They left Cultivar’s Curiosity’s under disguise once more, with the sun still rising high into the sky. By now, Sean had learned to guesstimate the hour based on the sun’s position alone and he would say they still had at least two or three more until noon.

Plenty of time.

“Our first great destination awaits!” Gel shouted excitedly in his mind as Sean finished hanging the new sign: ‘Closed indefinitely; Under Managerial Transition’ on the door. “I know exactly where to go, just follow my lead and head right over there!”

Sean stopped to adjust his garments and check himself over one more time before he turned around, his stolen clothes and robe feeling oddly out of place after having been ‘free’ for so long. The slime had taken entirely too long in choosing their outfit in the geladin’s opinion, and had made a number of disparaging remarks at the ‘insufferable’ quality of the selection. In the end, Sean had been forced to threaten his friend with wearing one of the former owner’s hats. After that, a compromise had been reached: new threads were to be their first stop of the day.

As long as we can get back here to eat, or find somewhere that’ll take us, I should have plenty of mana for some shopping. Sean thought, glancing at his ever-present countdown clock. Their last meal had topped him off, and there was always the meat locket for emergencies. Now to–

Sean turned around and, for the first time, beheld the majesty of Dervash’s sights up close. His first look at the marvels of a magical city in this new world. He had no breath left to catch, but even so the undead paused in appreciation of the wonder before him.

Most of the nearby buildings were made primarily out of a smooth sandstone material, with accents of polished wood here and there. All of the street-facing sides of what had to be other shops were covered in layers of heavy wood beams in a style that reminded Sean of the way brickwork had been added to new home construction in many suburbs back on Earth. An aesthetic facade, but one the undead could appreciate.

Towering beyond the nearby buildings, so large they felt more a part of the landscape than anything purpose-built, were the gargantuan crystal-blue towers Gel had told him were called ‘cloud-drinkers’. Their radiance shimmered in the heat, giving the impression that the towers were moving– though that was clearly not the case. Each was several times taller and wider than any skyscraper he had ever seen, so if they actually were moving then he would have to rethink his views on what magic could accomplish in this world.

“Did you know the cloud-drinkers are actually what provides the city with its drinking water?” Gel said suddenly, having caught the direction of Sean’s attention.

“Seriously? I thought this was a port town. It’s got to be easier to pipe water in from the sea than from all the way up there.” Sean wasn’t sure how far up ‘cloud level’ was on this planet, but he knew it had to be at least thousands of feet up.

“Cups dipped into the Neversea must have their contents boiled over a flame first, else you will die of thirst before its waters ever sate you.” Gel said, having taken on his customary tone of recitation adopted whenever the slime was directly quoting a memory. A second later, Sean’s ‘skin’ shivered and the slime’s normal voice returned. “Apparently there’s also a few nasty diseases lurking in the water, too. The city’s tried to purify what’s nearby, but any source of water that connects back to the Neversea always ends up corrupted again and they don’t know why. Or at least, the people I ate didn’t.”

“Hu-uh. Alright. So cloud water is safer, then.” Sean said, wrestling his gaze away from the towers as he turned towards the direction the slime had indicated earlier. “Makes sense.”

“Yup!” Gel said brightly. “Now, hurry on over to that first intersection and then take a right. We’re actually not too far from the main market so if we hurry we can get there before the crowds start to show up. Midday is when the food stalls see their heaviest traffic, and I want to sample as much as we can before anyone tries to make us wait in line. You know how I feel about waiting for food.”

Chuckling to himself, Sean nodded and set off down the dusty, brick-paved street at a swift pace. They passed dozens of enlightened out and about on their morning routine as they went: humans, owlen, lizardkin, and more. Some of the races were ones Sean hadn’t seen yet, mostly-human variants whose features sported one or two distinct comparisons to other desert-dwelling animals. There were even a few fennekians, though the geladin gave those a wide berth. According to Saren nearly all of the small creatures served in the city guard, and he had no intentions of giving them a chance to see through their disguise up close.

