Sworded Affair

Chapter 18: Booking It

“Well, I’d read that the Royal Mail were trying to cut back on deliveries,” Emma offered up, not wanting to be the one to break the news of the apocalypse to a kind, elderly man. “Not as many letters these days, with the internet and all, and even the increased from online shopping don't entirely offset the losses. Maybe the budget cuts have finally caught up locally, mister…”

“Amal Gam,” Her host introduced himself at last. “But please, just call me Amal; Mr. Gam was a teacher, and I’ve not taught a class for well over thirty years.”

Sighing, Amal drank deeply from his teacup, eyes glazing over and seemingly lost in thought. Emma drank too; recognizing his look from her days being babysat by ERROR and ERROR and knowing that interrupting would lead to a long lecture on ‘the good old days’.

Wait, what was that? Emma blinked, realizing that something was amiss. Who was I thinking of just now?

“Ah, I’m sure Tom will be back in no time,” Amal suddenly declared, his mood turning on a dime. “He’s probably just taken ill, the weather’s been dreadful lately, but he's a young and sprightly lad! A bout of flu won’t keep him down for long, mark my words.”

Not knowing enough about Tom to either confirm or deny, Emma declined to answer in favor of finishing her cup of tea.

[Alignment: Neutral. 5 EXP gained.]

Really?

[What? This is some nice tea! Besides, experience is ultimately just a measure of your lived, uh, experiences; mortal combat is one of the most efficient ways to increase it, but by no means the only way.]

Amal had finished his cup too, and wasted no time on a refill for them both. The second cup gave no experience, to Emma’s mild disappointment, but she wasn’t too put out; the tea really was that good. Bold and nutty with none of the bitterness that coffee would bring, leaving a mildly sweet aftertaste with none of the astringency expected from a drink high in tannin; before Emma knew it, she’d finished her second cup even faster than the first, completely disregarding the lingering heat from the kettle.

“Glad to see you’re enjoying my family blend,” Amal smiled, sipping his second cup at a more sedate pace. “Do you want to take a bag with you, something for the road? Nothing like a warm cup of tea to make those long, cold nights more bearable.”

“It’s really tempting,” Emma admitted freely. “But I’ll have to pass. This armor doesn’t exactly come with pockets, so I’m not sure where I’d store it. Then there’s the matter of a kettle…”

“All sensible objections,” Amal chuckled. “But easy enough to work around.”

Heading back into the kitchen before she could say another word, Emma soon heard the banging of pots and pans alongside the familiar sound of someone rummaging through drawer after drawer.

“Hah, I knew I still had this somewhere!” A triumphant shout eventually heralded Amal’s return, bearing an old, banged up kettle, a matchbox and a tightly tied bundle of dried tea leaves, all of which he set on the table in front of her.

“This here’s a proper kettle; none of that fancy electricity required, all you need’s a bit of kindling and an open flame. You know how to light a match?”

“Been a few years since girl scouts, but I’ll manage.” Emma confirmed, seeing that Amal was in no mood to take no for an answer.

“Good, and as for your storage problem? Hold still, this might sting a bit.” Amal advised, pointing one gnarled finger at Emma.

[Inventory unlocked!]

“Ow!” Emma exclaimed, indeed feeling a sting, seemingly everywhere on her body at once before vanishing as quickly as it came.

“You’re a tough one,” Amal praised. “I remember when my last student took the invocation; he ended up in quite a heap, and the less said about the state of his pants- ahem, never mind that.”

Amal coughed into his fist, cutting off a tale very much unfit for tea among polite company.

“Moving on, take hold of the object you want to bring with you, and Will it to become part of your Truth. A brick upon your life’s road, a single strand indivisible.”

Emma did as he instructed, both because it was genuinely helpful advice and because arguing suddenly seemed a lot less attractive.

[Amalgam, Master Alchemist - Level 20]

True to his words, the kettle vanished from view as Emma took hold of it, followed by the tea leaves and the matchbox in short order.

“Take the cups as well, unless you want to be drinking straight from the kettle!”

[Tea Kit (Holy Tea, Kettle, Teacups, Matches) obtained.]

“Thank you,” Emma replied sincerely as she did so, Amal’s generosity a stark contrast to the last time she visited a stranger’s home. “Why give me all this though? I doubt it’s part of the usual welcome package for visitors.”

“Definitely not,” Amal chuckled. “Were you just an ordinary girl, I’d have sent you off to the inn rather than inviting you in for tea. But you had that air about you; enough that I had no doubt you were a practitioner, and there are precious few of us left in this day and age. Passing on such trifling knowledge is the least I can do for a budding witch! Besides, I already know you’re not the bad sort; my tea would’ve had you burning up if that were the case.”

“So that’s why it's Holy Tea,” Emma hummed, examining the entry in her inventory. “If I was extremely good, would I have gained something more from it?”

“Some mild healing, with a small chance of personal enlightenment,” Amal nodded seriously. “But such perfect beings are rare; most people are just people, with both good and bad in us. Most react as you and I did; which is to say little at all. Now, as enjoyable as morning has been, I have things to do, much like you probably do as well. What really brings you to our humble village?”

“My dad works here; over at the old estate.” Emma explained, deciding Amal deserved the truth after his generous gifts. “I was hoping to meet up with him at his office, if that's possible?”

“Your father wouldn’t happen to drive a silver Mercedes would he?” Amal asked immediately, grimacing.

“He does actually,” Emma replied, suddenly having a bad feeling. “Why?”

“I saw him speeding off into the distance a few days ago, going at least twice the national speed limit due east,” Amal shrugged awkwardly. “He’s not been back here since then.”

. . .

Emma’s head thudded onto the thick, oakwood table.