Isekai’d Shoggoth - Chapter 107. Big Dinner

I might have caused a bit of a, uh… misunderstanding. When I invited Abraham over, I did so under impression that he would treat this as a family visiting family kind of arrangement. Instead, he took along a bunch of other people as well. Granted, I can understand why all of them are here. Sir Malachi and sir Pasteur have a professional interest in the new weaponry, if not in the angle on it. And the third person… Hrm. Given the adornments, this short guy is career military, but I haven’t been introduced to him yet. He does tickle my sense of deja vu something horrible, however. Oh well, all the extra guests are high up in the castle to be treated as Abe’s coworkers and friends, so not much amendment is required, and the meals had always been prepared in excess. Leftovers are rightful spoils of the servants, and our family is rich and benevolent enough to make it a standing rule that there are plenty of treats left for our domestics to enjoy themselves as well. I’m a little bit hazy on why leftovers from the lord’s table are somehow more appealing than same kind of dish made by servants for themselves, though I suppose it might be because servants would skip the costlier additions like spices when making theirs.

“Good day to you all.” – Abe proffers informally as he takes the lead in a small throng disgorging from the three carriages – “Please keep the formalities low, lest we gather a crowd more than it already is.”

Dad twitches lightly, a little bit unsettled by how informal the whole thing is. I guess Abe is finer with it than dad. “Good day to you all as well.” – father answers in the same tone, sketching a bow – “Please come right in, we have been expecting you all.”

Without further ado, we file in. I notice that Abe’s guards remain outside, forming a cordon outside of the gates. I pull the closest footman aside and give him quiet instructions to set up a table in the gatehouse and bring out refreshments so that knights could take turns and have a meal in as well. It wouldn’t do for them to come back to the palace hungry, now would it?

Once we are all in and guests are divested of their outer coats, Abraham takes charge again.

“Thank you for accommodating my request for extra guest allowance on such short notice.” – he proffers with a smile – “I was thinking about the merits of having a collegium to appraise the new weaponry, and it suddenly struck me that I already have all the men I need for such an assembly present in the palace. So, with that in mind, I believe we should start with a round of introductions.”

Father nods but then nudges me forward. “I quite agree, your highness, but I would like to make a little amendment.” – he chuckles – “Since this invitation was issued by my daughter unilaterally, I believe it is only fair if I let her fulfill the duties of host for today. Please just consider me an elderly member of house Gillespie for tonight. Alyssa will take on the lord of house obligations, if any.”

I peer at him. “Really, dad?” – I deadpan – “…Alright, I suppose fair’s fair. I should have asked.”

An assortment of titters and chuckles ripples across the hall, as I turn around and take a short bow myself. “Dear guests, welcome to the house of Gillespie capital manor. Tonight we shall dine to begin with, a meal including both traditional dishes and some of my newly invented ones, then take a short break while I explain the scholarly principles behind the concept of the firearm for those of us who are interested in the demonstration. For those of us of more peaceful inclination, I have prepared a theater show to enjoy. Afterward, those who wish to see the practical demonstration will come with me to the inner yard, while the rest will remain here with the theater show to keep them entertained. We will round the evening off with a light supper of cold cuts, snacks, sweets and liquors and a bit of firework show, as I still have unspent petards and bottle rockets that need to go.” – I begin – “But to start things off, let me do the introductions. First of all, we have the head of house Gillespie, his grace duke Gerard Gillespie and his wife and my mother, her grace duchess Elene Gillespie. I don’t think I need a personal introduction, you all know who I am, but for the sake of brevity, I’m Alyssa Gillespie. Two rascals with matching grins next to my mother are my little brothers Jean-Paul and Antoine. Next, here’s my harem. Moon-Unit, Bridgit, Lily-Anne and Roxolane. Last, but not least, this little bundle of chaos is my daughter Cy.”

A couple brows are hiked at my harem introduction. Not sure if it’s because I flat out said it’s a harem, or because I made a point of not mentioning anyone’s titles. All in all, things seem to be within expectations.

“Good to be here, maiden Gillespie.” – Abe offers formally, then grins – “Let me introduce everyone quickly. My wife Monika and my sons Alexander, Constantine and Edward. Accompanying Alexander is his wife, Jeanette-Thereze. The gentlemen with us are my head of security sir Malachi, my personal doctor sir Pasteur and brigadier Buonaparte. I believe everyone here knows each other, with the possible exception of brigadier here, as he spends a lot of time on the southern coast coordinating the defense against Sultanate incursions.”

Huh. What the hell. “Pardon my curiosity.” – I address the aforementioned brigadier – “But would your name happen to be Napoleon?”

“Almost, milady. I write my name as Napulione.” – he answers – “But I am quite curious how do you know that much, as I am quite certain I never had the honor of being introduced to anyone of the house Gillespie before.”

“Oh, your name had cropped up a time or two among the students of the Academy.” – I prevaricate – “I believe the students in question were from south themselves and aspiring tacticians to boot. Apparently, you’ve been doing well enough to be held up as an example to those with interest in leading an army.”

Aaand he promptly pinks up and perks up. “I think you just made his day.” – Abe proffers to me conspiratorially – “I keep telling good brigadier that I wouldn’t have promoted him if he wasn’t doing a bang-up job, but he still seems to think he must be invisible to the court at times.”

