YoTS January ~ 40!

Extra-beefy chapter!

CHAPTER 40

“It has been confirmed by Auld Leap. Grant is our savior!” Marcus bellowed as they stepped into the large living area the Leaps had claimed for themselves. The room burst into cheers, with whoops and cries of happiness.

“That’s not what he said!” Grant snapped at him, but Markus and the others were too busy celebrating to notice.

“This calls for a feast!” A lady from the crowd announced. She was met with cheers and clapping. Grant sat and watched as people fussed around, preparing the large table. He assumed they would bring out some old scraps and morsels. He was hungry, but didn’t think he was hungry enough to eat plague rat.

In between hugs, handshakes, and pats on the back, the bodies moved around in formation, apparently with preordained jobs. A short while later, steaming bowls of rich stew, roast joints of meat, numerous types of potatoes and a mountain of deserts came out. The variety rivalled that of Sir Friday’s epic banquets, and may have even eclipsed it. Grant didn’t recognise half the dishes that were brought out on steaming platters.

“From the castle. We managed to sneak in and steal a couple of old chef’s outfits from the laundry room.” Freda, who had become something of a celebrity for ‘finding’ the ‘savior’, came and offered him an easy explanation. “Every few days, we use those to go load up, but it’s always a dangerous task.”

“How do the outfits help?” Grant wondered with a frown.

“One of the outfits has been modified with lots of hidden pockets. Chefs can be rather large, and so are their clothes! When we waddle out, heavily laden with food, no one bats an eyelid. We just look like another obese chef after all.” Freda chuckled darkly, letting a hint of mischief show.

“Can I borrow one, or buy it off you?”

“We’d really love to give it to you but they’re the only way we can get food these days. Only one has been modified to store food. The other wouldn’t fit you. If we lost the modified one, we might not eat for days.”

Grant sighed as he realized that his status as ‘savior’ only went as far as their next meal. These people, no matter their names, were typical Januarians. “I understand. You’d all starve. I wouldn’t want that, but I need to get into the castle for the exhibition tournament tomorrow if I’m going to get a chance to defeat Lord January. I guess… I have a scarf I can wrap my head in? I’ll get through that…?”

“I wouldn’t do that if I was you!” Marcus barged into the conversation when he heard what they were discussing. “Security at the tournament will be stringent. They don’t just let anyone wander in, especially not while Lord January is in residence.”

“I have a problem then. If I can’t get past the guards, then I won’t be able to fight in the tournament, or defeat Lord January.” Grant locked eyes with them, or tried to, but they kept looking away. He said nothing else, simply letting them come to their own conclusions.

“Well… after the feast, you can come to the castle with Markus and I. We’ll have to restock the pantry, and if we’re lucky we’ll be able to find an outfit in your size from the laundry room!” Freda offered excitedly.

“All you think about are those clothes, Freda!” Marcus groaned at her offer, getting a not-very-playful smack in return.

“My silly clothing ideas are the only thing keeping us fed!” She huffed at him, clearly continuing a sore-spot argument they had hashed out many times.

Marcus ignored her warning, “Aren’t you worried we’ll get caught, or they’ll miss the loss of yet another outfit? Seems too risky to me.”

“What other choice do we have? If we don’t replenish our stores, we'll starve. There’re so many chefs, they won’t miss a single outfit. As for the Nobles? They’ll be busy feasting and partying. No one pays any attention to the army of chefs and servants running around. We'll go tonight. Come with us, Grant. You’ll have to be careful while we sneak in the servant’s entrance, but maybe you can just hide behind us.”

“Won’t people see our faces, your names?” Grant waved above her head, where here name was clearly displayed.

“We’ve thought of that. We wear oversized chef’s hats and wear face masks. Lord January hates the system that kept him from becoming the Calendar King, so it's mandatory that all chefs and servers wear masks. If he doesn’t have to be reminded of the system, like with Nobles, he does his best to ignore it.”

Grant watched the group of Leaps enjoy their feast. People laughed, ate, and drank, resulting in singing and much merriment. He listened to the conversations and almost had to leave out of sheer shame. One woman was thrilled about the prospect of owning her own home, above ground, where she would wake up and be able to see the sun every morning. That was one of the least hopeful of the conversations, but with every passing moment, he was reminded of the fact that all of these hopes were all pinned on him.

He had to save them all for any of their dreams to come true. That thought killed his appetite, which was just fine by him, for two reasons. First, he didn’t want to anger Sword Expertise, and secondly… it just didn’t feel right devouring the last of their food. There was plenty of healthy food to satisfy his hunger. Frankly, if they all ate like him, the sheer excess would last them a full week of three meals a day.

