jim’s hairs away from it, sniffed, then pulled the field away like he was removing a shroud. “I see the human couldn’t restrain himself.”
“Just a little experiment, sir,” said Jim, sitting on the floor near the console. Nabi had asked her why the older man was plucking his hair out and poking it at the protected console, and Ainsel hadn’t been able to answer. He was a much stranger man than she’d ever realized when he was just a banana-bread-eating computer lump in Zoë’s house.
The Admin gave Jim a sour look and then finally transferred his attention to Ainsel. “And what have you faked for me?”
There was no arguing with somebody in that temper. The food would have to speak for itself. She put the tray down on the end of the console. The Judge walked over and put a slab of steamed fish on the tray as well.
The Admin raised his eyebrows. “Flesh? This is some alchemy you’ve mastered.”
“She is indeed gifted,” said the Judge. “You’re in trouble, Galbaric.”
“Hah,” said the Admin, and lifted one of the hand pies—the one with the lizards and the insects and the fruit all combined—to his mouth. Silent fell over the entire audience hall. He took a bite.
He chewed and swallowed. Ainsel held her breath. She knew the pies were better than the bread, but taste was subjective and some people found ‘familiar’ more important than ‘delicious.’
Silently, he put down the first pie and picked up another one: gingery fruit. He took a bite, chewed, put it down. He tried one of the small rolls. While he was inspecting it, one of the audience crowded behind Ainsel snuck a hand out for the ginger fruit pie. A white spark jumped from the Admin’s little finger to the man’s hand, and he jerked it back with a cry of surprise.
“Steal my food at your peril,” the Admin said impassively, then popped the roll into his mouth. A questioning murmur rose from the crowd. The Admin cast a chilly look at them, then looked at Ainsel again. “It’s very tolerable.” The cheer that rose from the audience almost obscured his next sentence. “I’ll make a note of it when we send you on to Prime. You can teach our Quartermaster your secrets first.”
“Galbaric,” said the Judge uneasily.
Ainsel blinked once in surprise, then a second time to hold back the tickle of unexpected tears. She’d hoped for… more… of a reaction to all the food she’d invented. And she’d somehow thought that if she did a good job, the Admin would let her go back to Zoë and her mothers.
She hadn’t thought things through. She’d been so caught up by her reaction to the food, and by the idea of giving these people something better that she hadn’t thought past the moment. And now they were going to take what she’d given them and send her on to another world even further from home.
“No,” said the Quartermaster, speaking up firmly. “Why would we send her to Prime when we need her here? Secrets are no replacement for skill.” The crowd murmured behind him, getting angry.
Ainsel’s heart fluttered wildly. She’d had a moment of hope that vanished as the Quartermaster finished his argument, but even as she hoped she wouldn’t have to stay in Bone Station, it was pleasant to be that appreciated.
The Admin gave the Quartermaster a bored look. “Surely you can learn her skills in a few days.” He finished off one of the pies. “Although I don’t deny her talent. I doubt putting her to work in a kitchen is one of the pre-planned uses of a denizen of the Far World, but I’ll have to recommend it. It could pay off in a dozen ways for me.”
Ainsel covered her face. This was all going wrong and she had no idea what to do. If she wasn’t so surrounded by this crowd, maybe she could run again… out into the wasteland with the hunter guardian insects. But Nabi had said there was a town nearby, hadn’t he?
Remy’s lazy voice broke through her panicked calculations. “Actually, Gal, I think now the lady is the ruler of Bone Station. By your own words.”
Nabi said quickly, “I heard it too. He said that if he were ever defeated he would give up his position to the victor.”
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The Admin’s eyes widened and then narrowed. The air pressure in the room dropped abruptly, and static electricity lifted Ainsel’s fine hair into the air.
“I don’t know why exactly you boys have a death wish,” said the Judge with a heavy sigh. “But they’re right, Galbaric. I suggest we withdraw and discuss your options. Perhaps a counter challenge…”
“Um,” said Ainsel worriedly. “I—”
“Shh,” said Remy, watching the Admin with keen interest.
The big man’s pale hair lifted and his dark eyes flashed like storm-tossed seas. Very slowly, he sat down and leaned back on his couch, placing his fingers together.
The Judge tried again. “Don’t make a mess I’ll have to clean up, old friend.”
“As the boy says, shh, Steel.” Galbaric fixed his flashing eyes on Remy. “So. Say I clutch my heart, say, ‘Defeated!’ and trudge out the door. Steel will come with me. What’s your plan then? Will you protect this station yourself? Dispense the pazozz she does seem to require for her cookery? Repair this wretched machinery when it breaks again? Fuel the engines?”
Remy shrugged, relaxed and casual. “We’d work something out. We have our own admin, after all. But why do you care? You hate this place. You should be delighted at the excuse to give up your responsibilities and go wandering.”
Galbaric opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again, his brow furrowing.
Remy leaned in and his soft voice carried in a silent room. “But you know what, coz? I’ve been where you are. I was a prince, and I walked away into the wilderness. And it’s not as easy as you think. Even for somebody as big and tough as you.”
Ainsel stared at Remy in astonishment. This was a side of him she hadn’t imagined. She’d seen the werewolf clinging to the edge of sanity, the warrior, the hungry teenage boy, but this was somebody who’d grown up enmeshed in politics.
“You’re right,” said Galbaric. “And it doesn’t incline me very much to keep my word and wander away. You don’t exactly have a lot of leverage, boy. I could still just eat you.”
