The Chronicle of the Worthy Son

Chicken Soup

Splendor Hatling was in the kitchen preparing luncheon. She squeaked in surprise when Able joined her.

"Sorry." He held his hands up for calm. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"Quite all right." She smoothed her blouse. "When did you get in?"

"Quite late." It was after midnight when the wagoneer who had let him hitch along had pulled into the Bear Star. They had kept going after nightfall because neither of them wanted to sleep on the roadside again. Able had let himself in with Lark's key so as not to disturb his hosts. "Is Lark about?"

"I haven't seen him yet." Unconcerned, Hatling returned to her food preparation but after a moment added thoughtfully, "It's unlike him to miss breakfast."

"It is." Able frowned and recalled, "His door was closed. I'll just go check to see if he's in?"

"All right. I'll just finish this up and whoever wishes may eat it. If it's not enough, I'll just make more!"

Able went back up the stairs and stalled at the anomaly that was Lark's closed door a moment before knocking on it. There was no answer, but to be certain he opened it and peeked in.

Lark was in his bed, his blankets covering half his face while his usually carefully groomed curls were a frizzy bush sprouting over his pillow.

"Lark?" Able called softly. There was no response, so, heart in his throat, he took two steps closer to the bedside.

Lark was pale and his eyes were sunken, but his belly rose and fell regularly. Apparently, he was only asleep.

Able swallowed his heart back down and tried again. "Lark?"

This time, the brown eyes fluttered then slowly opened.

Able could breathe again. "Hey..."

"Able?" Lark groggily pronounced. "When did you get back?"

"Late last night." An urge to do...something rushed down Able's arms. But since there was no obvious course of helpful action, he settled for noting, "You don't look so good."

"Thanks," Lark snorted but then rubbed his eyes and added, "but then, I don't feel so good, so. What time is it?"

"About noon."

Lark swore half-heartedly and let his eyes drift closed again. "Say, do you love me?" And not seeing Able's startled expression, he continued, "because I could really use some chicken soup right now."

"I can see what I can do, yeah." Able had never made soup before. Would it be difficult? He could ask Hatling, who...could probably just make it herself. Best leave it to her.

"You're the best." Lark mumbled into his blanket as he settled in to get some more rest.

Able turned to go but stopped in the doorway. "You should know Venture is safe and back with his family. His father too." He watched Lark's eyes open again and found himself at risk of falling into the emotions swimming across their surface.

"Thank god," Lark whispered, then more loudly, "and thank you."

"I knew you were worried." Able shrugged casually to mask that his innards were flooding with sweet satisfaction. Why? He hadn't done anything. "Get some rest, and I'll see about the soup, all right?"

He thus escaped downstairs and informed Hatling of the situation. She tutted appropriately, put together a list of ingredients, and soon saw Able out the door, the list in one hand and a sandwich in the other.

He headed up the streets to the chicken chef, hoping to double up this errand and ask him his experience fighting for Dagobar during the war, finally. He then nearly forgot to follow through when the man responded to a request for a whole uncooked chicken with a detailed account of which farmers in the storm basin provided him with chickens and on which days they did so. Upon Able asking about the war, the chef replied shortly that he didn't want to talk about that, so Able took his leave before the chef could launch into how he acquired his spices.