Duria giggled, raising her bracer to cover her mouth, clearly immensely amused by their utter confusion.
“Ara, ara…
(Oh?)” She waved a dismissive hand.”What exactly were you expecting?
That I was born already dead?
Life before death can be dreadfully long and horribly complicated.”
She winked at them, and for a fleeting fraction of a second, a shadow of something unimaginably ancient and sorrowful flickered in her crimson eyes, which she immediately smothered beneath yet another mask of careless levity.
“I shall tell you my tragic backstory by the campfire someday, provided you behave yourselves and can’t fall asleep,” she added, clapping her hands brightly together.
“But right now…
Priorities!
It is time for sake!
My throat is drier than Lengos’s sense of humor!”
With those words, she marched deeper into the hall, entirely ignoring the shell-shocked stares of her companions, who were still frantically trying to piece together the genealogical nightmare of this ancient monster parading around in the body of a young woman.
While Figlin, Zedora, and Lengos remained rooted to the spot, desperately trying to digest this genealogical absurdity as Duria casually made a beeline for a table laden with alcohol, Yerga was the first to regain her composure.
To her, the exact age of the vampire was entirely secondary to the glaring fact that someone had actively dared to insult her chosen company; and above all, her.
She took a single step forward, the sharp click of her heels against the wooden floorboards sounding exactly like a death sentence.
She offered a frigid smile.
It was a smile that promised nothing good and caused the ambient temperature in the sweltering hall to drop by several degrees.
“Demons?” she repeated, casually stroking the skull of the cat perched on her shoulder, ostentatiously ignoring the stray cobweb still clinging to its ribs.
She was now utilizing it as a prop.
“My dear woman, demons are filthy, boisterously loud, and devoid of taste.
We are…
connoisseurs.”
She appraised the elderly woman with a gaze that held no reverence for her gray hair, only cold aesthetic judgment.
“Where exactly should I sit so as not to soil my gown?” she inquired, sweeping her gaze over the scattered silk cushions.
“And I sincerely hope that the sake I currently smell is of a significantly better vintage than the local architecture.”
The old woman didn’t grant Yerga so much as a single blink.
Instead, she slowly exhaled yet another plume of gray smoke, which this time perfectly formed the shape of a grinning skull before dissipating above the low table.
“Sit wherever you please, connoisseur,” she replied flatly, gesturing toward the silk cushions with the stem of her pipe.”The floor is entirely clean.
In stark contrast to the souls of certain guests.”
Yerga scoffed, generously interpreting this as the hostess’s surrender, and sank gracefully onto the indicated cushion; though not before thoroughly scanning it with a pulse of magic for dust mites.
The rest of the crew reluctantly followed her lead.
Lengos refused to sit; he stood rigidly at attention, his hand resting within an inch of his sword hilt, his cold eyes never leaving the deep shadows actively dancing in the corners of the hall.
Zedora sprawled out comfortably, shedding her heavy furs to proudly display her raw scars and tribal tattoos, clearly reveling in the ambient heat.
For Figlin, however, the situation was rapidly becoming entirely unbearable.
Still clad in his wool coat, thick leather vest, and reinforced trousers, he could feel rivers of sweat cascading down his spine.
Seven brutal days on a freezing sea had thoroughly conditioned him to constant shivering, and the sudden, violent assault of this stifling, humid heat struck him like a physical blow.
Finally, he wrestled off his thick pirate coat, and then began frantically tearing at his leather vest.
His face, usually flushed red from wind and cheap rum, now gleamed slick with sweat.
“Phew!
It’s hotter than a demon’s arsehole in here!” the dwarf panted, glaring suspiciously around the vast hall.
His gaze snagged on the traditional, square hearth recessed into the floor, where a mere handful of charcoal briquettes smoldered beneath the iron kettle.
He snorted so aggressively that the crab hiding in his braided beard burrowed even deeper.
“This is a bloody trick!” he bellowed, pointing an accusing finger directly at the pathetic little fire.”Look at that!
That little pile of shite would barely keep a freezing rat warm, yet it’s as muggy in here as the boiler room on the Ebony Wave!
Where are they hiding the main furnace?
Where are the exhaust flues?!”
Duria, who was currently arranging herself comfortably on a silk cushion, giggled into her hand.
“Yare, yare…
(Good grief…) Figi-kun.
You are just so incredibly adorable when you try to grasp the basic concepts of civilization.
There is no furnace.
It is earth magic!”
“Magic?!” Figlin’s hand instantly dropped to his flintlock pistol.”I knew it!
A cursed illusion!
Any second now this is all going to vanish and we’ll freeze to the bone!”