As more and more joined them in the streets, Sean began to feel two powerful emotions stir up from somewhere inside him. The first was a pervasive feeling of unease. He had never felt entirely comfortable in large crowds of total strangers before, but this went deeper. As if his very presence here was wrong somehow, and it took him a moment to figure out why. His pulse sense, funnily enough, had been the clue.

It’s their mana. Sean realized, as his ability to sense nearby living heartbeats and the networks of blood supplying their hosts brought him more information at once than ever before. I’ve never been around so many of the living before. There’s life mana coursing through all of them. It feels kind of like that tree outside the city did but not on the same level.

It felt like he was surrounded by hundreds of potential enemies, which was what was fueling the other emotion rising up from his chest: pure, unadulterated rage. His very being felt furious at the presence of so many living creatures nearby– to a degree that Sean had never felt. Even being around the survivors back at the ant colony hadn’t done this to him. Hadn’t evoked such a powerfully raw urge to slay the living. To tear open the throats of the foolish prey that had allowed him into their nest. To consume their very–

“Ooh, ooh, Sean!” Gel shouted into his mind, the slime’s voice cutting into the sudden fog that had descended unnoticed over him. “That sign says it leads to ‘Meat Street’! I take back what I said about fixing our attire first. That can wait. Meat Street is calling for us, and by the wobble invested in me we are going to answer!”

Sean’s awareness snapped back into place, burning orbs whirring in place from behind the mask of faux-flesh Gel had crafted for them as he stopped mid-stride.

That was dangerous, almost lost myself for a second there. The geladin thought, resisting the urge to put his hands to his skull and rub his temples. There were so many heartbeats pounding all around him, Sean felt like he was inside an orchestra pit.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Focus… He told himself, instinctually willing the cacophony to fade into the background. Not so far that the information wasn’t there, but enough that he could think again.

“Sean?” Gel asked after a second, concern in his voice. “You okay in there? Because I feel like you stopped when I said there is a literal street named after meat next to us, and while I appreciate your stunned jubilation I’d really like to get over there as soon as inhumanely possible.”

Sean’s vision refocused, and he couldn’t help himself.

“Is that a dancing cactus?” He asked, pointing at the twelve foot tall spiked, green cacti covered in dozens of sheets of impaled parchment that was wiggling in the breeze before them. “... or is it some kind of plant-based street sign? Because it looks like they’re using it like a street sign.”

“The proper term is ‘Guide Plant’.” Gel corrected. “Most major cities have something like this, Dervash uses cacti because they’re easy to update with new postings when storefronts change or when somebody moves. Also because the spines actually have hooks on the end, so whatever you slap on there doesn’t get blown away by the wind.”

“Hu-uh.” Sean leaned in for a closer look, finding that each of the spines did actually have a trio of hooks sprouting off them. “Neat. Now, you were saying something about a ‘Meat Street’? Where is it, and which ones are the characters for ‘meat’?”

Gel promptly showed him the latter then indicated the former, and the pair strode over in that direction. What awaited them was a bounty beyond either of their wildest dreams. Four nearly endless rows of stalls stretched out before them, transforming the street into two lanes of equal enticement.

The left path was filled with vendors of every variety, each grilling sizzling, exotic meats in a dizzying array of fashions. Fresh spices and herbs Sean had never seen before hung from strings in abundance, while implements he had never imagined poked, prodded, flipped, and draped sauce over meats of literally all colors. There were red, blue, brown, and even green meats– though he didn’t see any green eggs and ham, at least not right away.

On the right path there were fewer varieties, but what it lacked in distinction it made up for in sheer volume. There were literal stacks of fresh carcasses lining the rear ends of stalls, with the fancier setups using enormous chests of carved sandstone for both refrigeration and curing. Small, brightly colored lizards swarmed the tentpoles, agile tongues exterminating flies from the air and receiving headpats for their efforts. All of that was impressive, but what arrested the attention of both undead and slime was the short, stocky men walking around literally wearing entire slabs of raw meat.

No, those aren’t men… those are golems! Sean’s jaw dropped open as the realization struck him. They’ve got literal meat-golems walking around wearing their finest cuts!

“Sean, do you– are you…” Gel’s voice sounded halfway between awe and reverence as he spoke through their mental bond. “Are those…?”

