All The Skills

Barlow let them in, all smiles, and completely unaware he had just blown Arthur’s cover.

Arthur felt Cressida’s eyes like a heat on the back of his neck. Considering her card’s power, that might not be an exaggeration.

Still, she kept silent as they lugged boxes of produce through the door.

His Acting skill nudged him and he thought that if he treated this as nothing special -- nothing to be guilty about -- perhaps Cressida would take his cue. She hadn’t put up a fuss yet.

With that in mind, he looked to Barlow. “Why are you working here? Nothing’s happened to the restaurant, I hope?”

The restaurant where Arthur had first gotten his start was not far from his old orphanage. As such, he hadn’t visited that part of town on a regular basis. But the city wasn’t that large. He was certain he would have heard if Barlow had sold or shuttered it.

The big chef waved his concern away. “The restaurant's doing fine, kid. I finally got a second in command who doesn’t need constant oversight. The kids are a handful.” He gave Arthur a direct look.

Arthur chuckled nervously, aware Cressida was still watching. Barlow continued, “That freed me up to cook for special events. It’s been mighty lucrative if I say so myself.”

“What special events?” Cressida asked.

Barlow shrugged. “They didn’t tell me this time -- only thing I know is it’s short notice. Not planned like a retirement or a promotion. And they were willing to pay top coin. In fact--“ his gaze turned shrewd. “It was so last minute that I wasn’t able to hire the workers I needed. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to step in for a bit?” He looked at Cressida. “That goes for you too, young miss. Many hands make light work, and I pay well.”

Cressida looked offended that she would be asked to work.

Arthur stepped in to cover for her. “She doesn’t, um, cook professionally. She works at Bob’s as a server, and delivers on the side.”

“Ah, yes. Cooking on your family’s hearth fire is a bit different than a demanding restaurant. But you can help, right Arthur? For old time’s sake?”

“Yes, Arthur,” Cressida jumped in, her voice sweet. Far from being vexed, she looked like she was enjoying catching Arthur out. “You do know how to cook, don’t you?”

He shot a glare at her. Cressida smiled back.

Oh, why not?

“I can do vegetable prep,” Arthur said, “But me and Tilly need to get back before we’re missed…”

Barlow clapped his hands and before either one of them could say otherwise, Arthur found himself in front of a mountain of vegetables needing to be sliced, diced, and minced. Cressida was left to unload the rest of the cart by herself.

Judging by her renewed sour expression, she hadn’t counted on that half of the deal. Luckily, the boxes were light and there wasn’t much left to unload.

Barlow wasn’t exaggerating about being short handed. Half of the people in the kitchens seemed to be new, which added to the chaos. It was no wonder that no one had questioned the surprise produce delivery

Grinning to himself, Arthur focused on his Knife skills and fell into a rhythm that he had developed years ago. Soon the vegetables were prepped and he was asked to slide to a station to saute some of them for a soup pot.

With expert practice, he shook and flipped the contents of the pan to make sure that there was an even cook on all sides. He replaced it over the fire and looked up to see Cressida watching him in consternation.

“Is that your card, then? Your Rare?” she asked in a low undertone.

He blinked. “No, my Personal Space card is my Rare.” Which wasn’t the entire truth. That was only one of his cards.

“But you do have a… a kitchen work card, don’t you?” Her nose scrunched up. “Why?”

“There’s nothing shameful about working for a living,” Arthur said. “Maybe you should try it. You never know, you might like it.”

“If it’s not shameful, why don’t these people know your real name?” she asked. Thankfully, she still kept her voice low enough so only he could hear.

That might be a good point… except Arthur was his real name.

Arthur shook his head and decided not to correct her. “You got the rest of the cart unloaded?”

“Yes, why? I hope you don’t intend to stay here all night…”

“No, just long enough not to raise any suspicions. A half unloaded cart will make people wonder what’s going on. Here,” he said, “take that pan and toss some of those cut onions in there. Then add oil and do what I do.”

She didn’t move. “Why?”

“Because,” he said patiently, “This kitchen is about to become frantically busy. You’ll stand out if you’re not doing something.”

“No, I mean…” she looked around and reluctantly took up a clean pan, holding it gingerly like she was afraid it would bite her, “Why bother with this at all?”

“When would you rather wander around the scholar’s guild? When there are people around, or when they’ve all sat down to eat at this fest we’re preparing?”

