by Trish Mercer
“‘The best way to secure loyalty is to feel a sense of duty to your benefactors.’” Brisack recited. “I memorized the words because they struck me so oddly. And now I know why. His loyalty isn’t necessarily to us, Nicko; his sense of duty is to his Creator.”
Mal scoffed, but only half-heartedly. “So what? If he believes in his imaginary friend—”
“Nicko, I’ve talked to boys who burned down barns because their ‘imaginary friends’ told them to,” the doctor said levelly. “I’ve treated girls with knife slashes on their arms because their ‘imaginary friends’ told them they were worthless.”
“Those are examples of children—”
“—proving that I do know something about family life! Thoughts that begin in childhood frequently continue into adulthood. Don’t underestimate the power of what the mind believes. What if Perrin believes his Creator wants him to do something contrary to what we decree? If his sense of duty lies elsewhere?”
Mal scoffed again, out of habit. “Oh, really, Doctor. What would he possibly dare to do?” He chuckled in a manner that struck Doctor Brisack as unnatural and uncharacteristically worried.
“Right now? I fear nothing might be beyond the daring of Perrin Shin.”
Chapter 14 ~ “The enlisted men are teaching the brassy a thing or two.”
The Shin family stepped out of the mansion’s coach in Pools and stared at the long building before them. Or rather, they stared at the long line of people waiting to get into that building.
Perrin let out a low whistle as the coach drove off to the livery stables nearby. “They said Gizzada was successful, but this?” He gestured feebly, and his family nodded in astonishment.
It wasn’t the first thing Mahrree marveled at that evening. After two dreadful days of Dinner preparation, Joriana surprised them with the suggestion that it was time for the family to be Seen. And the best place to be Seen was at Gizzada’s restaurant in Pools.
“Seen . . . doing what, eating?” Perrin had asked, confused. He was initially pleased with the idea of visiting his former staff sergeant’s place, until he saw just how excited his mother was about it.
“Gizzada’s is the talk of the whole city! And of Pools! And Orchards, and anywhere within thirty miles! Only the best and brightest can afford to go there.”
“Well, that excludes us,” Peto sounded disappointed. “One look at us, and they’ll—”
“Oh, no,” Joriana said firmly, “you’ll get in. You’ll dress up in that shirt I bought you today, young man. Jaytsy and your mother in their new best dresses, Perrin in his uniform, all of you in our coach—you’ll be Seen.”
“I’m rather surprised,” Mahrree had said, “that Gizzada’s sandwiches are so popular. I mean yes, there’s nothing in the world quite like them, but—”
“Sandwiches? Gizzada doesn’t do sandwiches, Mahrree,” Joriana hooted. “He does quizeen. Rather like some of what your mother tries, but . . . bigger. You’ll see. It’s amazing! And here,” she slipped something into Perrin’s hand.
His eyes bulged. “A full gold slip?”
“It’s a bit pricey, but well worth it. Dinner’s on me. Go now. Enjoy!”
With shared looks of confusion, they went. An hour’s drive later they arrived on a busy road in Pools, and wondered if the same tubby man they knew in Edge years ago really was attached to such a place as this. This was nothing like the Inn at Edge, where Hycymum and another girl whipped up meals and desserts for travelers or villagers in the mood for something different.
First, the Inn at Edge didn’t have trees and flowers and vines all over the building, as if a controlled explosion of Nature had been aimed directly at it.
Nor did the Inn at Edge have tables and chairs outside the building where guests in silks and fine woolens and wraps of fur sat to wait for an opening inside. In fact, nothing in Edge had chairs and tables quite like these. Apparently some blacksmiths decided horse shoes weren’t interesting enough, and instead twisted iron into curious shapes that bordered on works of art that people then rudely sat upon or leaned against. Fires in large round pots were artfully placed around the area to warm those feeling the evening chill, and to illuminate the vegetation that adorned the simple yet grand stone and planked structure.