He knew better than to say something like that. He had learned his lesson with Skinny: a thousand years of effort had made society the way it was right now. These people accepted him for who he was, and he was one of them. Yet… even now, the only way they would allow themselves to be saved was if he didn’t cause too much of a change in their daily lives.

“This entire society needs to be torn down and rebuilt from the ground up.” Grant’s words held no heat. No anger. Only the purest of disappointment.

***

*Bwapp!*

The laziest of trumpet calls signalled the start of Second Supper, since no one would be outside to actually hear the traditional clarion call.

“That’s our signal to move,” Markus motioned for Grant to start moving. The man himself was dressed as an obese chef with a puffy white hat that had been dropping and covering his eyes since they started their trip. As they got closer to their destination, he started to sweat, making the hat stick to his skin and finally stop slipping.

“Let’s go.” Freda led the way wearing a similar outfit, but without hidden compartments. She pushed on a stone slab above their heads, which wobbled but didn’t move. “Grant, give me a hand here.”

Grant squeezed in beside her at the end of the tunnel. With a shove, the stone moved fully, scraping on the ground above. The last vestiges of sunset illuminated the tunnel as they exited the sewer one by one. He found himself in an old graveyard. Broken tombstones dotted the ground, along with more elaborate tombs for the wealthy. “Roll it back over, Grant.”

He obliged the weary lady. As he shoved the stone, he realised that it was a headstone, belonging to a Marjory Wednesday. He read the inscription as he pushed.

Marjory Wednesday. Born 4th August 944 AB. Died 4th August 974 AB.

Wife, mother, chocolate lover. Chocolate Cake was her love, needing to breathe was her final downfall.

He wondered how many people buried here had passed away too soon from food related diseases, or in this case… choking?

“Move it, Grant,” Markus whispered sharply. “No time for daydreaming.”

The streets and narrow alleyways were deserted. Grant stayed close as they rapidly closed in on their target, eventually coming upon a wooden door. When they paused a moment too long for comfort, Grant quizzed them, “What are we waiting on?”

“Waiting for the door to open.” Markus said around light gasping.

“How long will that be? I could be spotted!” Grant hissed at the man.

“Shouldn’t be too long.”

Long minutes passed, and footsteps closed in on them from down the alleyway. Grant could tell by the marching of the boots that they were most likely House Tuesday Peacekeepers. “We need to leave-”

The door swung open and out stumbled a drunk Noble wearing voluminous pants and ruffled shirt. He nodded, and with blurry eyes stumbled onwards, eventually dropping his pants and leaning against the wall across from them.

“Halt!” A Peacekeeper bellowed at the man. “Public urination is against the law! Ugh! Why is it green?”

Grant and the disguised Leaps took the opportunity to slip in the door before it clicked shut. As it did, Grant couldn’t help but laugh as he watched the inebriated Noble wave his ‘weapon’ at the guards. “I thought you said only servants used this entrance?”

“Um… usually.” Markus clearly wasn’t in a talkative mood. “That fellow must have somehow found his way down here.”

Grant followed Freda and Markus through the almost deserted hallways. A few times he had to hide behind their bulky chefs outfits as servants scurried past, heavily laden with either full or empty platters of food.

“Here we are. The laundry room. Let’s go.” Freda turned the handle… but the door wouldn’t budge.

“Freda,” Markus pointed at a shiny lock, “those bolts are new!”

“Oh no… sorry, Grant. It looks like they’d stepped up security since we were last here. Maybe they did notice the missing uniforms after all.”

“I’m sure we can find another way in.” Though Grant tried to sound confident, he was anything but. The familiar sound of marching footsteps echoed along the hallway, and Grant stood frozen in place. He could make a run for it, but the noise would bring more guards. He could fight his way out… he gripped the hilt of February Twenty Nine tightly.

The sword was as ready as always… but all he could picture was Count Tuesday’s accusatory eyes staring at him as the life went out of them. If he had to spill more blood, he would, but… once their bodies were discovered, the castle would be completely locked down. With a killer in the castle, the exhibition tournament could be postponed or cancelled.

He couldn’t risk losing his chance against Lord January.

Freda placed a hand on his just as he gripped the hilt. She shook her head, warning him not to unsheathe his sword. “Markus… give him your outfit.”

Markus was already on it. Grant frantically shook his head in protest, knowing that Markus was sacrificing himself. He threw the outfit at Grant, who - with no other choice - quickly donned the outfit, finishing it off with the puffy white hat and face mask.

