That evening, Rosa worked with four men on duty to prepare lamb pie and mashed potatoes, boiled chickpeas, and grilled flatfish. The men were still clumsy, but Rosa was so good at putting people to work that there was almost nothing to fault.
She cooked only dinner. Before cooking, two men on duty cleaned the kitchen. Afterward, four took turns tidying it. Thoroughly cleaned on the evening of Rosa’s first breakfast, the kitchen was still imperfect, but it now had a door, and vents had been opened in the dining room. They left the back door open too, and at last the smell of horse urine went away.
The change had taken only a few days. Gene and Tahyang found it remarkable, but the men themselves were the most astonished. On the third day, several admitted honestly that Rosa knew how to handle people.
“She quietly rules the roost, doesn’t she? She doesn’t wheedle or plead, but somehow you can’t ignore her. It doesn’t look difficult, and since she’s doing something harder, you think you ought to do this much. Then, when it’s nearly finished, you think you should put on a burst and finish it off. And before you know it, it’s done.”
Of course, the greatest reason was the reward afterward: a delicious meal. Rosa truly cooked well. Even preparing food for dozens, she never once got the seasoning wrong. And after a few days, it became clear that she was skilled not only at cooking but at almost every household task. Someone called her a maid with twenty years’ experience, and that was close to the truth. Almost as soon as she could walk, Rosa had practically lived between the kitchen and the sewing room. She had learned to write only after she was ten.
Since that day, whenever they grew bored, the men built a fire in Hawk Square. Harat, their housekeeper, nagged that they were wasting wood, but in truth the patrol was fairly well off. On this day too, once the fire was lit, many came out carrying their plates and chatting. Such a gathering was practically a stage prepared for Luke.
“This house, I mean. It looks rather unusual, doesn’t it? Long ago, it was a temple. About fifty years back, perhaps? But business seems to have been poor. Looking at a building like this, the donations must have been substantial at first. I don’t know why it ended up that way, but the last priest sold it to a shipowner for a mere dozen gold coins and ran away.
“On the next worship day, the faithful arrived to find the temple sign down and rough shipwrights’ guild men already inside. They protested, but a temple doesn’t actually belong to its worshippers. They had no claim of ownership and no remedy. All they could do was put up with it.
“One fellow kept coming every three days to worship, they say. The shipwrights would be arguing over the budget when he’d stride in, sit right there in the middle of the first floor, and pray. They put up with him because he was old. They thought he’d die soon enough. But his worship carried on for ten whole years. After putting up with him for a year, they couldn’t very well tell him to get out in the next. It gave them no end of trouble.
“He came wearing a gray cloak, so the shipwrights called him the gray rat. The sort of mouse that gnaws at the biscuits in the bottom of a ship. Sailors absolutely loathe mice, of course. After the gray rat died, perhaps the shipwrights had grown tired of it all too. They sold this house to a shipowner. I think they got as much as a hundred gold coins then.”
Luke knew every kind of old story and had a gift for telling them plausibly. Since it was about the house they lived in, the men listened readily. The patrolman Hal spoke.
“That rat must have gone to paradise when he died. Since he was the last worshipper, even an unpopular god could surely have managed that much for one man.”
“Wouldn’t a rat’s paradise be the bottom of a cheese box?” Ashabel asked.
Several men snickered. Someone even brought out a jar of liquor, and they shared it as they drank. The mood was good. More people gathered around Luke. He was a fairly good drinker as well.
As they chattered, a tall shadow approached the other side of the fire and sat down, then spoke.
“More drinks tonight? Give me a cup.”
One man immediately rose and brought him a drink. Luke widened his eyes. The other was not human but a wild beast, an exceedingly large one. Luke spoke.
“Wow. I’d heard the rumors, but you really are a cat.”
Beside him, a man nudged Luke, while another tapped his shin. They meant that he should watch his tongue, but Luke had never been good at doing that.
Tahyang spoke.
“Yes. I’d thought so too, but you really do look easy to snap in half with one hand.”
Only then did Luke flinch a little. The men stifled their laughter. As Tahyang emptied his drink, someone brought a plate. Accepting it, Tahyang spoke.
“Ah, fish is always best for a cat.”
Luke watched him again. His way was to try three sharp remarks and press on if they worked, retreat if they met resistance. Someone like Tahyang, who warned him once and then gave him room again, was unusual.
“Well, I like cats too, you know. I said it with absolutely no bad intention…”
“Of course you did. I was speaking out of concern as well.”
