Emily shrugged. “Pick a place,” she said, as they turned onto the restaurant row. “Where do you want to go?”
She looked up and down the street as Frieda struggled to decide. Dragon’s Den had always been one of the more cosmopolitan cities on the Nameless World, if only because of its close proximity to Whitehall. It was probably one of the few places away from the coast where opening up a foreign restaurant was a profitable enterprise, although that was changing as the New Learning spread from place to place. She couldn’t help smiling in amusement as she saw a pizza restaurant right next to a burger bar. The foods she’d introduced were spreading widely.
A shame they’d already thought of sandwiches, she thought, wryly. That might have spread even faster.
“There’s a small restaurant here.” Frieda indicated a building that looked like a fancy cottage, weirdly out of place in Dragon’s Den. It was surrounded by a small garden, packed with a dozen wooden chairs and tables. The handful of visible patrons looked to be enjoying their food. “Shall we go?”
Emily shrugged and followed her through the gate. A young serving maid picked up a pair of menus, then led them to an empty table. She looked to be around ten, Emily decided, making a mental note to pass her a tip when her seniors weren’t looking. The Nameless World didn’t have child labor laws. If someone’s parents owned a restaurant, they’d be expected to help wash the dishes and serve the food as soon as they were old enough to do it safely. And if she’d been sold into service instead ...
Better make very sure no one sees her get the tip, Emily reminded herself. They’ll try to take it from her if they know she has something worth stealing.
Frieda sat down, wincing slightly. Emily lifted an eyebrow. “What happened to you?”
“Professor Lombardi didn’t appreciate my brutal candour,” Frieda said. She shifted, uncomfortably. “He thought I was being cheeky.”
“Ouch,” Emily said. “And were you?”
Frieda made a face. “I don’t think he understood the difference between pointing out the flaw in someone’s work and being cheeky,” she said. “He wasn’t pleased.”
“He probably wouldn’t have been.” Emily looked down at the menu. “What do you want to eat?”
“Whatever,” Frieda said, looking downcast. “I just want to get away for a while.”
Emily eyed her, concerned. “What’s the matter?”
“Too much work, too little time,” Frieda said. “And a pointless argument with Celadon, last night.”
“Fourth Year is hard,” Emily agreed, softly. “I wish I could tell you it gets easier.”
“You were dating what’s-his-face,” Frieda pointed out. The non sequitur caught Emily by surprise. “Celadon hates my guts. And everything else about me.”
Emily made a face. “Why haven’t you spoken to your advisor?”
“I did.” Frieda shifted, again. “That’s what got me caned.”
“Oh,” Emily said. “Professor Lombardi is your advisor?”
She wondered, suddenly, just what had happened at that meeting. She’d assumed that Frieda had been cheeky in class, not afterwards. It wouldn’t be the first time a tutor hadn’t seen the funny side and assigned punishments all around. But if an advisor meeting had gone bad ... she gritted her teeth, trying to decide if she should speak to Professor Lombardi. But ... that would probably not end well. Frieda was supposed to learn to stick up for herself.
“Yeah,” Frieda said. “He’s a pain in the ass.”
Emily studied the menu, choosing to ignore that comment. There were only seven dishes listed, rather than the dizzying array of choices she recalled from Earth. But then, without freezers and microwaves, restaurant owners were very limited. It was a minor miracle that they could serve as many as seven dishes. Perhaps they had a magician on staff who could cast preservation spells. Or maybe they owned a preservation chamber.
“I’ll have the roast beef and potatoes,” she said, passing the menu back to the serving girl. “Frieda?”
“The fish,” Frieda said. “And bring me a beer too.”
Emily eyed her in alarm. “A beer?”
Frieda reddened. “Maybe some juice instead,” she said. “Emily?”
“Juice for me too,” Emily said. She had no intention of touching alcohol if it could be avoided. It might be the safest drink in the Allied Lands—for anyone who couldn’t cast spells to clean water—but it was dangerous. “Have you been drinking?”
“Just a little, when I went out with the other apprentices,” Frieda said, sullenly. Her fingers played with her bracelet as she looked down, seemingly unwilling to meet Emily’s eyes. “Is it that bad?”
“Yes,” Emily said. She remembered her mother and shivered. There was no way she was going to let Frieda ruin her life like that. “Drink is a poor servant and a bad master.”
“Hah,” Frieda muttered. “Can I still eat the fish?”
“Be careful,” Emily advised.
She felt embarrassed, but she kept her face impassive as the serving girl curtseyed and retreated. Emily had never been fond of eating fish away from the oceans—it was hard to be sure how fresh it was when it arrived in Dragon’s Den—but she supposed there were rivers and lakes nearby. The restaurant wouldn’t last long if it made a habit of poisoning students from Whitehall. Besides, food hygiene was another part of the New Learning. A cook who didn’t wash his hands after going to the toilet would be drummed out of town.
“I know Fourth Year isn’t easy,” she said, finally. “But you do have to carry on.”
She leaned forward. “Are you taking all the classes?”
“All of them,” Frieda confirmed.
“Then maybe you should consider dropping a couple,” Emily suggested. “Are you actually planning to be a healer?”
Frieda shook her head. “I want to be a combat sorceress.” Her face twisted, suddenly. “No one will ever laugh at me again.”
“Maybe they wouldn’t,” Emily said, with the private thought that no one had ever laughed at Lady Barb. “But you don’t need healing to try to become a combat sorceress. You could drop it tomorrow.”
“But I like healing,” Frieda protested. “What about alchemy? Or charms?”
Emily shook her head. “You’d need them both if you wanted to be considered for an apprenticeship,” she said. “I don’t think anyone would want to take you if they had to drill those subjects into your head too.”
“You could ask Jade to take me.” Frieda looked up. “Or someone else you met during the war.”
“Jade has other duties,” Emily pointed out.
She smiled at the thought. Being Alassa’s husband and Prince Consort was a full-time job, but King Randor had made Jade a Baron as well. On one hand, it had boosted Jade into the aristocracy so he could marry Alassa; on the other, it was something of a poisoned chalice. The Barony of Swanhaven had been rebellious. It had even killed the legally-appointed baron. Matters had calmed down now, but even so ...