After the little scene with the Arcani, Ike found himself wandering. Someone had filled the Black Palace with too many halls and rooms, which made it practically a labyrinth to navigate. Almost all of them were a little different, some with windows, some narrow and suffocating, most with doors to rooms that were locked tight or barren of anything but little motes of dust.

The walking gave him time to think. The thinking gave him time to worry. The worrying gave him a headache. Freedom.

Freedom was such an alluring premise when bound in unbreakable chains. He’d see people out and about in the town, men and women proud of their work, children having fun, staunch believers in the Carrion Cross. So many people with lives they’d chosen for themselves, lives they lived everyday without worrying about getting eaten or having a baton crack your skull for standing still.

He’d never really considered what freedom would look like for him. Of course, there were the dreams. Do something so impressive the town guard had no choice but to erase Ike’s life debt to the muckrakers, get a nice job in the settlement where he didn’t have to work hard. Meet someone beautiful. Have kids. Have a life that meant something to somebody.

It sure as hell never looked like meandering around pale colored hallways with a rumbling stomach and a headache, wondering what point he had to live

When life finally gave him freedom he fumbled it like a pig given a hammer and nails. Perhaps he could’ve built a house, but how? Where would he start? With what materials? Ike wouldn’t even know what a house was if he were a pig, and then the analogy all broke down and the pressure doubled down on the sides of his head.

After a while of feeling sorry for himself, a whiff of something beautiful hit his nose. It followed the passing wind of a closing door, which Ike heard just after he lifted his head from his knees. Something… something like bread. Warm, fluffy, buttery bread that Ike had not smelt fresh in days.

Ike followed his nose, given the sorry state of his mind and his piss poor navigation ability.

His nose led him right to a large double door with frosted glass panes. He looked around, saw nobody. With a shrug he pushed through.

The other side was a shock to the system. He walked out of a calm and elegant maze into a brash and confusing atrocity. Someone had decided to string up richly colored tapestries from the ceiling all over the place so everywhere you looked was partially occupied by a new color. Boxes and blankets together occupied every corner of the fairly large and weirdly shaped room, filling up empty space and overlapping under his feet respectively. There wasn’t a spot in the place that wasn’t filled with the stupid luxury of foreign culture. The smells though were making up for it all.

Sticking close to the wall, Ike peered into the next part of the room. Whoever was here decided to spare this one area of clothes: the kitchen. Black countertops with silver cut lines, food stuffs thrown all over the place in what must have been a particular order for some chef. In the middle of the room was a pot of boiling water despite the perfectly operable cooking machines attached to the ground. Somebody was a traditionalist.

Ike checked around himself, peered as far as he could without stepping into the kitchen, and decided nobody was around. Leaving all this food around ws just wasteful. Nobody would mind if he just went in and picked.

Most of everything on the countertop was ingredients for a bigger meal, but even that had his mouth salivating. He grabbed a carrot, stuck it in his mouth and started to chew. Then an apple, two chunks of bread he shoved into his robe, then a slice of some peppered meat that burned deliciously on his tongue.

Ike spun and he came face to face with a portly man in a cooks garb, his gaunt face a stark contrast to the rest of his body and screwed up in immense, barely pent up anger.

“You… Stupid idiot! Filthy rat boy! What are you doing in my kitchen?” he roared.

Ike stumbled back up to the counter. The accent was hard to place on the livid man, but the tone wasn’t.

“I was, you know, just-”

“I know? I KNOW? You tell me what I know you little son of rats! Your mother must have pissed in the same bin she birthed you in! How dare you step into this kitchen and make such a mess, the disrespect, pah!” For a moment the cook went over to his counter- Ike practically jumped out of the way- and started worrying over the assembled ingredients. Ike tried to get a look to see what exactly he had done besides take some stuff until the cook spun back. “Who even are you, boy!?”

“Ike.”

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“Ike who?”

“Just, uh, Ike.”

The man's nostrils flared.

Just before the man could go back into his rant four more people entered the room from the door Ike came through, carrying more boxes and supplies. They stopped dead at a glance from the cook, who then turned his anger back on Ike.

“Has nobody ever told you to stay out of the kitchen while a cook cooks? Huh? Have you?”

Ike shrugged. He started looking for a way out of this conversation, which was starting to not be worth the food.

“I ought to have you hung!” The cook basically screamed. “Stripped! Whipped! Punished! This is not simply your house to-”

“Chef Pauli!" shouted another voice, his guardian angel.

