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They keep telling her the War Room doesn’t need dusting and that she’s too old to be doing menial chores anyway – not to mention too important, having been a close companion of two queens – and that she should rest after her long service and let others care for her – in short, every argument that can be tried has been tried. And every morning Rebecca ignores them and makes her rounds. And stops in the War Room to tidy things, and look at the stained glass.
This morning there’s a moth. She’s seen him before, tall and skinny, wearing his wings in an odd way. He’s come alone, which, she seems to recall, is unusual. The bag he’s carrying smells faintly of spice. His voice is dust-dry: “Rebecca, do you still not remember us?”
She squints up at him. Something nags at her, but her eyes aren’t what they were. She has to get close – and then she feels the cold coming off of him. “Oh! Yes, of course, dearie. You’re that wizard from that adventuring team. You fought wasps with Ellie, didn’t you? Something of that nature?”
“That, too,” he says. Even up this close, there’s no expression whatsoever on his face. “But do we, maybe… has anything jogged your memory? Do we look like anyone you knew before?”
“Before? How far before?”
His claws tighten on the bag, just fractionally. “The first queen’s time.”
“Oh, dear boy. That was so long ago, and I’ve met so many people. I’m terribly sorry to disappoint.”
“No,” he says, “we figured it was a long shot. Never mind. That’s not really what we came for anyway.” Still dry, but a little rushed: he’s lying. She’s let him down. “We also wondered,” he says, “if you’d tell us more about your time with Elizant. The first. We… we’re curious about her.” He holds up the bag. “We brought snacks. Best bakery in Defiant Root.”
“You hardly need to bribe me, young man. I’ll talk about her any time.”
“Well, if you don’t like pie–”
“I didn’t say that.”
He opens the bag, and unwraps a neatly packaged –
Oh, now that scent is nostalgic. “Is that plumpling? From the Forsaken Lands? What a time you must have had hunting that down. And it’s odd, since you mention her – that was Elizant’s favorite.”
“Huh,” he says, pulling out a chair for her. “Funny coincidence.”
“Isn’t this sweet,” Vi says sarcastically. “Play dates for senior citizens.” Kabbu shushes her, Chuck shakes his walking stick at her and makes a rude noise, but Leif doesn’t say anything. Leif is slowly creeping closer to Chuck’s stew pot, antennae twitching. Vi considers warning Chuck, “don’t tell him to help himself or it’s gonna be the honey fountain all over again,” but when she thinks about it, she doesn’t actually care. Also, if Chuck kicks them out then Kabbu and Leif will have to stop dragging her along to visit him. Not that he’s a bad guy, but ugh, come on, out here in the sticks? Just so Kabbu can offer to cut his grass and he and Leif can talk for an hour and a half about something called “the metagame?”
Chuck says, “Help yourself, Leif,” and, well, that’s his own problem.
“We’ll trade you,” Leif says, politely handing over one of Fry’s breakfast specials. But then he starts going to town. Vi eats some glazed honey from her stash and stares at the pond. Kabbu… is cutting grass.
“You know,” Chuck says after a while, “I saw you kids sneaking past the guard the other day. Back into Snakemouth.”
Leif stops eating. Kabbu stops cutting grass. Vi also, kinda, somehow, feels this urge to go protect Leif from whatever’s about to happen.
“That’s your own affair, and I ain’t a snitch. But if you ever have business there again, you let old Chuck know, won’t you? Toss me one of these” – he holds up the remnants of his breakfast – “and I’ll even cover for you. I know that guard, she’ll never suspect me.”
Vi and Kabbu exchange glances. Kabbu shakes his head, and then looks at Leif. Leif says, “We hope we’ll never have to go there again.” He fidgets with the edge of the leaf bowl he’s been eating out of. Then he says in a more normal Leif-like voice, “But we appreciate the offer. Are there any other crimes you’d do for food? Please tell us your rates.”
Vi offers, “I’d do breaking and entering for a donut.”
Chuck says, “I’d impersonate a royal official for a fried egg.”
Kabbu says, “I am not listening to any of this,” and hauls Chompy with him to the far side of the hut.
Leif, munching thoughtfully, says, “We’d do tax fraud for the sheer hell of it.”
“We’ll admit it,” Leif says afterward, “we didn’t know we could do that.”
“So it’s like…” Vi squints at him, thinking. Thinking’s become more difficult, for some of the team. “It’s like another mushroom power.”
“It must be. As far as we can remember, the old Leif was a lightweight.”
“You’re still light,” says Kabbu. “I could carry you with ease. I can and I have.”
“We hope we won’t have to take you up on that again anytime soon, but thanks. We’ll make a note.”
