29 - Brakayus' Ceekit

Honey’s was a whiff of home to Kyrus, especially after the Zon’s oderous little office. It was one of the eight ceekits, in Viltaria and the only one set up like a Lainz hostel.  The décor was an odd mix of Milar and Lainz, because the kitchen master was one of the few expatriate Lainz who’d stayed after the last war.

It was also the one place in Milar that Kyrus wasn’t the only one wearing a face veil. It was odd that after the war all things Lainz were fashionable among some of the Milari.   

Even though it was peculiar to see pale foreheads and brows over an intermediate scholar’s or warrior’s veil, it was still more comfortable than bare face. Brakayus, the Lainz ceekit runner had been wounded on the mountain below the city.   

He’d been treated by a Milar Fixer and because of it had kept both his hands. If he’d been seen by a Lainz physicus he would have lost both of them. After the war was over he’d stayed.

He’d married a Milar girl and settled into the ceekit as though he’d been born there. Since the Eighth Sub Quarter was not serving this night, the people it would normally feed were coming either to Seventh or First and the hall was crammed full of people who normally didn’t care to play at being Lainz.  There were a lot of bare faces tonight though Brak had rental face veils under the counter. No one ever wanted the single loaner because it was perceived as being never washed enough.

Not that people at home actually ate with veils on, unless it was the special meal of Hard Rolls that could be neatly slipped under the cloth without leaving sauce behind on the fabric.

Kyrus tucked hiself into the stone niche that offered privacy for eating messier things, like the moa stew on offer tonight -- they’d chalked up that it would be from the new meat flocks.

It was amazing how easily the gigantic birds had adapted from the Lainz deserts to Trovian salt marshes and Milari mountains out of tsingy and were easy feeders as goats. In fact it was becoming an ongoing feud between the goat herders and moa herders because the moa couldn’t be taken into the same fields without going up the rocks after the goats themselves, preferring meat over grazing.

By the service counter where people lined up, a Raven named Moa had his perch where he whistled and insulted people in a mix of Milari and Lainz.

The other regular animal staff were a couple of half-wild Milar cats each about twenty five or thirty pounds who Brakayus had persuaded to move in and kept the First considerably more clear of vermin than the terriers in the other kitchens.

It was a good attempt at a Lainz room, even though it was dug into the mountain, much the same way the School was.  Long, communal tables filled the central space, but the rock would never be mistaken for Lainz itself. It was too dark, for one, even with lamps and Mander’s lights.

Those lights, glowing soft gold made him uncomfortable. He couldn’t get used to all the magic everywhere since at home the common belief was that the Light and the Dark had removed that talent from the Empire.  The odd lights were at least hidden behind translucent stone shades.

He took his veil off, tucking it into the appropriate pocket before addressing the moa. It still took time for him to wrestle with the tined spoons the Milari used instead of just rolling everything into a neat, handy roll of bread.

Werfas sat down with a clatter and a thunk as his bowl hit the table. Kyrus was used to this by now and didn’t flinch. The Milar boy was always giving people the impression he was clumsy. He took off his own veil and dug into the stew with gusto.

“Tonight we’re not plague sufferers.” He said with his mouth full, nodding around at the lack of gap around their booth.

Kyrus snorted. “It’s the lack of space to eat, not any growing tolerance of me.”

Werfas shrugged. “I ordered us both a beer rather than watch you drink buttered tea again.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know, but I promised my da I’d not drink by myself.” He said this so deadpan, so straightly, that for a long second 

Kyrus took him seriously.

“Wha… Idiot.” The laughter they shared was the half smothered, self-conscious laugh of young men everywhere, from the Freshet to the Barrens.

Neither boy noticed a half dozen young men at a near table were too casually watching them, or pretending not to watch them.

When the beer arrived, Haraklez did as well, sliding in to sit beside Werfas. Her veil was almost translucent and Kyrus found himself watching the half-shadow of her upper lip, even as he scrambled to put his own veil on, though he hadn’t finished eating.

“What do you need, lady?” He struggled to keep the annoyance out of his voice. I want to finish eating my dinner, frilly, he thought resentfully. They hadn’t spoken much, even though he was living at her da’s house.  Mostly ‘good morning’ ‘good evening’ and ‘please pass the salt’.

“I don’t need anything, I came to say hello to a couple of my classmates. Don’t stop eating for my sake. Brakayus’s cooking is too good, especially this time of year.” She pulled her veil off and Kyrus realized she’d brought cup and bowl with her.

“Are you doing this to annoy me?” he said quietly.

She put her tine down and looked at him. “No, Kyrus. You know that we eat together, men and women, and I thought you needed all the friends you could get while you were here. And no. My father didn’t put me up to this. I can occasionally think for myself. Anything else?”

Kyrus could feel himself flushing, even though it didn’t show. He found himself looking over her head at a whorl in the rock, down at the white ceramic bowls, at his half-empty glass, anywhere but at her. Moa yelled “Praise the Dark!” from his perch before tossing his water-cup over.

“Ah, no. My apologies, H-Haraklez.” He barely stumbled on her name, managing to pick up his glass and draining the rest of it. He pulled his veil off again and refused to look up from his bowl, though he could almost feel Werfas trying not to laugh.

“Good. You know, when I started, the Zon tapped me for extra classes for a while too,” she said.

He looked up, startled. “Really?” He’d thought that she was so good that she’d never need extra help.

“Really. If you have the extra classes it can get a bit weird if you’re in them long enough. I was in for six months.”

“Weird? Oh.” Kyrus shoved a couple of beans around the bottom of his bowl, looking down again. As if I needed any more strangeness. He didn’t really mind that she’d shoved in. She was right. He needed as many friends as possible here – as many as were willing to be his friends.

“As if our ways aren’t bizarre enough to our own personal Bee Eater,” Werfas broke in.

“Yeah, Mutton face,” she retorted and they traded a few more insults back and forth with the comfortable familiarity of old friends while Kyrus finished his bowl, glad to be on the edge of it.

For the first time in years he let himself relaxed somewhat, feeling comfortable enough with the two at his table, as long as he didn’t think of one of them as female at all. He finished his beer and put his veil back on, feeling the comforting press of the cloth over his lips. Moa stretched and flapped before shrieking and then letting loose a string of Lainz curses that had Kyrus glancing quickly over at Haraklez to see if she were offended. She wasn’t paying attention.

Brakayus himself came out of the kitchen and hit the iron bar that served as his bell. “Everyone tapped to do dishes had best come now. We’re closing early, snow’s getting bad. Everyone use the storm lines when you leave.”

Kyrus stood up. “I’m on dishes tonight. I’ll see you later, Haraklez.”

“And I’ll whip your butt tomorrow in class,” Werfas grinned.

The youths at the next table didn’t stir, but sat, waiting, while most everyone else filed out to get their coats and make their way home along the snow-lines strung from house to house to tunnel. If the weather got very bad you never wanted to lose your grip on those, especially at night. Ilaxindal had explained that people had frozen to death an arm’s length away from safety.