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.
"I shall, I shall," Lark soothed, "but first—" And he produced a jar from his pocket.
"Ohhh...is it some of Pleasant's jam?"
"Of course!" Lark grinned. "I had a feeling you'd be pancaking today."
"Clever boy." She chuckled and, after setting the jam on the counter, began spooning more batter onto the griddle.
"I'll be right back." Lark carried the brocade from the room.
"...can I set the table or anything?" Able asked after a moment.
"Oh, that would be most helpful, yes." Hatling smiled warmly and gestured with her left hand. "Over in that cabinet there for plates, and then the drawer under it has silver."
While Able set the table, Lark returned and prepared everything that wasn't pancakes for serving. Shortly after, they sat around and ate while discussing food that was in season and food that was soon to be in season. The picture his hosts painted of the way Borealunders eat made Able hungry even as he was spooning pancakes smothered in berry jam into his mouth.
When they had finished, Lark hopped up and began clearing the dishes away. Able was almost too stuffed to wonder how when Lark had eaten even more than he had. He lulled like a lump for a spell before he collected enough of himself to get up and retrieve his satchel. He returned and stood in the doorway watching Lark dry dishes while waiting for a chance to interrupt Hatling's gossip.
That shoulder...it looked like honey next to the cream sleeve that hung too low. Didn't seem to bother Lark or slow his movements, as he even knocked his braid back away from the dishwater with a reflexive shrug. Damn, what was he supposed to be doing again?
Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, Lark noticed Able. "I haven't forgotten! This will only take a minute more."
"Forgotten?" Hatling looked between them.
"I told Able I'd take him on a bit of a tour today. Get a lay of things."
"Oh, how nice! Make sure to take him up to the Light. It's the best view of all Fairbanks."
"I will, if he can hike that far." Lark grinned over his shoulder.
"I can make it to the lighthouse," Able protested then grimaced, for it was meant in fun, and he was no fun at all.
"Although if I'm taking him up to the Light, I might not finish Hawk's shirt before he comes..." Lark's face scrunched thoughtfully.
"Oh, it's fine." Hatling waved her hand airily. "I'll do as much as I can and complain of rheumatism if he shows up early." Between tax-dodging and faithlessness to clients these tailors were truly the model of honor.
With the kitchen returned to order, Hatling went down to the shop, which Lark had already opened, and the two Larbants made their way down to the street
"So, I was just going to walk us nearest to farthest, so they won't be in order like in your book," Lark said as he started walking.
"Makes sense," Able replied as he kept up. "And I can also get myself up to the lighthouse on my own, you know."
"That would be sensible, too." Lark wrinkled his nose over an embarrassed grin. "Let's plan on that?"
"Sure." Able's eyes strayed again to Lark's shoulder. "So, were you...running or something this morning?"
"Mm-hm!" Lark nodded brightly. "Something about dawn mist. Perfect for running."
"I'll...take your word for it."
Lark laughed at that. "Not a dawn-mist person. Noted!"
That had not always been the case for Able. For the first half of his life, he had always been up before dawn. It wasn't laziness that had put an end to that.
"Say..." Was he ready to ask this? "What do you remember about my father? Anything specific?"
"Kinda hazy because I was so young." Lark's eyebrows pressed together as he looked up into the sky. "But these older boys were bullying me, and he stepped in and put a stop to it."
Able's own memory brought up multiple incidents of his father stepping into the middle of fights at the harbor, between children and adults alike. He never treated the kids on the dock as any less than the adults. That's no way to solve things, he would say and prompt the scufflers to explain their differences. Sometimes they would and othertimes they would stalk off under a dark cloud to save themselves the trouble, but either way Able watched his father's straight back and heard his measured tones from a distance. His chest was getting tight.
"I don't even remember what they were doing." Lark shook his head and chuckled dryly. "Getting picked on was so normal that it all runs together. But what Careful did stood out, you know?"
"I can see how it would," was all Able could manage.
Lark set a hand on his shoulder, the consoling kind, but seemed to sense Able would rather he didn't before Able had faked some appreciation. Able watched the hand pull away then looked to Lark's face. He was looking along their path, but a cloud of sadness had clearly covered the chipper sun from earlier. Able regretted that he'd pulled Lark into this cloud of his.
They carried on up the roads and looked at each property in turn. Most of the people were perfectly happy to show a friend of Lark's around, and the ones who weren't—and Lark warned about these ahead of time—still answered a few questions about their houses. These houses were not being appraised in accordance with the realities of the local economy, which was a grave oversight if not intentional...but what would be the intent if it was?
The sun was at its highest by the time they were done. Lark brought them to a one-legged man who was sectioning chickens and roasting them on a fire pit. Able bought lunch for both of them, then inquired about the chef while they ate. The man had fought in the war and, like the ex-Resistance member Able had met yesterday, had his property seized from failure to pay, and was now squatting in an abandoned townhome while living as a cook. He was friendly and open and seemed to have no idea what he was doing was illegal. To be fair, the Borealunders were unlikely to tell the enforcers.
Once they had eaten, Lark took his leave to his actual job, while Able decided to return to the Municipal Hall to inquire for a job himself. Nightwatch was surprised he was still in town but found him some disorganized minutes from some old meetings that needed a proper transcription.
These were discussions the town council had about complying with the barely tenable new laws of the land. The consensus was strongly that the war was over and should stay over, though they had little idea how to make the best of it. And...Splendor Hatling was one of said councilors. And from these names, probably not the only woman in the group either. Interesting. He'd never read anything that suggested Dagobar allowed women councilors. He noted down all the members and their positions, particularly the two keen to fight back.
After finishing two hours of work in exchange for six cees, Able took the long walk up the hill to investigate the lighthouse. This exercise had him sweating in the late afternoon sun, which made the wind all the more welcome when rushed up the hill after him. However, by the time he had reached the pinnacle, he was chilled and rubbing his arms.
Able had never seen a wooden lighthouse before. The ones back home were brick and stone. He'd have asked the keeper about the risk of the beacon burning the thing to the ground had the structure not been locked, probably because the keeper was sleeping for the day.
Instead, Able rested on the stoop and took in the view that reached the point where sea and sky became indistinguishable. The eastern horizon was brewing a heavy, hazy blue smudge occasionally sharpened by flashes of light. With wind was blowing inland as it was, the storm would make landfall sometime after dark. He would be glad of that haunted room tonight.
He turned his eyes down to take in this new angle of Fairbanks, all roofs and gardens mostly blocking the roads from view. Far below, several dozen workers milled about like insects on the piers with only a handful of ships left to see to. Able imagined them anticipating a cold brew to end their day while joking and complaining with each other about whichever captain really didn't have any business sailing as they counted down the minutes. Or was it a mistake to think Borealunder dock workers were so similar to Larbant ones?
Well, what now? He flipped his notebook open to his to-do list, all the things he could do to address all he did not know. Did he have enough to approach the Enforcers? Even on the mainland, they could be stingy about their records access when they didn't have stolen taxes to hide. It'd be best to have as many specific questions as he could before going in.
How much has been taken? Who are these people you've arrested? What is your evidence that they were involved? Fairly combative. Probably getting back to Pride and Splendor's before dinnertime was a better first step.