Chapter Sixty-One - Spending the Night Inn

I spun to make my new skirt flare out, as one does, and then giggled as I went dizzy for just a moment.

It was a very pretty skirt and deserved to be spun a whole lot. The lady in the shop had given me a whole selection of colours, and while some were sensible and even reasonable to wear while out adventuring, I couldn’t help but pick a bright blue. It was the same pale hue as the sky a moment after the sun rose on a cloudless morning and I loved it.

“Stop doing that, you idiot, you’re going to run into the path of a cart and you’ll ruin your new dress when you cover it in your bloody remains,” Amaryllis said.

I stopped myself in the act of preparing for another spin, then patted down my skirts. “Right!”

The armoured cuirass squeezed everything in place while emphasising other things, and the thick cloth armour beneath somehow managed to be fairly loose and flexible and soft. It probably helped that a couple of weeks of running around and fighting for my life and walking for what felt like hundreds of kilometers had done away with the little bit of tummy I had come into the world with.

Not that I was vain or anything, but I did now have the beginnings of a six-pack and that was something to be proud of. My friends back on Earth had always told me boys were into that sort of thing, which meant I was putting all of the chances on my side that I’d find a nice husband. Also, I bet I could do so many sit-ups!

“So, what’s next?” I asked as I walked next to Amaryllis. “I have some coins left, we could go and grab a bite to eat, or we could buy some more books.”

Amaryllis looked up to the skies which were just starting to turn pinkish. “Perhaps it would be best to head back to an inn. I have a bit of research to do and we skipped both breakfast and lunch. I can stand to go a day without eating but I’d really rather not.”

We walked past a street vendor who was hawking ‘genuine Brackland beetles’ that were fried in some sort of oil. “I know a nice inn,” I said. “They even make food without bugs in it.”

“That is a good selling point,” Amaryllis admitted. “The cuisine in Deepmarsh isn’t awful, but it’s not exactly to my liking.”

I looked down both ways of the street, because we were about to cross, then grabbed Amaryllis’ by the talon and pulled her across at a quick trot to avoid a passing trolley. The moment we were on the other side, Amaryllis tore her hand back and shook it. “You humans are all so touch-y feely,” she muttered.

“I would have thought that harpies would be the same way,” I said. “What with you all being bird people. Do you have nests and such?”

“Only the truly impoverished would sleep in a nest,” Amaryllis said. “Or those incubating an egg the old fashioned way, as some clans still do.”

I almost tripped. “You can lay eggs?!” I asked.

Amaryllis gave me a flat look. “Of course I can.”

“Yeah, but eggs! How does that even work?”

A passing group of grenoils in worker’s overalls gave us a look and I noticed the feathers on Amaryllis’ arms poofing a little. Was that her version of a blush? I hadn’t meant to embarrass her.

“You idiot,” she said. “That’s... well I suppose it isn’t common knowledge where you’re from.” She coughed to clear her throat. “Traditionally, when a man harpy and a woman harpy get married, they prepare a nest, and when they enter their breeding period they... consummate their relationship. The egg that the woman lays next is fertile and it is incubated until it hatches. If the female harpy isn’t in that sort of relationship, then the egg she lays will be infertile and the clan will dispose of it. It’s all quite civilised I assure you.”

“You have a breeding cycle?” I asked. This was way more interesting than that one class in school with the horrible videos.

Amaryllis huffed. It was her ‘I’m better than you’ huff. “Unlike you humans who just mate whenever, we actually know that there’s a time and place for such things. Usually in the spring when the winter snows melt away.”

“Neat,” I said. “Wait, does that mean that you lay eggs every spring? Can they be eaten?”

Amaryllis was giving me a very flat look. “I’ll have you know that eating eggs is extremely taboo. That’s like... offering to eat a still-born human baby because the meat is tender.”

“Ah, wow, okay sorry.” I was fortunately quite used to placing my foot in my mouth though. “Are there any other taboo subjects? Just in case?”

“Not really,” Amaryllis said. “It’s considered quite rude to bring up certain subjects around strangers though. You don’t talk about eggs with a person that isn’t a close family member, and it’s usually something handled amongst the womenfolk.”

“Ah, okay.”

“And talking about religion in a public gathering is a faux-pas. Politics and economics and other such contentious subjects are fine.”

“You’ll have to show me your home one day,” I said.

“I dread the idea of presenting you to my sisters,” Amaryllis said. “They would take a shine to you that I find frankly terrifying.”

“That sounds like a lot of fun,” I said. “Oh, that’s the inn!” I pointed to the Rock Inn and Roll Inn just a little ways down the street.

“Seems respectable enough,” Amaryllis said. “We should get a room for the both of us. It will save us some money.”

I eyed her from the corner of my eye. She had been throwing money around without a care earlier. Sure, her biggest purchase was my awesome new armour, but she had also purchased a new leather jacket with a fur-lined neck similar to her last one, and a thin bandoleer with slips for potions to go underneath.

It wouldn’t have surprised me if she was really just a little nervous to sleep in a room alone. She had been through a lot in the last couple of days and I think that she had yet to decompress. Really, what Amaryllis needed was a good hug and some tea and maybe a warm blanket. But if all she wanted was to share a room that was okay too.

“It’ll be like a sleepover!” I said.

