The Spare's Empire

[lum]

The kitchen has always been the warmest place in her home.

Even during winters, when the wind came howling down from the north and rattled the shutters of the townhouse. Or when the rest of the household was still asleep and the stones of the corridors retained the night’s chill.

The kitchen was warm because the ovens were always burning, and the copper pots were always steaming. And also because her mother complained alot whenever someone had left the backdoor open for too long.

“Close it.”

Like right now.

The girl froze. She had sneaked one hand inside the bread basket, her tiny fingers already wrapped around a piece of honeyed bread.

Her tail, which had been lazily curling behind her, went perfectly still.

When she turned her head she noticed her mother standing on the other side of the kitchen, arms folded.

The girl smiled, but when her mother rose an eyebrow, said smile became smaller.

“I… I was hungry…”

“It’s not breakfast yet.”

“I… I know…”

“So you came down here to eat before breakfast, and it’s not the first time.”

“Y… yes…”

Her mother sighed in theatrical disappointment. “You, little lady, are clearly your father’s daughter.”

That made the girl grin again.

Her mother tried not to smile.

She failed however.

“Come here,” she said while holding out a thick strawberry.

The girl approached cautiously, like a mouse towards cheese.

“But first…,” her mother suddenly reached out and wiped a smear of honey from the corner of her mouth with her thumb.

“I knew it! And now I want that strawberry!”

“Hm, wouldn’t this spoil your appetite?”

“No, mom, I promise it won’t!”

“You said that yesterday too.”

“That was beans, mom. But I ate all of my breakfast.”

Her mother looked doubtful. “You ate nearly all the honey cakes…”

“They were breakfast.”

“They were supposed to be dessert.”

The girl looked genuinely puzzled.

And then, “Wh… why would you make honey cakes for breakfast if they weren't breakfast?”

Her mother stared at her for a moment.

Then she laughed.

It was a warm laugh. A proper laugh.

The kind that made the little kitchen feel even warmer.

The girl liked her mother’s laugh.

She liked almost everything about mornings.

But most of all?

She liked being allowed in the kitchen!

[lum]

Technically…? Technically she wasn’t supposed to touch anything.

Technically, she had been told many many times before that the kitchen was a working space for adults, and thus not for little girls who were supposed to be learning their letters and their sums.

But nobody, not even her mother had ever managed to keep her away for too long.


Her mother turned back to the stove.

“Go upstairs now. You have lessons soon.”

“With father, yes. But can I help you first?”

Her mother glanced over her shoulder.

“What do you intend to help with?”

The girl looked around, indecisive.” Uh… everything?”

“That is not an answer.”

“Heuuh… I can stir stuff?”

“You can sit.”

“Or... I can cut vegetables?”

“You can sit.”

“Can I-”

“You can sit down, right now.”

The girl sighed dramatically and climbed onto a wooden stool near the preparation table.

Her bare toes didn’t reach the floor.

She watched her mother work.

Her mother’s hands worked quickly. They always did. She thought her mother was the most graceful person she has ever known. Despite the heat, despite the noise, despite the constant demands of a rather busy household and business, her hands always seemed know what they were supposed to do. And her mother, so it was told, was an excellent cook. She knew how to make things taste good just like the sun was good at being warm.

“Are you watching again?”

“Ehh.. uh.. yes?”

“You’ve been watching me make stew for three days in a row.”

“I.. I just want to know how.”

“You already know how.”

“N… no I don’t!”

“Alright then, peel those for me.” She handed her daughter a knife and motioned at some potatoes.

The girl immediately brightened.

Her mother pointed at her though.

“Careful now.”

“I know I know!”

“Just keep your fingers away from the sharp end. Oh, and don’t try to make them all the same size this time.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re eight.”

“Almost nine! And that doesn’t explain why I can’t!”

Her mother laughed.

The girl began peeling.

For several minutes there was only the comfortable sound of work. Then, the backdoor opened again and a gust of cold air entered the kitchen.

“Close that door!” Her mother’s voice came instantly.

“Aaand good morning to you too…”

The girl looked up as that voice belonged to her father.

