The Chronicle of the Worthy Son

Good Hosts

It took Able a few minutes to remember where he was, but the smell of pancakes had him up and dressed by the time he had. Once in the hall, he found Lark's door was slightly ajar and knocked. Receiving no answer, he failed to resist the temptation to look inside.

 As Lark had warned, it was a bit of a mess, with clothes on most of the available surfaces and the bed unmade. For all Lark's talk of not being "one of you" anymore, his walls were painted a goldenrod yellow that was a harsh cry from the whispers of pink and orange elsewhere in the house but was popular in Larbantry. Then again, yellow suited Lark's personality, so maybe Able was reading into it too much.

He returned the door to its prior state and followed his nose to the kitchen. Hatling was standing at the griddle wearing a long housecoat and her hair in a plain ponytail.

She smiled at him. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

"I did, thank you," Able replied. "Those smell delicious, although I hope you're not going to any trouble on my account."

She smiled broader. "If there's ever the slightest excuse for pancakes."

"All right then." He nodded agreeably. "Where's Lark?"

"Off doing his morning errands."

"Already?" He frowned and double-checked the shadows out the kitchen window.

"We don't call him Lark for nothing!" She laughed. "He'll be joining us though, don't worry."

"I'm not. I just wondered what he could possibly be doing so early this morning."

"I'm not sure either." She frowned slightly and pursed her lips. "He's taken over so many of the business side of things for me since I've had a hard time keeping up with it at my age. There aren't too many things I would have had to get up so early for, but for him, it's more he's up anyway so he might as well take care of it."

"Oh, one of those." Just like Auntie Charity, although she always went to bed at the same hour, while Lark had still been up last night. "But he doesn't go early to bed?"

"Sometimes he does and sometimes he doesn't," Hatling replied. "Which is nice, because oftentimes I simply can't sleep, and I'm glad of his company every once in a while."

"He is...certainly companionable. And I'm sorry you have trouble sleeping."

"Well, thank you, but it's not a terrible bother. Just a part of aging. Would you be a dear and pass me that platter?"

Able cast about until he noticed the red-patterned platter on the counter by his elbow and carefully handed it over. While Hatling was scooping the pancakes from the griddle to the platter, the front door opened and closed. A few strides later, Lark arrived in the kitchen with a long bundle under his arm. He wasn't wearing a dress today, but Able wasn't sure one would categorize the satin tunic he had on instead as much different. It was open on one shoulder, muscular and glinting with a sheen of sweat, and the two together were just so incongruous that Able hoped that was why he was staring once he realized that he was.

"Look what I have." Lark pulled back the wrapping on his parcel with a flourish, revealing a velvety brocade.

"It finally came!" Hatling's initial delight became a scowl, and she batted Lark's hand. "What are you thinking, bringing it in here! The kitchen! It'll get ruined!"

"You wound me!" Lark dramatically withdrew his "injured" hand. "I would never let such a fate as a food stain befall this magnificent fabric."

"Then get it downstairs where it belongs, already!" Hatling huffed.