Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
What an insolent little shit!
Lord Percival Everflame stormed away from the bakery, still shocked at the outrageous behaviour of that nobody and nothing baker.
How dare he talk to Percival like that? How dare he treat Percival in such a contemptuous manner? How dare he mock and insult Percival?
His strides lengthened.
I am Lord Percival Everflame! I am a phoenix!
That baker should have been grateful Percival had set foot inside his dinky little establishment.
But Percival would never visit the Magic Bakery again! He would tell everyone what a terrible bakery it was. He strode through the slushy cobblestone streets of Hovel Quarter, as the district was often unofficially called.
His nose wrinkled. He’d have to have his boots cleaned by his servant tonight. They’d be disgusting after he walked these revolting streets.
Percival wouldn’t even consider coming to this part of the city if their factory weren’t here. His uncle had considered moving it. But it had been here for over a hundred years. Moving it would be expensive. So instead he had to work in this revolting part of the city.
At least he usually never had to wander the streets. He normally just took his carriage to the factory and then home. No reason to explore Hovel Quarter and meet its dishevelled inhabitants.
An error had led to him having to find food for himself today. Normally Cook supplied him with an exquisitely packed lunch, which he could eat in his office.
But for some reason it had not been in his office today. That was his servant Ines’s duty. She better have a good reason for why it had not been here. Ines had been forgetful the last couple of days. She’d seemed distracted. Perhaps she needed to be let go.
Because of her incompetence, Percival had had to make the decision to either starve or find lunch for himself.
He thought of that baker. Of his insolence. Of his mocking tone.
I would have been better off starving than having to deal with him.
What was this city coming to? Those who worked in service should be properly trained how to treat their betters.
The guards to Everflame Glass Factory nodded in recognition as he approached. He walked through the entrance only used by his family and several authorised employees.
He strode up the stairs to the upper level of the factory. He walked along the corridor towards his office. One side of the corridor was comprised entirely of glass so he could survey the factory below.
He paused to look down. Their workforce consisted of mostly imps. Although, there were a few fire demons and even a couple of volcanic nymphs. Not many other races could tolerate the intense heat of the factory where they melted and shaped glass.
The heat rose. It prickled along his skin and washed through him. He inhaled and relished the heat, wishing he could shift, fly, and shoot flames. Instead, he had to work.
He continued along the corridor, entered his office, and closed the door. He put the mushroom and leek pie on his desk and sat.
He slid the pie from the paper. It just fit within his hand.
The bakery hadn’t even provided cutlery or a plate.
He sighed, really wishing Ines had done her duty and provided him with the packed lunch from Cook.
Cook was a pixie who’d spent over a hundred years training under the best cooks in Anorra.
Percival grimaced and braced himself. At least the pie didn’t look terrible. The pastry was golden. But the insides would probably be a greasy, soggy, sludgy, overly salted mess. He lifted it to his lips. He took a bite.
He moaned as his teeth sank into buttery, flaky pastry.
The warm leek and mushroom filling rolled over his taste-buds.
He closed his eyes and chewed. He moaned again.
The rich, creamy filling had been perfectly seasoned with a blend of herbs.
It had been perfectly salted too and nicely spiced. He swallowed.
How had that bakery produced such food?
He licked his lips, collecting the crumbs of delicate pastry. He took another bite. And another. He was overcome as he chewed and swallowed. He stared down at the half-eaten pie, amazed at the complexity of flavours.
Bite after bite he took of crisp pastry, which contrasted with the decadently soft filling. He couldn’t get enough of the savoury flavours exploding on his tongue. The pie oozed comfort, and he almost wished he was curled up before a fire.
And suddenly the pie was gone. Within a couple of minutes, he’d devoured it. Not once had he bemoaned the lack of cutlery or plate as he ate.
Now only a few crumbs remained. He licked his fingers, staring at the crumbs on his desk, wishing they were another pie.
I should have bought a second.
He was stumped that this glorious creation had been created in that bakery. It appeared that bad service did not mean bad food.
He let out a breath. Because if he wanted more of those pies, he’d have to go back. Which meant he’d have to see that baker again. He wrinkled his nose.
He stood and tidied up his desk, still mourning the fact he’d only ordered one pie.
A flutter of black at the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned his head. Outside his window, a clump of feathers writhed on the windowsill.
A grey shadow hung over it. Percival knew what the grey shadow meant. The bird had been injured. Phoenixes could see a person’s illnesses and injuries in the air around them.
