Chapter 15: 15: More Lunch, Plus Musings on Life and Stuff

Forty minutes or so later, Wren was stuffed.

It had been unbelievably worth it, though. She’d eaten at all sorts of places in Din, which - as the capital - was supposed to be the home of the finest eateries, indeed the finest everythings; she’d sampled cuisine renowned as some of the best in the world, prepared by the fanciest chefs. But, honestly, none of that could hold a candle to the simple, hearty, delicious food she’d just stuffed down in the courtyard of a little tearoom in a town in the middle of nowhere.

“I’m gonna regret this,” she mumbled, staring at the last bit of cake speared on her fork. Then she stuffed it into her mouth anyway. “Nope. Never gonna regret this.”

“Have you enjoyed your food?” asked Marjia, appearing from nowhere at Wren’s side.

“Hells!” squealed Wren, and the bit of cake found its way down some part of her throat that wasn’t the one food was supposed to go down. She spluttered, holding up a finger to try to communicate something along the lines of “give me a second, it’s fine, it’s not your fault, I’ll be perfectly alright in a moment.”

Marjia, a look of shock and concern on her face, waved to the table where the three sisters were sitting. One of them - the youngest, perhaps - stood and strode calmly over, then patted Wren once on the back. Immediately, the sensation faded, and Wren was left breathing coughlessly and clearly (albeit with a few tears in her eyes to remind her of the ordeal).

“Thanks,” she said, taking a sip of tea (she’d got through several pots over the course of her lunch, and the last one was still just hot enough). The choking hazard had disappeared so quickly and completely that there was only one explanation for what had just happened. “Red mage, I take it?”

The woman nodded. “Yeah. Name’s Carmine Caramin. Those are my sisters, Caroline and Catherine.” She pointed to the two other women at the table, who waved in turn.

“Your parents liked the letter C,” Wren observed.

Not that I’m one to talk, given my parents’ naming choices.

“Could all be spelled with Ks,” Carmine said.

There was a brief pause.

“Nah, they’re all Cs. We do have a brother called Fred, though.”

Wren nodded, then swallowed. “Glad you were still here,” she said,

“Honestly,” said Carmine, scratching the back of her neck, “I kinda thought you might need someone to clear up a choke or heartburn or something, the way you were going at that food. Figured maybe I should stick around, and any excuse for another cup of tea’s good by me.”

“Thank you, dear,” said Marjia, who was bouncing around on her toes fretfully. “I’d hate to think that anyone could get hurt on our food.”

“I don’t think it was the food,” said Carmine, a twinkle in her eye, “so much as the sheer amount our friend here was inhaling.”

“I was hungry,” said Wren sheepishly.

Carmine winked. “You don’t say.”

“It’s Wren, by the way,” Wren suddenly blurted, realising she hadn’t introduced herself. “Me, I mean.”

“Good to meet you,” said Carmine, nodding. “You ever need medical help, you come find me, okay?” She put a hand on Wren’s shoulder, and Wren felt a pleasant shifting in her stomach, as if a burgeoning tension had been eased. “That should keep you from getting indigestion too badly. On the house this time, but the next one’s chargeable.”

“More than fair,” said Wren, filled with a rush of gratitude. Nobody in Din would ever have done something like that: used their magic to help for free, even if it were such a small effort as to cost them nothing.

“On the other hand,” said Marjia, firmly but politely and with a slight air of mischief about her, “there is a bill for the food, I’m afraid.”

“Worth every copper,” said Wren, patting her belly with satisfaction.

“Thirty-five crowns and six coppers,” said Marjia.

“And still worth every one of them,” Wren declared, rummaging in her pockets. She found a coin and produced it, beaming. “One giltcrown.”

“Oh,” said Marjia, blinking at it. “Don’t see many of those. You some sort of fancy wealthy person down from Din?”

“Oh, no,” said Wren. “No, this is the only one I have, but I can’t think of a better use for it.”

“I’ll get your change,” said Marjia with a smile, taking the heavy golden coin and bustling off.

Carmine patted Wren once more on the shoulder, this time with no magic involved. “Are you staying long?” she asked.

Wren opened her mouth, then closed it again. She let a lengthy exhale whoosh from her nostrils. She looked at the empty plates in front of her, at the buildings of the Twin Cob Tearoom, at the sky, at her own hands. “I don’t know,” she admitted eventually. “Maybe.”

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“Hm.” Carmine’s eyebrows twitched in thought. “It’s probably not the sort of place that’s for everyone, you know? Some people like it all to be… busier, bigger. More.” She widened her eyes on the last word for emphasis. “But for those who want a bit of a quieter life… well, this is a good place to be. Although,” she added with a slight frown, “it has been more eventful than usual the past year or so, what with Grafredun and - er, other things.” She caught herself as if about to divulge something she shouldn't, but Wren barely noticed.

“I don’t know what I want,” Wren muttered.

Carmine regarded her for a moment, then sighed and sat down in the chair next to her. “A lot of people just don’t,” she said, bluntly but not unkindly. “A lot of people never do. Some do, of course. Our cousin, Camilla, she knew when she was… I don’t know, four or five that she wanted to be a marine biologist, of all things. So everything she did from then on, she chose the paths that would lead her to that goal. Moved somewhere with a good school for learning about that kind of thing, took extra classes, spent a lot of time swimming in the sea. And now that’s exactly what she is. Spends her days diving off the coast studying the animals under the water.”