Above the wide doorway was a painted board with the word Gizzada’s wrought in more black twisted iron, and illuminated by black torches on either side. Standing before the door was a rather burly man dressed in a crisp white tunic and black trousers. He stood almost as if at attention, and stiffly opened the door as guests went in and out. He opened it now for an older man also similarly dressed who held a small board and announced in a sufficiently bored tone, “Lansing, party of four. James, party of two.”
Six people immediately rose and strode eagerly but elegantly to the opened doors, where a third man led them away.
Peto scowled. “Eating with any of them would not be a party, I’m sure.”
“This is crazy,” Perrin murmured, and headed for the still-open door, his family behind him. “Excuse me,” he said to the older man, “Exactly how long a wait for dinner?”
Several people in earshot sniggered at the Shins, and someone said derisively, “Locals.”
Another voice near a fire said, “Careful—brass buttons,” and Mahrree glanced over to see several people taking in her husband’s jacket. Suddenly, he and his “party” were worthy to stand among them. The whisper of “brass buttons” filtered down none-too-subtly among the hungry hopefuls, while Perrin’s ears went red.
“Oh, brother,” Jaytsy murmured in disgust.
“You said it, sister,” Peto murmured back.
Mahrree pursed her lips to keep from smiling, but Perrin was still waiting for an answer.
The man at the door looked him up and down. “Colonel, is it? You look vaguely familiar. You’re not the younger Shin, are you?”
Perrin sighed loudly as another murmur of “Could be the younger Shin,” traveled along the fancy-dressed waiting.
“Does it matter?” Perrin asked.
“It does if you want to eat in an hour, or in three,” the man shrugged.
“An hour?” Peto wailed softly. Mahrree elbowed him.
Perrin glanced at the line of Idumea’s elite and saw all of them watching him back. “Look,” he said quietly to the man at the door, “I’m an old friend of Gizzada’s, and we only wanted to say hi—”
“Mr. Sheff Gizzada has many friends,” the older man intoned, and he held out his hand.
Perrin frowned at it. “Something wrong with your hand—Oh, wait. Now I remember.” He fumbled around in his trousers’ pocket.
“Sheff?” Peto murmured to Jaytsy. “That’s his first name? I thought it was Zadda.”
“Seriously?” Jaytsy whispered back. “You think his parents named him Zadda Gizzada? Zadda was the name we gave him when we were little. You’ve got to be the dumbest—Ow!”
Mahrree’s boot heel came down on her daughter’s toes as Perrin fished out a slip of silver and dropped it into the man’s hand.
“Wait, you have to bribe people to—Ow!” Peto’s question was abruptly stopped, again by Mahrree’s boot, which was getting quite the workout on her children’s feet.
The man at the door looked down at the silver on his palm. “Not much of a friend of Mr. Sheff’s, I see.”
Perrin’s mouth dropped open and Mahrree was about to protest when a booming voice from behind the man surprised them all.
“My Little Ones! Are not so little! I heard you came to Idumea, but I can’t believe you’re here!”
Through the door burst an enormously round man the color of rich brown soil, with flushed dark red cheeks and a massive grin. His arms were held out wide as he plowed unceremoniously over his employees stationed at the door.
“It’s the Shins!” Gizzada bellowed, and he caught Perrin and Mahrree in a huge hug. “And that just can NOT be my little Jaytsy and Peto!”
Perrin and Mahrree would have laughe
d if Gizzada hadn’t been squeezing the breath out of them. But Jaytsy and Peto howled at the former soldier who always had a treat, or four or five, in his pocket for the commander’s children.
“Zadda!” they cried as he finally released a winded and chuckling Perrin and Mahrree, and embraced both children next.
Mahrree couldn’t help but gaze down the line of waiting wealthy. Each fancy-dressed man and woman wore the look of stunned envy and, for the first time since she came to the city, she felt as if she belonged there.
“Oh, my,” Gizzada chuckled as he finally let the children go. He eyed Jaytsy and glanced nervously at Perrin. “I’m sorry—I probably shouldn’t have done that, seeing as how you’re such a . . . my goodness, such a young woman.” He shook his head in amazement at Jaytsy.
Mahrree cleared her throat and gave a look to her husband. Even his former staff sergeant could see what their daughter had become, so should Perrin.
