“Bold of you to assume that I only sell to otters,” Sam said, as the group joined her in the queue for Mr. Steal Your Pearl. Uncle Brit waved Chip over, and had him begin accepting clams and producing pearls for change.
“So you don’t deny the hot sauce accusation,” River said. “Hmm... I feel like I need to spend some time as an otter in order to get this taste sensation. Usually I just eat to not be hungry, or for other reasons, but not generally for the flavor.”
Sela nodded as the three of them took a step towards the front of the line.
“Is this one also going to be on the house, Chip?” Uncle Brit asked his nephew who, upon looking up, lost count.
Chip turned to the fox waiting patiently for his fish. “I’m sorry milord, but did you give me a clam? Or did you give me pearls?”
The gray fox laughed. A scar crossed over one unblemished eye.
“It was exact pearls, young one,” the fox said. “And I’m no lord. Just a hungry valet.”
Chip nodded as Sam finally made it to the front of the line. The grey fox stepped to the side, inhaling deep from the savory grill.
“Ah, for her?” Chip’s voice almost cracked under his uncle's knowing gaze. “On the house. She did supply the spices today, after all.”
“I did that, yes I did. One please!” Sam said.
Uncle Brit deftly placed the stick in her hand, fish steaming heat and salt.
“Well I should thank you for clearing my sinuses then, Miss?”
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
“Uncle Brit, this is Sam,” Chip said. “Sam, my Uncle Brit, owner of the cart.”
Sam nodded, stepping out of the dwindling line. “Uncle Brit,” she said, “were you a merchant when you did your mandatory service? Or did you decide to do this after you got out?”
Chip swallowed down a groan as he realized that he was about to hear the Uncle Brit origin story for the third time this week. “Take over the grill, lad,” Uncle Brit said. “I’m going to speak to these young otters, and Kindness?” He nodded to the raven.
“I’m just a river running through this nation. I’m an apprentice druid, not an agent of the faith in any manner,” she said. “But please, tell me about this mandatory service.”
***
Uncle Brit talked to the apprentice druid at length. Sela could only feign polite interest for so long before he wandered over to the stand, where Chip served the stragglers.
“Well, fish daddy,” Sela said, “now that I know that you’re going to be entering this delicious-sounding contest, I’m in.”
“Do you want to drop by tomorrow and plan out our next moves?” Sam asked, twirling her bow in her hands before clipping it neatly to her collar.
“Who’s going where then?” Chip asked. “And are we meeting before or after work?”
“After work,” River said. “You’ll all convene at someplace I designate.”
All three of the young otters groaned.
“Why would they do that?” Uncle Brit said, beginning to clean the grill.
Scrub. Scrub.
“Well, Sela here doesn’t trust Sam completely, for all of his talk.”
“Hey!”
“Sam probably won’t want Sela to feel uncomfortable, so that’s out. Chip might be an option but then he’ll probably spend his time prepping his home rather than doing something productive for our first meeting.”
“That’s – probably true,” Chip said.Sam gave the raven a bit of side-eye as River continued, “Therefore, me being a neutral third party, I shall suggest a suitable location for us to talk about the problem. Perhaps the ka-pi farum? It’s far enough from the Yellowrock proper but still close enough to where most of the otters I know live.”
Scrub. Scrub.
The grates of the grill began to shine as one by one, the conspirators nodded.“Can we wear cloaks?” Sam said. “If we’re going to be conspirators that is. Cloaks with cowls?”
Scrub. Scrub.
The bottom of the grill flipped. Both sides looked immaculate. Uncle Brit beamed.
“Do you just have a cloak with a cowl ready? Or are you trying to extort me for clothes?” River said.“I just happen to have one ready,” Sam said primly.