Furious Scribe
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39. Basil - Dinner for Ten
🕑 Added 2024-02-20 21:55:52 +0000 UTC
Chapter 39
Dinner for Ten
I walked arm-in-arm with Esmi through the halls of the Colosseum. We had gotten ready separately and then convened at Hull’s, who had managed to put himself together in a respectable fashion without the help of kobolds, impressing us both. Warrick hadn’t returned yet, but Biddlewyn’s curriculum was known for its intensity, so that didn’t surprise me.
Unlike the celebration that had taken place the evening prior, tonight’s event was a much more intimate affair: only the king and the top eight competitors in the Rising Stars Tournament were to be present – at least that’s what the gold and ivory invitation that waited in my room had said. And, instead of the expansive rooftop being our destination, this gathering was taking place at the finest restaurant housed in the Coliseum: Obu. Its fame throughout Treledyne and beyond was due to its head chef, Tomlil Obu, who continued to make breathtaking cuisine centuries after his death as a summoned card of Mythic rarity. Obu was also famous because the restaurant served only a single table and thus had a reservation list more than a year out. My parents, nobles that they were, had eaten there but a single time and that had just been for brunch!
As the three of us neared the establishment, the usual walls of stone were replaced by wood paneling, which gave the space a warmer, more inviting feel. Waiting outside the open door was a man dressed in a well-cut suit standing with both hands tucked behind his back. He smiled genially and bowed low to us at the waist until he was perpendicular with his legs. When he straightened, he extended a white-gloved hand.
“Welcome to Obu. May I have your invitations?”
“Of course,” I replied, producing mine and Esmi’s from within my jacket.
The man accepted them and turned to Hull. “And you, sir?”
When no reply was forthcoming, I turned to find our third digging unsuccessfully through his clothes.
“Don’t tell me you left it in your room?” I said, feeling a spot of embarrassment. “It specifically said to bring it along.” I should have offered to carry it like I had Esmi’s, that’s what I should have done.
“Ah, right,” Hull said, bringing forth a mangled piece of paper from his back pocket that the tails of his own jacket had been covering.
I cringed, as he handed the lump of what had been beautiful cross-hatched and embossed parchment to the man, who accepted it with an expression of mild shock. Our host quickly recovered, bowing again and motioning toward the entrance.
“Do enjoy your meal with us this evening.”
I headed in eagerly, walking a bit faster than Esmi the first few steps before I caught myself and corrected to match her more refined pace.
“Have you eaten her before?” she asked me, humor coating the question.
“Never,” I said, embarrassed and yet also relishing how tonight would see that fact changed. We emerged through a much shorter hall to a good sized dining room. The space did indeed have only a single table, but it was long and wide enough to sit at least a dozen. Only eight high-backed chairs surrounded it though, some already occupied. The prince was there, lounging at one end with Losum to his left and his Legendary card of all things to his right.
At the other end, there was Plutar and the vampire Lustra, meaning almost all of us were now in attendance. The room had a depressed floor, so we descended a set of steps to reach the table, and on the way I heard Hull grumbling.
“Like eating at the bottom of the bowl.”
“Mark the moment, my friend,” I said to him. “If your taste buds could elevate, today would be the day they do so.”
He looked at me dubiously but didn’t bother to argue, choosing instead to take a seat, glaring at the prince as he did, who pointedly ignored him. Hull had selected the middle section between the two groups, which left room for Esmi to sit beside him and then me beside Esmi. I too had feelings about those we were dining with, but before I addressed those emotions I gave myself a bit longer to enjoy Obu’s decor. There was a tiered chandelier hanging over our table, the candles there and set in amber sconces along the wall casting the room in a pleasant light. A green velvet carpet beneath us paired nicely with the wooden table and walls, both an even deeper mahogany than had been used in the entryway. And set at intervals in the wall, there were bookshelves, polished leather tomes waiting to be plucked out and read by curious diners, perhaps between courses. There was even an orchestra playing somewhere, perhaps an adjoining room, filling the air with low, yet delightful harmonies.