“And Peto! Well, I guess you’ll get there too, son,” Gizzada slapped his skinny back. “But Colonel Shin! I heard about that promotion! And Mrs. Shin—so glad you’re here!” His grin was dazzling. “Come in! Come in!”
To the astonishment of everyone else standing in line—and the two employees at the door—Gizzada ushered in the Shin family ahead of everyone else.
Except for Peto, who turned to the startled men. “My father told you we were friends of Gizzada. Next time, you should probably listen. He’s not wearing that sword just for show, you know.”
“Peto!” Perrin barked, but the damage was done, the men were pale, and Peto snickered in triumph as he followed his family and Gizzada into the restaurant.
“Gizzada, I can’t believe what you’ve created here!” Mahrree gasped in astonishment at what now redefined “fancy” in her mind. Tables were covered in linen cloths, and the plates were made of white fired clay she later learned was called porcelain. Even the forks, knives, and spoons were hammered with elaborate designs on the handles. Silk cloths with intricately woven designs covered the walls, and set in tall arrangements on each table were more flowers and vines which, Mahrree noticed later, were also bafflingly made of silk. Candles in fantastically detailed holders illuminated the tables, each occupied by more wearers of fine wool and dead furs, chatting happily and eating daintily. Somewhere a few people were playing flutes and guitars as accompaniment, which Mahrree thought the oddest thing to listen to while one was trying to eat and talk. Weaving in and out of the tables were men in pristine white tunics and black trousers carrying trays of food so carefully laid out that each was a miniature work of art that would last only a moment before it was consumed.
“Truly astounding, Staff Sergeant,” Perrin said as he eyed the water fountain bubbling in the middle of the restaurant. “I’m completely overwhelmed.”
Gizzada smiled and cleared his throat. “But that’s not what you really think, Colonel.” Gizzada cocked his head toward a door across the crowded room. “Follow me.”
Through the tables they wove, people frequently catching Gizzada’s arm to compliment “Sheff!” on one thing or another, and cheerfully he took their thanks but picked up his pace. He opened a finely carved door and the Shins filed into a private room with a long table, vases of fresh blossoms, and forks that looked to be made of gold. Gizzada closed the door behind them.
“Private party of senior officers will be here soon,” he gestured lazily at the table, “but we have a few minutes until they come in. So, will the High General recover?” he asked Perrin.
“Seems he will, even if he couldn’t finish that fantastic sandwich you sent over earlier today. That’s what got us all hungry.”
Gizzada grinned. “I was hoping he’d enjoy that.”
“So you still know how to make them?” Peto asked. “Because what I saw out there—Gizzada, on those plates was barely enough to feed a rabbit.”
“Peto!” Mahrree snapped at his rudeness.
“No, he’s right,” Gizzada nodded. “That food’s ridiculous. Tiny portions in silly presentations—that’s what the elite of Idumea like, Peto, as ridiculous as it is. But,” and he leaned in closer, “feeding them allows me to feed others, and properly.”
“What do you mean?” Peto said.
“Tell me what you want, and I’ll get it.” He turned to Perrin and Mahrree. “Do you want what Idumeans call high culture, or do you want something that will put some muscle on that skinny boy?”
“Muscle!” Perrin declared. “Please!”
Gizzada put a finger to his lips and said, “Then follow me to the best kept secret in Pools and Idumea.” He opened the door and the Shins followed him out of the room and toward the kitchens.
And that was another shock, to pass so many stoves and ovens and boiling pots and open flames and work tables and men and women frequently shouting “Sheff!” and rushing to set up plates and almost crashing into the four strangers that nearly tripped in their hurry to follow “Sheff!” to another door which . . .
. . . ended in a small storage room.
“Very secretive,” Peto said. “I can see why you don’t want anyone knowing where you store the potatoes.”
Gizzada chuckled and said, “No, my still Little One—” he grinned as Peto scowled at the earned insult, “—this is the secret.” He cracked opened another door that, a moment before looked like a planked wall. “Take a peek, Colonel, and tell me if this is more to your liking.”
