Rook realized he was about to be subjected to an unfamiliar ordeal - one he was too late to object.

  This business street saw busier days. The sector was left untouched by violence—no soot on the walls, dust from ruins, or even the smell of flame and rot. The specter of fear lingered, as quiet buildings and watchful windows seemed to follow whoever was on the streets. Though largely unaffected by the gun battle that roared at the near-center of town, many residents decided to stay in their homes. Lowered curtains and closed windows betrayed their wariness. The empty streets, broken only by the occasional soldier's patrol, told more than any posted warning. Only shops that doubled as homes dared to open to customers.

  That did not stop them from entertaining a young woman with an even younger companion.

  Euphemia brought Rook from one place to another. There was a pattern: she spoke with an attendant, pointed to him, then he was left to figure things out on his own while she sat behind, usually at the nearby cafe, drinking tea or eating something. It started with the bathhouse, followed by the dressers, and finally led to a hunting goods store.

  Rook got out of the sequence sporting a new coat, three sets of shirts and pants, a backpack, and a few food tins. He sniffed at his clothes; the new fabric with a weak splash of fragrance was unfamiliar to his nose. Years of smelling sweat, smoke, and the occasional mold made him feel like someone else.

  "How do you feel, Rook?" Euphemia sat still at a cafe table, an empty teacup and a clean plate in front of her.

  "The bath was great, I guess." Rook scratched his head while looking at the new shirt he sported. "Do I have to pay you back? I don't think I could. The prices on these things..."

  "Think nothing of it." She said, "A proper traveler should be suited with the best outfits money can afford."

  She looked at the standing waiter and asked for a menu. Euphemia handed the leather-bound article to Rook. She asked:

  "You won't have trouble reading this, will you?"

  "Uh... I can read it."

  "Good. Pick what you want, and worry nothing else but how to finish it."

  "You're not giving me all this stuff until I can never pay you back, right?"

  Euphemia closed her lips, barring a giggle from escaping. "All this is a little grace I can give you."

  "I don't have a choice but to trust you, right?" Rook's eyes climbed up the menu to meet Euphemia's before sinking behind the brown covers again.

  "At least, trust me for now, until you can find a way on your own."

  This was different from the ink-stained scrawls he remembered on many restaurants Rook visited. It was written in fine ink; the words were made to be presentable to anyone who dined here. There were small sections where small painted images of featured dishes were drawn. These watercolor renditions brought another person, or rather another being, to read the menu with him.

  "Try that bread and pretzel basket, then some ham and cheese. Get some white sausages too..."

  "Wait. You're going too fast. Hey. Metis?"

  "Of course. I can't leave you making all the boring choices on your own."

  "You can talk even when I'm awake?"

  "It's a lot less fun if we can only reach out to you when you're asleep. The others got to you this way, so why not me?"

  "What about the others? Aren't they saying anything to you?"

  "They're happy, maybe relieved at least. One of them says you should get the most delicious ones out there. He also says it's about time we're about to taste something better from those awful things you used to eat."

  Rook couldn't help but utter some of the menu items in whispers. Euphemia sat still, her hands on her lap, until the boy lowered the menu and set it sideways, letting them see the full spread at the same time. The canoness spoke first:

  "I see that you've made your choices. What would they be?"

  The smell of baked bread from a passing waiter's tray made his stomach growl. Rook lowered the menu and pointed to two items—six dishes in all. Euphemia nodded and talked to him softly.

  "You are familiar with some of the Empire's tastes, I can see."

  "Not at all." Rook raked his hair and switched his stare to the right. "I was having what those people were having."

  Euphemia followed to where he stared. Three men in jackets and ties; the scent of burning tobacco rose from the blowing of a pipe. They were three tables apart from them. Menus were held differently; fingers were pointing at the list centered at the table. The cleric said:

  "You have such great eyesight. You can see what they're choosing from where we are?"

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  "Uh... yeah. From where I live, you need good eyes, or... or, you'll be muddy if you're not careful."

  "All right. Are those all that you're having?"

  "Yes."

  "You have quite the appetite, but it's no surprise. You're a growing boy, after all."

  Euphemia looked around for the waiter and raised her hand to call his attention. She pointed at the menu at what Rook wanted to eat, though the waiter hardly looked at him while the cleric was busy speaking. The lanky, shiny-haired young man turned his back and headed to the kitchen. It would take a long time for everything to be prepared. Euphemia broke the silence by asking:

  "How are you? Do you feel better after the untoward encounter that night?"

  "I'm a lot better now. Those hospital people were surprised that there wasn't even a scar." Rook bowed, as if looking at where that armed machine stabbed him before. "They thought I was only pretending so that I could sleep there."

  "They sent you out?" Euphemia's attention was still on him, though Rook's panned somewhere else. "No wonder I couldn't find you when I was at the town hospital."

  "You're going away, right?"

  The boy's eyes couldn't yet meet the canoness's, but he focused on the bag Euphemia asked him to carry. He also noticed the restaurant workers were putting plates and a basket. There was no reason to think his meals were not among those. He looked away from his companion until she said:

  "Not yet, at least until I can buy new dressings and other tools to replace what I used that night."

