The morning sun hit the windshield of the Pendelton Cruiser, waking Arthur from a dream where he was a conveyor belt.
He sat up, his neck stiff from sleeping against the steering wheel. The car was cold. The fire was dead. And the silence of the forest was broken by a sound more terrifying than a Golem's roar.
GRRRRRR.
It was Vivian's stomach.
She sat up in the passenger seat, looking like a feral badger. Her hair was a mess, her eyes were wild, and she was gripping her dagger handle.
"Arthur," she whispered, her voice rasping. "If I do not consume protein in the next hour, I am going to eat the leather upholstery."
"The leather is chemically treated," Arthur noted, checking his watch. "It would cause indigestion."
"I don't care," Julian moaned from the back seat. He was lying upside down, his legs draped over the headrest. "I am a husk. A noble husk. My body is consuming its own muscle mass. I feel myself shrinking."
"Zack," Arthur rubbed his eyes. "Where is the nearest civilization?"
Zack fumbled with the iScroll. "According to the map... there is a logging village five miles east. Oakhaven."
"Oakhaven," Arthur put the key in the ignition. "Population: 200. Economy: Lumber and... hopefully... cows."
He turned the key. The hybrid engine coughed, sputtered, and roared to life.
"We have a mission," Arthur declared, shifting into gear. "Operation: Breakfast."
....
Oakhaven was a sleepy collection of wooden shacks huddled around a sawmill. It was the kind of place where nothing happened, and news from the Capital arrived two weeks late.
Arthur stopped the car a mile outside the village, guiding it into an abandoned barn.
"Camouflage," Arthur ordered.
Julian, summoning the last of his energy, cast a minor illusion spell. He waved his wand lazily. The sleek black tank shimmered and faded, replaced by the image of a large pile of hay.
"Good enough," Arthur nodded. "Hoods up. Keep your weapons hidden. We are not fugitives; we are... travelers. Mechanics."
They walked into the village. It was quiet. A few lumberjacks were chopping wood. A dog barked.
They found the only inn: The Broken Axe.
It smelled of sawdust and stale ale.
They pushed the door open. The tavern was empty, except for a bored innkeeper wiping a glass and a cook in the back who moved with the speed of a tectonic plate.
"Food," Vivian slammed a gold coin onto the counter. "Meat. Now."
The innkeeper looked at the gold coin. He looked at the girl with the sword. He looked at the three boys behind her.
"Kitchen's cold," the innkeeper grunted. "Cook hasn't fired the stove. Got some day-old bread and turnip stew."
"Turnips?" Julian looked ready to cry. "I did not escape a fortress to eat root vegetables."
Arthur looked at the kitchen. He saw the layout.
Heat Source: A primitive wood stove.
Efficiency: 12%.
Cook: Currently asleep on a stool.
"Inefficient," Arthur muttered. He ducked under the bar counter.
"Hey!" The innkeeper shouted. "You can't go back there!"
Arthur ignored him. He walked into the kitchen. He looked at the stove. He looked at a slab of raw beef sitting on the counter. He looked at a sack of flour.
"Julian," Arthur called out. "I need fire. High heat. Vivian, slice the meat. Zack, flatten the dough."
"What are you doing?" The cook woke up, blinking.
"I am upgrading your workflow," Arthur said, rolling up his sleeves. "We don't have time for stew. We need fast food."
...
"Fast Food?" Julian asked, staring at the raw beef.
"It is a culinary doctrine based on speed and consistency," Arthur explained. He grabbed a heavy iron skillet. "In the Academy, meals took hours. Here, we eat in minutes."
Arthur turned to the meat.
"Vivian! Don't cut chunks. Mince it! Turn it into paste!"
Vivian drew her dagger. She attacked the beef with frightening speed. Chop-chop-chop. In seconds, the slab was ground meat.
"Good." Arthur grabbed a handful of the meat. He rolled it into a ball, then smashed it flat onto the iron skillet.
"Julian! Heat the pan! 400 degrees!"
Julian pointed his wand. "Ignis!"
The fire roared under the skillet. The meat hit the hot iron.
SSSSZZZZT.
The smell was instant. The Maillard Reaction—the chemical browning of proteins—filled the kitchen. It smelled savory, rich, and intoxicating.
"Zack! The buns!" Arthur commanded.
Zack had flattened the dough balls. Arthur threw them onto a second hot plate. They puffed up instantly.
"What is this sorcery?" the village cook whispered, watching Arthur flip the meat patties. "You press the meat? You squeeze the juices out!"
"No," Arthur corrected. "I am creating a crust to seal the juices in. It's a thermal seal."
