This Used To Be About Dungeons полностью

“So we have to do four rounds of ale?” asked Hannah. “Three is my limit, especially if we’re going for a long walk tomorrow.”

Isra had never had ale before but didn’t want to say this out loud because it would once more mark her as different from the others. Knowing she was a druid had helped to put some of her life into context, but it was only a part of it. She had been raised by a man from Tarbin, one who kept to himself out in the woods. Her customs were different, and Alfric, who should have been an ally, seemed to be so much a member of his big city that his ancestry seemed irrelevant.

The ales came, and not long after them, the food, served on heavy ceramic plates. Isra picked at hers with a fork for a moment before taking a bite, and she was surprised to find how good it was. She was familiar with all of the ingredients in principle, as all of it was local, but she had never had cause to eat chicken before, and the combination of them was, to her unsophisticated tongue, masterful. She had no idea how it could have been accomplished. Isra didn’t do much in the way of cooking, other than preserving, which she’d done less of since getting the chiller. How did someone turn chicken, salt, butter, and herbs into something like this? It seemed impossible.

“I think she saw us eating,” said Mizuki, whose mouth was half full. “She turned up the effect.”

“The effect?” asked Isra.

“Making things taste better,” said Alfric. “It’s one of the things bards are used for, sensory enhancement or dampening. There’s a bit of an emotional effect in what she’s doing too, making everyone feel a bit happier, more at ease.”

“I don’t feel at ease,” said Isra.

“Works with what you have,” said Hannah. “But she’s probably goin’ the other way with it, not deadenin’ the stress, but enhancin’ the,” she waved her hand, “the other one. A sense of—” She stopped and took another bite of her chicken. “Even without the effect, this would be good.” Whatever word she’d been searching for, it seemed as though it was going to be left unfound.

Isra ate some more, and there was a general silence. “There are bards at every tavern?” she asked, once she’d finished with the chicken. She liked to eat her meals taking each item in turn, and as she looked, she saw that the same was true for Alfric but not for Mizuki or Hannah, who were alternating their bites between each of the things on their plates.

“Almost every tavern,” said Alfric. “It’s part of the point of a tavern. Verity is something special, obviously, but I’d wager you can find at least one half-ring bard in every hex this size.” He took another bite of his vegetables, a slice of potato, and Isra watched the way he held his fork. He pointed it down, like an extension of a grabbing motion, and the method he used reminded Isra of a raccoon’s fastidiousness. That of course brought to mind the comparison of dungeon monsters to three raccoons, which had been ridiculous.

“But not many druids,” said Isra.

“No,” said Alfric. “Not many.”

“Easy enough to make them,” said Hannah. “But it’s hard to get volunteers, ay. The number of women who want to go through childbirth alone and raise a child for three years is precious slim. And of course a druid can be a bit of a troublesome child, if you don’t mind me sayin’.”

“Troublesome how?” asked Isra.

“Oh, with notions of plants and animals, that’s all I mean,” said Hannah. “There are a few stories I’ve heard, about a boy who took in rats as friends or those who wouldn’t eat their dinner because it had once been an animal. That’s all.”

“What’s wrong with being a friend to a rat?” asked Isra.

“They’re vermin,” said Alfric. “They eat our food and spread disease. I don’t mean to say it so harshly, but I know there are things that you’re only learning now, and I think it’s best to help you learn them. Take no shame in it.” Isra liked hearing that, and she did like the way Alfric spoke. He was direct and to the point in a way that other people only rarely were, and he had both an understanding of the unwritten rules as well as a willingness to put them into language.

“But if a rat were your friend, you could ask it not to do those things,” said Isra. “I understand the point, but surely they could see the boy’s view when they talked to him?”

“To be honest,” said Hannah. “I’m not so sure such a boy ever existed. Might just be a funny story.”

It hadn’t even crossed Isra’s mind that someone would find humor in such a story. A boy who had made friends with a rat, a boy who couldn’t understand why that wasn’t allowed, a boy who was right in what he did, ridiculed? Perhaps she was misunderstanding the story, or perhaps there was more to it that would make the humor clear, but Isra found herself not wishing to hear more.