The Slime Farmer - 71 Night Market Pienplati 3

A hand was clapped on his shoulder.

Cuthes sighed. “Finally got those two to go away.”

Defi gave a laugh at the man’s relief. “You’ve been guiding them around the Lowpool?”

For the leader of the town’s guard forces to escort an inspector palatine around, that was something expected. Defi had been surprised there was no gossip about the inspector during the night market, actually.

“Guide? Those two just decided to follow me around!” Cuthes showed his aggravation.

Thereby covering up their presence with the adjutant’s, Defi understood. Why bother, Karles and the workers as well as Cuthes and the young guardsman Lon already knew they were here.

“You’ve been troubled, it appears.”

Cuthes nodded emphatically. “I was going to ask you a few questions earlier, but that kid wanted to try all the Lowpool pienplati he could get his hands on.”

“The grilled whiskersnake was especially good.” Defi’s mouth still watered at the thought of tender grilled snake in a mildly hot sauce tinged with the sweet-sour of vinegar.

The word ‘pienplati’ was Abrechal in origin, rather than modern Ascharonian. It meant ‘little dishes”. Defi did see that every stall had given out small bowls and plates, each containing just several mouthfuls of a particular dish. The arrangement had gone very well with ale and conversation.

“Psh. If you really want to try real Lowpool pienplati, wait a month. The eel and herring would be plentiful then. Ah, I saw a stall with grilled eel around here somewhere.” Cuthes dragged Defi toward the far end of the tables set up in the square.

“They should be closing down,” Defi protested. It was nearly midnight. “If it’s as popular as you say, they should’ve run out and closed down early, in fact.”

“Nah, I know the stall-keeper.”

What did that have to do with the amount of eel in the stall? But the stall Cuthes stopped at was still open and doing business. Many people were passing slips of paper back and forth.

“Are they gambling?���

Cuthes snorted. “This idiot Liamor, he only used the eel to stop people long enough to tempt them into betting.” He caught the eye of the plump round-faced stall keeper with fair hair, who with a wave of a hand sent one of his young helpers scurrying off.

Cuthes didn’t near the gambling stall, but waited past the crowd. The girl helping the stall keeper popped up with two boxes, one long with a rather nice scent coming from it, and a smaller square one a quarter the size of the first. “Thank him for me.”

The girl smiled and disappeared.

Defi followed the man to one of the isolated tables. On the other side of the rows of tables, Adan had just served the last of the ale, and was starting to dismantle the stall. While the people who still had drinks were laughing and talking, most of the tables were empty.

Cuthes sat down beside him and opened the long box, to reveal two grill-roasted eels dripping with natural oils and the sauce used to baste them. An entrancing scent spread from it, encasing the table.

The second box contained pale thin stalks of mushrooms. Cuthes nodded in satisfaction.

Two bowls, larger than pienplati size, a bit larger than even a regular size, were put in front of them. The proprietor of a nearby stall smiled at them. “Last bowls of the day.”

He was thanked effusively.

The porridge was plain, only salt added, and garnished with some stalks of scallion. Cuthes broke off pieces of grilled eel and spread them generously over the two bowls. He snapped off a few stalks of mushroom to each bowl.

Defi took a bite. The fattiness of the eel went well with the simple barley porridge, the slight salty nuttiness of the barley melding together with the light and delicate taste of the eel, the sweet flavorfulness of the basting sauce. The delicate earthiness of the mushroom only enhanced the scent and taste of every spoonful.

The porridge was warm, the crushed grains slightly chewy. The eel flesh spread into the porridge easily, soft but firm enough to be felt in the mouth. Every now and then, the slight spongy crunch from bits of mushroom delighted the teeth.

It was hearty and savory, warm and comforting, an excellent accompaniment to the chilly night breezes.

“I wanted to ask,” Cuthes murmured, “have you ever met the people from that place west of you? They said they were surveying the place for development, so they should’ve talked to the neighbors.”

Defi hummed a negative answer, inhaling the scent of another spoonful of mushroom-tinged barley and eel. “Too busy to meet, I guess.”

But not too busy to send people to watch said neighbors, Defi added inwardly. He didn’t know how much of his predicament Cuthes knew, but was it really worth hiding?

“Have you talked to Leraine’s cousin Agreine? She might know more.”

“Oh. Her.”

The suppressed sigh in Cuthes voice amused Defi; the corners of his lips lifted slightly. Cuthes had met the redoubtable Madam Agreine alright.

Defi had seen that the herbalist’s place south of the Garge homestead was bustling. He smiled a bit coldly. With the land so poor, her actions were limited. If she didn’t heed the advice of her farm manager, she’d lose the place. She wasn’t someone who intended to stay, so he didn’t bother actively causing trouble on her land.

“That harpy,” Cuthes continued. “I was only asking where her friend went and she went off like a firecracker, then ran away. Defi, do I look like a criminal?”

“…no. Incidentally, what did the two who were with you say?”

