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Hugo has only been in Corona for an hour and he already wants to never step foot in this awful kingdom ever again. One hour. They’re not even in the main city, and yet somehow— because the gods hate him— their wagon broke down. He’s hot. He’s gross and sweaty because the sun is disgustingly intense, and he’s hungry.
Honestly, hunger should probably be the least of his concerns. They’re stuck on the outskirts of the main city, in a place called Old Corona— because that’s creative— with no spare wheel and no one around to ask for help.
But Hugo is nine years old, and he’s hungry. So naturally, that’s all he can think about.
He’s gone hungry before. He’s an orphan who spent years on the dirty streets of Ingvarr with no money and nowhere to go. Obviously you don’t go through something like that without experiencing hunger.
But when Donella took him in, she made a promise. He would have a place with her crew, a roof over his head, food to eat. Somewhere to belong.
Hugo never put much belief into promises, but he believed her the night she took him in. She kept that promise so far.
Cyrus, however, doesn’t seem to care.
“Cyrus, I’m hungry,” he whines for what feels like the millionth time.
The older man doesn’t look up from where he’s inspecting the wheel. It’s stuck in some kind of weird pink adhesive, stronger than both of them combined. Cyrus huffs in frustration as he pokes it with the stick, watching it get sucked in as well. “Grab the spare wheel from the back of the wagon.”
“I’m hungry.”
“Hugo, we have bigger things to worry about. Go get the spare wheel.”
Hugo scowls and sticks out his tongue, but he does what he’s told anyway. From his pocket, he feels a light scratching and a moment later, Olivia pops her head out curiously. Hugo giggles as she scrambles to perch on top of his head, one of her favorite spots as of late.
He finds the wheel with ease, though it’s a bit of a struggle to lift it.
“Hey, kid!” Cyrus calls impatiently. “Pass me that wheel!”
Hugo takes a step forward when something stops him. He feels a pair of eyes on him and his gaze snaps up.
There, standing across the dirt road, is a boy around his age, just… staring at him. His gaze is slightly unsettling— why do people with blue eyes never blink?— and he has a stripe of blue hair that stands out amongst the sea of black curls around it. Strange, but Hugo’s seen weirder. He’s wearing a pair of goggles not unlike Hugo’s current pair (though the stranger’s are a lot nicer and less broken), and in his gloved hands lie a pile of glistening red apples.
Hugo hates how his mouth waters at the sight.
They stand there like that for who knows how long. Seconds, minutes? It feels like hours before the boy blinks rapidly and looks away. His eyes drop to the wheel, widen a bit, then go up to Cyrus. He hasn’t noticed the boy yet, too focused on trying to get the wheel unstuck. The boy swallows, visibly nervous now (for what reason?), and steps back. With one last glance at Hugo, he takes off down the road.
Weird.
***
Yet another wonderful thing about traveling with Cyrus? Hugo becomes the errand boy. While Cyrus stays back to replace the wheel, he had sent Hugo into the main part of Corona with a bag. Inside it lies whatever they’re supposed to be delivering to a client. It’s the whole reason they were in Corona in the first place, only it wasn’t supposed to take so long and Hugo wasn’t supposed to be the only going to deliver it.
“You’ll be fine,” Cyrus had told him. “There’s an alleyway not too far from the center of the city. In it, an alcove that’ll hide the bag unless someone is actively looking for it. You’ll know it when you see it. Don’t stray, our client is waiting and she’s not a patient person.”
Yeah, okay. One of Hugo’s first missions and there’s already high stakes. He can do it, though. He just has to push through the heat, hunger, slight sunburn he can feel starting to form, and the mosquitoes buzzing around him. Easy stuff.
The heat eases up the deeper into the kingdom he goes, which is a relief to say the least. It’s still uncomfortably humid, but at least Hugo can breathe without feeling suffocated by heat. Not too far away, the sound of light, jovial music fills the air. He follows the sound curiously. Is there a festival? A celebration of some kind? He knows Corona is infamous for their numerous celebrations. As annoying as it is, a large crowd would be perfect for Hugo to sneak around in, maybe even pickpocket a few people on the way.