The light of understanding dawned in her eyes. She threw a scant handful of minced garlic into her pan and awkwardly set it over the cook stove beside his.

“You are a sneaky man, Ernest.”

“In the kitchen, call me Arthur.”

They slipped out as meat was well on its way to cooking. Arthur caught Barlow’s eye and made a motion with his head -- not to the outdoor kitchen exit, but to the doorway leading deeper into the guild.

The man looked briefly confused, then glanced at Cressida and nodded.

With a slight feeling of shame, Arthur realized he thought he meant to sneak off with the girl.

Which he was doing... but not for those reasons.

Barlow, being Barlow, would go along with it because Arthur would know better than to ask for coins, afterward. His silence would be payment.

Well… whatever it took.

Cressida looked relieved to be out of the kitchens at last. She had managed to burn everything she'd touched. Only Arthur covering for her had not resulted in disaster.

Nevertheless, once they were out of the kitchens the next part was up to her as she had visited the scholar’s guild before, thanks to her family connections.

She strode confidently ahead, causing Arthur to grab her arm and pull her up short. “Stop, you're walking like a noble.”

She gave him a scandalized look, then visibly checked herself and glanced down at her simple laborer’s clothing. “I don’t know how to ‘walk’ any other way.”

“Go slower. Keep your head down. Shoulders hunched,” Arthur said and proceeded to do just that.

“My mother would be having hysterics if she knew I was walking with hunched shoulders…” Cressida muttered. But she attempted to follow Arthur’s lead… even though her steps were unusually graceful.

They walked past a loud dining area. From the looks of it, the first appetizers had been served along with generous glasses of wine. There wasn’t an empty seat, but the halls beyond were empty.

“What are they celebrating?” Arthur wondered.

“Oh, they never need much of a reason,” Cressida said sourly. “Though usually it’s when someone from the local guild impresses the King. Or when they feel they’ve scored a political point against the hive.”

Arthur gave her a sharp look. “They’re against the hive?”

“There’s a rivalry,” Cressida said. “Which the king encourages. The same pool of funds from the crown go to either the hives or the guilds, and he makes sure they know it. I’ve been told it’s to encourage friendly competition.”

Was that why the scholars were so against linking with the pink dragon?

Cressida went on. “The guild has long maintained they will be the ones to eliminate the scourge through research and scientific discovery. That sets them against the hive, too. Here we are,” she added, pointing to a stairway that went downward.

Arthur made them stop at every landing on the way down to listen for the sounds of footsteps or a scholar late to dinner. He shouldn’t have bothered. There was nothing.

In fact, the candles that lit the way were nearly melted to the nubs. It seemed no one had been by to change them out today.

And then there was the smell.

At first, Arthur noticed it as something in the air that reminded him of the cottage he had shared with his father. He thought it was the lack of light and the moisture beading in the cracks in the walls.

But as they went lower and the funk in the air grew stronger, he realized what he was smelling.

He stopped. “Do you smell that?”

Cressida nodded, looking green. “What is that? Rot?”

“No,” he said. “Scourge-dust.”

Her head whipped around and she stared at him. “You’re joking.”

“No,” Arthur said grimly. “I’m from a border Barony, remember? You get whiffs of that smell when the wind blows in over the dead lands.”

“But… you aren’t saying there’s scourge here?”

“No, there’s technically no scourgelings in the dead lands. What we call scourge-dust is just all… dead. It’s death.”

“Is it dangerous?” she asked.

“Not to the carded.”

Cressida glanced down the dark stairwell, back to him and then nodded. “Then we continue on.”

The library was at the bottom level. The best Arthur could say about it was that at least it was better lit then the stairwell. There were eight rows of shelves absolutely stuffed with books, scrolls, and thick stacks of parchment. Interspersed here and there were small glasses cases. And in those cases were cards.

Arthur took a candle to light the way and stepped to the first card he saw.

Herb Identification

Common

Knowledge/Meta

Upon physical contact with any edible herb, the wielder will instantly be able to accurately identify the name of the plant.

Not that impressive and somewhat niche considering it only worked with edible herbs, but he could see why it would have its uses to researchers.

Arthur picked up the glass case -- not to take the card but to get a better look at the lock surrounding it. The moment he did, the card crumbled as if it were a structure of delicate ash.

He made an inarticulate sound of protest, hand jerking away. It was too late. That light touch was enough. In a moment, the card was dust.

The smell that came up from it was death.

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