Thill couldn't focus on his tasks since learning about Mystic Chura's disappearance. Twice he'd burned a scrambled egg, the pan going up in smoke like a volcano about to erupt, clouding the kitchen and the bar with a thick gray fog.
Scrambled eggs, he'd thought. Eggs were the easiest to cook. Eggs were the first things he'd learned to cook at eight years old, one night when his parents had forgotten about him yet again, going out to dinner without his knowledge and leaving him in the house.
He'd gotten concerned that Bert would scold him, maybe even fire him right then and there on the spot (Thill had learned about his boss's impatience and hot head), but both times Bert had only taken a towel from a cupboard and swatted at the dirty air until the smoke cleared. All Bert had told him was to focus and to hurry up because the customers were waiting.
Thill was glad that the tavern did not have many customers during the times he'd burned the eggs. Those had been very small mercies, but now that his head was clearer, uneasiness a minor but ever-present rumble in his chest, it annoyed him that the tavern was still mostly empty.
"Slow days ahead," he whispered to himself, not knowing how true that statement would be in the next days and weeks, surveying the restaurant as if there'd been any new customers.
Irritation and impatience thundered within him. He'd been leaning on the counter for the past ten minutes, his hands itching to move, to do something. He wanted to take orders, to cook, anything to distract him from his thoughts.
Thill was not aware of it yet, but he was beginning to feel the unexplainable sense of dread that King Heralla and Khamene had been feeling for the past couple of days.
He sighed and walked to the other side of the counter. He walked to the front door just as Bert appeared from his office.
"Thill, where are you going?" Bert asked.
"I need some air," Thill replied without looking back at his boss. He didn't wait for a reply and went out of the tavern.
The bright sun was a stark contrast to the dim orange glow of the restaurant. The humidity kissed his skin as he squinted his eyes. He put his hands on his waist, turned his chin up, and inhaled. Roztock did have the freshest and most unpolluted air.
He remained in that position until the silence was broken by the steady sound of a horse's hooves stomping on the ground. Thill looked slightly to his right where a line of trees blocked his view of the road. The clopping of hooves was a phantom sound until the head of a horse appeared from the trees.
Then he saw who was riding on the horse.
The king's son, Khamene, was riding on like he had no care in the world. Thill was both intrigued and annoyed to see him. He watched the boy with empty eyes.
Khamene, probably feeling his stare, turned to Thill. He raised a hand in greeting but did not smile.
Thill returned the gesture with a hand, certainly no smile on his face. "Where are you headed?"
The boy pulled on the ropes controlling the horse. The animal whinnied, then stopped. Khamene angled his body towards Thill. "The castle."
"Going to see your daddy, huh?"
Khamene narrowed his eyes. "Not that it's any of your business, but yes."
The two watched each other under a heavy quiet. It looked like they were suspiciously eyeing each other before the start of a duel.
Then: "Be safe out there. A mystic's gone missing, in case you haven't heard."
"I've heard," Khamene said monotonously. "You be safe, too."
Khamene tugged at the ropes, commanding the horse to resume. The boy looked straight down the road. Thill watched until he disappeared behind the trees. His jaw clenched, wondering why Khamene was going to visit the king, but had a vague idea why.
=====
There were only two people eating at the restaurant, two individuals who each took four-person tables and were oddly eating the same dish that was roast beef and butter-fried string beans.
Bert had been operating The Food Tavern for eight years, so he knew all about the fluctuation of the amount of customers dining at his establishment. He surmised that this was just one of those periods where sales were lower than usual.
Quickly losing interest--with a hint of disappointment in his gut--he entered his office once more, not actually knowing what needed to be done in there. He opened the door, and in front of his desk stood a tall man wearing a black wide-brimmed hat and a dark blue cloak.
Bert perked up, his eyes widening. His heart quickened its thumping in his chest. He did not recognize this man. He was a stranger; he was an intruder.
"Who are you?" he yelled as he closed the door so that he wouldn't be heard by the two guests outside.
The man did not answer, did not move at all.
Bert opened his mouth to repeat his question, this time louder and firmer to hopefully intimidate the man, but he stopped. He remembered what Thill had told the guards this morning.
A chill ran down his whole body. This man in front of him was potentially dangerous. He had to tread carefully.
"I'm asking nicely," he began, "pleasssse leave."
The man responded with silence.
Angry now but knowing that he had to keep his calm, Bert asked, "Do you know where Mystic Chura is?"
No answer.
"Did you have ssssomething to do with her disappearance?" Bert's voice was louder now, tears pooling under his eyes. He and Chura had known each other for the better part of four years. While they were so different from each other, they had grown to be comfortable around the other. True friendship, he believed, was when silence was never awkward between them.
"I heard that you wanted to sssspeak to me." Bert squared his shoulders. "I'm here now, so speak!"
Without missing a beat, the man came to Bert in less than a second, as fast as the speed of light. He moved like an apparition, levitating two inches from the floor. From his cloak, one bony and blackened hand grabbed Bert by the throat and pinned him against the door.
Bert tried to swallow but couldn't. His tongue popped in and out of his lips and the veins on his forehead throbbed.
"What do you know about the boy?" the creature asked. Bert had stopped believing that this evil being in front of him was a man.
"W-w-what boy?" he asked. His vision was starting to blur.
"The boy," it simply repeated. The creature brought its face closer to Bert's. The Reptil saw its yellow eyes look directly at him, its nose like that of a human skull's, its lips black and cracked and showed jagged teeth.
For some reason, Bert knew who this creature was talking about. He could only hope that he was right about this. "I d-don't know anything about K-Khamene."
"Lies!" The creature's breath smelled of rotting flesh.
Mystic Chura's flesh? Bert thought and knew that he was correct.
Its claws tightened around Bert's throat. He knew that if he didn't give this wretched beast something that it could use, it would kill him. But he valued Khamene dearly, and not just because he was King Heralla's son. Khamene and Ron were two of his most loyal customers. Bert now somewhat saw them like his sons.
What do I know about being a father? he asked himself. He was childless, unmarried. The tavern was the only thing he had going on in his life, and it currently barely had any customers.
Maybe his death wouldn't be much of a loss, after all.
Bert kept his mouth shut. If his death meant protecting Khamene, then he had no problem with that. Better to die with dignity.
"Tell me what you know." The creature hissed.
Bert, with his last supply of oxygen, collected a pool of his saliva on his tongue, then spat at the creature's face. The creature growled, then tightened his claws around Bert's neck.
Bert's vision turned to black, his body growing heavy. A tear escaped his eye. Inside him was an intermingling of deep sadness and, strangely, a sense of freedom.
He would die right now, right here, but at least he would die an honorable man.