He stood in the doorway, rubbing his hands together against the coolness of a seemingly early fall. He was already dressed for the day, in his typical dark merchant's coat and black polished boots. His hair was still slightly untidy, suggesting that he had either risen very early or had not bothered to make himself presentable. Yet.

The girl immediately abandoned her work.

“Father!” She jumped from the stool.

“Careful!”

Too late. The stool collapsed and collided with a full basket of apples. Those rolled over the floor while the girl ran across the kitchen and threw her arms around her father's waist.

He staggered half a step.

“Well then,” he looked down at her, “I see I’m welcome.”

“Yes, but you’re late.”

“I am?” He looked over at the clock.

“Yes, for my lessons.”

Her father looked from the clock to his wife and back down. Instead of pointing out that she was rather expected upstairs, he just smiled. “I believe you are right. But first you pick up those apples.”

As the girl went to work, her mother moved over, kissed her husband and then rearranged his hair.

“Breakfast?” she asked, “I have some honeyed bread… normally.” A glance at her daughter.

The girl’s ears perked up and she looked between the two. Her cheeks reddened.

Her father burst into laughter.

“I suppose I’ll have some another time.”

She loved how her father smiled.

And for a moment, there was no world beyond that kitchen.
No merchants waiting at the front door. No ledgers and no servants carrying messages.

Just breakfast.

[lum]

Her father reached down touching one of the tiny bumps on her head.

“You’ve been growing.”

“I have not!”

“You have. I can see it.”

“Mom??”

Her mother glanced at them. “Mm… she has.”

The girl looked betrayed.

Her father laughed. “Well, come on then, … -little- lady.”

“Do I have to?”

“Eh, you wanted your lesson.”

“I also wanted honey cakes.”

Her father faintly smirked, then nodded gravely. “Ah, I see. Then I fear your education has already begun…, right here, at th-”

Her mother pointed a spoon at him.

“Don’t encourage her.”

“I would never.”

“You are encouraging her -right- now.”

The girl giggled looking between her parents.

Then her father motioned her to follow him and she went up the stairs for her lessons.

Her mother was standing over the stove, briefly watching them go before she carried on with her work.

And the kitchen went on being warm.


The study was considerably colder than the kitchen.
And she disliked it.

But it wasn’t just the cold itself. The study also smelled of things that meant she was expected to behave properly. Leather, dust, and that faint bitter smell of whatever father and his clients time to time drank. She was here now to work with ink and parchment, and to wield a quill with excellent grip and appropriate cornering angles.

“Sit.”

She climbed into the chair opposing his seat at his dark wooden desk.

Then her father sat down behind the desk and opened a ledger.

“What did we learn about yesterday?”

She thought about it.

“That merchants lie.”

He stared at her.

“That… is not what I taught you.”

“But you said that. You said that merchants lie.”

He cleared his throat. “Ah… yes, I did say that.”

“See? I remembered it!”

He leaned back, a moment thoughtful.

“Very well then, let us see if you remember the rest.”

He offered her a little problem that involved three crates, different weights, prices in more than one currency and transport costs. Then he observed her solving it, which didn’t happen without effort, but she did came close. However, there was one number in the ledger that didn’t make sense, and she looked up without a word.

He smiled. “Never ever be afraid to tell someone that something doesn’t make sense.”

“Even to someone important?”

He nodded. “Especially then.”

Her father closed the ledger.

“That will do for today.”

The girl looked from him back at the ledger.

“B… but I almost had it!”

He smiled. “I know you did.”

“So… I could finish it?”

He nodded at her. “I know that too.”

She looked up at him with suspicion.

“Th… then why can’t I…?”

“Because if you finish every problem I give you this quickly, I’ll have to step up and have to try and find you harder exercises.”

She considered his answer, then nodded firmly. “That sounds good.”

He smiled and rose from his chair.

“Now come along. We have a visitor.”

“A merchant?”

“Yes.”

“Someone here in Waterdeep?”

He stopped halfway toward the door and looked at her.

“Well, we are in Waterdeep, aren’t we?”

She blinked. “Oh, I just thought maybe…”

“What? That we’d step onto my ship and sail out?”