“Baka (Idiot),” Duria shook her head, gently patting the warm wooden floorboards.
“It isn’t hocus-pocus.
It is an Onsen!
(Hot spring!) The mountain is angry and burning hot on the inside, yes?
So the water flowing deep underground steals that anger and begins to boil.
And they…” She made a grasping motion in the empty air.”…catch that angry water in bamboo pipes and run it directly beneath our arses!”
Figlin aggressively jammed his brass ear trumpet deeper into his ear, squinting in a display of sheer incomprehension.
“What in the blazes are you blathering about, girl?
Water stealing anger?
Flowing right under the floorboards?
Bamboo would rot through in a week!
None of this makes a lick of sense!
Where is the draft?
Where is the smoke exhaust?!
For there to be heat, something has to be burning!
That is a fundamental law of engineering!”
Duria sighed, rolling her crimson eyes toward the ceiling.
“Look…
The water goes bubble-bubble, and the floorboards get warm.
It’s exactly like sleeping on the belly of a dragon that has a terrible fever, but is actually quite polite!
Wakaru?
(Understand?)”
“A dragon?!” The dwarf cocked the hammer of his pistol, his other hand snatching the boarding axe strapped to his back.”Where?!
Under the floorboards?!
I bloody well knew this place reeked of sulfur!
I’m smashing the floor!”
“Gods, grant me patience before I murder him,” Zedora growled.
The barbarian, who had thus far sat in total silence, vigorously massaging her freezing calves, stood up.
She marched over to Figlin, firmly grabbed his brass ear trumpet, and yanked it so it was pointed directly at her face.
“Listen to me, you stunted runt,” she stated in her raspy no-nonsense voice, sounding exactly like grinding stones.”Do not listen to the vampire.
She honestly believes the sun only rises because the rooster decides to crow.”
Duria puffed out her pale cheeks in exaggerated, theatrical indignation.
“Hey!
That was incredibly uncalled for!”
Zedora ignored her completely.
“It isn’t a bloody dragon.
It is engineering.
Where I come from, down in the South, the sun bakes the earth so intensely the stones literally blister your feet.
We build our huts directly over underground streams flowing out of the deep caves.
The freezing water chills the stone from underneath, and the cold stone cools the air inside the hut.”
She stomped her boot hard against the floorboards of the ryotei.
“Here, they do the exact same thing, just in reverse.
This entire island is perched on top of a volcano.
The water deep in the earth is boiling.
They channel it through covered trenches beneath the floor.
The stone and the wood drink in that heat and slowly release it back to us.
It isn’t a fire heating the air.
It is the floor actively heating your boots.”
Comprehension slowly began to dawn on Figlin’s sweaty face.
He lowered the pistol, scratched his bulbous nose, crouched down, and pressed a calloused palm directly against the floorboards, furrowing his brow in deep concentration.
“Hold on…” he muttered, tracing a stubby finger along the seams of the wood.”So it operates exactly like a water jacket in a steam boiler?
They siphon the boiling water straight from the guts of the mountain, route it through a labyrinth beneath the floorboards, and the stone underneath acts as fireclay?
It absorbs the raw heat and radiates it slowly, instead of just venting it straight up a chimney?”
Zedora offered a shrug.
“If that’s how you phrase it in your ridiculous pirate jargon, sure.
To me, it’s just an ‘inverted cellar’.”
The engineer nodded with slow appreciation, the distinct, glowing respect of a seasoned craftsman flashing in his eyes.
“Very clever.
No smoke, no breaking your back hauling coal.
Constant, steady circulation running purely on natural pressure…
and you can walk around barefoot without risking frostbite.”
A sudden, brilliant flash of pure, unadulterated greed ignited in his eye.
He looked sharply around at the opulent decor, then at the Matron, and finally back down at the hearth.
“Oi!
If the hot water is completely free and heats itself…
that means they are saving an absolute fortune on fuel!” He thrust an accusing finger directly at the old woman.”You crafty bastards!
I’ll wager my ship your menu prices are exorbitant, even though you’re heating this place for free!
Oh no, you’re not swindling me with any ‘overhead costs’ nonsense!
I’m demanding a hefty discount for this free heat before I even consider ordering a damn thing!”
Duria giggled softly, pouring a measure of warm sake into her porcelain cup.
“Sugoi, (Amazing,) Figi.
You have just successfully deduced exactly why this establishment is so incredibly wealthy.
But don’t fret over it just yet.
Sit down and drink before the sake in your fancy new tankard gets cold.
Actually…” she glanced down at the floorboards with a mischievous grin”…come to think of it, you can just set it on the floor and it’ll stay warm!
Now that is what I call civilization!”
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