When it became clear what kind of night this was going to be, Leif was, briefly, worried. Kabbu’s emotional to start with, and there’s a lot of dark stuff in his head; it’s easy to imagine him being a sad drunk. But he’s also responsible to a fault, and cut himself off fairly early. He’s just been kinda goofy and cheerful and, when he thinks no one is paying attention, humming to himself. Surprisingly tuneful. Make a note of this too: he can probably sing, and one of these days someone should make him.
Doppel refused to serve Vi after the second round, citing the need to avoid an “incident.” This was the correct call. She almost got lost walking home. She’s now lying on the floor. “I’m good, though. I’m good. I’m not going to sleep. I just like it here. I’ll get up when I feel like it.” Long pause. So long that maybe she has, in fact – “But seriously, Leif, you’re hardcore.”
Team Slacker (“Team Delilah,” Kabbu keeps saying, but it never sticks) invited them over to their table to chat about rumored monster sightings. And have a few drinks. And a few more. Stratos is huge, and Delilah is a mosquito, so they can run up pretty serious bar tabs. But Leif, to everyone’s consternation, pretty much kept up. And still feels almost no effect. Stratos tapped out; he could’ve kept going.
He stops to pet Chompy, who’s been guarding the house while they were out. “We wonder,” he says. “Maybe this means we also resist other poisons –”
Kabbu breaks off humming long enough to say, “You don’t. Remember that Danger Dish from Kut’s? You said ‘this is delicious’ and then you fell over and started convulsing. It was…” He grows serious, if not sober. “It was terrifying.”
Leif ponders. “But. You did hear us say it was delicious?”
Leif is a heavy sleeper. Getting to sleep isn't always easy, especially in light of recent revelations, but once he’s out, he’s out. Vi had some pointed things to say about this, in the early days. “LEIF WAKE UP BEFORE WE MISS THE NEXT QUEEN’S CORONATION,” for instance, or “OH NO YOU OVERSLEPT, IT’S BEEN TEN MILLION YEARS AND SOCIETY HAS FORGOTTEN HOW TO MAKE OMELETS.” She doesn’t do that anymore.
But this is exactly why it’s ideal for him to have the middle bunk. Since nothing wakes him up (until he gets hungry), he can act as a buffer zone between the others. Vi, in the top bunk, is an incredibly violent sleeper. Drop her in Metal Lake at lights out and, with the amount of flailing she does, she might get halfway across by morning. Kabbu, on the ground floor, is usually quiet and nearly always still. But sometimes there’s the muttering.
This, alas, is a muttering night. He seems to be apologizing. It’s better than the nights he spends swearing vengeance, but – only just.
From the occasional squeaking overhead, Vi seems to be having a slow-motion slapfight with her pillow. She’ll be fine, then. And over in the corner, Chompy is asleep in her basket. (Do chompers sleep, or does she just lie down because everyone else is doing it? The chompers they fought in the wild didn’t seem to. This is something to ask Hawk, maybe. Leif has a standing invitation to dinner with Hawk and Muze that he hasn’t quite brought himself to cash in.)
(Do Seedlings sleep? This is much nicer to think about. It’d be adorable.)
...So yeah, it’s very peaceful and everyone’s doing great. Except Kabbu, who is talking to Bit, who is dead.
Leif sighs and gets out of bed. He’s not as quiet about it as he could be, climbing down. Plausibly deniably noisy: this will be easier if Kabbu just happens to wake up on his own. Chompy stirs, and he gives her a pet, but motions her not to follow him. He goes rummaging through the team’s item stores. He’s not hungry hungry, but he could always go for a bite.
So: eating salad in the dark. This could be the cool new trend. Tell people their sense of taste is enhanced when they can’t see. (Sneak a hot pepper into some but not all – no. That kind of childish prank is something Vi would suggest. Food is not to be trifled with that way. Maybe some dishes can be poison, but that should be opt-in.)
Kabbu stirs. Leif makes a little more noise – checking the door, checking the roof exit. Pacing around, talking to Chompy in low tones.
Kabbu says, “Leif?”
Finally. “Oh. Sorry. Did we wake you?”
“Shhh, I think Vi is still – no, it’s okay, I wasn’t sleeping well anyway.”
“No?” Leif pretends surprise. “Well, we’re having a midnight snack. Care to join?”
“No, thank you. Eating at night is bad for your metabolis – oh. Sorry. I mean, you’re different, obviously.”
“We must thank our lucky stars.” Kabbu is off balance. There’s an advantage to press here. Leif says casually, “We could make it colder.”
“Colder?”
“If you’re having trouble sleeping.”