He follows a cobblestone path as the music gets louder. He can hear people talking, kids laughing, and as he steps between two bindings, he finally finds the source of it all. An outdoor marketplace.
The market is huge. It’s nothing like the sparse stalls back in his side of Ingvarr, here there are vendors stretched out as far as the eye can see, selling everything Hugo could imagine.
“Whoa,” he murmurs as he takes in all the vibrant colors. He knew Corona and Ingvarr were different, but this? The saturated colors, the lively music, the clean streets, the air being clean instead of a smoggy atmosphere like he’s used to, the heavenly smell of—
Food.
Hugos grins widely at Olivia, whose nose has perked up as well. No distractions, Cyrus said. Get in. Deliver the stuff. Get out.
Surely he wouldn’t mind if Hugo took a little detour first, right? Just to find a snack?
But Donella would, he thinks. It doesn’t matter that she isn’t here right now, he needs to prove that he has what it takes to be one of the best. Besides, they have a client waiting for them. An impatient one, at that.
Hugo takes a hesitant step towards an alleyway before his stomach growls again. Another delicious scent fills the air, one he doesn’t recognize. He can tell it’s a pastry, something sweet that makes his mouth water. How long has it been since he’s had the privilege of eating something sweet?
Another slow step towards the alleyway. He really should get going. Shouldn’t keep the client waiting.
But how much longer will it be before he gets this chance again? Cyrus never lets them stop for food unless it’s absolutely necessary, and he never lets Hugo get sweets. Donella views sugar as a waste of money and resources, since they hardly do anything useful for the human body.
Another whiff, stronger this time thanks to the gust of wind that blows by, gently rustling his hair.
That’s all it takes for Hugo to bolt off away from the alley and deeper into the market.
Olivia tightly clings to his shirtsleeve, clearly not having anticipated Hugo’s sudden urgency. She lets out a string of angry squeaks, and Hugo laughs.
“I know girl, but we’ve gotta be quick. We don’t have much time.” He tries to convince himself just as much as her that it won’t take long. Just a quick stop and he’ll be in his way.
She squeaks again and he moves her into his breast pocket so she’s more secure.
Hugo finds the source of the heavenly scent soon enough; a stand filled to the brim with produce. Apples, blueberries, watermelon, every summer fruit imaginable laid out before his eyes. But what catches his eye are the small, circular pastries on display, steaming and oh so tempting. His mouth waters at the sight. He looks around. The vendor doesn’t seem to be nearby, maybe he could just snag one—
“Hi!”
A boy pops up from behind the stall and Hugo does not shriek. He doesn’t .
“Sorry!” The boy exclaims nervously. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I just—“
“You didn’t scare me,” Hugo huffs indignantly. Then, he really gets a good look at the boy. “Hey, you’re the kid with the apples.”
“The kid with the—?“ his eyes light up in recognition. “Oh, it’s you!” Then his expression shifts into something a little more tentative. “Uhm, were you guys able to fix the wheel?”
“Uh, sure,” Hugo mumbles, thrown off by Hairstripe’s bubbly demeanor. “I mean, it’s obvious that the adhesive could’ve been dissolved with some kind of acid.” He didn’t feel like telling Cyrus that, though, purely out of spite.
Hairstripe leans a forward, seemingly not caring that he almost crushes one of the pastries. “Actually, acid wouldn’t work. It needs a specific kind of solution with acidic properties, but not acid itself. You’d be better off just replacing the wheel.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I uh, I would’ve helped fix it but I was already late to meet my dad.”
At this, Hugo snorts. “You know how to fix a wagon wheel?” This scrawny kid who’s probably standing on the tips of his toes to reach the stand? Hugo would sooner believe the myth of the Sundrop than buy this kid’s fib.
“Well, yeah?” He asks, clearly taken aback. “I’m an alchemist, but I dabble in engineering. I know a thing or two. Besides, it’s a life skill. You don’t have to be a genius to figure out how to replace a wagon wheel.”
Amateur, Hugo thinks with a smirk. “That’s cute, but a real engineer can do a lot more than just fix a wheel.”
Hairstripe’s eyes narrow. “It’s a hobby. How many people do you know are engineers as a hobby?”