Perrin peered in. “Now that’s more like it!”
Mahrree peeked under his arm to see a much different view. Instead of fancy cloth and wrought iron chairs, there were long wooden tables with log benches. Instead of fabric draping the walls, there were high clear windows that let in the fading sunlight. Instead of a water fountain in the middle room, there was a large fire pit with benches all around where people could chat and warm themselves.
Mahrree chuckled.
Counters on two sides of the room had tall stools crowded along them, and a board on the wall listed the simple menu: Meat of the Day, Dessert of the Day, Gizzada sandwich, small or large. The prices were also quite reasonable: a small sandwich was only a quarter slip of silver, and the large was half a slip.
And, just like the restaurant in the front, this place was packed with customers. But none of them were dressed in anything finer than layers of worn cotton, patched woolens, or army jackets. In fact, half of the room seemed to wear the uniform, and the loudness of their laughter also signaled to Mahrree these weren’t officers, but enlisted men temporarily freed from the hovering of their superiors.
“Uh, they can be a bit rough,” Gizzada said hesitantly as he closed the door again. “Especially with a little ale in them,” he muttered.
“What’s ale?” Perrin asked.
Gizzada waved that away. “Something I started brewing up last year. Nothing you’d like. But I’ll have a word with Margo before I take you in there. She’ll keep them proper. Well, Edge-level proper, if you know what I mean.”
Mahrree winked. “I teach teenage boys, Gizzada, and the children are in full school. I think we can handle them.”
Gizzada and Perrin shared a knowing look.
“Cute, isn’t it,” Perrin said to his former staff sergeant, “how she thinks she knows enlisted men?”
“Come to think of it, I’ll threaten the men myself,” Gizzada patted Perrin on the shoulder. “But first—we have a slight problem, with this.” He fingered a brass button and raised his dark eyebrows. “You see, I have a dress code, and brass buttons belong in the front, not here in the back. Makes the men nervous, you know. Not that any brass has ever tried to come back here before, but I do have standards to maintain.”
The Shins chuckled. “Understood,” Perrin said. “The last thing I want to do is cause you to lose any patrons. What do you want me to do about this ugly thing?”
“Take it off,” Gizzada said easily.
“Eat without my jacket?”
“Eat without messing it up, yes. I remember y
ou losing control of my large sandwiches, sir. Spilling it all over that jacket? Tsk-tsk. What would your mother say?”
The Shins laughed, and Perrin was already halfway to undressing.
“Don’t worry,” Gizzada said, “we have lots of army men remove the jacket here. You won’t be the first or only white undershirt in the room. Gives men a sense of release. No jacket, no ranking. Hope that doesn’t offend you—”
“Not one bit,” Perrin assured him.
“If only I had a white fur coat stitched with butterflies to lend you.” Gizzada slipped out the door into the secret back room. A chorus of “Sarge!” came through the door as his guests greeted their favorite ex-soldier.
“How many names does the man have?” Peto wondered.
“I feel like we’re doing something naughty,” Jaytsy giggled. “Sneaking into the back.”
Mahrree nodded. “I know. What would your grandparents think? We’ll be Seen, but in the wrong half of the restaurant.”
From behind the closed door they heard a deep woman’s voice holler, “All right, now—Mr. Gizzada has friends from the north here. Sharpen up, you—yes, you lot over there, now. Women and children coming in. Oy! I said, sharpen up! Women and children! No more of that mouth or I’ll tell your wife the truth of why you were late last week.”
Gizzada slipped back in, a little embarrassed. “I guess Margo’s got things in hand after all. If you’d like to follow me, sir?”
“Only if you call me Perrin. You’re not my soldier anymore.”
Gizzada winked. “And only if you all call me Zadda. I rather missed hearing that.”
“Give me your jacket,” Mahrree whispered to her husband. She rolled it up so that it was merely a blue bundle tucked under her arm, and she followed the rest of her family into the back room.
The multiple conversations—far louder and more raucous than anything in the front end—paused to evaluate the newcomers, then resumed noisily as Gizzada gestured to a woman large and beefy enough that she could have been Perrin’s sister.