Cold slows bugs down. It makes them sleepy and eventually sends them into a dreamless torpor. (Doesn’t really work on Leif, which should have been a clue, but oh well.) Vi won’t admit this, but the cold monolith of the Giants almost knocked her out – Kabbu had to shield her from the chill. But there’s no need to get that cold, and at less harsh temperatures it can be quite relaxing. So Leif has heard. He remembers it happening, to someone else.
Kabbu says, “I couldn’t ask you to –”
“It’s easy for us.”
“Well – but –”
“And we’re offering.”
Kabbu sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I have,” he says, reluctantly, “been having dreams.”
“Dreams?” says Leif, as if this is brand-new information. He crosses back over to the bunks and stands over Kabbu, trying to act concerned. He is concerned. It’s the “acting like it” that gets tricky sometimes.
Kabbu faces the wall. “I’m trying to cross the desert. I’m poisoned and covered in hemolymph. It’s not mine, though. It’s mostly Bit’s. He was standing – closer to me. When it. When the Beast. When…” His breathing has gone noisy and uneven.
“Make room,” says Leif, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Kabbu doesn’t react, so he pokes him until he moves over. And he drapes a wing over both of them, and… makes it a little colder. He wasn’t lying; it’s easy.
He can feel Kabbu’s heart thudding away through his carapace. And then feels it start to slow.
“Leif,” Kabbu says finally, sounding drowsy. “Thank you. I’ll be all right.”
“Mind if we hang out a while and make sure?”
“You don’t have to.” Long pause. If he wasn’t crying already, he definitely is by now – but the worst is over. “But… that would be very kind.”
Leif says lightly, “Oh, gross. Forget it, then. We don’t do ‘kindness.’” He doesn’t move, of course. Kabbu laughs. And, eventually, drifts off.
Leif stares upward into the dark. He stops exerting any magic – wouldn’t want to overdo it.
Vi says, “He really oughtta let us take care of him more.”
“As if you did anything. How much of that did you hear?”
“Hey, I would have! Eventually. But I mean, you were doing such a good job –”
“So, all of it?” Vi says nothing. Leif prods: “You were awake the whole time?”
Even through two bunks her silence takes on a different, embarrassed quality. Finally she grumbles, “Who gets up at night and eats vegetables? If you’re gonna sneak food after bedtime, it should be more dessert! I can’t believe my teammates are so square. Couple of depressing old men.”
“Uh-huh. If you’re feeling left out, you could come down here. Better late than never.”
Weirdly enough, she does.
Vi flops around on the bed, groaning in exaggerated annoyance. “You know we only put up with this because we love you, right?”
Leif looks up from building his deck. He’s been debating: do enough of his prospective opponents use plant decks that weevil cards are worthwhile? Kabbu got restless with the tournament preparations and went to see if anyone would let him fish off the pier. Vi got restless and is making this Leif’s problem. “It must be so difficult,” he says. “The beds: too soft. The breeze: too refreshing.”
“The everything,” says Vi, “super expensive. And everyone’s either snobby rich people or card game freaks like you.”
“No one is a card game freak like us. We’re in a class of our own,” Leif says. Vi snorts. Leif widens his eyes, pretending incredulity: “Vi, this island is the most luxurious experience money can buy. If you don’t like it, what are you hoarding all those berries for? If you don’t like rich people, what are you going to do when you are one?”
“Whatever I feel like. Duh.”
Oh, Vi. “Well, don’t rule Metal Island out completely.” The hotel welcome basket includes a small beribboned jar of tangy jam, which Leif fishes out and lobs at Vi underhand.
“Oi! Your throwing arm sucks, but still!”
“We should still have some bread from Crisbee’s. Let’s try the jam on that.”
“Are you sure you can tear yourself away? Don’t wanna get distracted and forget how to count to seven again.”
“That was one time.” It was toward the end of a long night, and he was hungry, which never helped. He won that match anyway, but felt stupid having wasted his Monsieur Scarlet. Not that Vi would know about that incident. Unless she paid more attention than she pretended. Imagine.
They eat bread and jam together. If any crumbs fall on the carpet, Chompy picks them up. Chompy never complains about Spy Cards, because Chompy is a good girl.
“’S pretty good,” Vi says, grudgingly. “There’s these texture-y bits.”
“Pieces of tangy berry rind.”
“It could be sweeter.”
But it doesn’t need to be. “So could you,” Leif says. “Although, on that note.” He grabs a slice of bread from in front of her and piles on more jam than his fair share. “Just a moment ago, you said you loved us. Don’t think you’ll be living that down.”
It’s been a year, and yet when the festival music starts up Kabbu finds he remembers it perfectly. But maybe that’s not so odd – it was a memorable evening. Team Snakemouth’s first official mission together.
