Part 34 - The Iron Republic(3)

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March 22, 2020

Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 5:09 AM

It's been several days. For the most part, they've been uneventful (as uneventful as they can be in the Iron Republic according to the deacon). The deacon went out and about navigating the relatively tame roads while Able followed behind. Most of the trips followed the same pattern; the deacon went to a local business, bought esoterica and curiosa that Able didn't recognize, and then went to the House of Harvests afterwards to either buy food (if it was a market) or dine and sup on meals (if it was a restaurant). The dinner was the same; Able would receive a cut of supposed horse rump (though that was suspect), and the deacon would order some kind of dish that made Able's eyes water from the pungency.

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Three days have passed. The deacon is seated in the room (which now has three beds, far too many windows, and no rug), sitting on their designated bed and groaning.

Virgil: -Irritated.- You are an enigma. Here you are, in a place where you can sample a taste from every region in the Neath, and you order horse.

The souvenir the deacon had bought for Able is atop one of the tables in the center of the room (which one isn't clear; every time Able looks away, the figure appears on a different table), currently looking like a floating ball of fire.

The boyLast Sunday at 5:15 AM

Able is lounging on what is currently a rug. He insisted it was comfortable. Able raises an eyebrow at the deacon.

Able: I just don't feel like accidentally poisoning myself. Besides, horse is good.

Able moves to his back, folding his arms behind his head.

Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 5:32 AM

Virgil: The Republic is a civilized place, Able; you're eating food, not an apothecary's botched syrup of ipecac. Even the tamest meat, you're reluctant to eat.

The deacon stands up, their tone almost affronted.

Virgil: Even when I offer fish, you're reluctant. You've never had a rubbery lump from the carnival back at your home? It's the exact same thing.

The boyLast Sunday at 5:35 AM

Able: Fish, lumps, zeelife, it's all bad water garbage.

Able closes his eyes, unbothered.

Able: Why would I want to eat what is essentially chewy salt water?

Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 5:40 AM

The deacon walks to stand besides Able, unimpressed.

Virgil: Salt water and brine are popular tastes. You're a fan of roots; ever had pickled turnips before?

The boyLast Sunday at 5:41 AM

Able: I've not, no.

Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 5:42 AM

The deacon pauses, before pinching the bridge of their nose.

Virgil: -Quietly.- . . .I swear to Hell, I've met cats with a wider palate. . .right. That's it.

The deacon reaches down, grabbing Able's wrist and pulling him up from his lying position.

Virgil: We're heading out to the market, and you're going to broaden your horizons..

The boyLast Sunday at 5:45 AM

Able is pulled up with not a lot of resisting on his part, but he does complain.

Able: Oy oy, be gentle, I'll go.

Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 5:51 AM

The deacon lets go of Able's wrist once he's in a standing position (leaving his wrist slightly warmed) and starts heading towards one of the doors leading out of the room.

Virgil: Excellent. Today, we're going to explore the tastes of the Neath. Virgil: -Opening the door; flatly.- Don't worry. I'm sure there'll be a pail to void your stomach if you taste. . .God forbid. . .yogurt.

[

5:52 AM

]

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Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 6:04 AM

The deacon had dragged Able to various places. He eased him into trying new tastes; first, it was sampling various nuts and roots as is without alterations (save for having to wrangle it away from the stall they were placed in; the displays were very possessive today). Currently, the deacon is handing over a small open jar containing sliced turnips to Able. The brine inside is stained a deep purple from the turnips, but there are flecks of white and red floating in the fluid.

Virgil: -Offering a fork.- Pickled turnips. They're popular on the Surface on the islands north of where London used to be.

The boyLast Sunday at 6:09 AM

Able looks unamused, and the smell was fairly strong. Though it mostly smelled of turnips, which were already a strong smelling root. Able takes the fork, stabbing into one of the slices, pulling out one before taking a bite. Able thinks for a bit. The flavor seemed to dull down a bit, and there were certainly spices in it, but nothing like the spiced food he'd had before.

Able: Hm. This is good.

