CH 20

February 01, 2023

On the verge of death after her morning exercise routine, Stella walked back home through the West District. She stopped by a popular general store on the way. Its wide selection put her own store to shame: farming and work tools, preserved food, vegetable sprouts and seeds, technical books on various topics, and more—including livestock, bred in its own farms and factories and sold on an order basis. The only problem was that the selection included drugs.

Junkies loitered outside, stumbling over from time to time to slip a few coins into the hands of an employee in exchange for a bag of dry leaves. No one was trying to hide it, so they likely had the Stock Company’s seal of approval. I’m sure most of the profits go to the Georgia Family, though, she thought. But it was none of her business, and too dangerous to investigate.

Stella was about to leave when she saw something that gave her pause. A book, larger than the others around it, conspicuously sticking out of a bookcase.

Curious, she retrieved it from the shelf. The cover illustration depicted a distinctive woman who was probably a knight. She’d been beautified in every way, and her eyes glowed with a mysterious light. Stella would love to see the model in person.

The book was by no means cheaply made, but its title had faded and was unreadable. Stella scanned the bookcase for other similar books and found none. Maybe it was secondhand. She flipped through the pages. It seemed to be a war diary or biography of sorts. It told the completely factual story (allegedly) of a powerful hero’s rampaging campaign and ultimate victory. The stuff of fiction, to be sure, but some parts caught her attention. For instance, the picture of a flag bearing the device of a white crow.

‘You gonna buy that, eh, Master?’

“Hmm. I don’t really need it. Do you want it?”

‘I wanna be on a flag too, eh! I wanna be the symbol of yer army, Master! Let’s take it ’ome for reference, eh!’

“I don’t have an army—and I don’t think I’ll ever have one—but I’ll keep that in mind.”

A red parrot would make for a poor war banner. Too friendly. Maybe it would be good for business if she painted him on the store’s sign instead. Or maybe not, she reconsidered. His stupid mug might scare people away. I’ll ask Rye what she thinks.

In any case, Stella bought the book. She was charged one silver coin—obviously more than the battered old thing was worth—but seeing as it was a gift for Clever, her most faithful servant, she could live with being robbed. And her time was too precious to waste on haggling.

“Here you go, Clever,” Stella said, giving him the book. “It’s yours. Consider it a reward for all your hard work.”

Stella hadn’t forgotten what he’d done earlier, but all things considered, Clever had been useful more often than annoying. It was her duty as master to reward him appropriately.

‘Really?! Thank you, Master! I’m so ’appy, eh! I’ll treasure it forever, eh!’

Elated, Clever grabbed the book with his claws. Stella had no idea how he planned to read it—it would probably involve the help of Rye or Beck—but at least he was happy. Stella wondered what was so appealing about words on a page. History books were nothing more than assortments of colored truths. Depending on the historian’s perspective, any number of interpretations could be derived from the same historical event.

Clever’s excitement was starting to bore Stella. She decided to return to the store.

Midday had come and gone, and the usually crowded store was empty of customers. Some of Mace’s elite thugs were present. With his permission, Stella had started giving them work to do around the store; it was better than having them stand around being useless all the time. Currently, Beck and Varrell were the only ones working as night guards. That proved to be enough; all they had to do was look menacing and scare away the thugs. Nights had been quiet lately.

“Welcome back,” Rye said as Stella entered. “What kept you so long?”

“I may have overapplied myself today. I should hurry up, or I’ll be late to my afternoon routine. I need to change, have lunch, then start on my magic training.”

“Oh, don’t sweat it,” said Rye, smiling. “I asked Marie to prepare us some lunch boxes while you were gone. Today we’re gonna have lunch by the river in the West District!”

“A riverside picnic? Why?”

“I dunno. The weather’s really nice today.”

“Yes, which is annoying. All that niceness makes me lightheaded. On days like this, I’d much rather stay inside.” Stella smiled wryly as she played with her hair.

“C’mon, Varrell said we could go! I was thinking we could fish our own dinner. I had a look at the river earlier and it was loaded!”

