Wandering Fortunes

Chapter 25: Top Chef

"Most of the media report no information on potential suitors, you know," Alden said. "Some suggest the princess isn't interested, while others say she's waiting for the right person."

"Uh-huh," Ropak muttered.

"Serani probably has her pick out of almost anyone in the kingdom. I read that long ago royalty would marry among other royalty, but that practice subsided in recent centuries."

"Uh-huh."

"Still, there's no precedent for marriage outside of Derantu. She must get love letters all the time, too. They probably screen them, or maybe they just throw them all out from how many there–"

"Alden!" Ropak screamed. "Look, we're here. Shut up now. Stop making me regret finding out your crush."

They walked to a brick building along the street, squat and shrouded compared to the surrounding buildings but painted in scattered red, yellow, and blue. A window across the front showed chairs and tables with tablecloths inside.

"So this is the building Top wanted us to meet them at?" Alden asked.

Ropak checked his phone. "Looks like it. I don't see Top any–"

"Good day, friends!" Top stood atop the building. "I'm so glad you're here. Today's the big day! I've spent weeks preparing for this moment. It's time to open. It's time . . . for my destiny!" The ball jumped to the street and pulled down a curtain that revealed a Comic Sans sign above the front door that read, "Top's Pizza".

"Top's Pizza?" Alden asked. "This is what you've been doing the past few weeks?"

"That's right," said Top. "I'm opening my own pizza place. It'll be the hit of the land, or at least the glancing blow of the land. Come inside!"

Top ran into the restaurant, the floor tiled stone and walls wooded paneling—old, but sturdy. Rustic—that was the word for it. Rustic, and definitely not "not up to code". Pizza permeated the air from the wafting scent of pizza candles—well, pizza-scented candles. Top's original plan to set up actual pizzas curled into tubes and light them on fire was declared by the fire department to be both a fire hazard and stupid.

The ball entered the kitchen, visible in the main area over a walled counter, and they placed atop their head a toque blanche, or a chef hat as those not obsessed with hats like Top might call it.

"Did you just do this so you could wear that hat?" Ropak asked, leaning on the walled counter.

Top lifted a hand. "Please. I could wear this hat anyway. No, this came to me in a dream."

"Right," said Ropak. "And what kind of pizza are you serving?"

"Well, I have the classics," Top said. "Toppings include pepperoni, sausage, mushrooms, peppers, apples of the pined variety, gapples of the bird variety, whole croaspers, and, of course, smaller pizzas."

"And you cook this," Ropak said.

"It's all me."

"Since when do you know how to make food instead of eat it?"

"I've been practicing," Top said. "I was inspired by that dream. It was an otherworldly dream, where I met strange people who gave me new and unique ideas for pizzas."

The ball hopped through the kitchen window, holding a pizza. "Behold! The Super-Sweet Sugar Pizza. With at least a whole cup of sugar on every pie." Top placed it on a table, each slice sparkling with sugar over the tomato sauce, a smell like tomato-dipped cookies wafting from it.

Ropak peered at the pizza. "That does not look like it goes good together."

"Wrong!" said Top. "It's so good that you'll start to fight over it. Either that or it's hyperactivity from the sugar."