The footsteps thundered in his ears. House Tuesday Peacekeepers rounded the corner, startled by coming across the group. The guard nodded and made to continue his rounds. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t see you there.”

“Wait! What do we have here? An almost naked, filthy, Leap!” The last words were shouted, since they were almost drowned out by the ringing of weapons being drawn.

“We found it wandering the corridors in search of food,” Freda answered the accusation quietly. “We were on our way to find someone to take it off our hands.”

“Would you believe it…? A Leap, here, in our very walls. You’ll have some questions to answer before you make the leap! We’ll take it from here, chef!” One of the House Tuesday guards planted a fist in Markus’s gut, and he doubled over in pain. Grant went to pull on the sword behind his back, but stopped after catching Freda’s piercing stare.

They watched helplessly as Markus was dragged along the corridor.

“Abyss yeah!” One of the guards shouted. “Double rations for catching a Leap in a place we can legally get rid of him! This might even mean a spot at Lord January’s table!”

“Let’s go.” Grant took charge, since Freda looked like she was on the verge of a breakdown. He needed to find a key, get a spare uniform, then find a way to save Markus.

They hurried along the halls as quickly as they could without causing a scene, but each carpeted hallway looked exactly like the last.

“Don’t worry, I’ve been here many times before.” Freda announced, steel coming into her voice as she noticed Grant slowing down in confusion. They approached a group of men joking and laughing, and Grant peeked around the corner to see two men sitting; playing cards and eating.

An iron ring hung from one of the men’s belts, a ring heavy with keys.

Grant tapped Freda’s shoulder. “I’ll go whack them on the head, then take the key. We can tie them up, and they’ll be fine. A headache tomorrow, but-”

“No, Grant.” Freda’s voice was hard, but also resigned.

“You can’t sneak up on them, Freda. Even if you did manage to get behind them unnoticed, you couldn’t-”

“Be quiet and stay here.” She gave him a look that locked him in place, then walked forward. Grant watched helplessly as she approached the guards.

“Hey, who goes there?” The guard continued to munch on his sandwich while observing the chef closing in on him.

“Random Chef number Five, sir. I really need your help!” Freda’s acting was so good that Grant assumed she might have a high-leveled skill in acting.

“Huh. We’re kinda busy right now. Guarding prisoners behind the door and such.” He pointed to the steel door. “What do you need, citizen?”

“Chef is going crazy. Another Random Chef spilled soup down the front of his uniform.” Freda’s voice wavered at the end, not needing to hide the fear she was actually feeling right now.

The guard grimaced. “I wouldn’t want to upset Chef Gordon. He’ll give you a good tongue bashing before a real beating! I don’t see how we can help…?”

Freda leaned forward on their table invitingly, “Well… I need a favor. I need access to the laundry to pick up a new outfit for him.”

Even though she was being as enticing as possible, the guard was shaking his head as soon as he heard the word ‘laundry’. “No one is allowed access, I’m afraid. Not after a couple of uniforms went missing.”

“Billy, Joel,” she looked at both the guards, “I can make sure you’re both allocated one of the best seats for the exhibition tournament tomorrow. After Lord January, I’ll make sure you’ll get first dibs at all the juiciest cuts of meat!”

Both gulped, licking their lips, but Joel’s eyes narrowed right after. “Tempting… But I don’t know. For all we know, you could be trying to con us!”

“If you can’t trust a chef,” Freda breathed the words, “who can you trust?”

Grant gripped February Twenty Nine tightly, ready to charge in if things suddenly went south. Joel started to stand, reaching for a cudgel, “Why don’t you show us what’s under that mask and hat?”

“It’s okay, Joel.” Billy raised his hand to stop the other guard. “I’m sure it’s fine. Anyway, I want a really good seat tomorrow, don’t you?”

“I disagree… but as senior guard, the decision rests with you.” Joel scoffed as Billy turned his eyes back onto Freda.

“Yeah, whatever.” Billy eyed Freda, currently disguised as Random Chef number Five, and pulled out a key. “Take this. If you’re not back here in twenty minutes, we’ll come looking for you. If we need to come find you, I’ll throw you in with a Leap!”

“I’ll be back in ten.” Freda shuddered, apparently the correct response, grabbed the key and waddled back along the corridor in the bulky disguise. Around the corner, she collapsed against the wall and mopped her forehead. “He’s… he’s trapped in there?”

“Are you okay?” Grant’s concern was waved away as Freda remembered their goal.

“We don’t have time to chat. This key,” she held up the shiny brass key, “must be back on the ring in under twenty minutes.”