Vi is warming up her throwing arm for Whack-a-Worm, bent on smashing last year’s record; Kabbu had to gently suggest she do this outside the festival grounds to avoid hurting anybody. Leif has hoisted Chompy up to look over the fence into the aphid pens, and is saying worrying things to her: “You’d like a sibling, wouldn’t you? We could probably smuggle one out under our cloak -”
Kabbu clears his throat. “Leif, are you doing the eating contest this year?”
“Oh, we hadn’t decided. Maybe you’d like to tag in this time.” He sets Chompy down. “Don’t look so horrified. Of course we are. We’ll take on all comers.”
“I don’t look horrified,” Kabbu mutters. Leif stares at him. “It’s just – well, you know – call me sentimental, but -”
“You’re sentimental.”
“I was remembering the last festival, and how the three of us had really only just met. And how – that was the first time I ever saw you happy.”
“Aww,” Leif says, faintly patronizing. But also perhaps a little flushed? “Well, you’re about to see us elated.” He gives a stoical nod and wave to someone passing by, and Kabbu turns to see: it’s Chubee. “Our one worthy rival. She’ll put up a gallant fight, but we’ll still destroy her.”
“Um – not literally, I hope?”
“Do you know what we noticed at the last festival?” Leif is looking at him again, blandly. “You running yourself ragged trying to make sure everyone had the best possible time.”
“Well, I like to be helpful,” he says, not sure why it comes out so defensive.
Leif abruptly starts walking back toward the town square. “Come on, let’s get you something. A souvenir or a snack. Our treat.”
Kabbu hurries after him. “That’s really not -”
“Okay, how’s this. You have to do something fun, or we’ll…” He tilts his head. “We’ll ask Aria if we can taste the Moon Offering.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“We would, and Venus would forgive us. Venus is chill. So what’ll it be?”
“I’m happy just to be here. Honest. But – if I had to – maybe one of those nut cakes?”
“Great, we’ll have one too.”
“Shouldn’t you save room?”
“Nope. Power move.”
Leif is standing on the threshold. Kabbu pats his back reassuringly. Vi says, “You got this, champ,” to which Leif snaps, “Don’t patronize us.”
Kabbu says, “Do you need help carrying it? Do you want to bring Chompy for moral support?”
“Also patronizing, thanks.”
Vi says, “Well, screw us for being helpful. Maybe you should just get super super nervous and think about everything that could go wrong and forget everything you meant to say.”
“Way ahead of you. But, uh. Yolo. Or whatever cool people are saying these days.” And before they can fuss over him any more, he ducks out the door, careful of the covered basket under his arm. Hang a left, and up the hill. It’s an easy, routine walk. Maybe someday he’ll even stop remembering the meadow that this district used to be.
He’s Tod’s hero, Tod’s super-awesome wizard uncle, and every past dinner he’s had at Muze’s, he’s been able to hide behind that. Keep the conversation light, humor Tod’s questions and interruptions so completely that the adults can’t get anything else out of him. Be pointlessly mysterious for the bit. But Tod’s at a friend’s house tonight. This will be “just us grown-ups.”
He hasn’t figured out how much of the truth to give them, Muze and Hawk and – the old man. The original Leif’s geriatric presumably-grandson. The one person, of anyone alive, who would’ve known her.
He’s felt sort of sick all day. He made a side dish to bring, like a good guest, and barely had the heart to taste it for seasoning.
(Which is when Kabbu started getting worried, and... yeah. Fair.)
Muze greets him at the door with a hug and a “you shouldn’t have,” whisking his offering away to set it on the table.
“Oh, it’s nothing special,” he mutters into his ruff. And it’s not: in Leif and Muse’s time, the Ant Kingdom didn’t have the infrastructure it has now, and good ingredients were harder to get. You had to improvise with local forage. Leaves. Roots.
Muze’s father shuffles over to inspect the basket. “Oh, that looks familiar! Smells familiar, too.”
Yams sliced thin, layered, and baked slowly in sauce: they came up with this by trial and error. Leif suddenly thinks, What if we remembered it wrong and didn’t bake it long enough and we make everyone sick. It’s not too late, we could grab the dish and throw it at the wall. Even that would be easier to explain than showing up with a perfect replica of a dead moth’s cooking, what were we thinking, we should’ve just brought something iced. Ice is our whole thing. People expect ice.
What he says – and this takes some effort – is “Family recipe.”
Muze smiles. It... kind of hurts. Even now.
Leif takes a breath. You’re in the right place, he tells himself. This is what you do. You share food with the people you care about and the ones you’d like to. So.
Let’s see what happens.