Judge Steel interjected, “The Thunder King I followed to Shell would not forswear himself for such a petty cause. I won’t allow it to happen.” He stared hard at Galbaric.
Galbaric’s eyes widened and his mouth tightened. Then he raised his eyebrows at Steel with a casualness Ainsel didn’t believe. “You too, Steel? I really don’t think your other masters would approve of a Fifth Worlder in charge of one of the stations designed to defend against them.”
Gravely, Steel said, “I am always on your side, my friend. Even now, even if you don’t see it.” He looked toward Remy and Ainsel. “We have heard the pup, but I would like to hear what the young lady—the actual champion—would like.” His deep brown eyes met Ainsel’s.
“I—” she began, then stopped. Her thoughts were whirling. All she’d wanted to do was give them something nice to eat, and make friends in the process. She’d wanted to show them what could happen with a little knowledge and a lot of sharing. She hadn’t wanted to defeat anybody. “I don’t want to stay here. I want to go home.”
Saying that, she felt a little twist inside. A little voice whispered, Which home? And she felt ashamed without knowing why. She’d left something behind, lost something, and she yearned for it and fled from it.
“I want to go home,” she repeated. She looked around at all the soldiers who had donated ingredients. “Thank you all very much for your help. I’m grateful you want me to stay. My friend and family must be so worried. I don’t want to leave them to that creature.”
Judge Steel looked back at Galbaric, who was staring off into the distance. When Galbaric didn’t notice, Judge Steel poked him with a long finger.
“Yes, yes, Steel. I’ve had a capital idea.” Galbaric’s eyes glittered. “Darling cooking girl. How about I give you safe escort to a place where we might be able to send you back where you came from? You and this intrepid prince of yours and, oh, we mustn’t forget the annoying macker.”
“Hacker,” inserted Jim, and Galbaric ground his teeth.
“That is a good idea,” agreed Remy. “And you can stay here and govern in the lady’s stead.” Tension sizzled between Galbaric and Remy.
Judge Steel coughed. “If she accepts, I agree this is a good solution.”
“Yes,” whispered Ainsel. “This is good.”
The tension fled the room as the sparks literally settled. Then—
“Hey!” said Nabi. “I thought—” He caught himself as all eyes turned toward him.
“You had other plans, scout?” asked once-again-Admin Galbaric.
Nabi gave Remy an angry glance. “I’d hoped for a commander with more interest in the regiment, sir.”
“Someone easily guided that you could assist, no doubt?”
“If necessary,” said Nabi stiffly, clasping his hands behind his back.
“Hmm,” said the Admin, tapping a finger on his mouth, then flicking his fingers. “Well, we’ll discuss your… ambitions later. Delicious cooking girl, will you stay for a few days? You must be exhausted from your efforts and I imagine it will be some time before the Quartermaster develops your touch with the pazozz.”
Ainsel was tired, no doubt, but the adrenalin of the last half an hour had left her restless and energized and she didn’t want to wait any longer than she had to. “A few days is too long. Where are we going? How long is the journey?”
“Some ruins a few hours’ stroll away. They’re rather dangerous: haunted by the living ghosts of a more ambitious past. But I think we can get you in and on your way. Well, I can. My touch will be needed.” Galbaric polished his long nails on his tunic.
Remy took Ainsel’s hand in his, pulling her around the console and to the Admin’s couch. “Sit for a few minutes,” he said quietly. “See how you feel after that.”
Ainsel looked nervously at the Admin, but when he gave her a distant, benevolent smile, she felt welcome enough to sink onto the firm couch and lean against the comfortable back. She was able to see the audience that had crowded behind her now. They looked at her in a way she couldn’t remember being looked at: some of them smiling, some of them frowning, some of them… hungry… but all of them thinking about her. They wanted more than food from her and she didn’t know what she was supposed to do about that. She felt uncomfortable and she felt guilty for feeling uncomfortable.
Remy crouched down in front of her, partially shielding her with his body. “Can you relax?” he asked. “I didn’t mean to frighten you when I mentioned the challenge. But when he said he was going to send you onto his home world, I knew I had to do something.”
“I wish he’d liked the food more,” Ainsel said. “If I’d done a better job, maybe—” She glanced at the Admin perched on the other end of the couch.
As if in response to her look, the Admin stood up suddenly. “Every human except Macker Jim will now leave my chamber. Go ahead and take treats to the other men if you must. Not the ones on my console.”
Within minutes, the room was nearly empty. Most of the food was gone, too, including the partially baked pastries. Only the steaming carcass of the fish remained, along with the pots Ainsel had used to separate and recombine the pazozz components.
“I have tasted much better food, you understand,” said the Admin casually, as he turned to Ainsel. “Prime is a lush world, with many protected fields and herds. But that doesn’t make what you’ve done any less impressive. You are a lovely and talented prize.” He tapped his chin. “It may be for the best that you return to whence you came. If Prime learned about your talents it might prompt another attempt at conquering the Fifth World.” He raised an eyebrow.
Ainsel tried to puzzle out what he was saying, then gave up and nodded. He thought she’d done well, and that would have to be enough.
“How do you feel?” asked Remy.
“I’m all right. I’m tired but I have plenty of energy. It’s not like I fought two giant monsters or anything, and I want to go home.”
The Admin clapped his hands. “Very good. Lightning doesn’t wait, after all.”