“She should be seen with respectable social companions like Count Greanderal’s son.”
Actually, Iwasin the mood to physically push past them.
Buuut it would cause trouble later, especially since I was now in the mood to push theminto the wallas I pushed past. With considerable force.
“As far as I am aware, who I, or Lady Arazniros choose to be seen with is entirely our own choice. And presently I choose not to be seen with you three.” I strode off, fists clenched.
Forty minutes of calisthenics, the same amount of whacking a training dummy with a quarterstaff—the closest practice weapon to my scythe-axe available—and thirty minutes of skipping rope worked wonders on my frustrations.
Yes, I was poor and of a low social rank. A fact thatmostelves I’d encountered were magnanimous about not shoving in my face. In fact, the entire academy was based around egalitarianism. So why would those three…
No.
I didn’t want to spend more time working out frustrations. I showered, dressed, and returned to my dorm room.
Cleggs wasn’t there. No surprise, he’d be out socializing somewhere. Yet there was a note on my wardrobe.
Meet us at 718 South Linden Street.
Wear something fun.
Fun? Well that narrows it down.
To nothing in my wardrobe.
A restaurant? I hadn’t been out much and didn’t recognize the address, even though it was only six blocks from the academy.
I donned charcoal wool trousers, a white button-up shirt, a khaki vest, and a forest-green cloak.
No, it wasn’t ‘fun.’ But it was clean.
I strode along the sidewalk, glancing up at numbers every so often, to finally spot a handful of people standing outside a… that must be it.
Red and amber lights streamed through the windows at the bottom level of a five-story building, accompanied by the beats of music.
“This is unacceptable.” I recognized the voice of Aldyr. “We had reservations.”
I glanced up at an oddly whimsical sign reading The Crimson Kraken. That can’t be right. Did I remember the number wrong?
Aldyr backed into me as I fumbled in my pocketfor the scrap of paper. “Watch what you’re—you?”
“Yeah, me.” Yes.Not‘yeah.’ I stepped back and examined the paper in the crimson light shining through the front windows.
It was the right number.
“And what areyoudoing here?” he said.
I returned a moment of silence. “I am honestly not certain.” I was probably at the wrong place, but it was worth a shot.
I stepped to the maître d', an elven gentleman with immaculate hair and a black suit. “Do you have a reservation for Theodore Thistlewood?”
Aldyr snorted. “You? You don’t honestly expect—”
“The Cleggs party.” The maître d' gestured to the door. “Right this way, Mr. Thistlewood.”
I stepped through the doorway and didn’t look back. My grin would have beenmostunseemly.
The building was rectangular, but didn’t feel that way inside. Walkways curved between booths and tables arranged in little islands, some with steps up, some with steps down. Fountains and waterfalls burbled. A hexagonal aquarium wide as my arm span and taller than I sported schools of fish with glowing red eyes and a model of a sailing ship that sank and rose to the surface again. Musicians played from an oval stage; an elf man on piano, a gnome man on drums, while an inu woman played a curiously looped horn—the canine folk being known for lung capacity.