Able finishes the piece of turnip happily.

Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 6:11 AM

Virgil: . . .it's most water,vinegar, and salt. Tell me, what's the difference between briny vegetables, and briny zeefood?.

The boyLast Sunday at 6:12 AM

Able: This is good.

Able eats another, amused by the deacon's irritation.

Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 6:15 AM

The deacon rubs their temples, their voice incredulous.

Virgil: -Exasperated.- _It's the same taste!_The only difference is that this is sour salt water. And garlic. Possibly a few dried pepper flakes. I. . .ah to Hell with it. More roots then..

[

6:15 AM

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Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 6:23 AM

The deacon had bought several pickles (pickled turnips, pickled radishes, pickled carrots, and other pickled, non-roots such as firm cucumber). Currently, the deacon is standing at a stall, taking a sample of something poured by the vendor into a stone cup.

Virgil: Many thanks. . .here, Able.

The deacon hands over a thick, foamy liquid. The smell of black tea is evident, but there is the scent of several spices and herbs steeped in the drink and misting off of the tea.

Virgil: Masala chai, if I recall. A beloved drink of the Indian continent, and particular tigers..

The boyLast Sunday at 6:29 AM

Able: ..Smells like tea.

Able says, sounding reluctant, but takes the cup anyway. He takes a small, restrained sip, which an odd sight given that his face had morphed into an opossum mid drink. Able's mouth pulls back, a look of distress.

Able: Why is it spicy?

Able could taste the strong drink hit the back of his throat with a warm but not horrible taste. He didn't dislike it, but it was unusual. He wanted to know if it could be combined with milk to make it less bitter as well.

.

Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 6:37 AM

Virgil: It's Indian spices, hence why I said "beloved by the Indian continent". Unless. . .no. Virgil: -Flatly.- Surely you don't mean the cinnamon, do you?

The boyLast Sunday at 6:39 AM

Able: Cinnamon?

Able makes an open maw sort of face. Emoting a displeasure.

Able: Too strong.

Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 6:40 AM

The deacon chitters, their false-mandibles clicking together.

Virgil: You are a disappointment to any baker making any respectable, flavorful dessert..

[

6:40 AM

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[

6:44 AM

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The deacon has gone along, hoisting a bag of various nuts dusted in a maroon-colored flour. . .but only when one's eyes are closed. The deacon pops a few into their mouth, handing it off to Able. The nuts smell strongly of flowers, with only a hint of the underlying nutty smell, despite the fact they they look like plain nuts most of the time.

Virgil: -Chewing.- Attar-coated pecans, from the Roser's Wharf. An excellent. finish of rosewater, naturally..

The boyLast Sunday at 6:49 AM

Able takes one, crunching down. It was bitter, and tasted of flowers and a familiar fatty flavor. Able looks at the deacon blankly.

Able: It seems that I'm not a bee.

Able says flatly. He is struggling not to laugh.

Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 6:53 AM

The deacon scowls, taking the bag back from Able's grip, and crunching a few more pieces in their mandibles.

Virgil: -Affronted; chewing.- It's an excellent flavor, mind you. . .remind me to pick up a sample of turkish delights.

The boyLast Sunday at 6:55 AM

Able: Yes, for big bees. I rather not eat the flavor used in soaps.

Able cannot contain himself, cackling.

Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 6:57 AM

Virgil: -Exasperated.- That's rosehip oil you're thinking off. Rosewater is sweetened and is meant for subtle aromatics, not covering up the smell of muck. . .oh, but that reminds me. . .

[

6:57 AM

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[

7:02 AM

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The deacon is at a stand, handing over a small tin to Able.

Virgil: Mukhwas; colorful. I'm sure you'd hate it, but I'd love to be proven wrong, hm?

The small metal tin contains a small amount of various tiny seeds, the bits colored in reds, greens, yellows, and browns; the scent is overpoweringly strong, a blend of nutty coconut, bitter licorice, and earthy fennel.

The boyLast Sunday at 7:08 AM

Able eats a small amount, crunching it up. He is at first fairly surprised, but once he finished he makes a "hm" sound. Able thinks for a bit.