“Eh… no…”

“No indeed. And besides. You like the kitchen too much.”

“I do!”

“I know!”

He opened the door.

She climbed down from the chair and followed him.

[lum]

The corridor outside the study was already starting to fill with the sounds of the household waking properly. Footsteps moved across the wooden floorboards below. Someone was carrying a crate. Somewhere, a servant called for another pair of hands. Also… the smell of breakfast had spread beyond the kitchen now, mixing with the colder smells of the house.

Her father walked quickly and she had to hurry to keep up.

“Father?”

“Yes?”

“So who is the visitor this time?”

“A man named Master-”

He stopped.

His daughter nearly walked into him.

He looked down at her.

“And before you ask, no, you may not interrupt us.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You were.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were thinking about it.”

She blushed a bit.

Her father sighed. “Come here.”

She stepped closer.

He straightened the collar of her dress and gently brushed a stray strand of hair away from her forehead.

“There, that is better.”

“Why do I have to behave and look ok?”

“Well, because we’re receiving a guest.”

She looked down at herself.

“But it’s just a dress.”

“Indeed,” he smiled. “You don’t need expensive things to make a good impression.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Your semblance and attitude is both important. You need to be clean, but also attentive and polite.”

“Even when people lie to you?”

He smiled. “Even then.”

She nodded solemnly.

“And what else?” he asked.

“Don’t interrupt?”

“Yes, and we don’t interrupt.”

He glanced a moment in the direction of the dining room.

“And we don’t steal honey cakes either.”

“You steal them all the time too, father!”

He scratched his neck. “Erhmm… those are for visitors.”

She looked up at him. “Nice try. And stealing isn't part of making a good impression.”

He chuckled softly. “No,” he agreed. “And your mother would appreciate if we didn’t.”

She giggled.

They reached the stairs.

Before going down, her father paused.

“One last thing.”

“What?”

“If he asks you a question, you answer it.”

She looked puzzled.

"Most people think children should be seen and not heard."

"Do you?"

He smiled.

"I think children should speak when they have something worth saying. Today, if our guest asks you a question, answer it honestly."

Then they went downstairs together.

[lum]

The front hall was already alive with activity.

One of the servants hurried by hauling a crate of ledgers. Another struggled with a roll of important carpets almost twice his height and called out for assistance to his buddy. Someone had left open the double front doors as a crisp autumn air rolled in along with distant sounds of Waterdeep awakening.

Already wagons rumbled over the cobblestones outside. Vendors discussed their wares, and somewhere farther away a couple of seagulls protested loudly over the harbor as trash was being removed.

Her father scarcely noticed as they took a left and went toward the front office near the street. Down the hallway waited a man.

“Good morning, Master Harl.”

“Ah, good morning to you as well, sir.”

“Did the wagon from Daggerford arrive?”

“Right after dawn he did.”

Her father nodded. “Excellent.”

He motioned to follow. Every servant he passed greeted him with genuine respect rather than fear. He greeted them by name.

And she noticed that. Her father always remembered names.

He showed them into the large front office and whispered to her : “Curious?”

She shook her head.

“Maybe a little.”

He smiled. “Good enough. And remember.”

“Polite, listen before speaking because people always tell you more than they mean to.”

For the briefest moment, he looked almost surprised.

Then an unmistakable smile spread across his face.

"Did I teach you that?"

She shook her head and then went in as well.

Master Harl was a broad-shouldered man in his fifties, dressed in a travelling cloak still carrying the scent of road dust. His beard was carefully trimmed despite the journey, and a silver ring bearing the emblem of his guild rested on one thick finger.

Her father offered his hand to him.

“Master Corvin,” their visitor nodded as he clasped her father’s forearm.

Only then did the visitor notice the little girl standing beside her father.

His eyebrows rose ever so slightly.

"Well now."

He inclined his head.

"And who might this young lady be?"

The girl glanced at her father.

He gave the smallest nod.

She straightened almost imperceptibly.

"I am Lilium," she said, giving her name with all the seriousness an eight-year-old could muster.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Master Harl."

