Chapter 32: Fischer’s Cooking

Chapter 32: Fischer’s Cooking

Trent, the first in line to the throne of Gormona, wiped his sweaty palms on his velvet pants. It didn’t help. He sat in a waiting room, his slow brain churning at an entirely unusual speed. There weren’t many things in this world that could unsettle his rock-like intellect, but ever since discovering the powered-on artifact in his favored room of hiding, it had been steadily becoming a common occurrence.

Poseidon’s oiled back hair, how long is he going to make me wait?

Trent had mostly kept his calm at all the messages flowing from the relic hidden in his warren of constructs, but upon checking it the previous day, there had been two more additions that shattered his composure.

At first, he’d tried to pass off the messages as those of the ancients, the screen somehow relaying advances that occurred some time in the distant past. With each new advancement and with the sporadic times between them, however, another possibility had become unignorable. This “Fischer” had somehow taken steps on the path of the ancients and was steadily gaining more and more powers.

Trent thought back to the printed lines, his reluctant brain once more rolling into thought.

New milestone! Fischer has learned jewel crafting!

New milestone! Fischer has learned tailoring!

With those new additions, Trent had left his room of hiding, uncaring if the dreaded decorum tutors found him. It was time for Trent to take action.

The only question is: What can I get out of it?

A man opened the door and walked into the waiting room, clearing his throat. “The king will see you now, prince.”

Trent stood and nodded at the dignitary, wiping his hands once more. It still didn’t help.

Augustus Reginald Gormona, the reigning king of Gormona and lord of these lands, let out a sigh. Light shone in through the stained-glass windows high above, painting the white walls and pillars of his domain in a sea of colored fragmentation.

He slouched on his throne, easing the tension from his lower back while there was no one present. “Just what does this idiot son of mine want?” he asked himself aloud, genuinely worried about the no-doubt moronic request his progeny had.

The outer door of the antechamber groaned in protest at being opened, and Augustus sat up straight, projecting regal majesty across the still-empty throne room. The inner door opened, and in stepped a dignitary, followed closely by his biggest source of disappointment.

“What can I do for you, son?”

Trent stepped up, glancing back at the dignitary and waiting for him to leave the room. Augustus noticed his son wiping his hands on his overly flagrant pants, and he raised an eyebrow.

What has him so nervous? I swear, if he asks for more serving girls . . .

With the dignitary closing the door behind him, leaving only the two royals in the room, Trent turned and cleared his throat. “Father. I have a request for you.”

“Yes, Trent—I gathered that when you asked to meet with me.” The king rolled his eyes and made a hand gesture for him to get on with it. “Speak your mind.”

Trent took a deep breath, letting it out as he forced his eyes up to meet his father’s.

“I wish—er—request that I be allowed to leave the capital, Dad . . . uh, sire.”

Augustus sighed. Eros’s quivering sack—It’s definitely about more serving girls, isn’t it? The boy has an insatiable taste for those lowborn peasants.

“And why do you wish to leave the capital, Trent? I thought we already spoke about the girls—”

“N-not the girls, Dad—sire!” Beads of sweat visibly sprouted from Trent’s forehead, but the lackadaisical youth, balling his fists at his side, continued. “I want to go on a cultivator hunting trip.”Diiscover new stories at novelhall.com

Augustus Reginald Gormona, the king and father of the boy before him, physically recoiled at the statement. “You . . . want to go out on official business? On your own merit?”

Trent nodded, his eyes firm. “Yes, sire.”

Augustus stared at Trent for a long moment. Then, something unexpected occurred. He gave his son a wide smile as a tear came to his eye.

Maybe this wayward son of mine has finally discovered his direction as a man . . .

“Hello, Fischer,” came an unexpected but welcome voice.

I turned my head toward the voice, smiling at the new arrival.

“Barry! How are ya, mate? Glad to see you up and about. I was worried that fish made you ill—it didn’t, did it?”

Barry winced. “No, Fischer. It didn’t make me ill, I was just feeling a little under the weather . . .”

Barry trailed off as his eyes locked on the cooked ray, and I could see his eyes widen a little as the scent of it hit him.

“In that case . . .” I grinned at him. “Care to try some shovelnose ray? Sergeant Snips and I reckon it’s the best catch we’ve had yet.”

Snips bubbled her agreement from where she lay half-buried in the sand, delighting in the meal.

Barry swallowed and nodded almost imperceptibly. “Aye, Fischer, that’d be nice.”

I smiled at him. “Let me serve you some, then!”

As I passed the plate to Barry, I was expecting the same hesitation as the previous times I’d given him food. Instead, he accepted it with a radiant smile and intent eyes. Without pause, he started eating it, and didn’t stop until all of it was gone.

“That was delicious, Fischer. Thank you.”

“No worries, mate! Can I do anything for you, by the way?”

Barry cocked his head.

“Do anything . . . ?”

“Yeah! Not that I mind you coming round here, but I thought you might need something—you’re usually working your fields this time of day.”

“Oh, no, nothing like that, Fischer.” He stood and brushed off his pants. “I just wanted to thank you for the fish you gave me the other day, but now it seems I have to thank you twice . . .”

“No worries, mate,” I said with a laugh. “Come around whenever you want—Sergeant Snips and I are always happy to see your face.”

Snips bubbled her agreement, nodding from her hole in the sand.

“Well, thank you regardless. The meal was delicious, but I’d better get back to the fields—plenty of work to catch up on after my time in bed.”

“No worries, mate! Catch you later?”

I waved goodbye as Barry left, then turned back to Snips.

“So . . . you ready for more ray?”

She jumped from her place of relaxation in excitement, a stream of bubbles flowing.

Barry walked away from the fire, his thoughts a cloud of implications and possibilities.

There’s no doubt in my mind—it’s Fischer’s cooking that facilitated my awakening.

His acceptance of that fact came easily, like the last stone of a wall settling into place. Fischer was some sort of nexus for advancement, and his arrival on their shores meant both change and a great potential of harm would be coming the way of Tropica Village.

What can I do to make sure we keep the harm at bay?