Joyful laundry. The sadness of fruit. Hours of operation. The Astounders and the book. Search for a sorceress. Porridge Peasant.

Sal didn’t mind doing laundry that night. Part of it was the working faucet in the kitchen. It was a miracle. With a few pumps, new water gushed out. However, most of his serenity came from the fact that he’d started the day as a pauper, praying for eggs, and now he was a rich man, with a new friend. Maybe friend was too strong of a word. Otto Ovum certainly wasn’t an enemy, however.

The Feather Pharoah had even sent some of his men to escort Sal home, with his treasure on the back of a little donkey, that the Feather Pharaoh offered Sal to keep, though the former Dark Lord had to decline. He didn’t want another mouth to feed, and he didn’t think he’d have any real use for a donkey. The day only kept getting better. The governor had sent a man to fix Sal’s faucet. He now had running water inside of the diner. That might have been the real miracle of the day.

No, it was the cash. He brought home five bricks of silver and fifty gold coins. It was more than enough to open this restaurant, and even better, Otto had thrown in a deep discount on eggs, as long as Sal ordered them in bulk. He could put the eggs in the basement. With Shivaun around, they would be kept cold. The whole place was frigid, which felt so good compared the oppressive heat outside.

One nice thing being rich, Sal didn’t have to do laundry naked, in the back alley. That same day, he’d bought himself a brand-new pair of pants and a white linen shirt with leather ties closing up the throat. He also bought more underwear and socks, which felt almost sinful in its decadence.

He was out back, pushing the mud out of his clothes on a washboard with an attached bucket, also just purchased, when he turned to see Shivaun’s pale face staring at him.

On the diner’s rocky wall, words formed. Are you going to honor your oath?

Sal scratched at a stain in the knee of his old pants “I will open this diner soon, Shivaun, I promise. Water from the faucet is a miracle, though it does make me wonder about the fountain. If the governor could fix my sink, why can he not fix other things in the square? He said that he and the church had an understanding. I find that bit of gossip so very salacious.”

The banshee gestured at her words again. Clearly, she was unimpressed.

Sal sighed. “First things first. I think we need a menu, do we not?”

Betty scrambled out from the diner and leaned against the same wall where Shivaun was writing.

It seemed Sal had his team together, so they could do some planning. “I know what we should serve, chief. Chocolate-chip cookies, your father’s recipe, all day and all night. Open twenty-four hours a day, and it’s all cookies, all the time!”

“No,” Sal said fiercely. “We will be open six to two. No, eight to two. We will be serving only breakfast, which means eggs, sausage, pancakes, and coffee. That’s it. No substitutions.” He didn’t mention his idea of the boiled bread, smoked fish, capers, and red onions.

Ice popped and crackled on the wall. No fruit?

“Fruit spoils,” Sal returned. “And once one considers fruit, then the mind turns to vegetables, which no one likes. They say they like them, but that is a lie people tell themselves in hopes they will live longer.”

Betty held up a finger. “Correct me if I’m wrong, ace, but aren’t potatoes and onions considered vegetables.”

Shivaun had a strange look on her pale face, and her black eyes seemed sad somehow. I miss fruit. I would like to see people eating fruit.

Betty crossed her arms. “Hey, buddy, don’t forget, Torment Island has a ton of oranges and lemons. Wasn’t there something about Grief City being sour back in the day?”

“Grief City, a sour city, when not besieged by grief, a sorrow not even its fruit can sweeten,” Sal quoted softly. “But that bit of doggerel didn’t consider the lemonease we make, all the various kinds of lemonease. Salted, iced, and the rest. Even back then. We could and we did sweeten the sorrow, if only for a time.”

All this talk of cookies and fruit had him thinking about his father, which pinched his heart. Sal couldn’t forget their final words to each other, nor what happened afterwards, which had all gone to plan. It was scheming that he would take back. If only he could.

He saw Shivaun’s eyes on him, begging him, but she wrote no more.

With another sigh, he gave in. “Very well. You are right, lemons and oranges are plenty, and we can use them before they spoil. Our diner will be special, especially at noon, when the heat is fierce. We will tell the city that the coolest place in the summer is at the diner, where we will offer lemonease. Also, since many enjoy orange juice when they break their fast, that will be on the menu. The fruit shall either cut into slices or squeezed into juices, but like I said, we must be careful with any foodstuffs that might spoil.”

Betty squinted at him. “Uh, what was that about doggerel? If you even think about putting puppies on the menu, I’m outta here.”

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“Never that. Doggerel is an old word, my little mouse friend, and we are past that.”

More frosty words appeared. Tomatoes. Beans. Boiled Bread. Toast.

“When did you have boiled bread?” Sal asked.

Shivaun shrugged. There was that hurt still in her eyes, and he didn’t like it. “I will capitulate, spirit, on some things, but not on others. We shall keep our menu simple because too many items would quickly become cumbersome, a workload that might break our backs.”

That wasn’t going to bother the ghost. Even dead, she seemed to have limitless energy, and she would be helping out, mostly in the back, cooking and doing dishes. However, they would need her in the front, later on in the morning, to keep the place cool. The plan was to put on a cloak on her and remind her to keep her face covered. Since their handshake, she had a far more corporeal body. She still disappeared, randomly, though she seemed to have more control. For now. With ghosts, anything might change without notice.

Even when she disappeared, the diner was cold, the basement positively chilly, which was a good thing since it also doubled as their storeroom. It also made the floor cold, which would be another novelty they could advertise. Who knew having a banshee around would be a clever marketing ploy?