Mondo interesting. Apparently, this world’s version of Napoleon is less ambitious. Or just having a self-esteem problem, maybe. Anyway, not making any assumptions, history names just don’t seem to line up with history deeds here. Cromwell is an administrator, DeGaulle is a small-time aristocrat, Munchausen is a merchant…

The dinner proceeds smoothly. Sort of. Kind of. With a bit of excitement every now and then. To begin with, mother spies soy sauce. Squeals. Draws everyone’s attention. Turns out Jeanette-Thereze is also a huge fan of that sauce. I end up being declared a “good girl”. Then someone tries mayo, and I’m buried under the avalanche of “what is it, why it’s so rich and tasty”. I may have made the problem worse by pointing out there is another sauce hoping for a distraction. Which, in retrospect, was a silly idea, because ketchup is something NO one except me had tried here. In desperation, I ply everyone with french fries. Which are DIPPABLE IN SAUCES. Oh gods why. My only consolation is that Lily-Anne pats my head in consolation.

Finally, the food orgy is… kinda done. Some of the guests are still partaking in snacks. To try and get away from the topic of how did I come up with new food, I fire up my new big screen TV and toss a bunch of Loony Tunes on the screen. That should be…. oh. Well. Fuck. Everyone, and I mean everyone, including the servants, are glued to the screen now. Thankfully, the cartoons are short enough for me to pretend the performance is over and I need to do nebulous something to load up the next show.

“Incredible use of illusions.” – Pasteur exults, as he peers over the device – “Pray tell, milady, could a performance of perhaps more educational manner be crafted? How do you craft those, even? Could you possibly just… throw your thoughts, as it were, onto this incredible theater?”

“Would be nice if it could be made into a table that responds to thoughts.” – Buonaparte muses slowly – “A map one could amend like this would be quite a boon for planning anything.”

Nice ideas, people, but let’s set this off for a bit. I don’t want to design those things right now.

“Eventually.” – I deflect – “This is a prototype, it’s not really stable enough for a permanent enchantment yet. I have to prop it up and it will unravel by the next morning anyway. Once I have something more stable, I’ll be sure to notify you, gentlemen. For now, let’s see something different.”

I blame the atmosphere for what I have done next. I showed them the parrot skit from Monty Python. Oh gods why. No, OK, I get it. Absurdist humor is humorous. But not the “laugh yourself to tears” humorous. Come on. Dad, why are you choking and pounding on the chair? Prince Alexander, why are you rolling on the gods-damned carpet!? Sir Pasteur, why are you purple and shaking and wheezing? Queen Monika, why, oh WHY are you dabbing your eyes and bursting into titters each time someone chortles “ee’s pinin’”?

Out of other options, I turn the thing off and let everyone recover.

“So… everyone is alright now?” – I request five minutes later – “No one needs water? Or to sit down? Or healing spell?”

“Heeehehehee… Quite fine, thank you, dearie.” – Monika manages – “Gods above, how did you even come up with this? The things those men would just say with straight faces, oh gods, how do they manage to say that straight-faced, ahahahahahaaa!”

In the end, it takes another five minutes before everyone calms down enough.

“Very well.” – I intone – “I am going to load a selection of relaxing music into the theatre for now. As funny as the absurd comedy is, I do need to show the firearms as promised. So, here goes…”

I plug the TV with a bunch of classic music, and for the heck of it throw in my memory of fractal visualizer… Then pause and blink at it as I realize it is not the memory of how it looked, but the memory of what it is. As in, it’s an actual visualizer that responds to music. Weird. I didn’t intend for that to happen, but oh well.

“To begin with, the concept of the firearm is really simple, and it begins with an explosion. What is an explosion, in its core? Rapid burning of something, producing lots of gases that expand violently. If you burn something in the open, it just burns away. But put it into a sealed pot, and it will break the pot violently. The firearm is the logical continuation of the idea. What if we burn something in a pot covered with a lid? Logic suggests that it would be the lid that would get blown off the pot.” – I explain – “And this is how a firearm works. A bit of alchemical cotton goes into a pipe with one end closed off, then it is covered with a piece of lead matching the bore of the pipe. When the cotton burns, it forces the piece of lead out with significant force.”

I pause and lift the flintlock in hand, pointing out the barrel, the touchhole and how the flint and iron interact with each other, igniting the charge. “I would ask of all of you to remember some basic safety. With a sword or a bow, it is easy enough to tell what would cause harm. But with a firearm, you have no way of knowing if there is actually a bullet in the spout or not at a casual glance. So, never ever aim a firearm at anyone you do not intend to shoot. Even if you are certain it’s unloaded. Ideally, keep it pointed away from everyone else if you need to hold it, put it down as soon as you’re done examining or trying it. Do not step in front of a firearm either, be it laying or held by someone else. Is this agreeable?”

“Entirely sensible precautions.” – rasps Malachi – “I would also add not handling firearm or cotton near an open fire, if we had any open fire in the vicinity.”

“Just so. Well, if no one has any more questions, let us go to the yard to put some practice into this demonstration.” – I suggest.

Cytotoxin