"The pleasure is mine."

He looked toward her father.

"You've been teaching her."

"I've been trying."

"I can see that."

Her father gestured toward one of the chairs. Then turned to Lilium.

"Would you do us a favor?"

She nodded eagerly.

"Would you ask Cook whether he might spare some tea for our guest?"

"I can."

"And?"

She thought.

"...I'll… ask politely."

“Excellent.”

She disappeared from the room.

The merchant watched the door close behind her.

Then he chuckled.

"Remarkable child."

Her father did not answer immediately.

Instead, he looked at the closed door with unmistakable affection.

"Oh I know."

[lum]

Just like her father she greeted the servants and she stopped like maybe three counts because one of the stable boys had found a kitten. But other than that she moved through the building rather swiftly. A basket of honey bread was conveniently located on her path.

She was however careful enough not to run.

Running indoors was how children lost their teeth her mother had insisted.

She had never understood the connection, but… she had decided not to test the theory.
However, halfway to the solar room she nearly collided with Mara, one of the maids.

"Easy there, little mistress."

"Sorry!"

Mara balanced the basket of fresh linens on one hip.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

"Father needs tea."

Mara smiled.

"Of course he does."

Mara fixed Lilium’s hair and waved her off.

Lilium smiled and moments later reached the upstairs. She went into the solar room. Cook was there and just stirring a pot as he turned around.

“Ah, Lilium. Your father sent you.”

She blinked. “How did you know?”

He smirked, “"Because if you wanted tea, you'd have tried making it yourself."

Lilium folded her arms.

“I would have done a good job.”

“I’m sure you would have.”

She blushed a little. “... eventually.”

Cook reached for a small tin and opened it. Immediately the room filled with the scent of dried bergamot and black tea.

Lilium leaned forward.

"This one?"

"This one."

"Not the one in the blue tin?"

"The blue tin is from Amn."

"And this one?"

"Tethyr."

“Why does father like the Tethyrian better?”

Cook smiled as he measured the leaves.

"Because it reminds him of the first caravan he ever led as a bodyguard.”

Lilium frowned.

“I never heard that story.”

“Perhaps he’ll tell you in time.”

She looked at the tea. "So how can it remind him?"

Cook poured hot water into the pot.

"Because people remember with more than their noses."

Lilium thought about that.

She wasn't entirely sure she understood.

As she was standing there Cook sniffed dramatically.

"Hmm."

Lilium blinked.

"W-... what?"

"You've stolen honey again."

She instinctively covered her mouth.

"How do you always know?"

He tapped the side of his nose.

"Because I've worked in catering business longer than you've been alive."

She frowned then.

"But I brushed my teeth."

"Yes. With mint."

"...Oh."

Cook chuckled as he reached for the tea caddy.

"Don't worry. I won't tell your mother."

Lilium brightened.

"Really?"

"No."

She groaned.

[lum]

Cook handed her the polished silver tray.

Which… proved to be considerably heavier than she had anticipated.

“Careful.”

“I am!”

“No, you are trying to be.”

She frowned and looked down at the tray.

The porcelain cups rattled ever so slightly.

Cook adjusted the balance with practiced hands.

“There. That may help.”

She inhaled… exhaled.

And the rattling stopped.

Cook smiled. “That is better.”

Lilium looked pleased with herself.

“And before you are off, remember.”

“Remember what?”

“The tea is important…”

She nodded.

Cook motioned her to the door as he continued, “... but the guest is even more important.”

She frowned looking down the stairs a little unsure.

“Even if the tea spills?”

“Yes. Even then.”


The girl had no idea of the number of lessons she had absorbed today, but she made it safely back and with her elbow she nudged the office door open.

That silver tray suddenly felt twice as heavy.

Master Harl was saying something about river tolls, but both men looked up as she entered.

Her father smiled at her without pausing the conversation.

That had to mean she was doing this correctly!

She crossed the room carefully. Not too quick, not too slow.

Just as her mother had shown her.

She stopped beside the visitor. Cook had told her guests came first.

With all her ‘might’ she lifted the tray offering him the first cup.