He stepped towards the window and identified the injured bird as a raven. Blood matted its feathers, some of which were missing, revealing skin and more blood.
A fox or cat attack, perhaps. Or maybe some cruel child.
It convulsed. For now, the raven lived.
But an injured raven outside in winter wouldn’t survive long. Even if its wounds didn’t kill it, the cold and snow would. Already snow fell from the sky and gathered on the raven’s black feathers. He couldn’t tell if it was shivering from pain or the cold.
Percival looked away from the disgusting sight. His throat tightened.
No point in helping it. Birds died all the time. Every day many of them died in Anorra, and no one cared or noticed their death.
He took a step away. Then hesitated.
Why should I care about this bird? It doesn’t mean anything to me. Its life or death has no impact on me!
And it was the bird’s own fault for not being strong enough to survive. It was just a weak, useless bird. Probably better off dead.
Percival swallowed. He should get back to work.
Still, Percival didn’t move.
His hands clenched as a voice and memories from his past rose and circled in his head.
“Why the fuck are you shaking? Are you scared? Why are you scared? What is wrong with you?” A hand gripped Percival’s arm. “You need to be tough! You need to be strong! That’s the only way you’ll ever survive.”
Percival’s hands shook. He glanced back. Outside, the raven trembled, feathers ruffling. He stepped closer. He could see the raven’s face now.
And he could still hear that voice. “I may as well throw you out on the streets and leave you to starve and die alone. How long do you think you’ll survive out there in the snow?
I’d be surprised if you managed a week. After all, you’re just a weak, useless phoenix!
You’ll end up dead, never to be reborn, just like your pathetic parents! ”
The raven’s black beak opened. It croaked weakly. It could only just be heard through the glass windows.
“They abandoned you when they died. Why the fuck shouldn’t I abandon you now?”
The raven croaked again as if begging for help.
It doesn’t want to die. It doesn’t want to die alone in the snow.
Without thinking, Percival stepped forward. He undid the latch and yanked the window up. He took a breath and closed his eyes, letting his darkest memories rise. His breath stuttered in his chest. His heart clenched. A tear slid down his cheek. He lifted his fingers and gathered the wetness.
The raven softly croaked.
Percival opened his eyes and reached out to the dying raven on the window ledge. He pressed his fingers to the raven’s forehead, to the cold mess of feathers. The raven stilled. It made no more sounds. It didn’t flutter.
Then all around the raven, the air began to glow. There was a flash of warmth and light.
Letting out a breath, Percival dropped his hand. After a second, the raven sat up. She blinked her pitch-black eyes at Percival.
And Percival knew without a doubt that the raven was a she. The raven ruffled her feathers. Several were still missing. Blood still stained them. But her wounds had healed. In time, the feathers would probably grow back.
The raven hopped towards Percival, gazing up at him. She tilted her head from side to side, examining Percival. Then she lowered her head as if bowing.
Percival found himself bowing in return.
The raven stretched her long black wings and flapped, flying off.
Percival watched, staring as the raven flew over the city, growing smaller and smaller until she disappeared amongst the stone chimneys. He closed the window.
Then with a groan, he sagged and sat on the floor. He closed his eyes, body sinking into the hardwood. Healing the raven had taken his strength.
Why did I help the raven?
He shouldn’t have done it. He’d gained nothing from it. In fact, it had cost him his energy.
Now he’d need to sleep. He’d be fine, of course. But he’d be lethargic and exhausted from using his powers for the next day or two. Thankfully, the raven’s injuries hadn’t been too hard to heal.
He’d not healed many in this current life. And if his uncle saw him do something like that, he’d have harsh words for him: “Why on earth would you waste your energy on a fucking useless bird?”
Percival hadn’t liked seeing the eyesore of a creature outside his window. That was why he’d done it. It had been revolting. Disgusting. He hadn’t healed it out of a sense of charity. Or sympathy. Or because he felt sorry for the creature.
Percival was not an altruistic or kind being. He was tough. He was who his uncle had raised him to be. He’d healed the raven because he hadn’t wanted to look at that mess of feathers and blood. He’d not wanted a corpse on his windowsill.
It was as simple as that.
After all, what was the point of helping someone who couldn’t help you back? If you had a bleeding heart, you’d just constantly be taken advantage of.
He opened his eyes. He turned his head towards the window.
Still, Percival had to admit, even though it had been a foolish waste of his energy, it had been nice to see the raven fly away, healthy once again.