Amaryllis hummed. “One of my sisters was terribly keen on those. She used to drag out the most ridiculous outfits and makeup and make me parade around in them for her amusement.” She sounded cross about it, but was wearing a melancholic smile.

“Do you miss your family?” I asked.

“I hardly left on bad terms,” Amaryllis said. “I just needed some... time to my own.”

I didn’t have time to dig into that as we arrived at the inn and slipped in to find a busy floor. Not every table was filled, but it was a near thing. Julien’s inn seemed to attract a lot of upper-crust sort of people, grenoil in nice suits and people with spectacular hats and colourful outfits who seemed okay with the idea of bumping shoulders and sharing a pint.

I had the impression that this was a purposeful thing, that Julien wanted people here to let go of some of their social pretensions while in his inn.

The fat grenoil in question was talking animatedly to a customer behind the bar, but as soon as he saw us his eyes lit up and he raised both arms as if to hug the air. “Ah, little Broccoli! You made it back.”

“Hello Julien!” I said. “I did! We had a few close calls but we made it out alive. This is my friend and partner Amaryllis.”

“Hello,” Amaryllis said.

“Any friend of Broccoli is a friend of Julien’s. How can I help you ladies?” he asked.

“We need a room for the night,” I said. “Um, a room with two beds?”

“Something nice would be welcome,” Amaryllis added. “With a desk and some room to think would be preferable.”

“I have just ze zing,” Julien said.

I nodded. “And food,” I added. “Your food’s the best.”

“Oh hoh, zis one knows how to warm an old frog’s heart,” Julien said. A moment later he called over one of the barmaids and gave her some directions to lead us off to a room way off on the other side of the inn. Amaryllis slapped a single gold coin on the bartop and that had Julien’s eyes sparkling in greedy delight.

Our room, as it turned out, was a whole lot bigger than the rooms I was used to, with a small washroom, two big beds and a little living room. It reminded me a bit of a modern hotel room, but with a most rustic charm. I could still hear the soft murmur of the bar below and the windows overlooking the street ahead of the inn gave a nice view of Port Royal.

“Bed!” I cheered as I jumped into the air and crashed onto one of the beds side first.

Orange, who didn’t seem amused by my jump, stood hanging on nothing above the bed before she strutted off to the window and started grooming her little paw-paws in the sunlight.

“You idiot,” Amaryllis muttered. She turned to the barmaid that had accompanied us and huffed. “We’ll have our meals as soon as they’re ready,” she said.

“You’re supposed to tip!” I called from the fluffy surface of the bed.

“Tipping? Really?” Amaryllis asked.

“I have some coins if you don’t have any,” I said as I got ready to jump off the bed.

Amaryllis grumbled something, but she pulled out a pair of silver coins and gave them to the now-smiling barmaid. “Here you go. Just... get our food. And no bugs.”

“Yes ma’am,” the barmaid said before scooting away.

“You’re supposed to say ‘thank you,’” I said.

“She’s help, you’re supposed to pretend they don’t exist,” Amaryllis said.

I supposed that that was one of those cultural differences that I would have a hard time reconciling. Sitting up, I watched as Amaryllis pulled a chair from the table to one side of the room, then pulled a pen and sheet of paper from her ring with a poof. A moment later she scribbled something and they both poofed back.

“What’cha doing?” I asked.

Amaryllis made a gesture with one talon raised that I suspected meant ‘give me a moment,’ then, with a poof, a small notebook, a pen, and a larger book appeared above the table and fell. “I’ve been meaning to look over known dungeons for a proper second class. Something that will complement my primary class.”

“Ohh,” I said as I bounced off the bed. Beds were fun, but shopping for magical classes sounded a lot more fun. I pulled up a bench next to Amaryllis and, with my legs kicking out to bleed off some of my excess energy, waited for her to open up her book.

She did so, but not before rolling her eyes. “There are a few different schools of thought when it comes to second classes. Generally, a class will level up for doing things that are in-line with that class’ purpose. A warrior will level from training at arms or from sparring. A chef will level from cooking. Do you follow so far?”

“That makes sense, yeah.”

“So, as I said, the two major philosophies are split along two ideas. The first suggests that you find a second class that matches your first. A warrior might get a spearman class. A chef a cook class. That way you can continue doing the same sort of training and so on to level both classes up. Since the experience is more or less evenly shared between the two classes, this means that your second class will level far faster.”

“Because levels eleven and up take more experience points per level?” I asked.

“Experience points?” Amaryllis asked.

“Uh. more... experience in general?” I asked. “Experience points are an Earth thing, I guess.”

“Yes, I suppose,” she said. “The second school of thought suggests finding a class that’s utterly dissimilar to your first. That way you can practice both separately. It’s both more and less efficient seeing as how the first method, the two similar classes way, tends to spend a long time with their second class at its bottleneck while the first reaches level twenty.”

“Oh,” I said. “That’s kind of annoying. But then if you have two entirely different classes you need to spend time training two things?”

“Exactly. It’s something of a toss-up as to which is best, and matters for much furious debate in some circles.”

“I can imagine,” I said. “So what will you do?”

“I don’t know yet,” Amaryllis admitted. “Which is why I have this.” She tapped a talon on the surface of the book.

“Midhve’s compendium of Dungeons and Associated Classes,” I read. “Well then, let’s pick you a class!”

Amaryllis huffed, but she opened the book all the same.