Able: It's alright.

Able says a bit non-committally. He was a bit on the fence if he was honest, and it would likely be better with less licorice.

Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 7:13 AM

Virgil: -Pausing.- . . .I wasn't. . .expecting any approval. Huh. Virgil: -Facetious.- Good on you Able. You can stomach something with a strong scent. I'm genuinely proud of you.

The boyLast Sunday at 7:13 AM

Able: Well now I hate it.

Able says flatly.

Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 7:16 AM

Virgil: -Elbowing Able.- Now, now, I bought that for you. Appreciate it. At the very least, spit vile words behind my back, like how Catharine has presumably taught you in the Christian manner.

The boyLast Sunday at 7:24 AM

Able: Oh come now, I prefer to at least insult you to your face. At least then I can see you look positively miffed.

Able grins, eating a little bit more.

Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 7:25 AM

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Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 7:37 AM

The deacon is walking along the road, leading Able behind them.

Virgil: So, we've learned quite a bit. Mostly that you are picky, but never mind that. Virgil: -Counting on their hand.- You enjoy cheese, unless it's too tangy or has any bite. . .there's what's essentially water with a dollop of yogurt. . .you enjoy pickles, unless it's a bit too sour or strong. . .tofu, fried, is passable, unless it's too soft for reasons of mouthfeel. . .am I missing anything?.

The boyLast Sunday at 7:39 AM

Able: Flowers are inedible?

Able snickers, following.

Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 7:48 AM

Virgil: Not with that attitude. Consider yours truly, and the creation of honey, which, if I recall, you enjoy very much.

The deacon chuckles, trailing off into a satisfied sigh.

Virgil: . . .honestly though, I appreciate that you were willing to try something new. I suppose it's because I insisted, but, regardless, I'm glad that you've tried. It's important to try many different things, so that you may understand those of different places. Virgil: . . .at the very least, now you know to take advantage of this place's unique marketplace.

As the deacon and Able head towards a building, the storefront shifts; the walls slant inwards, turning into clay shingles on a pagoda awning. The street suddenly wafts with the smell of damp fungus and steamed herbs.

Virgil: . . .ah, speaking of which. . .ever visited a Khaganate tea-emporium?.

The boyLast Sunday at 7:55 AM

Able: Oh I think you enjoy making it. You get to have me run about collecting you flowers.

Able smiles at the deacon, a little happy that he was enjoying himself. Able was enjoying himself too, though his stomach felt a bit off with all the different foods.

Able: Well, good company makes it a bit more interesting to me. Able: Ah, I've not.

Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 8:05 AM

Virgil: I didn't claim I didn't enjoy it. It's nostalgic.

The deacon heads into the building, the pillars supporting the pagoda separating as the duo enters.

Virgil: The Khaganates love their tea. . .trust me when I say that. Nothing but tea was all that was drank in the city before London. Virgil: . . .well, and alcohol, but that's true even now.

The deacon pauses, peering about; the interior of the building is separated into several hallways, labelled in script that Able doesn't recognize but the deacon vaguely stares at.

Virgil: -Inspecting a nearby tin of loose tea leaves.- . . .hm. Have you tried a fungal tea before? Dried morel is apparently fashionable among society socialites. . ..

The boyLast Sunday at 8:10 AM

Able: Oh good for me then, lest my teas become bland.

Able is looking around a bit, a little interested. He moves to the side of the deacon.

Able: That sounds dreadful. And musty.

Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 8:21 AM

The deacon looks under the table, pulling out a small, palm-sized dish.

Virgil: Well, you're correct. I didn't claim the rich had good tastes.

The deacon wanders along the hallway, the pathway warping ever so slightly as they move ahead. They gesture at a jar covered in a thick goo that's folded back to reveal a cloudy, amber-colored tea. A little ladle is inside, hooked on the edge.

Virgil: Ah, but there are much better tastes. Ever had fermented tea?