  "Couldn't you just ask the hospital and get those from them? You were a bigger help than any of them back then."

  "That is too much to ask of this town." Euphemia placed her clasped hands on the table. "Buying from their stores can help in its little way. The hospital heals bodies, while the shops keep this town alive."

  "Maybe you're right?" Rook tried to return the cleric's gaze, though his eyes wandered on her face and elsewhere. "Maybe I just don't get the way church people like you think. Where I'm from, you don't get any help if there's nothing you give back."

  "You'll understand why, someday, but not right away, at least."

  She looked at him with an academic curiosity; it was more like a teacher's fascination with a student. It was when Euphemia asked:

  "You don't seem like you're from around here, but you have a good grasp of our language. Tell me, where did you learn it, and how?"

  "Master had people from everywhere teach me this, and other things." Rook thought twice about scratching his head, but he gave in, ruffling brown strands that caught a warm tan in the sunlight. "They say I was good at this after giving me a week."

  "Learning how to speak in a week." Euphemia paused and noticed the sun becoming brighter. "I would love to ask more questions, but I don't want to upset you. We'll talk about this when things are not as tense as they are now."

  Both of them looked behind, following how the basket and plates were slowly filled with what they had ordered. Rook's hunger was louder than before, worsened by the smell of other dishes served to customers and the occasional tinkling of glass and ceramic from other tables. He rounded his palm on his gut while staring at another customer's serving of roasted fowl.

  At long last, the young man who took their order made two trips to their table to serve everything. Rook's fingers wasted no moment in enjoying, rapidly eating the food and trying his best not to stuff his mouth. Euphemia had a glass of milk and a copy of the day's newspaper. She had eaten her fill while Rook was being assisted by the store clerks whose faces he could not remember. It had been a while before she sat down and read the news. Both her parents did this after breakfast. Now it was Euphemia's turn to make it her practice. Rook caught a few of the headlines, though the small characters and how the cleric read through them made him not bother with reading the rest.

  The Incident at Altrecht: What the Investigators Say, So Far

  Imperial Unified Tax Proposal to be Submitted to the Law Ministry

  Frankish Separatists Declare War. "We Are Ready for Them," Monarchists Say

  Will Pauline Coeurland Pave the Way for Oriental Dresses in Kriemreich?

  Even Rook's hunger took its time to be filled. He was done with his meals just as Euphemia was halfway through the paper's feature articles. She closed the paper and looked at the boy again.

  "Did you enjoy it?" Euphemia looked at an empty bread basket and a stack of used plates.

  "I didn't know these could be even better when the right... ingr-, ingre-, stuff, is added to them."

  "The word you're looking for is 'ingredients', but delicious meals are great to have even once in a while." Euphemia folded the paper before putting it on the table. "I can't guarantee we will always have these, but we'll make the best of it."

  "I'm okay with anything."

  "That's good to hear. Now, let's go to the pharmacy so I can stock up for the journey ahead."

  Euphemia asked for the bill, waited for it to be served, and left a thin wad of Marks as payment. Rook looked at the money on that thin steel plate. There must be a change after everything has been paid for, but the cleric paid no mind, stood up, and went into the open street ahead. What kind of church lady walked around with more than enough to buy him clothes and treat him to a filling meal?

  Altrecht was becoming livelier with the sun asserting a higher climb. There were more people out and about, though the normality was broken by the random armored car from the Territorial Army parked in a gap between the shops. Some soldiers looked after the war machines, slurping morning coffee, feasting on what bread and meat the nearby bakery had to offer, and making remarks about yet another day of boring sentry duty.

  Euphemia found a pharmacy right beside one of the resting patrols. The exchange was quick: she entered the establishment, placed an order for a two-and-a-half dozen bandages, small bottles of oils and medicines, and sundries the boy did not bother to know, and Euphemia gave a thin spread of Imperial Marks before exchanging thanks and leaving.

  Noises of townsfolk and the chugging of nearby automobiles led them to Altrecht's riverside docks. An old steamer, probably two decades behind the newest boiler-fitted ships, rested on placid waters. Euphemia and Rook stepped on the wooden ramp that led to the vessel after a fast ticket purchase.

  She waited for other passengers to settle inside the ship, choosing to lean on the ship's edge for a final glance at the town. Rook was behind her, but she turned her attention towards him, saying:

  "This ship won't leave in another hour. Do you want to do something else in the meantime?"

  Rook shook his head before saying, "I don't even know what to do here anyway."

  "We're heading up this river. The town is closer to a large city. The air up there isn't as clean as it is here, so I'm taking the time to breathe as much of it before leaving."

  Euphemia gestured Rook to stand near the ship railings. The passenger queue was growing, and she wouldn't want to see the boy be bumped into by someone in a hurry. Rook nodded and stood beside her. Was the church in this country allowed to wield resources the way this magical lady had, or was it just his luck, good or bad, that he stumbled upon a rare kind of company?