Hugo could think of a few people. “There’s a difference between engineering as a hobby and being a real engineer.”
“Is there a difference?” Hairstripe retorts, and Hugo bites back a laugh. It’s always funny to rile people up, though there’s something about this kid that makes it downright entertaining. Maybe it’s because he’s so quick to defend himself, or because the tips of his ears grow red like they’re sunburned. Either way, he’s having fun.
“Besides,” Hairstripe continues, “I don’t take criticism from people who clearly don’t appreciate true science. Or understand it, as we can clearly see from your idea to dissolve the goo with plain acid.”
Okay, he takes it back. Definitely not fun anymore. Hugo scowls. True science? As if he isn’t one of the brightest minds working for Donella despite being the youngest. As if he didn’t create his own mechanical mouse using his extensive knowledge of both engineering and magic!
He’s about to retort when said mechanical mouse pops out of his breast pocket.
“Hey— no!” He hisses, trying to gently push her back, but it’s too late. Hairstripe’s eyes are already on her, wide and full of curiosity.
“Whoa!” Hairstripe exclaims, irritation immediately forgotten. “Where did you get her?”
Hugo puffs up in indignation. “I made her, thank you very much.”
Hairstripe’s mouth drops open. “You made her?”
“I’m an engineer, of course I did.”
Olivia tilts her head curiously at the boy, who giggles as if they hadn’t been arguing just a few seconds ago. “She’s so lifelike.” He giggles when she jumps out of the pocket she’d been hiding in, despite Hugo’s protest to sniff at Hairstripe’s hand.
“Hi,” the boy coos, stretching a finger out towards her. “I’m Varian, what’s your name?”
Olivia obviously doesn’t answer, glancing at the steaming pastries lined up. Before Varian can say anything else, she darts for one of them and tries to drag it over to Hugo, who quickly reaches out and snatches her.
He puts her back in her designated pocket with a nervous smile, expecting Varian to be mad that she tried stealing from his stand. This exact situation has happened plenty of times back in Ingvarr, and none of the vendors were too happy about it. Why would this be any different?
But Varian doesn’t seem upset at all, only perplexed as he looks back at Hugo. “Is she hungry?”
Hugo blinks. He’s not upset? Why wouldn’t he be upset? Olivia just tried stealing from him, anyone else would—
Varian clears his throat. “Is she?” He asks again. “Because I—“
Hugo scoffs, finally finding his voice. “Don’t be ridiculous, she can’t eat.”
“But why— oh!” Varian’s whole demeanor changes like a lightbulb in his head just lit up. “Are you hungry? Sorry, I should’ve offered one.”
He is hungry, something that had been momentarily forgotten when the conversation had turned to Olivia. His stomach is all too eager to remind him now, growling and making him wince. “But… I don’t have any money.”
Varian shrugs with a crooked smile, already reaching for one of the pastries. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
Hugo takes it from his gloved hands and looks down at it skeptically. “What is it?”
“Little apple pies! I accidentally added too much pumpkin spice when dad wasn’t looking, though.” Varian puts a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell him.”
Hugo eyes the pie suspiciously, but it’s not difficult to give into temptation with how much his mouth is watering from the smell alone. He hesitantly brings it to his lips and takes a bite.
It’s probably the best thing Hugo has tasted in a long time. It’s still hot and he burns his tongue a little, but it’s quickly forgotten in lieu of the wonderful sweetness that fills his mouth. Varian was right about there being too much pumpkin spice because it’s certainly there and a little overpowering, but Hugo couldn’t care less.
He doesn’t notice the growing smile on Varian’s face until he’s almost finished with his pie. His face grows warm when he does notice, clearing his throat and wiping crumbs off his face.
“So?” Varian asks eagerly. “How’s it taste?”
Hugo shrugs, feigning apathy. “Too much pumpkin spice.”
Varian doesn’t scowl like Hugo hoped he would, he just laughs a bit. His nose scrunches up as he does and Hugo finds himself wanting to return the smile. “I’m still getting the hang of baking. I like it though, it’s a lot like alchemy.”
Hugo supposes it makes sense, though he wouldn’t know. He does more cooking than baking, and that’s only when Donella allows him to.