As long as she didn’t speak, they’d be fine. Killing customers wasn’t a good business strategy, unless your business was murder, and Sal was grateful he wasn’t in that sorrowful industry any longer.

Betty clapped her hands together in delight. “I love boiled bread! Why not try boiling Fabrizio’s rye bread? That would be delicious!”

“I have not committed to that. If I did, I would stick to white bread, maybe some seeds, but we would need smoked fish, capers, and onions, all of which keep well, I suppose. It would be something relatively novel, for I have not seen anyone serving the boiled bread.”

Betty had a silly grin on her small face. “If you’re boiling bread, buck, you can fry dough. We need the sweet stuff on the menu. Fried dough, with tons of sugar, and we’ll have sugar, right? Because we’ll be serving chocolate-chip cookies, every day, from seven to three.”

Sal didn’t correct the mouse. He was tempted by the idea. as tempted. Fried dough strings had been his favorite, right out of the grease, but that meant a deep fat fryer, which he would have to buy for that one, single purpose. He had money, but he wouldn’t for very long, if he gave into his appetites. At least he had a logical reason to give the mouse. Yes, he was arguing with a mouse. Better than dancing with a Braggadorio. “There are other places that make their own fried dough strings and fried dough rings. We could test them on the menu, not by fabricating them ourselves, but by buying the product already made.”

Betty waved her paws at him. “Your fancy words don’t make any of that tempting, ace, but I get what yer selling. Yeah, we could buy some baked goods, price them up a bit, and see how it works. We’ll be doing our own bread, yeah?”

“Yes,” Sal said. “That is economical.”

“Can you bake bread?” Betty asked.

“I can.” Sal remembered his father insisted on it. Grandfather Mood might’ve wanted him to conquer all the lands, but all Father Mickey wanted was his son to get his dough right.

Betty called up to the ghost standing over her. A bit of her words had melted and splashed the mouse between her ears. “Oh, that’s cold. Hey, Shivaun, did buddy boy tell you about the books and scrolls?”

“Scroll singular,” Sal said. “It was a Killword spell. A way of killing anything with a single word. Perhaps, I should’ve…should’ve taken it. But no, it meant another couple bars of silver for me.”

Sal had been so torn. Otto had offered it to him, almost forced him to take it, but in the end, Sal didn’t want to be bothered with such a powerful spell. It would’ve been too tempting to use it because nothing greased the wheels better than murder. He’d just have to live with rusty wheels.

Still, he sighed. “What is the morality of that, Betty? I gave a Braggadorio the means to murder with ease.”

Betty looked pained and winced. “I don’t know. Maybe Otto Ovum won’t do anything with it. He’d have to learn the language, ‘cause it was ancient Menold, and yeah, not a lot of folks know it. You got the book, though. At least one of them.”

He did, and it was written in the same Menold, which of course Sal could read. Back then, the Menold wrote histories of battles and warfare strategies. He’d been surprised the Menold had changed into Yaniri sorcerers, but that was to fight the Scallia Capran dragons, which also was a surprise.

Ice creaked on the wall. Why do you look upset?

Betty laughed a little. “More combat spells are written up in that book. Looks like whatever prince or whats-its who lived there liked the rough stuff. Tons of spells to melt people’s faces off. I say we sell the book ‘cause of all the gems on the cover. Gems, silver, gold, that book is worth a goldmine.”

“I think I have a better idea,” Sal said softly. “Remember, my Diagraff is locked, but I think there might be someone who can help me. And this book just might be enough to bribe her.”

Betty’s voice burst out. “It’s that woman you met, part of the Astounders.”

Sal had resumed washing his pants on the board. “That is correct. I would be very pleased if you knew where she was, or if you heard about the Astounders in some fashion.”

Betty narrowed her eyes. “Yeah, buddy, this is where I play the mouse card. Not sure. But I can check some places out tomorrow, sneak in, sneak out, real quiet like.”

“Please do.” Sal was grateful for the riches, and yet, at the same time, he couldn’t help but be nervous. Once they opened, there was a good chance he would use every bit of coinage to keep it going while they waited for customers. Or perhaps, even worse, the diner might be very successful, which meant he would be slaving away, serving a new empire, one that might never die.

His fears didn’t mean much because of the oath he’d taken. He would open the diner, as soon as he secured the supplies. He also wanted to make a splash, and he had some definite ideas about doing that.

Betty had scurried off. Shivaun remained.

Sal thought of the bejeweled grimoire, and the magic it contained. Such spells wouldn’t help him. No, he needed a new kind of magic, one that included more creative sorcery that might actually help in his daily life. He considered the strange Vitalis path he was on—Porridge Peasant. What did that mean anyway?

Like the banshee, it was something that added spice to his enterprise.

Would Kaixo Allakarra be able to help him? If she were dead, then the answer was simple. He had to hope for the best.

Shivaun remained standing in the doorway, her hand on the wall. She was leaning out, taking in what she’d written. Her words were melting into each other, but two sentences stood out.

I miss fruit. I would like to see people eating fruit.

That was what the banshee was looking at it, without glancing away.

Maybe she was thinking what Sal was thinking.

Why did those sentences look like they were tears leaking down the wall?

Maybe the words were the tears that Shivaun couldn’t cry.

The next night, Betty returned with great news! She’d found Kaixo Allakarra. It seemed that Sal might start his diner with a bit of magic after all.