All in all, it was like fine dining had been married with a library, and I absolutely loved it.
Waiters were drifting in and out through a set of tall double doors in the back, filling the crystal goblets set in front of us with water, wine, or anything else that was asked for – Lustra held a glass of liquid so red, I thought the staff might actually have procured blood for her to sip.
There was, however, a problem with the seats. Not the chairs themselves – the tufted leather seats and backs were incredibly comfortable – but with how many of them were present. As it was, our current gathering filled them all, leaving no place for the king or the last competitor to sit.
It was as I was considering this conundrum that Ari arrived. Unlike Esmi and Lustra, who both wore gowns, she was dressed in dark slacks and a high collared jacket with large buttons up the right side, her hair pulled back into a tight, condensed bun. She looked like she could be going to study or to a duel, and in either case be fully prepared for it.
I thought that the prince might possess enough etiquette to have his Legendary move, but of course he failed in that as well, continuing to talk with his card as if Ari didn’t exist.
I took Esmi’s hand, briefly kissing it. “Excuse me for a moment,” I murmured to her. Then I stood, pulling my chair out. “Please, go ahead,” I told Ari, extending a hand toward the seat.
She frowned for a moment, looking between Esmi and me, but then I suppose the practical side of her won out, because she accepted my offer without argument. There were things I was curious to ask her, such as the composition of her deck or if she truly had stepped into her Mind Home during the Ability Competition, but it wouldn’t be proper to do that while hovering awkwardly over her, so I moved to stand between Esmi and Hull.
Everyone was still keeping to their own groups or sitting in stony silence, and neither seemed fitting with the spirit of this event, so I took a stab at bringing us together.
“Congratulations to everyone for making it this far,” I said. “It’s quite an achievement.”
There was a brief pause, and then it was Gerad who responded. “You think you’ve accomplished something, do you?” He was staring at his Legendary companion, not me, and she had a smirk on her lips.
I tried to find the trap that was evidently in the prince’s question but didn’t see one. I had an Epic for trade in my wrist pouch and a soul that softly hummed, on the cusp of elevation; I felt quite good about what I had achieved thus far.
“Yes,” I answered truthfully. “I do.”
“Proving that you are still a blind fool,” he said, shaking his head in mock sorrow.
In years past I would have accepted the slander stoically, but I wasn’t that person anymore. “Perhaps it is you who are not seeing clearly. Looking down your nose can make it easy to miss things.”
That got some reactions around the table, as well as the prince’s full attention, his ruby flecked eyes spearing me. “So, it only took a few wins for you to forget your place, Hintal. And calling them wins is generous, considering how badly you misplayed your last match.”
Plutar perked up at the opposite end of the table hearing that, while my mind raced back through my last duel, looking for what the prince could be referring to. Win or lose, I always reflected on my matches, and today’s had been no different – while cleaning and dressing, I had considered how I might have played it better. A second Runic Cloak would have tipped the match in my favor earlier, potentially decidedly so, but I had refrained from purchasing one due to my limited funds and the likelihood that my mother would use me for fertilizer if I traded away any of her dowry. I also hadn’t needed to use up my remaining Air Source as I had, and having it in play would have let me refresh my Master Assassin with its Source Power.
“If you’re referring to my using Air Source Explosion,” I said, “it’s true that the gains were temporary –”
The prince snorted, and Losum joined in with him, a harsh braying, which always managed to get under my skin. “Can’t even see it when it’s pointed out to him,” Gerad said to his toadie, “and he has the gall to claim I’m the one missing things.”
“Those with knowledge are celebrated when they share it, not hoard it,” Esmi chided the pair. I looked down at her, realizing with a swell of appreciation that she was supporting me, just as she had said she would.