“Loaded? With what?”

“With fish, what else? And we had some old fishing rods lying around, so I figured why not use them? I talked it over with Clever and he agreed it was a good idea!”

‘Keke! Thought it’d do ya good to get some sun, eh, Master!’

Stella inwardly sighed. Clever often did unnecessary things without asking her, and it was happening more frequently now that he’d started hanging out with Rye. “I’m really glad you two care so much about me,” she said, “but unfortunately, I can’t neglect my training.”

The trip wasn’t worth the trouble, but she didn’t say that out loud. Stella wasn’t so heartless that she’d pour cold water on Rye’s enthusiasm for no reason. She liked the girl the way she was—at least when she wasn’t messing around with Clever, which, for some reason, always made Stella feel like dying. It’s not like anything bad comes out of it. Unlike whenever Beck is involved.

“You can train tomorrow. It’s probably gonna rain anyway. Okay. Lunch box, water bottle . . . all right, let’s go! Varrell, don’t forget the fishing rods and the fish bucket!”

“Gotcha,” said Varrell. “Beck will return from his break soon. He can watch the store while we’re gone. I’ll tell Marie to let us know if there’s any trouble.”

Stella raised an eyebrow. “Beck? Watch the store?”

“I gave him a pep talk earlier. Now he’s all pumped up and ready to work. And his back is practically healed.”

“Trust me—if there’s one thing Becks are good at, it’s messing up when all odds are in their favor.”

After quickly changing clothes in her room, Stella got her lunch box and water bottle from Marie. She’d never gone fishing before. Her father had never taught her how, and her mother had had more pressing concerns. It wouldn’t hurt to see what it was like, she supposed.

Stella wolfed down her lunch and cast her line into the river beside Rye’s.

Ten minutes of nothing later, she started to wonder what she was doing with her life. But before she could delve deeper into questions of philosophy—

“Oh, I caught one! A promising start, eh?”

—Rye caught her first fish.

‘Nice, lil’ Rye! Tonight we’re gonna feast, eh!’

“Marie’s gonna love to see this!” said Rye. “Fish dinner, huh. Ever since Varrell arrived, we’ve been eating some pretty rare dishes.”

‘Great cooks, those two, eh? My stomach is an ’appy stomach, eh!’

“Ah, got another one!”

And another one, and another one. Rye’s pile of fish grew larger by the minute. Clever, moved by boredom, occasionally plunged into the water only to emerge moments later with a fish in his beak. Meanwhile, Stella had yet to catch her first one.

Why was it taking so long? An unexplainable frustration built up inside her. Was she a sore loser?

Stella glared at the fish swimming in the little brook with eyes that spelled death. She’d done this in hopes that they’d be paralyzed with fear, but they startled and scattered away. Upon reflection, however, she realized that paralyzing them wouldn’t have achieved anything.

Behind Stella, something repeatedly cut the air at regular intervals. Varrell was practicing, for lack of anything better to do.  “I could eradicate the fish in this river if I wanted to,” he boasted, “with my bare hands.” What are you, a bear? she mentally quipped.

“I love the feeling of the sun on my face and the cool water on my feet,” said Rye. “When it gets a little warmer, maybe we can go for a swim.” She smiled innocently.

“Did you use to play in the river often?” Stella asked.

“Not in the river, but in the sea. We used to go all the time—me and my parents and everyone else in the manor—swimming and fishing on a small rowboat. Father used to get competitive, and would always try to catch the biggest fish. I miss the feeling of the salty air on my skin . . .”

Rye’s family must have been wealthy; peasants generally couldn’t afford manors. Maybe she was—or rather, used to be—nobility. If her former home was near the coast, it was possible that the Empire’s army had burned it down in the first days of the invasion. But this was not the time to ask. Stella had bigger concerns.

“Why is it that I haven’t been able to catch a single fish so far?” she asked. “I can’t abide boredom. Tell me this instant what I’m doing wrong and how to fix it.”