The chefs hurried along the hallways as fast as their bulky outfits would allow. To any observers, they just looked like any other chefs, rushing to fulfil the whims of the Nobles. Freda shoved the key in the lock but it wouldn’t budge. “It’s the wrong key? That abyssal son of Winter!”

“Pause. Give it to me.” She dropped the key in Grant’s hand, and her own were shaking with the stress of having her husband locked up. He pushed  the key in the lock and gently turned it. The lock clicked as the internal bolts opened. Inside, row upon row of clean white linen was hung to dry. Massive tablecloths that would eventually grace the banquet tables, huge bins of soiled tablecloths, and finally the desired uniforms sat to the side. “Should I grab one of these?”

“No. If a high level chef or kitchen manager sees you wearing a soiled outfit, they’ll make you strip and change immediately. They’re proud of their role within the castle, and incredibly fastidious. The preparation and delivery of food is a sacred art, and being caught wearing a soiled uniform is a serious offence.”

They searched frantically until they found one that fit Grant. He struggled out of the modified outfit and donned the new one, though it was huge and hung limply around his too-thin-for-society body. Freda shook her head and reached out, “Let me help you stuff it with cloth and linen.”

When they were done, Grant finally resembled a properly obese chef. “Let’s go.”

“Hat and mask!”

Grant snatched them on the way out, then hurried back along the hallway. He was profusely sweating, overwhelmed by the vast quantity of material surrounding his body. The modified uniform was light as a feather in comparison. He didn’t know how, but the Leaps had managed to create compartments that didn’t collapse when empty, maintaining the illusion of an obese chef. They were panting heavily by the time they returned to the guards and handed over the key. Grant had forgotten to hide around the corner.

“One minute to spare, we were about to come after you!” Billy grinned at them over his now-more-substantial pile of poker chips. It seemed as though the cards had been on his side. “Who’s this?”

“Random Chef number Seven, sir!” Grant instantly and monotonously replied.

“What’s that in your arms? That isn’t one uniform!” He pointed at the uniform bulked up by all its hidden compartments.

Grant and Freda shared a look. There was no way to hide the modified uniform now. Freda didn’t stop Grant as his hand went for his sword, but she did grab the outfit and present the bulky clothing, “This is a new innovation, straight out of the laundry engineers workshop!”

“Laundry… engineers?” The guards scratched at their heads as they tried to determine if she was messing with them or not..

Freda nodded vigorously, and Grant’s hand slowly relaxed off of the hilt of his sword. “Oh yes. They work day and night on creating new innovative outfits. This one, for example, his hidden compartments for storing meals!”

“What use is that?” Joel stood up to examine the outfit, his piggy eyes scanning the entire cloth monstrosity.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Freda tittered as though the guards were being intentionally obtuse to flirt with her, “A chef can only carry two platters of food safely! With this outfit, they can carry up to ten full platters!”

“Wow!” Billy poked at the material, near slack-jawed over the beauty of this magnificent garment. “It makes the chefs more efficient? They can carry more food and need to make less trips? It’s… genius!”

“Before we forget, here’s the key.” Freda plopped the key into Billy’s open palm. “I’ll keep you fine gentlemen premier seats by Lord January’s table. I might even be able to swing seats next to the big man himself!”

“Did you hear that, Joel? Premier seats!” Billy laughed and slapped his partner on his beefy shoulder.

Joel glowered at his boss, though he couldn’t stop a smile from arriving over his chins. “Yeah, yeah. You got lucky this time, like you did with the cards.”

Grant and Freda took the opportunity to sneak off as Joel dealt another hand. Grant started chuckling as he pulled a face at his partner in crime, “Laundry engineers workshop?”

“There could be one. It sounds like something that should exist!” Freda’s serious tone only made Grant laugh harder. When they were finally clear, he stopped and presented the outfit to Freda. “Take this back to the sewers. I don’t want to run into anyone else and risk having to explain ‘laundry engineers’ as well as you did.”

<Their mental cultivation is probably a single digit.> Sarge scathingly added his input.

Freda looked at the outfit, then back at Grant with a tearful expression. “But… I want to help. We still need to get Markus back!”

He pressed the bulky uniform into her arms. “Our people can’t afford to lose this. I’ll get Markus back, don’t worry.”

“Please find my husband, and… be careful.” Accepting the situation with as much grace as possible, Freda gave him a quick hug and waddled off without looking back. Grant was alone again, but didn’t feel quite so confident without Freda’s calming presence and knowledge of the castle’s layout.

To calm himself, he tore open the interior of the chef uniform, making sure that his sword was ready to be drawn in an instant. It was time to get in position.