"More?"
"No." He stands, shadows gathering like dramatic punctuation. "New protocol. Take the food. Quietly. No kitchen invasions. Report dietary restrictions to—" He looks at me with resignation. "To her. Apparently."
"Really? Oh, wonderful!" I clap, and the lamp flickers happily. "I'll make lists. Maybe color-coded by shift. Do you have a code name? For the list?"
"I don't have a code name."
"That's silly. Everyone needs one. I'll call you Night Manager. Because you manage things. At night. It's very literal but sometimes that's best."
He makes a sound like he's reconsidering every choice that led to this moment. "Back to your posts. All of you. Except—" He points at Gray Streak. "You. We're discussing your new nickname."
They file out, carrying their boots, stepping around paint brushes and half-finished canvases I didn't even remember were in here. The young one pauses.
"Thank you for the jam," he whispers. "And, um, I do have a cold."
"I knew it! Honey and lemon for you tomorrow. And wear warmer clothes!"
He scurries away, leaving wet footprints I'll be mopping later.
"The soup was excellent," Night Manager tells me, ignoring Gray Streak's visible terror. "Don't make it too often. The... Shadow King... prefers his people sharp."
"Sharp people need nutrients. Once a week? With variety? You could suggest it at the next gathering. I'll write it all down if that helps. I have good handwriting. Well, readable handwriting. Mostly readable."
"That won't be necessary." He sounds like he's being strangled by his own shadows.
"If you're sure. But really, someone should talk to him about taking care of his guild. Rest periods. Maybe compensation for injuries? Do you have funds for that? Seems important for your line of work."
"I'll... mention it."
"Good!" I walk him to the window, having to squeeze past abandoned chairs and empty bowls. My nightgown catches on his coat button. We both pretend it doesn't happen. "And get more sleep. You look worse than last time. Try warm milk with honey. Or those pills from the apothecary. Not the blue ones though. Those are for something else entirely."
He's already dissolving into shadows, taking Gray Streak with him. But he pauses.
"Lock your windows. Some of us have less restraint around bread."
Then he's gone. I'm alone with empty bowls and the lingering scent of soup and shadows and expensive cologne.
I survey the damage. Muddy footprints everywhere. Someone left a knife on my counter—lovely craftsmanship, very sharp, probably meant for things I don't want to think about. Crumbs ground into the floor. A small puddle where snow melted off someone's coat.
But also: empty bowls. Cleaned plates. Not a scrap of food left.
I wash up, humming that song about the fish merchant. The water's cold but my hands are warm from soup-serving. Tomorrow I'll need supplies. Bulk supplies. And honey for the young one's cold. And maybe scarves? They all need scarves. And better coats. And gloves that actually cover their fingers.
A leather pouch sits on the table where Night Manager was sitting. Gold coins. More than the food cost. More than food for a week would cost. There's a note in precise handwriting: "For ingredients. Don't make them soft. - R"
"R," I tell the empty kitchen. "Night Manager has lovely penmanship. Very controlled. Probably grinds his teeth though. All that tension."
I tidy up, finding evidence of their visit everywhere. A button that fell off someone's coat. Black thread caught on a chair. Someone used my dish towel to wipe their blade—there's oil on it now, and something that might be blood but I'm choosing to believe is raspberry jam.
Back in bed, I can't stop planning. The young one needs vitamin C. Gray Streak needs iron. Knife Woman needs more vegetables—she only ate bread and cheese. Night Manager needs everything, probably hasn't had a balanced meal in years.
"They need someone to look after them," I mumble into my pillow. "Make sure they're eating properly."
The shadows in my room ripple. Could be the wind. Probably the wind. But they seem to ripple with exhausted agreement.
I fall asleep planning menus. Soup for warmth. Bread for comfort. Fruit for vitamins. Tea for their souls. Maybe some of those almond cookies that help with stress. Night Manager seemed very stressed. They all seem stressed, really.
Whoever this Shadow King is should really think about his guild's wellbeing. Lucky his overseer seems reasonable. Very responsive to suggestions.
