Mirrored from Sythyry.
Niia had taken the stolen skayak, and, as it happened, the most portable bits of equipment and cash from the Nook. She flew off alone, to some other branch.
Chiver mourned her departure for several weeks. He found some comfort with a sweet Rassimel from Daukrhame, also teaching at his school, and also recently dumped by a different-species sweetheart.
Arfaen took over the Nook. Once or twice a week she operates it as a live-service restaurant in the Quick Quarter. For the most part, the people and equipment went back to Arfaen’s kitchen, or to other restaurants in more reasonable parts of Kismirth, or into other trades entirely.
But of course Niia sent us letters, a few months later.
Enjoying that useless dog I left for you? I’ll have you know that I’m the head chef to Count Toberlane. He’s the de-facto ruler of Drysselwyn! A big city-state in the Transwynt on Aradrueia! I have, in fact, cooked the city-wide Creation Day blood soup! Now, know you this — in most places, blood soup is simply made from the blood of any animal that’s been slaughtered lately, with grain and greens and garlic. Not so Creation Day blood soup in Drysselwyn! Here every citizen of the city nicks a finger and drips three drops into the pot! So I have cooked and eaten the whole city of Drysselwyn! Or Cooked for and had my food been eaten by the whole city of Drysselwyn! Which is a bigger city than Kismirth will ever be!
So much for you, protecting your pitiful little restaurant that doesn’t even serve people, stomping out your competition or breaking up their marriages like a coward!
Arfaen and I decided to let her have the last word.
Niia was unusual in that I had a lot more contact with her than with most people who move to Kismirth and then leave it. But people like that are not so unusual. Of course the better sort of people all move to Kismirth and stay there, and the worse sorts all come and leave … or actually not. I did show off the more insane and ridiculous side of Niia, but pretty much every Rassimel has that side, somewhere or other. And I might have been kinder to, oh, those Herethroy farmers, than their stories deserve.
I think that, for every four or five people who move to Kismirth, about one tries and leaves, for some reason or another. We are not, after all, a heaven.