“I’m not a pro or anything,” Rye said, laughing. “But I think you’re too fidgety. If you shake the line so much, it’s gonna scare all the fish away. Try relaxing a little.”

“I see.”

Stella’s nature was to always seek constant change through action. Good change or bad change, it didn’t matter—anything was better than no change at all. Though Rye’s suggestion went against that nature, it was clear that Stella’s approach wasn’t working, and she was starting to get bored. Just one fish, she thought; that’s all I ask. She needed at least that much to, as Apollo would say, “protect her pride” as Rye’s master. In truth, she just didn’t want to give Clever or Beck any grounds for mocking her.

Rye cleared her throat. “Uhm, maybe it’s not my place to say this, but life isn’t a race, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

Rye’s smile vanished and her face became serious. “I mean, like . . . you’re always rushing everything. Even the way you walk, it’s closer to a run. Maybe you could take it easy just a little bit?”

“All right, I see now. That fishing advice was more than just fishing advice. Let me tell you one thing, then. You’re sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Rye awkwardly scratched her nose. “I know, but I had to say it. I mean, even when things are working out for you, you always aim higher.”

Stella chuckled. “That’s because I’m a seeker of enlightenment. I’m not so easily satisfied.”

“Enlightenment?! You can’t even drink your milk!”

“I can. I just choose not to.”

“It’s the same thing.”

A long silence ensued.

The sun was blinding her. Maybe it could do her a favor and give her a tan. It would make her look less like a corpse. She hadn’t gotten a tan yet, though. So she probably shouldn’t count on it. Maybe she just couldn’t get tanned. Stella was about to start playing with her hair when—

“Oh, looks like you caught one,” said Rye. “Aren’t you gonna pull it in?”

“It’s almost pulling me in. What should I do?”

“Uhm, you keep pulling and letting go until the fish tires out. Then you yank it out of the water!”

“You sure—huff—make it sound easy!”

For a fish that lived in such a small river, it put up a mighty resistance. Stella clicked her tongue and looked at Clever, who was enjoying a river bath. He caught her look and offered a lazy word of encouragement. Useless bird. Stella refused to lose. It was time to apply Rye’s advice.

“This is one—puff—strong fish!”

“You two are sure going at it,” said Rye. “This fight is gonna go down in history.”

“You stay quiet and watch. . . . Now!”

In a flash of resolve, Stella pulled hard on the rod, sending a lightning bolt into the sky (in her head). She looked beside her and saw a fish writhing helplessly on the gravel. Not an impressive fish—only about as large as one of Stella’s flimsy arms—but a fish nonetheless. She had won. Holding it by the line, Stella snickered at Rye.

“Well done!” Rye said. “A bit small, but it’ll taste as good as any. So, how was your first time catching a fish?”

“It was a good fight. I’m sure this experience will serve me well in the future.”

Rye face-palmed. “You’re speaking nonsense again. Can’t you just be happy about it like a normal person?”

Stella ignored the comment. “We still have some time, and I have a lot of catching up to do. Enjoy your lead while it lasts.”

“How come you’re so eager all of a sudden?”

‘Master either goes all out or does things in the laziest way possible, depending on whether something catches ’er interest or not! She’s always been like that, eh!’

Stella ignored the bird and focused on her fishing line. Rye was right. This wasn’t an activity that should be done violently, but one that rewarded patience.

“Her level of focus is uncanny,” Varrell whispered to himself. “Is she actually a witch . . . ?”

“Quiet, Varrell. I can hear you.”

“Sorry, uh, I mean . . . It sure is hot today, huh!” He shook his head and wiped his brow with an exaggerated motion.

At that moment, Stella caught another fish. This time, she immediately pulled it in with a snap of her wrists.

“That . . . was awesome,” said Rye, gaping. “You’re like a professional fisherman!”

I don’t really care to be one, she thought. Nevertheless, it felt good to be praised. Stella puffed out her chest and tossed her catch in the bucket.