Arthur worked like a machine.
Station 1: Vivian grinds.
Station 2: Julian heats.
Station 3: Arthur flips.
Station 4: Zack assembles.
Bun. Meat. Cheese (a slice of cheddar Arthur found). Bun.
In five minutes, Arthur placed four steaming, greasy, magnificent sandwiches on the counter.
"The Pendelton Patty," Arthur announced. "Eat."
The Taste Test
Julian looked at the sandwich. Grease dripped onto his finger.
"It's... messy," Julian sniffed. "A noble eats with a fork and kn—"
Vivian didn't wait. She took a massive bite.
Her eyes widened. She stopped chewing. She looked at the burger, then at Arthur.
"Oh my gods," Vivian whispered. She took another bite, practically inhaling half the burger. "It's... it's salty. It's hot. It's perfect."
Julian hesitated. He took a small, tentative bite.
The crunch of the seared meat. The soft bread. The melted cheese.
Julian van Thorne, heir to the Arch-Mage, dropped his aristocratic mask. He took a second bite. Then a third.
"This is superior to pheasant," Julian declared, sauce on his chin. "Arthur, why didn't the Ancients leave us this recipe? This is more important than the plumbing!"
"It is the fuel of the working class," Arthur said, taking a bite of his own. It wasn't perfect—the bun was a bit dense—but after 24 hours of starvation, it tasted like victory.
"Hey," the innkeeper leaned over the counter, sniffing the air. "That smells... profitable."
"Try one," Arthur slid a spare burger to the man.
The innkeeper ate it. He looked at Arthur. "Kid, I will trade you a sack of potatoes, a wheel of cheese, and ten pounds of beef for the recipe."
"Deal," Arthur said instantly. "Zack, load the car."
...
They were leaving the inn, arms full of supplies, when the door swung open.
Three Royal Guards walked in. They were covered in dust, their armor clinking. They looked tired.
"Innkeeper," the lead guard grunted. "Ale. And news. Have you seen a..." he paused, looking at a wanted poster in his hand. "...a metal carriage driven by teenagers?"
The tavern went silent.
Arthur froze. He was holding a sack of flour. Julian was holding a crate of dried meat. Vivian had her hand on her sword hilt, hidden under her cloak.
The innkeeper looked at the guards. Then he looked at Arthur. Then he looked at the half-eaten burger on the counter.
The recipe was worth more than the bounty.
"Haven't seen a carriage," the innkeeper lied smoothly, wiping the counter. "But I have seen some hungry mechanics. They just fixed my stove."
The guard glanced at Arthur. Arthur pulled his hood down lower, trying to look like a dirty peasant mechanic.
"Mechanics, eh?" The guard sniffed. "You smell like... seared meat."
"It's the new menu," the innkeeper interjected. "Want to try? On the house."
The guard looked at the burger. His stomach growled.
"Fine," the guard sat down. "But make it quick. We have to patrol the East Road."
Arthur and his team slowly backed out of the door.
"Thank you," Arthur whispered to the innkeeper.
"Just keep moving," the innkeeper muttered. "And leave the beef."
....
They sprinted back to the barn.
"That was close," Zack hyperventilated, throwing the potatoes into the back seat. "Too close! They are patrolling the East Road!"
"Then we go off-road," Arthur said, pulling the hay camouflage off the car.
He jumped into the driver's seat.
"Julian, did you get the coffee?"
"I got a bag of beans and a grinder," Julian said, climbing in. "But we have no hot water."
"The radiator gets to 200 degrees," Arthur started the engine. "I'll tap a line into the cabin. We'll have espresso by the time we hit the tree line."
The Pendelton Cruiser roared out of the barn, scattering chickens.
They hit the dirt track, tires spinning.
Vivian sat back, patting her stomach. She looked content for the first time in days.
"Arthur," she said.
"Yes?"
"If we survive saving the world... we open a franchise."
"Agreed," Arthur shifted into second gear. "But first, we have to survive the Howling Plains."
He pointed through the windshield.
The forest was thinning. Ahead of them lay a vast, flat wasteland of grey grass and jagged rocks. The sky above it was dark, swirling with unnatural storms.
"The map says the Ley Lines are exposed there," Zack warned, reading the iScroll. "Raw mana storms. If we drive through that, the car's Runeware might fry."
"We don't have Runeware," Arthur reminded him. "We have steam and gears. Analog is immune to Mana Surge."
"But are we immune?" Julian asked, looking at the lightning flashing in the distance.
"We're about to find out." Arthur floored the gas.
End of Chapter 40