Master Harl accepted it with both hands.

"Thank you… Lady Lilium."

Her ears twitched. Nobody had ever called her that before.

She glanced instinctively at her father.

Her father didn’t correct Harl and silently allowed her to enjoy it, even as they weren’t nobility.

Instead, he simply smiled.

And for reasons she couldn't quite explain, that made her stand just a little straighter.


"Tell me, Lilium... have you ever left Waterdeep?" Master Harl asked before sipping his tea.

She shook her head.

“No, sir.”

“Not even to Daggerford?”

She shook no again.

He smiled at her. “Well, maybe you should. The world is much larger than these walls."

She thought about that.

Larger than Waterdeep? That seemed impossible.

“How large?”

“How large is what?”

“How large is the world?”

Master Harl laughed.

"My dear, I've crossed half the Sword Coast, and I still hear stories of places I've never seen."

She goes very quiet.

She wouldn’t live long enough to see the entire world?

It was as if she realized for the first time there were places beyond the city that her father talked about in his ledgers which were further away than she could imagine.

But on a map they had all looked so close together!

To her, cities, forests, oceans and mountains were all just names that until now had only existed as words on parchment.

Well.

Until now.

[lum]

The building had settled into its usual rhythm later on the afternoon. And Lilium had quietly slipped back into her father's study.

She stood before the great map on the wall. Carefully, she reached up and touched the tiny painted dot beside the word 'Waterdeep'.

Then her finger wandered south. To Daggerford.

And farther below. To Baldur’s Gate.

Meanwhile in her head she did some math. Counting travel days instead of miles.

She smiled.

The world suddenly seemed far bigger than it had that morning.

Her finger kept wandering.

“... Amn…”

“... Tethyr…”

She smiled when she reached that name.

“Tea…”

She leaned closer, her eyes squinting at the dot that said ‘Castle Tethyr’.

So that's where it came from. Had to be.

And suddenly the tea wasn’t tea anymore. It came from a place. A real place like Waterdeep. Now she wondered what it looked like.

Once more she took a step back, beholding the tiny painted lines stretched between the dots and the names.

The roads…

In her head said lines turned into journeys, and into time.

Her gaze shifted to the lower part of the map again.

Somewhere along those lines, her father had once walked.

She sighed.

To him this map must look less like parchment, and more like memories.

Lots and lots of them.

One day hers too.


She slipped from the study before anyone could discover she had been there and wandered to the warehouse.

Entering that place it smelled nothing like the kitchen.

For instance, there was no fresh bread. No stew.

Instead it smelled of rope and timber, and of burning lamp oil and spices.

A stack of wool bales leaned against one wall, while barrels taller than her stood neatly arranged beside them.

She walked further until she reached the crates. Each and every one of them carried labels she couldn’t entirely read yet as some were in foreign languages. The crates also carried strange marks in red and blue, or white and yellow, and some carried evidence of the journey they had seen so far. She could almost see how they had been handled and treated on their journey.

Her hand brushed one of their surfaces.

To everyone else these were shipments.

To her… these were stories waiting to be told and to be unpacked.

“Those came by ship.”

Lilium jumped slightly as Porter entered the place behind her.

“From where?”

“Chult.”

“Is… is that farther away than Tethyr?”

“Oh yes, much farther. You want to see what’s inside?”

She nodded rapidly.

Porter smiled and opened a crate, fetching a carved wooden elephant from it.

Lilium looked quite interested.

“People live there who make these?”

“Of course.”

“Are there also children there?”

“Why wouldn’t there be?”

Lilium’s gaze shifted to another crate. “Can you…”

“Certainly.”

He handed her a polished seashell almost as large as both her hands.

She held it to one ear.

"...It sounds like the sea."

Porter smiled. “Some say it does. This one comes from the Trackless Sea.”

From the next crate Porter fetched a tiny brass bell from Lantan.

It gave a sharp, melodic chime like a bright, metallic heartbeat against the quiet walls of the warehouse. It vibrated surprisingly long after she stopped moving it.

She wasn’t interested however in the value of these goods.

She was interested in the stories behind them, and how they got here.