“Ah, naturally. I am a bit thin. Thanks for the advice, f-friend.”
The men glanced from one to the other, curious how far this utterly fearless fellow would go. Tahyang replied.
“Now, eat well, friend.”
As Tahyang began to eat, Luke grinned and looked around the men. One narrowed his eyes, one watched Tahyang’s expression, and two held out their thumbs. Smiling broadly, Luke lifted the cup that answered their gestures.
“Come on, let’s drink! We’ve made a new friend. Let’s have a good session!”
The men raised their cups and spoke.
“Now I know why a scrawny fellow like you drinks so well. Your liver was sitting outside your body.”
“You fearless fool. You ought to be grateful Captain Tahyang is so generous.”
“Surely you didn’t rush at the captain like that too?”
Tahyang wandered alone without giving orders or commanding the men, but in important matters he always helped Gene. Above all, he had joined the patrol with Gene and helped turn this place into the House of the Hawk. The men called him “Captain Tahyang.” Gene was simply “Captain.”
Luke drained his cup before replying.
“What? When did I ever rush at anyone? I always speak only artistic truth. Ah, cats. You can’t imagine how I loved Blacktail from my neighborhood. Always saved him watermelon rinds.”
“Do cats eat watermelon rind?”
“Why not? He ate them well. Last time I got paid for a manuscript, I even gave him a boiled egg.”
“What, an egg? He probably cursed you mightily while he ate it. You damned fool, what do you take a cat for?”
Then one man asked, “By the way, why are you here? As Captain Tahyang said, you don’t look built for patrol work.”
Luke raised his chin.
“I have my circumstances. As I told you, I’m a poet. If a fight breaks out, I’ll be hiding at the very top of the third floor and won’t come down. In truth, the captain asked me for a private favor. You fellows are good at fighting, he said, but it’s a shame you’re a little short on culture. That’s why I’ve left my nice café to come to a gloomy place like…”
Someone struck Luke on the back of the head with a book. He looked back. Of course, it was Gene. Then Gene slapped his right hand against Tahyang’s in greeting and sat down. Since the blow had not been particularly hard, Luke made a fuss.
“Ah, our captain. Always such a refined patrol captain, wandering about looking for books. Do you fellows know? The captain even reads Elvish.”
That was something Gene did not want revealed. This time he kicked Luke’s heel. Oblivious, Harat widened his eyes and asked, “Is that true, Captain? You know Elvish too? Like an elf?”
“Oh, surely he can’t be serious.”
At another man’s answer, Gene took his opportunity.
“How could he be? Now go and clear the plates, all of you. Who’s on duty? You lot, isn’t it?”
“Ah, Captain. Since when do you remember who’s washing up?”
“It was fine eating it, but clearing it away is no little task either.”
Despite their complaints, the men rose readily and left the fire. Frowning, Luke looked at Gene. He had certainly seen Gene read Elvish. Why would he hide it? Of course, people did tend to think Elvish was known only by royalty and scholars…
Before Luke could pursue that thought, Gene spoke.
“You seem to keep getting strange ideas. I told you plainly: tomorrow you return the books, then you hide here for two days and leave. If I’d had a way to carry forty-seven books back alone, I wouldn’t have brought you here at all. This isn’t a place for supporting freeloaders.”
“It sounds as though you’re saying, having kept me alive for three days, it won’t matter if I die afterward.”
“Why would you die?”
“Leonis will munch me from the head down if I don’t hand over the manuscript.”
“Leonis is an impresario, not a wild beast. Write the manuscript, and that’s that.”
“It won’t be written!”
“How did you write them all this time, if they won’t be written?”
“I’d like to say, ‘I don’t know either, and it’s driving me mad!’ But in fact, I know the reason very well. Ever since The King of Mea succeeded, Leonis has told me to keep writing the same thing. I somehow endured it for two more pieces, but I can’t do it anymore. I’d sooner snap my fingers.
“The front of this script and the back of the last could be cut and pasted together and scarcely anyone would notice. Even Leonis took two whole days to realize. Ugh.”
Hearing the honest explanation at last, Gene could understand it to a degree. But he was not in a position to concern himself only with someone else’s circumstances.
“That’s your problem. Do I have to go to war with the Calx Cross over you?”
“Why would there be a war?”
“Didn’t you hear me promise earlier to return you?”
“Oh, does the mighty ShadowHawk worry over a couple of mere low-ranking Calx Cross members? Don’t worry. In a day or two, they’ll forget. You have no idea how much those fellows have to do.”
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