“So I don’t have to be strong. I can make up for it by learning proper timing and force.” Stella turned again to Rye. “Fishing is fun—not to mention a great way to procure dinner. It’s a game of waiting and, sometimes, action. I find that contrast oddly appealing.” It also seemed like a good way to sharpen her reflexes and improve her focus, complementing her other training rather well.

“Oh . . . yeah,” said Rye. “I mean, you’re crazy if you think I’m gonna let you win! I’m not losing to a complete beginner!”

‘Tha’s the spirit, you two! Go, go, go! The more you catch, the more I can eat, eh!’

The final tally was ten fish to Rye and seven to Stella. Stella didn’t mind losing; she’d gained something more important. Fishing is not nearly as boring as it looks, she thought. I shouldn’t draw conclusions before trying things out for myself.

In the end, Stella replied to Rye’s life advice with a “I’ll think about it.” It was the best answer she could give. Everything had a price; to live the life she wanted, certain risks had to be taken. Still, she was thankful for Rye’s considerate words, and so she put on a smile—the same one she often used on Beck when disciplining him—and said what the girl wanted to hear.

“I don’t know what it is exactly, but your smiles give me the creeps,” said Rye. “Especially the fake ones, like the one you have right now. Those are even worse than your sadistic smiles.”

“Do you realize you’re being exceedingly rude?” Stella grimaced.

“Oh, that’s much better. Still a little screwed up, but at least now your face matches your feelings.”

“Rude.”

Stella shrugged, and screwed up her face a little further.

When they returned to the store, Beck was having fun mixing tears of falling stars with coffee—or, according to him, “developing a new product.” Of course, Stella hadn’t asked him to do anything of the sort. Beck offered a taste to Stella and the others. She tried to refuse (even after everyone had given in to his insistence) but Beck clung to her feet and wouldn’t let go until she finally said yes. Well, it was possible that his creation would be worth her time. It was also possible to have snow in summer.

Stella took the glass of effervescent amber liquid and sipped. The bitterness of the coffee and the acidity of the tears of falling stars created a cacophony of taste that pulsed inside her mouth with the burst of every bubble. Stella looked at the others. Beck was smiling. He was the only one smiling. Everyone else was thinking the same thing, but no one said it out loud. Even Marie struggled to hide her frown. Stella spit the drink back out, as she always did.

“What did you think, ma’am? I call it ‘tears of falling stars, Beck edition.’ I bet you it’ll sell like hotcakes!”

“Beck edition . . . ?” Rye eyed her glass distastefully.

If you don’t want to drink the rest, just say it. Her good nature was probably keeping her from letting Beck down.

“Your Rye coffee’s got nothing on this,” said Beck, grinning. “Oh, why don’t we try adding tears to Rye coffee too? We can call it ‘tears of falling stars, Beck edition: White’!”

“Uh, I don’t think that’s gonna work . . .”

At Marie’s suggestion, they’d added Rye coffee to the menu the other day. It wasn’t exactly a popular product—but then again, neither was plain coffee. It had gathered a dedicated customer base, so there was no need to go back on the decision, but it was incredibly annoying to see the dimwits recommend it to others while acting like connoisseurs.

“Ah—Ma’am, how about I add some sugar? Trust me, it’ll get even better!” He reached for her glass before she could answer.

Stella blocked his hand with her own. The idiot wasn’t speaking sense. “Beck, come here a bit.”

“Y-Yes, ma’am!”

Beck brought his face closer to Stella’s. He was smiling with self-satisfaction, clearly expecting a reward of some sort. Stella grabbed the front of his shirt, yanked him closer, and slapped him across the cheeks three times in quick succession. Once for wasting her coffee, once for acting without permission, and once for making Stella drink his accursed creation. She didn’t hold back.

Beck cowered, holding his cheeks and screaming. Stella looked at him coldly. He’d deserved it. If he was going to waste her resources and everyone’s time, he’d better at least accomplish something with it.

‘Those were some nice slaps, eh! Nice wrist technique, Master!’

“It’s the fishing trick I learned today. I really have grown stronger, haven’t I?”

Stella blew on her hands, then ordered Varrell to dump the wailing idiot outside.