Wren whistled. “I envy that,” she admitted.

“Oh, me too,” said Carmine, sounding legitimately begrudging. “But then, there must be plenty of other kids who decide they’re gonna be this one thing, base their whole lives and identity and all their decisions around it, and then never make it. And that must be… devastating.” She frowned for a moment, then abruptly perked up. “Which is why I decided when I was young to just do the things I liked at the time. If I just kept doing what seemed the most interesting, surely that couldn’t help but lead me into something I’d enjoy as an adult, right?”

“Did it work?”

“Oh, not at all.” Carmine waved a hand as if entirely disowning the slightest possibility of such a thing. “I kept changing my mind, doing literature and then locksmithing for a while, went to Ellinton to study music, Ellmouth to try to fish for crab or something, I don’t know. It was only when I was in my mid-twenties that I found out I had a bit of latent magic, and then I just got lucky. Happened to find someone who could help me wake it up and shape it, and then I realised I really liked helping people when they needed it. When they were hurt. So I moved back here, where I grew up, worked on becoming a good red mage, and just fell into being that. And now that’s what I am, and I’m happy.”

Wren mulled it over. “So what you’re saying is… some people know what they wanna do at a young age, but it’s basically luck whether they end up in that or not, and some people just hope for the best and then it’s still basically luck whether they wind up in a good place or not.”

Carmine bit her lower lip. “Well, that’s not quite what I was going for when I started, but I guess that kind of is what I said, yeah.”

Wren groaned quietly.

“Maybe the best chance you have of winding up in a place you like is… I don’t know, just committing to a good opportunity when it shows up,” Carmine mused. “Or maybe it’s just about preparing yourself to make the most of whatever happens. I don’t know. Life’s tricky.”

“Life’s tricky,” Wren agreed.

Carmine sighed heavily, then stood. “Well, anyway,” she said, “it was nice meeting you, and I hope you find what you’re looking for. Or that you realise you’ve got something good enough that you can stop looking. Or something.” She held out a hand.

Wren shook it. “I hope so too.”

Marjia chose that moment to return with Wren’s change: fourteen crowns and four coppers. “Thank you for your patronage,” the tearoom proprietor said with a wide smile.

“Oh, I’ll be back,” Wren assured her.

I don’t know what I’m doing with my life, or anything close to that, but I sure as all the hells know I’m coming back to the Twin Cob tearoom.

~~~

After a few more minutes of simply sitting and enjoying the courtyard, and the lingering sensation of having eaten incredibly well, Wren waved farewell to the Caramin sisters and Marjia. Remembering what Myrinna had said about her next stop being on the other side of the Twin Cob, she headed out of a gate opposite the one through which she’d entered and found herself on a path that was just about wide and maintained enough to be called a road, with thick hedges on either side. One direction led back to the junction with the road to Ellinton, so she headed the other way, crossing a small bridge - so small it only took a few steps to cross, in fact - over a fast-flowing stream and heading up a slight incline.

Carmine’s words floated around in her head as she walked. She had always known she hadn’t yet found whatever the thing for her was, and the older she got, the more ashamed she felt of that. As people around her had stopped calling her a “curious girl, interested in everything” and started saying things like “indecisive woman, can’t settle down”, she had internalised that perhaps there simply was no place for her. That maybe there was no place, really, for anyone, but that some people were lucky enough to have the capacity in their hearts to be content with ending up in one situation or another. For a while, she’d tried to find comfort in the notion that in fact nobody really knew what they were doing, but she didn’t think that was quite right. Some, like Carmine’s cousin, picked something and stuck with it. But she had never felt able to do that.

If I had to settle down anywhere, she thought, not sure whether this line of thinking was morose or hopeful, this wouldn’t be the worst place to do it. Good food, at least.

Deep in thought, she nearly walked into a sign face-first, but just about managed to duck out of the way in time. As she straightened up again, she remembered - having quite forgotten that she was on her way anywhere - that this was her destination: the house with the big bottle on the sign.

Clair’s Distillery, said the sign.

“That’ll be the one,” muttered Wren.

She opened the little gate; it was wrought of slender iron bars twisted into various patterns, and what looked like old metal measuring implements - funnels, long straws, flasks - had been tied to it with wire. Up the short path, crunchy with small stones, was a quaint cottage with stained glass windows depicting the sun over rolling hills. The path wound around the side; Wren wandered along, towards the back of the house, and found a smaller wooden building with one great sliding door that was wide open, making it look almost as if the structure had only three sides.

Inside, she saw as she approached, was a veritable array of tanks, flasks, vials, tubes, burners, and bottles. And, standing with their backs to her and in the throes of what sounded like an impassioned disagreement, were two people.

“I told you,” said the taller of the two in a voice that was hoarse but rich, like smoke pumping through the stump of an old tree, “it’s just not possible.”

“I don’t think that’s right, though,” said the other in a clearer but far quieter voice. “The maths works out - I know that’s not proof, but it means it’s possible, surely.”

“Smoke and flame to the maths,” scoffed the first. “You can make numbers confirm anything you want after the fact, but predicting things, that’s a whole other - oh.”

She turned her head towards Wren.

“Hey, Junie,” she said, “we’ve got a visitor.”