The deacon cups their hand, and the dish on their palm turns into a small cup. They grab the ladle, spooning a bit into the ceramic tea cup before handing it off to Able.

.

The boyLast Sunday at 8:26 AM

Able: I've seen their art, and decorating, I am sure their tastes were similar.

Able is still a little befuddled by the odd changes in the Republic. It's hard to tell if he looks confused, or if that's just his opossum head, though.

Able: Erm... Does this have...

Able's nose crinkles a bit.

Able: Ah hell with it.

Able takes a drink, and is a little surprised, but the sudden texture of a film put him off to whatever redeeming quality it had.

Able: That is not good.

Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 8:37 AM

Virgil: -Facetious.- Come now, it's not that different from mushrooms. You love mushrooms, don't you?

The boyLast Sunday at 8:38 AM

Able: Not slimy ones.

Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 8:49 AM

Virgil: Ah, picky, picky.

The deacon heads along, picking up another saucer and spooning several pieces of tea as they walk along the rows.

Virgil: Well, we have a great variety. How about we try them all?

The boyLast Sunday at 8:49 AM

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The boyLast Sunday at 8:59 AM

Able had been fairly bothered about having to try one tea, let alone the stacks of tins the deacon had picked up. The deacon had made him a lot of very small cups of tea, most of which he hated, and some he insisted would be better with honey. He takes drinks of an arrangement of floral teas, which are generally more bitter than he'd like, but he seemed to enjoy the taste of jasmin, but he said sweetener would be needed. He tries the fruit based teas, almost all of them that were mixed with herbs he enjoyed. By itself he seems ok with it. Earl grey was particularly interesting as he remarked that Thomas had given him some. Herbal teas however were his least favorite alongside "True" teas. The common phrase was "too bitter."

Able: Honestly, I am starting to get tired of tea. Who can even drink this much?

Able sighs, waiting for the deacon to prepare more regardless.

Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 9:16 AM

Virgil: Try spending more than a hundred years in the Fourth city. They've drunk more tea than all of London's most gentlemanly, and they'll still have drunk more once London is gone.

The deacon is guiding Able towards the back, heading into a backdoor.

Virgil: . . .even so, however, there are some teas that they haven't drunk. Tell me, you're a thief; have you ever seen jewelry made of scintillack?

The boyLast Sunday at 9:18 AM

Able: Once. Only once.

Able muses about it, that was a good week. He follows the deacon without any fuss.

Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 9:24 AM

Virgil: Would you believe that some people turn it into a most marvelous kind of tea?

As the pair enters the backroom of the shop, the floor warps a bit; around, there are only a few bins of loose tea arranged on stands in a semi-circle. One smells distinctly of sunlight, the second looks like ground diamonds, the third has a particular scent of coffee, yet another looks like curled and twisted petals smells of sweet honey. . .these teas have an air of exclusivity to them. The deacon moves to the second bin, spooning out only a tiny portion of loose, ground scintillack.

Virgil: A marvelous restorative. Good for energy, as it were. In a sense. Virgil: Now, I know that you've already had quite a bit of tea; do you still want to have another cup, or would you rather head back?

The boyLast Sunday at 9:29 AM

Able: ..Seems like a waste?

Able makes a very displeased face, not a novel thing with his head so covered in fur. It does seem to increase with the intent of drinking tea made of such a thing.

Able: Restorative of what? It sounds dreadful.

Able takes a look at the teas, all of them looking as if he would highly dislike them. One of them he was sure was just gravel.

Able: If we could start heading back that would be lovely. Perhaps it would be good to relax and drink instead.

Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 9:35 AM

Virgil: Well, it's valuable; certainly, it sells for a lot, given that it puts one in good health. . . Virgil: -Squinting.- We can head back, but. . .now that I think on it; Thomas didn't ask you to smuggle anything on his behalf, did he?

The boyLast Sunday at 9:36 AM

Able: I didn't mention that I was going to the Iron Republic at all.

Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 9:39 AM

Virgil: Ah, I see. Virgil: . . .you aren't concerned that they, specifically the manic rag man, are going to send an investigation into your extended disappearance?