“They weren’t helpful at all! Some inspector. And the boy was spouting some nonsense about the peacock flying the coop and some ducks or dragons or other. That idiot teacher of his is far too lenient.”

Defi smiled faintly. “It sounds like your cooperation with them went well.”

“Well?!”

“You got information out of the people you met right?”

Cuthes grumbled but didn’t refute it. “Not enough.”

“You can always question them again. Maybe tomorrow.”

Judging from Agreine’s avoidance of him, she’d leave in the next few days. And the people who said they were surveying west of him might not be there longer. Cuthes inadvertently gave him confirmation of his suspicion.

Calor Ducan was no longer in the Lowpool.

There was no other reason his house would have been burgled.

They were looking for something in the Garge homestead. If they had found it in the western boundary, they wouldn’t have to break into the Garge house.

A thought came to him, and he slapped himself inwardly. He hadn’t checked on Farbar and the northern farm, or the empty cottage that was sold to him by the old couple.

He was all but certain that the protection Emblem on the herbalist house would have been studied thoroughly before burgling the Garge house, or else the intruders would have searched all the rooms and not just gone for the specific places that the warding Emblem protected.

“If the thieves were just passing by, do you think they’d have tried for the farm north of the homestead or the herbalist’s farm in the south? They look more developed then mine after all.”

“Had the same thought.” Cuthes nodded. “We talked to Barham. Nothing strange there. Whatever they used to break into your protections likely blew up at your place. Experimental Emblem of some sort. Then Leraine’s cousin ran away before she could be questioned, as I said.”

“How about the empty cottage?”

“We did pass by. If there was a break-in, it was not so dramatic as yours. Lon’s going to ask that glypher Wesler to check the wards tomorrow.”

“I see.” Defi was relieved the northern farm was fine. He stared at Cuthes.

The other narrowed his eyes at Defi.

Defi smiled. “You actually sounded like a real town guard for a couple of sentences.”

“Hah. Don’t make me regret giving you my precious eel.”

*

Cuthes eyed him seriously after they finished their bowls. “Be careful, hm?”

Did everyone see him and think he was reckless, Defi wondered wryly. He nodded at the guard leader, who clapped him on the shoulder and ambled away leisurely, the boxes of eel and mushroom under his arms.

Cuthes’ questions during the meal had been subtle, touching even on Leraine and Kern. The leader of the town guards may have battle-lust in his blood but he was not an incompetent.

Well, he also confirmed that Cor and Jorne had said nothing to the adjutant about Calor Ducan.

He made his way to the docks, dodging stumbling drunks and carelessly rowdy people along the way. It was much the same as the celebration after the smuggler incident.

He stopped and squinted at the figure huddled on the pier he usually used. “Who is that?”

“You don’t sound drunk.” Markar straightened up and stood.

Being drunk got you killed. He had no idea how many nobles he’d heard were killed because they could not control themselves. He wasn’t about to share that with a child, however, and said instead, “I have good tolerance.”

He blinked as Markar came into the light. “You dyed your hair?”

The formerly dark brown circular bear ears that were now a pale shade of butter yellow flattened. “Dye is itchy.”

Defi nodded sympathetically. He once had to smear himself with dark river mud during a hunt. It had been itchy, but the necessity was great and he’d had to endure for days.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep by now?” The children who came to the night market had been taken home hours ago. He sighed. “Come, I’ll take you back to the orphanage.”

He wasn’t going to let a twelve-year old boy make his way alone through the docks and streets full of drunken people atmidnight.

Markar fell into step with him silently. Walking through moonlit streets, Defi breathed in the cool air and let the boy gather his thoughts.

It must be serious, for Markar to have been waiting for him.

They were nearly at the orphanage when the boy spoke.

“I wanted to ask,” Markar hesitated, but then his expression firmed. “is the offer of sword lessons still open?”

That was not the question Defi expected.

“You’re staying in the Lowpool then?”

“Aire argued that constantly changing homes was bad for growing up.”

Defi hummed. “What do you think?”

“I think I need to learn how to make illusion Emblems.” Markar slumped, forced his hands away from his head. His eyes had never left Defi, cautious, trying not to be hopeful.

“Very well.” Defi decided. “I come to the dawn market every morning. When you’re ready, come find me. In return, you’ll help picking starcherries and zaziphos.”

“Yes!”

Defi eyed him. “We’ll be going to Sarel’s place after midday, so she’s not going to be cooking.”

Markar looked disappointed, even as his eyes brimmed with excitement.

“I wish my students to be serious. This is no game.”

“We won’t let you down.” Markar solemnly promised, as they stopped at the gate to the orphanage. A lamp flickered closer from another street. Aire, lamp in hand, cloak tied securely about her, looked relieved when she saw Markar. She must have been searching for him. “We’ll see you tomorrow!”

Tomorrow? Defi had things to do too, you know? His place needed renovating!

But he eyed the determination on the boy’s face and could not decline.

“Tomorrow. Don’t make people worry for you again.”

Markar flushed in shame. Defi waved at Aire, and moved to retrace his steps to the docks.