“Meat-golems!” Sean exclaimed, feeling a laugh bubble out of him despite the unnatural unease he was still feeling. The sheer absurdity and utility of such a creation was just too much. “That’s amazing. How does that even work?”

“I don’t know, but I have to know. Everything. Everything about them, immediately. And I have to have one.” Gel asserted with fervor. “And by have one, I mean–”

“Eat one. Yeah, I figured.” Sean said, starting towards the nearest stall.

He was grateful the Morian family merchant they’d eaten earlier had apparently built up quite the stash from his business. The leather satchel they had pilfered from the man’s room was heavy with jingling coin. Coin the undead would be happy to spend on the late man’s behalf.

“I’m just curious what the point of making one is.” Sean said as they approached. “Do they keep the meat fresh for longer? Does it keep it from drying out in this heat? Or is that the point, to let them dry out?”

“It depends upon the nature of the golem in question.” An oddly refined voice said inside Sean’s mind, its accent halfway between manicured and… British?

The undead didn’t stop dead in the middle of the street at the voice’s intrusion into his thoughts, it was less jarring than the ant queen’s shrill screeching, but it was a near thing.

“Trying out a new accent, Gel?” Sean asked his friend through their mental bond, though he could already tell that wasn’t the case.

“No, I can hear it but that’s not me.” Gel said immediately. “Did you touch something else back at the shop? Something cursed.”

“No…” Sean thought back to the pen he had used to write with, and the strange sensation touching it had given him. With a sinking feeling, he asked. “Who is this?”

“The Oomnomicon, clearly.” The cultured voice said with a detached, dry tone. “You were pondering upon the nature of the ‘meat-golems’, as you put it. Their purpose is generally to–”

“Oh, no you don’t.” Sean interrupted, sticking his hand into the opening of their other bag and firmly grasping the book in question by its spine. “You don’t get to just sound off in our minds and pretend like that’s a normal thing. How are you talking to us right now? And more importantly, how are you listening?”

“I share a telepathic connection with those I have cursed.” The book said, as if such a thing were the obvious and natural course of affairs. “The pair of you are bonded at the symbiotic level. As such, a bond with one is a bond with both.”

“So you’ve been listening to us this entire time?” Sean could feel his frustration rising to levels his body would soon regulate as his burning desire to explore Meat Street was now being taken off track by the revelation that their cursed cookbook had been spying on them.

They had initially decided to bring it with them because leaving a mobile, cursed object with claws and a penchant for blood on its own for a couple hours had been an obviously terrible idea. Their solution had been to bind it shut with spare straps of leather from the store and extract a promise from the thing not to make a sound while they were in public– in exchange for a promise on their end to use it again once they returned.

I guess telepathy doesn’t count as making a sound.

“Ever since the curse took full effect, yes.” The Oomnomicon answered, still using that oddly familiar accent that didn’t sound wholly British but wasn’t terribly far off.

“I see.” Sean made a show of stopping at the first stall and examining some of its wares while he continued their internal conversation. “And you sound different because…?”

“Because you are hearing my actual voice, rather than the stolen lilt I am forced to use when speaking with the tongue of my last ‘owner’.” The Oomnomicon said, placing an amused emphasis on the last word. “Now, do you wish to hear the true purpose of those golems, or not?”

Sean did, actually. Gel was also in full agreement, and the pair listened with interest as the Oomnomicon regaled them with the myriad uses Dervash and other cities had devised for the culinary constructs. It turns out they had a fascinating history, dating back hundreds of years. As Sean had guessed, they could be used to keep meat fresh, to cure it, age it, even to embed seasonings within it – an innovative method the foodie in him was fascinated by.

“Can you tell us how to make one?” Sean asked, and he could feel Gel’s attention suddenly sharpen on the conversation.

“I can do more than that.” The cursed book stated with a slow drawl. “For the right price, I can show you how to make one.”

“Name it.” Gel said immediately.

“First,” The Omnomicon said in a casual tone, as if the tome had anticipated the slime’s response. “We’re going to need that gentleman’s leg…”