[

9:40 AM

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Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 9:49 AM

The bandaged man is hurrying down the steps of Thomas's house, their steps hurried.

The Bandaged: -Yelling.- Freckles! Red-hair! Wine supplier!

The bandaged man steps down onto the bottom step, kicking the door with their foot. . .

The Bandaged: -Crying out.- Agh!

Before hopping on one foot, the door rattling in place.

The Bandaged: -Strained.- Oy! Open the door! God! What's this door made of!?

The boyLast Sunday at 9:51 AM

Thomas raises an eyebrow. A good investment, he mused.

Thomas: -opening the door.- Why hello dear guest. Did you learn some new manners?

Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 9:53 AM

The Bandaged: Freckles, Able isn't in his house!

The bandaged man hops on their good foot, pushing Thomas aside as they head inside and seat themselves uninvited.

The Bandaged: I've been there fifteen times! I've knocked and knocked, but he hasn't responded at all! He hasn't written to any of my calling cards, he hasn't checked up on me; I'm half expecting him to turn up in the river dead!

The boyLast Sunday at 9:56 AM

Thomas sighs, shutting the door. This man was impossible to get out. He'd already had an appointment, did he really need Able so badly?

Thomas: We'll he's left his pets with me, I assume he's off casing a house. I did hear from Clarisse that he was at the docks, but that seems odd doesn't it?

Thomas seats himself.

Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 10:03 AM

The Bandaged: What!?

The bandaged man stands up, apparently forgetting the pain in their injured ankle.

The Bandaged: My student? Preparing to steal from a house!? Why. . .I thought I taught them better! I. . .er. . . The Bandaged: -Sitting again.- . . .why would it be odd he's at the docks? I vaguely remember him having something up with water. . .hmm. . .

The boyLast Sunday at 10:08 AM

Thomas: Dear he had a very clear phobia of the zee.

Thomas ignores his first comment entirely.

Thomas: I do not know any details but she did say... there was.. hm..

Thomas pauses.

Thomas: That the deacon was with him.

Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 10:23 AM

The bandaged man screeches.

The Bandaged: What!? For what nefarious purpose!?

The bandaged man stands up.

The Bandaged: Did she say he looked stressed? Was he packing nothing? Was he over-packing? Did the devil had an arm draped over his shoulder, like a savage beast trying to turn an innocent child to temptation? Why didn't you do anything?

The bandaged man screeches.

The Bandaged: Why would he leave his weasels!? The blasted creatures are the reason he got upset with my completely safe elevator system and made me redecorate! He's not one to leave them alone!

The boyLast Sunday at 10:27 AM

---------- Able: it's fine.

Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 10:32 AM

Virgil: . . .well, if you're sure. Virgil: -Moving around, leading Able out towards the front.- I just hope that I don't end up returning only to discover that your nervous friends have sent the constabulary to raid my church.

The boyLast Sunday at 10:34 AM

Able: I'm sure they'll all be very sore to find out that you very much did not kidnap me. Amused even.

Able says flatly.

Able: Let's be off though. I'm rather sore.

Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 10:42 AM

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Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 3:35 PM

When the pair got home, the deacon had immediately dispensed towards the (now currently available) kitchen; he spent quite some time preparing the scintillack for brewing. He had pulled out a strange, long-handled cup and a divot of sand heated over a flame. Slowly, over the period of an hour, the deacon had poured a small portion of ground scintillack and water into the cup, dragged it along the heated sand until the tea suddenly boils over, then pouring the small portion of tea into a regular tea cup. After they had finished, they set the cup on a curved table in front of Able. The tea has a hint of floral undertone with a lightly aged sweetness, the scent leaving a subtle sweetness in the mouth.

Virgil: -Heading to their bed.- I'd advise taking it slowly. It's remarkable for one's health and energy, but its likely you'll get a headache if you drink too much too fast. Especially since this is your first tasting.

The deacon stands a bit back, their arms crossed as they stare at Able.

.

