Jack licked his lips and stepped forward, reaching into his coin pouch, only to recall with dismay that he had spent every last coin on the dagger. No. This can’t be happening, his shoulders drooping as if he’d lost a bad bet. It had been so long since he’d savoured one of Arman’s delicious wraps. Please, don’t let me miss my final chance to enjoy such fine food. He looked up from his empty pouch at Arman, shocked and heartbroken. She could’ve left me with a few coppers. He could imagine the strange merchant laughing at him, going hungry, like she planned this.

  His stomach growled in protest at the memory of the mean weapons merchant taking all his coin. For a moment, he struggled to recall the encounter. What did she say again? Some of the memories were slipping away.

  The unpleasant gurgling noise drew a boisterous belly laugh from the old food vendor, and Jack’s face turned bright red.

  Arman smiled and wagged an aged finger at the young man before him. “We have danced this dance before, yes? Not the first time you have stood before my offerings of food with that look.” The old food vendor shook his head. “What did you spend it on, ha? So eager are young boys to spend their coin as soon as they get it that they forget that their bellies empty fast and will soon be as empty as their coin pouches. Yes?”

  Jack offered a wry smile and a shrug.

  Arman’s finger never stopped wagging. “Did you forget it takes a lot of food to grow an ox?” He huffed through his nose and squinted at Jack with one eye closed. “Lucky for you, your father is as forgetful as you, yes? Always forgetting his coin pouch is your father, leaving it amongst a pile of dusty books on his desk.” The old man gestured at the Royal Library. “Arman is not cruel enough to make a starving man climb so many stairs to pay me, not when he is one of my best customers, no?”

  Jack beamed, enjoying the show. This wasn’t the first time he’d visited the food stall without a single coin in his pouch.

  Arman, his belly resting on the counter, handed Jack a wrap of succulent meat and vegetables and tapped his nose conspiratorially as he leaned in. “I’ll put this on your father’s tab,” he whispered. “He will never know. This between me and you, yes?” He then patted Jack on the shoulder.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Jack nodded with enthusiasm and cradled the ‘free’ wrap while the still-laughing Arman attended to his next customer, welcoming them like an old friend.

  Finding a worn public bench, Jack settled down to enjoy his heavenly wrap. He inhaled, allowing the rich aroma of spiced, marinated lamb to fill his senses. “Hmm, smells so damn good,” he murmured.

  The moment he took his first bite, a soft groan of delight escaped from his lips as the flavours burst onto his tongue. By the Gods, it’s even better than I remember.

  Jack relaxed and soaked in the hustle and bustle of the chattering crowd, their conversations mingling with the gentle murmur of the nearby fountain as he savoured every bite. As he ate, he wondered why, after all the street food he’d sampled in his past life, nothing could ever compare with Arman’s wraps?

  This is almost as good as Mom’s cooking. A cold shiver ran down his spine at the thought, making him feel as though he’d committed an act of sacrilege against the Gods. Jack pulled the wrap close to his chest to hide it while looking around to ensure his mother wasn’t nearby.

  Before long, Jack was down to his last few bites. “They’re so damn good. I want another one,” he murmured. His eyes drifted to Arman’s stall and considered if he could get away with a second mouthwatering wrap. Dad would pick up the tab, wouldn’t he? He watched the old vendor serve another customer as he took his final bite.

  As he contemplated trying his luck, licking his fingers so as not to waste a drop of sauce, a familiar sound echoed across the plaza. It was the tired creak of the heavy wooden doors of the Royal Library opening across The Square.

  Jack’s attention was drawn to the sound of loud laughter as a small group of people emerged from the Royal Library and stepped onto The Square. The group huddled together, joking and patting each other on the back before parting ways. He searched through all the dark-suited men, hoping to spot his father among them. He recognised several librarians and scribes from his past life, yet his father was nowhere to be seen.

  “Dad’s probably working in the Ancient Texts Department,” Jack muttered to himself as he failed to see his father. He smiled at the thought of his dad hunched over an ancient text using one of his Expert Scribe skills to unlock its hidden secrets.

  His blood ran cold when his gaze fell upon Baron Greaves leaving the Royal Library. Greaves was impossible to miss, adorned in his ridiculous top hat, fancy crimson waistcoat, and an air of smug self-importance.

  Before Jack even realised what he was doing, he was on his feet, shadowing the almost forty-year-old noble and the two beastkin guards flanking him. His right hand rested on the new dagger at his side; the feel of the scarred grip offered an unexpected comfort as if he and the dagger were meant to be one.