“Do you bake?”
Hugo shakes his head, finishing the pie. “I cook sometimes.”
“Lucky.” Varian pouts. “Dad says I’m not allowed to cook anymore ‘cuz I almost set the house on fire last time.”
Lucky. That’s not a word Hugo would ever use to describe himself, but to each their own. Besides, he doubts this boy would understand why Hugo is anything but lucky even if he explained it.
Olivia catches his attention, tugging at the fabric of his shirt. She chirps at him, then at the bag slung around Hugo’s shoulder.
Oh, right. He’s on a mission.
Hugo’s hand rests on his bag. He needs to leave before he’s even later, before Cyrus grows impatient and uses this to convince Donella that Hugo isn’t ready to be trusted with things like this. He has to go. He should.
So why haven’t his feet moved?
Varian, who was still rambling about a kitchen fire and how he didn’t mean to burn the cabinets, pauses when he notices Olivia’s restless energy. “Is she okay?” He asks, head tilted to the side. His fingers twitch, clearly antsy to touch her, but he holds back.
Hugo clears his throat. “She’s fine. We uh, we have to go, though.”
“Oh.” Varian’s face falls a bit. “Like… now?”
His stomach does a funny thing at the look on his face and he does everything he can do ignore it. “Yeah, I’ve got somewhere to be.”
Varian frowns. “Oh, okay.” He fidgets with his gloves. “Will you— will you come back?”
Should he? No, he already knows he’s testing Cyrus’ patience by stalling this long. For a moment he considers it, weighing whether or not it’ll be worth being on the receiving end of Cyrus’ irritation.
“I don’t think so,” he eventually replies.
Varian nods, eyes downcast. “Okay. Well… bye, then.”
Hugo gives him and mutters a quick “thanks” for the food before he turns on his heel and practically runs through the market until the produce stall is out of sight.
He ducks into an alleyway once the market is out of sight, pressing his back against a wall. Hugo presses a clammy palm to his chest to feel the rapid beating of his heart.
Stop, he thinks. What’s happening? Is he having a panic attack? Over what? Hugo takes a few deep breaths before forcing himself to keep moving. He doesn’t have time for this.
Hugo thinks of Varian as he weaves through alleys and empty streets, of his kindness. Why would he do something like that? People don’t just give out free things unless they’re poisoned or they want something. The pie certainly didn’t taste poisonous (Hugo would know), so that would mean Varian wanted something from him. But what ? He racks his brain as he moves, trying to think of any possible ulterior motive the other boy would’ve had. He comes up blank.
“It just doesn’t make sense,” he tells Olivia. “People aren’t nice like that.” They pretend to be, as long as you’re useful to them. But Hugo wasn’t useful to Varian in any way, shape, or form. He was a nuisance. His mouse tried to steal from him. And yet, even though Hugo was less than kind, Varian still smiled at him and offered him food.
Who does that?
Not wanting to think about it any longer, Hugo chalks it up to living in a kingdom that isn’t in a state of constant poverty. Clearly this boy hasn’t faced hardship, which explains his naive kindness towards strangers. And that weird fluttery feeling in his stomach? Nothing more than satisfaction that Hugo got what he wanted. It’s the only logical answer, he doesn’t know what else it would be.
Hugo leaves the bag in its designated spot, in a small alcove hidden from the public eye. The shadows obscure it well enough that no one would see it unless they knew exactly where to look. Hopefully Cyrus will have the wheel fixed by now, and they’ll never have to step foot in this hot, disgusting, confusing kingdom ever again. He’ll never have to see Varian again.
Olivia squeaks, softly tapping his arm, and he realizes he’s frowning. Huh. Interesting.
“Let’s go, Liv,” he says instead of dwelling on it further. “Cyrus is waiting.”
When Hugo reaches the outskirts of the main city, he can’t help but look back for just a moment. He can barely see the market from here, but he can hear the music drifting through the air like a siren song calling for him to stay.
He doesn’t, of course, and he and Cyrus are out of the kingdom by the end of the day. He doesn’t tell Cyrus about Varian, and especially not about the pie.
Hugo also doesn’t tell Cyrus that just for a moment, before he left, he very nearly stayed.