First he noticed the height of the man, then the glowing umber face and tight velvet uniform. This new man sauntered in like a king, even the servants bowed their heads at him. Somehow, going for a snack had turned into walking into a story book. The fancy men stepped in front of the cook, giving Ike a little room to breathe, and put a friendly hand on his shoulder.

“Please, please Chef Porelli! Do you know who this man is?” he asked, pointing back at Ike. Every word he drew out, putting a bright spin on his pleading.

“My name is Pierre!”

“Do you know who this is?”

He stepped to the side so the chef could look him over with less aggressively critical eyes. He harrumphed, then went back to his kitchen, muttering something in a language and-. That left just him and the kingly figure.

“Dear, dear, are you not the guardian? Excuse my chef, good sir. My name is Deon, Lord Deon of the Marcusi people, and it’s incredible to make your acquaintance. Guardian to the Raveness! An incredibly prodigious title for a wonderfully characteristic man! Look, Perogi, look at this specimen here. His arms! His robes! Ha! He looks just like a model monk.”

“Bah!” The chef cursed, waving them away with his left hand and preparing vegetables with his right.

Ike was not only confused, but still hungry and starting to hate his role of ‘human shaped decoration’ in every conversation. First Nerinai instructed him to remain silent and obedient, the crows nearly slitting his throat, the extremely off kilter Arcani, and now these. Ike didn’t even know where to begin with the Marcusi. . Rarely did Ike have the willpower to get flustered, but today was pushing his limits.

For a very brief moment he struggled to come up with something good to say. While Deon looked him over like a fine piece of meat, speaking to his servants, Ike stuttered to himself.

When the words couldn’t come, he felt the heat rise in his cheeks and decided to just go. He could be sitting at the tower waiting for Nerinai like he was supposed to. With little regard for poise or respect, he pushed past Deonand started sulking his way to the door. He’d had the bread, he’d survive on that.

The lord watched him go, mouth wide open. About halfway to the door he rushed up to Ike’s side, frantically talking and trying to slow him down.

“Oh, dear. Please! Guardian, my deepest apologies for the cook! CHEF POLLYWINKLE I’ll HAVE YOUR HEAD FOR THIS!” Deon got in front of him, standing firmly with both hands out. “You came down for some food? Hungry? I will have the chef prepare you a wonderful meal, truly Marcusi specialty, absolutely delicious.”

For a second, Ike hesitated. The door was just a few feet away. Good food though…

“Fine. Sure. Just, I have to get back to my post. Kinda need it quick.”

“Yes! Of course!”

Then Deon took off to order his people around. Weird, considering he wasn’t a chef, but most of the people ignored him anyway. Maybe he just liked being heard, and acting as if he had something to say.

Ike leaned against the wall and watched the odd people and their work. Pierre and two others worked around the kitchen, tossing each other ingredients and tools like it was a game. The others went back to organizing the kitchen into their own personal slice of whatever home they came from, even decorating the walls with paintings of Deon. One of his chefs, too, except smaller and underneath Deon’s.

Eventually the man himself came over to talk to Ike again, regaling him with tales about his people. The ‘Marcusi’ was a traveling band of traders from around the world, ‘collectors’ as he called them. Deons little crew would venture into those places where society used to sprawl before the blight, dig up whatever isn’t fully corrupted and sell it to the highest bidder in the new world. They ended up at the Black Palace following Donnahais and his crew.

“And he allowed you to come??”

“Us?” asked Deon, smiling, “There are very few people Donnahais likes, my friend, but he comes around when you offer coin, like anyone else. You should not worry about the opinion of lesser men like him and his ilk, you are a man of high regard. I know the feeling well. You stand with the Raveness, that is a position to covet.”

Ike wasn’t so sure. So far, all he did was walk around making terrible impressions on the locals. As a representative of the Raveness, he was really showing the worst colors. Wasn’t even wearing black.

In a surprisingly short time the Chef and his people whipped up something that smelled delicious, spooned it into a big bowl and tied the cover shut on top. Pierre pushed it in Ikes hands and disappeared into the kitchen, deeply upset about making food for someone who insulted his workspace.

With the food in his hands, he was ready to go. He tried to slip right out of the door but Deon appeared once again like a fairy sycophant.

“Please, enjoy the meal-”

“I will.”

“And,” interjected the prolific merchant, “Keep an eye out for anything… unique out there in the Palace. They would fetch incredible prices out in the world, you see?”

Ike nodded. He thought of the book in his robe, and decided to say nothing. He pushed past the man with a few rhushed goodbyes and made his way back out into the rest of the palace.