The boyLast Sunday at 3:40 PM

Able furrows his brow, it smelled nice. He rather enjoyed the smell. He takes a small sip, and nearly wheezes. It was so bitter. Able swallows but not without some difficulty. He sets the cup down, his face nearly scrunched up with how bitter it was.

Able: I don't think you could force me to drink it quickly.

Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 3:50 PM

The deacon snickers for a moment before breaking out in a rather loud chuckle, their face flitting briefly between their husk and the head of a bee.

Virgil: -Wheezing.- Snrk. Christ, Able. . .

The deacon gives a gross laugh, leaning against the table as they hang their head down.

Virgil: -Wheezing; rubbing at their eyes.- Y. . .w h e e z e. . .you look like you've aged thirty years. . .w h e e z e. . ..

The boyLast Sunday at 3:55 PM

Able looks at the deacon directly, making a similar face of disgust as he does with teas.

Able: Bitterness does come with age.

Able relaxes his face, and puts up a faux look of amusement.

Able: Laughing at a poor old man, shame, deacon.

Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 4:29 PM

Virgil: -Wheezing.- Hah! Then Catharine must be older than I, if that's true.

The deacon holds a palm to their forehead, contentedly sighing as they trail off their laughter.

Virgil: Alright. . .heh, well, no point in wasting hot tea; leave it be. I don't need you spitting good tea all over the place; I'd like to get my deposit back on this room. Virgil: -Heading to the (still existing) kitchen.- I didn't expect you to finish it, but I have something else. . .

The deacon passes through the warped doorway, the wood dripping like rain as they get a small package in the kitchen.

.

The boyLast Sunday at 4:39 PM

Able watches the deacon head to the kitchen. He was miffed. Really now? He wasn't about to let him win this time. At least, not officially. Able was told by himself to use it so, might as well. He pulls the little vial out of his pocket, not really thinking much when he tries to pry off the wax seal. The seal is strong and take a good bit of effort to even chip off enough for him to dig his fingernails under it to start peeling it away. He wondered why it had to be seal so tightly. Perhaps it was a shipping thing? Able notices as he dumps it into the tea that it was a lot less viscous than the honey he's had before. Virgil did say there were many kinds of honey, so perhaps this was merely a different kind. Able doesn't bother to take much time in downing the tea, much less bitter, enough that he doesn't feel the need to wheeze. It had an odd aftertaste of old water and cold air. A distinctly savory taste that usually told him something went bad. He wondered if he'd get sick. He tucks the empty vial into his bag, along with the scraps of wax before returning to his seat. He would show that devil that he wasn't just some sort of child.

Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 5:09 PM

There's a small clattering of cups in the kitchen as the deacon drops a cup. A moment passes, and the deacon heads back, holding a small cup with a slight citrus scent. The deacon clears their throat, staring at Able as they palm the cup.

Virgil: Mh. I didn't expect you to. . .actually finish it. Virgil: -Walking off, holding the cup of earl grey.- I suppose you don't need this, then.

The boyLast Sunday at 5:12 PM

Able: What, are we quitting? I'm going to sleep then.

Able seems lightly miffed but also a little relieved, he was a little tired of tea, even good tea. He quickly moves to his bed, resting his stomach. A small comfort.

Numerical AnalysisLast Sunday at 5:58 PM

The deacon adjusts their collar, quietly raising the tea to their lips.

Virgil: Mh. Your loss. . .hm.

The deacon looks at the bottom of the teacup, raising it to their nose. . .

Virgil: -Quietly.- . . .mh. The tea must be more fragrant today. . .

. . .before downing the rest of the tea in one silent draught.

Virgil: Mh. . .something's. . .hm.

The deacon moves over to their bed, seating themselves for a moment and sitting a bit spread-legged, sighing.

Virgil: -Quietly.- . . .well, it has been a while. . .it'll pass.

The deacon lightly unbuttons their top collar, lying across the bed and facing away from Able as they lay on their side, sandwiching a small lump slithering it's way up along the loosened shirt between their body and the bed.

Virgil: -Quietly.- Mh. . .after the sermon.