The prince’s humor died out, and he turned back to me. “You could have used the Master Assassin’s ability to recall him to your deck at the end, letting you resummon him instead of waiting a turn for him to recover from attacking. You took a whole round of damage you didn’t need to.” I opened my mouth to argue but then realized he was right – I had misplayed, in a way that could have lost me the match. While I swallowed my pride, the prince turned his disdain upon the rest of those gathered. “None of you know how to play your decks optimally. That’s why I never should have been in this tournament for amateurs.”
The vampire’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps you don’t comment specifically on how the rest of us lack because there is nothing of truth to say.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Esmi said.
“It’s clear as day,” Losum gruffed, the tall boy thumbing toward Plutar. “Just look at him, using only Spells. That’s a shit deck if I’ve ever seen one.”
Plutar, predictably, puffed up. “It ees you ahl oo play like cheeldren. I use ah deck meant for whar.”
“War?” Hull said. “What war?”
“Against orcs and their use of Chaos,” Afi said, and after my recent studying, I quickly recognized where she was going. “Without Souls, their Source Explosion Power becomes useless. Correct?”
“Just so,” Plutar said appreciatively and then smiled at Afi. ‘Eet is nice to ahv someone oo ees knowledgeable at the table. And beauteeful, too. Peraps we ahv a dreenk together after to discuss thees more?”
Esmi made a disgusted noise, and I was equally offended. All of his efforts to court Esmi gone up like smoke immediately after his loss, so much so that he had the nerve to court a new target in front of her.
“Marvelous as always!” a rich voice declared, and none other than the king came through the doors at the back. Instead of walking, our liege floated across the ground, his outfit sparkling with gold and encrusted gems, and an oversized yellow cloak trailing on the ground behind him.
Hull went stiff, likely not knowing how he was supposed to act in the king’s presence. I tapped him on the shoulder and then inclined my head, showing him the proper form of greeting while seated.
“What were you doing in the kitchen?” Gerad asked, and I noticed from the corner of my eye that he wasn’t even bothering to bow.
“Catching up with Tomlil,” the king said, drifting closer. “It’s been years since we last spoke. And he has the best troglodyte caviar this side of the Arafan. Melts in your mouth.” As I watched, the king floated to a spot with a gap between two chairs and, using his ability to fly, sat down on nothing but air, looking decidedly comfortable as he lounged back. “Gerad, no cards at the table.”
“But, father –” the prince started, practically a whine.
The king’s skin pulsed slightly brighter – that was all, no turn of the head or additional reprimand – and Gerad angrily deflated, saying a few whispered words with Kitsanya.
“Better for me anyways,” she said with a grin of all things. The Legendary didn’t vanish back to her summoner’s Mind Home, marching from the room on silent feet as Gerad watched her go.
That left an empty chair for me, but no one bothered to shift seats, so I mustered myself and walked over, sitting directly beside the prince, who practically recoiled at my intrusion.
The king had busied himself talking with a waiter, and the rest of the table had gone silent again. This was an opportunity to ask something of our liege I had been wondering ever since my plans had changed the night before.
“Excuse me, my king?”
“Yes?” he said, turning his head toward me. I had never been this close to Hestorus of Treledyne before and at this distance I could see that his eyes shone like diamonds, adding to his already majestic air, the combination of which almost stole all the breath from my lungs.
“I hope you don’t find it impertinent,” I managed to get out, “but I was wondering how one can lift their soul as high as you have?” There was plenty written on the subject of course, earlier levels that had been achieved by many discussed with academic precision, but for higher tiers there was much more of an air of mystery. To get to ask someone who had actually achieved such a thing was a boon on par with the meal we would soon be treated to.
“By constantly setting your sights on new horizons, my boy,” he said with a laugh. “When you crest one peak, find another.”
I nodded along with his answer, seeing the sense of it. The Twins responded to us achieving our deepest desires, but once that had happened, no further growth would occur. But if one’s goals evolved or changed, as the king was saying, those limits could be surpassed.
