XIX - Keeping Warm, Keeping Cool

  Vazkyr almost passed by the food stalls of Fora Peskum, but resolved to buy something so she could at least be seen to take her own advice. She eventually decided on a Bluefish pastry, mostly because it was also filled with a goat's cheese that was imported from Béjaiber'ghas .   "That is one of our least favourite dishes, ma'am," the seller admitted, "but not because of its flavour, I assure you," she hastily added.   Vazkyr frowned and muttered something about a 'terrible sales pitch', forgetting that most business-folk knew her face, a byproduct of watching the comings and goings of the city from its most-used gate.   "Well, I won't be claiming they're all popular," the trader clarified defensively, "there's a price tag attached to lying that I'm not prepared to pay - and it's rude and irrational. But I will say this - that pastry stays hot for a very long time."   "Truly?" Vazkyr replied, dearly wishing to start hers and not taking in anything the seller had to say on account of feeling very light-headed, "why do you make and sell so few, then?"   "Most people want pastries to eat right then. For the snacker - which is many a Shevezzi book-writer or future scientific star - they want food for the moment. Or something to mindlessly chew on while reading and measuring - it totally removes the joy of eating in my view, but food is my calling not research," the stallholder shrugged, not noticing Vazkyr's attention was on her food rather than her words, "anyway, you see, the cheese in the middle stays hot because the scales of the blue-fish reflect the warmth back inside. It eventually goes cold, of course, but not in mere hours."   "So, the layers are pastry, fish-meat, fish-scales and cheese?" Vazkyr clarified, trying now to focus, sensing that, within the seller's discourse, there would be something she needed to remember.   "Yes, ma'am, though most don't eat the scales, they use that layer as a pouch for the cheesy goodness. Well, to be exact, those who are not on their first experience of it and don't puncture it too early. The fish scales get sent to the special disposal centre, either to be mulched into other left-overs for animals, or to be dried," the seller rambled, "some of the fancy finery crafters like to use the scales sometimes. But it's those that keep your wonderful cheese warm - the scales, not the crafters."   "But the fishmeat would go cold, no?" Vazkyr asked, "it would be confusing, if not off-putting, to bite into cold fish and hot cheese. Oh, and administration is my calling, not research, by the way."   "I developed this product with a friend of mine, so there are two answers," the trader explained, "firstly - apparently it's important in research to admit that no system is perfect and everything can be improved. How does that point affect your potentially-cold fishmeat?"   "Some heat does escape, but it would be constant and consistent if other factors remain the same. And, unless eaten in a particularly cold part of the city, of which there are few, that heat might be sufficient to keep the fishmeat at ambient temperature?"   "Yeah, that's roughly it, Vazkyr. See, you could be a researcher!" the trader laughed, "and the second point is this: the pouch has to be broken in order to consume goat's cheese."   "Which, given what we've just said, would allow a wave of heat to suddenly escape, warming the rest when it does. Of course, if you 'puncture it too early' as you mentioned, the whole pastry might be too hot to snack on in the moment. So the main aim is to keep the pouch sealed until the moment you want or need it to be broken," Vazkyr suddenly broke off with a slight intake of breath, wishing she had paper to write on to pass to Kanda-Nor.   "There you go. It's not perfect, and no doubt either myself or someone else will find an improvement to the ideal Bluefish pastry. For now, I'm just glad we can reuse what is not eaten."   The Queendom of Shevezz had many complex systems to manage its needs and the health of its citizens, and its waste disposal process was one such system. In the same way as the sewer system ensured only clean and re-salted water entered the oceans, food waste was handled in ways to minimise rotting, fly infestations and other bothersome interruptions to the day's studies. Though it was made of arguably more layers than required, food when it was wasted was sorted into that which could be repurposed as animal feed, turned into fertilisers for the gardens and that which must be incinerated. Certain waste items were regularly treated for use in something entirely unrelated to food; bones could be crafted into jewellery, the leaves of certain plants, when dried and alchemically treated, were transformed into decorative vessels or even waterproof cups. Fish scales had all manner of uses, depending on the fish they were taken from. From faux gems, to water-resistant headwear and from bracelets to colour-reflecting ceiling decorations.   Vazkyr looked at the label on the serving counter and saw it read     Frowning, she sniffed the pouch of cheesy fish and dared the smallest nibble possible, unsure whether she could trust the food to be safe enough for consumption. Realising, to her surprise, that it was only just too hot for most people and she was beyond caring, she took the largest bite she felt was socially acceptable. In that moment, the Bluefish pastry became her new favourite, while her exhausted mind was also trying to take notes.   "Do they taste good the day after, if kept in a gently-warmed oven overnight?" she asked, having only just about swallowed and already handing over coins for another pastry.   "Not as good as fresh on the day, but nothing is, is it?" the trader laughed, "but yes, I - Pulmulia - eat my own leftovers the day afterwards, which is also very clear by the size of my stomach. Just don't chill them with ice or they go soggy."   "Noted, then I'll take a third. One is for my friend. And don't worry about the stomach," she smiled, "I can see that you're happy and I'd trade if I could."   "You don't seem unhappy, but stress can make you look it. Anyway, I'm glad to have helped you, though you do look exhausted, Vazkyr," the seller pointed out, giving her the small-change from the transaction.   "Yes, I'm aware," she tutted, carefully holding the pastries in their paper bags, "is it my voice, or the fact I'm nearly tripping over my eyelids? Actually, don't answer that. I'm off for Bluefish pastries and cheese. I mean, sleep. Thanks, cheese. I mean, uhm, Pulmulia."   The trader laughed, and waved her off. Vazkyr, her back now turned to the lady, began to ravenously ravage her first pastry. It would be another Ur before she was back home. She could then put the oven on, demolish the second pouch of fishy-goodness, and collapse into bed.   "It can't come soon enough," she muttered.   But in the back of her mind, as though trying to store it for later recovery, she kept hearing:   It reflects the heat back inside, it reflects the heat back inside.  

