Flynn is being dramatic, given that he normally is the first person to carry around jerky and dried food. But I guess it's understandable. I also want something...fresh and real. Weirdly enough.
Maybe it's some kind of...psychology thing I can't be bothered to understand.
"Or Thomson...?" I offer. "I'm sure a Classmaster would know."
"Yeah, and then he'll ask us why we're breaking into pantries, and he'll want to 'talk' to you again, and you'll look like you're about to fall over again. Pass."
"Fine," I say with a sigh. "Let's just grab Amelia. If there's chocolate in there, she'll forgive us." I'm mostly joking about that, but the thought of her expression when she sees this place is a nice, little spark of amusement in all this misery.
Before I can turn and start walking back to the library, a voice, bright and clear, echoes from the pantry doorway. "Did someone say chocolate?"
We both turn, and there's Amelia, standing there with a smug little smile on her face. She's got a book tucked under one arm, but her eyes are wide as she takes in the sheer amount of food in the room.
"Careful!" Flynn warns, stepping in front of me. "The real Amelia wouldn't leave the library so easily....!"
She sighs, steps forward, and lightly smacks him on the head with her book. "Of course it's me, you lout. I'm hungry too, you know." She frowns up at him. "And don't think I didn't hear what you said about me starving before I realize I'm hungry in there. Some of us appreciate our history."
Flynn just shrugs, rubbing his head. "I'm just saying. A girl who gets excited over a thousand-year-old book is not a girl who can be trusted to remember basic human needs."
Amelia's lips press into a thin line. "For your information, I was looking for information that might help us, not for my own amusement. And I found something. But it can wait until after I've had something that isn't a hundred years old and mostly dust."
She walks past him, her gaze sweeping over the pantry with the same analytical look she'd had in the library. She ignores the racks of meats and grains, her focus landing on a completely different container than what we're in front of. It's a sealed metal canister, about the size of a small keg.
"What's that?" Flynn asks, following her gaze.
"Preservation canister. Powered by a Light-gem." Amelia runs a hand over its smooth, metallic surface. "Should be a self-replenishing container with fresh foods in it."
"What about this...?" I ask, gesturing at what we've been trying to open.
She barely glances at it. "that's the waste disposal."
Flynn and I both freeze.
"The... what?" I ask, my voice a little strangled.
"Waste disposal," Amelia repeats patiently, as if explaining a simple concept to two particularly dense children. "For old food scraps. You have to put something with a spark of Light in the dish to activate the incineration rune." She points to the flame symbol I'd been poking. "You were trying to activate the incinerator. Good thing you hadn't opened it first."
"How do you even know that?!" Flynn yelps, jumping back from the cistern like it's a nest of spiders.
Amelia sighs. "This kitchen is barely any different from the on in the Order. It is an Order of Light kitchen, after all." She pats the preservation canister, ignoring Flynn's embarrassed flush. "This, however, is more advanced. Light-gems are rare. They must have been planning for this kitchen to last unsupervised for a long, long time."
She examines the canister, her fingers tracing faint, barely-there seams. "There should be a release mechanism... Ah. Here." She presses a spot near the bottom, and there's a soft click. The front of the wooden keg swings open like a door, revealing a space bathed in a soft, internal, blue-white light.
And inside... is magic.
Not the magic of the Gloom, but the magic of a forgotten world. A wheel of pale yellow cheese, wrapped in wax. Loaves of crusty bread, smelling of yeast and warmth. A slab of butter in a cool compartment. A cluster of plump, dark grapes, each one perfectly preserved. And, sitting on a small shelf in the center, a clay pot filled with a dark, rich liquid that smells of heaven and roasted beans.
"Is that... coffee?" Flynn whispers, his voice filled with a kind of religious awe.
"Probably. The Ancient Order are the ones who created coffee as we know it..." She's speaking in a distracted manner as she scans the glowing container.
Then, with the speed and alacrity of a cat spotting a mouse, she pounces.
And retrieves a chunk of chocolate. A thick, dark block that looks like it was made yesterday.
Flynn's jaw drops. "You found it."
Amelia breaks off a piece and pops it into her mouth, her eyes closing in blissful, chocolatey ecstasy. "I have my priorities," she says, her words slightly muffled. She swats Flynn's hand when he reaches for it. "Go find your own happiness. There's more in here."
She gestures to the canister with her chin.
The next few minutes are a frenzy of joyful gluttony. We tear into the bread, smearing it with the cold, creamy butter. Flynn devours half the cheese in a manner that is both impressive and slightly terrifying. I nibble on the grapes, the burst of sweet, cool juice in my mouth a sensation so pure and wonderful it almost makes me want to cry. I haven't had fresh fruit since... since I can't remember when.
Amelia eventually shares the chocolate, her earlier possessiveness forgotten in a wave of communal satisfaction. We eat until we're stuffed, leaning against the pantry shelves in a state of blissful, food-induced lethargy. The dread and fear haven't gone away, but for the first time since the attack, they feel manageable. Distant. Beaten back, for a little while, by the simple, profound pleasure of a full stomach.
"You know," Flynn says, patting his stomach and letting out a contented belch. "I kinda like the old Order's planning." He gestures around the pantry. "They really knew how to bunker down in style."
"It's because they understood the nature of their enemy," Amelia says, her tone shifting back to that of the scholar. She's nursing a small mug of coffee, her expression thoughtful. "The Gloom is a constant. It never truly rests. An exorcist's work is never truly done. During this time....it must have been the height of The Gloom. The people who built this...never would have imagined a time like this."
"Like when the Order was destroyed?" I counter, deadpan.
She flinches, and I immediately feel bad for reminding her.
Her gaze stares at the coffee in her hands for a moment, before she nods. "Before...when it seemed like The Gloom was almost defeated. Is what I meant..." she adds, quietly. "I guess the situation we're in now is...a little more like it was then, too."
There's a brief, uncomfortable quiet, before Flynn rips another shred of bread from the loaf in his hands.
"Good." He says, with a decisive nod. "Then that means we'll get back to the way it was before." He says it with all the simple, absolute conviction of someone who believes that if you want something enough, it has to be true. It's a sentiment I've always found idiotic, but right now, I can't bring myself to argue with it.
Right now, I want the world to work that way.