“A fine question to get us started, and a fine group it is who sits before me.” The king smiled at the eight of us, his whole body emanating a bit of light, even his teeth it seemed. “Or maybe you aren’t. Maybe you are a useless sack of cards who the Twins have foisted upon me to muddle my plans.” His smile had vanished, the sudden change surprising me even though I had been told by my brother and seen firsthand how oddly the king could behave. “Let us find out, shall we? Power, as young Master Hintal has asked about, is something you all are chasing, one way or the other. Basil, why do you pursue it?”
He was asking me first? Was this a punishment for my earlier query? “I…I… ” I began, stammering, which I heard Losum snicker about. I took a breath, calming myself and saw Esmi willing strength into me across the table. “I want to nurture Treledyne and its people.” There, I had said it, but there was more, and if I had managed that much, I could say a bit more. I glanced briefly at the prince. “By whatever means may be needed.”
“Nurture not protect, as your father does?” the king commented. The tone wasn’t accusing but there was also a bite to his question.
“I do not believe the two are mutually exclusive,” I answered, “nor that what I have to offer the city can be confined solely to my father’s legacy.”
Hestorus considered me for a heartstopping moment and then shifted his glimmering gaze. “Gerad?”
“Because that is what I was born to be,” the prince answered sullenly, arms crossed.
“Yes, your mother and I saw to that,” the king said, sounding neither pleased or displeased by the terse reply. Across the table, I noticed that Hull was staring particularly hatefully at the pair, though I couldn’t fathom why.
“Losum?”
“To support the prince, of course,” the tall boy replied, almost mechanically.
“You sound like your father,” the king said. Losum smiled about that, but yet again, I couldn’t read the king's face well enough to see if that was actually a compliment or not.
“Plutar?”
“To strengthen Charbond,” the foreigner answered, just as quickly as Losum had, “so that eet may one day equal Treledeene.”
“...if not surpass it?” the king asked, and Plutar hesitated before shrugging, to which Hestorus chuckled. For some reason this time the sound made my blood run cold.
The king shifted in his floating seat toward the vampire. “Lustra?”
“I have had more… experience than my fellow competitors,” she said. “Perhaps even more than you, o mighty king.”
“Perhaps,” Hestorus allowed. The history of his rule of Treledyne stretched back more than fifty years, and as far as I knew, no official age for him had been recorded. But a vampire could be centuries old, and we’d have no way of telling.
“In my early years,” she continued, “I focused on satisfying only my desires. It was fun, deliciously so, but in the end, a hollow way of living. I have found that this way of existing is much more to my liking.” She smiled with that admission, wide enough to reveal her fangs, looking like she was baring her teeth at another predator.
The king took a sip of a purple concoction that a waiter had brought him. “I know something of what you mean. Perhaps I should speak with more vampires.”
“Perhaps you should.”
“Afi?” Hestorus said, having moved to the next down the line.
The scholarship student had steepled her fingers in front of her face, obscuring her mouth but not her words. “The more power you have, the more knowledge you have access to,” she answered matter-of-factly. “The more knowledge you have, the more problems you can fix.” I thought she would stop there, but she added in a tighter voice, “There are many problems in this world.”
“Very true, much more than a lifetime can resolve. Esmi?”
My fiancee looked back at the king, answering passionately. “To help everyone live the best way they can before they answer their next calling.”
I heard the prince mumble something about Rapturist nonsense, but a twitch in his direction from his father instantly cut him off.
“And… Hull?”
Again, my new friend seemed both stiff and angry. I had come to expect such behavior from him, but it seemed the issue was exasperated. Did he not wish to say, or –
An argument from the entryway turned all our attention that direction and then a pair of people burst into the dining room: the host who had taken our invitations, trying to hold the other back, and – to my utter shock – Warrick, pushing forward red-faced, still wearing his Biddlwyn robes.
“My apologies, your lordship,” the host gasped, “he refuses to listen –”
“You,” Warrick said, pointing a shaking finger at Afi, “are in my seat.”