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  Knowing that Findat was on his way to see what a mess had been left at the former Aevyormii home of the Nectar Glen, Kanda was unsurprised to find someone else manning the desk. This time, however, he strode purposefully to the table in the centre of the room and unpacked his book, a piece of loose parchment and some charcoal pencils. What did come as a surprise was that the tomes and map he had opened the previous day were still where he left them, along with the letter marked Dearest Ziporaz.   "Sair-Kor, is it?" a smooth voice from behind the counter enquired.   Kanda turned his head and nodded.   "I wish to pick up my research where I left it yesterday, if that is alright with you?"   "Of course it is. That is why I found a note saying not to move anything," confirmed the deeply-tanned Elelup with half-rimmed glasses, "and, when I say anything, I mean anything. That's no mean feat with a pile or two of untidily stacked books awaiting homes, I assure you."   "Oh, sorry, you can shelve those now," Kanda explained, feeling guilty, "they're not even mine. Findat had only just brought them in when I collapsed."   "And are you well-supplied with food and hydration, Sair-Kor?" she asked, peering over the top of her glasses.   "Yes ma'am. Now, if I may?"   "You may," she confirmed, then stepped off her stool and trotted across the library to examine the first pile of abandoned tomes.   Kanda noticed, with half a raised eyebrow, that she was without footwear, something which would never have been permitted back home. This was less about social etiquette and more to do with the piercing pain the frigid floor would have inflicted upon the shoeless wanderer.   "It keeps me cool, Sair-Kor," answered the librarian, still with her back disconcertingly turned to him, "there is less of me compared to you, and the same sunlight outside. While I absorb less heat than you due to my surface area, a greater proportion of me is closer to the ground."   "Uhm, I'm sorry I asked," he mumbled, "or didn't ask."   After a brief pause the woman chuckled lightly.   "Sasalu takes no offence, Sair-Kor. Now, back to your research."   Well, for a Shevezzi Elelup, that's a very subtle way of telling me that I forgot to ask for her name, Kanda thought, berating himself.  

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