Preface

"Tavernoriade" is inspired by "Legends & Lattes", some could say "too much so". But there are also references to other fantasy (e.g. Terry Pratchett or Robert Asprin). Remember, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery!

"Tavernoriade" is a translation. It was written before "Maginarium" (I described my motivation in the preface there, I will not repeat it here). A scene from the 4th part was born in my head, and the rest of the work grew out of it. So all the questions "why exactly a cat in a business suit?", "why a smartly dressed, snide skeleton?" or "why Wine'n'cheese?" address to my subconscious, I'll pass them to it.

-/1/-

Purchase

It was a port city by the ocean. On the side of the waves were huge windcatchers - funnels the size of a city wall that caught the wind and directed it towards the streets. All the city's buildings were designed to allow the wind to pass between them, feeding the city with the power of the gods of wind and storm.

Naturally, the houses were cluttered with constantly spinning windmills, turntables and weather vanes. Tiles on the roofs, painted in different colours by the citizen, helped to understand the purpose of the buildings. Land sailboats scurried through the streets, their masts and sails constantly turning to catch the wind at a particular angle. Motley (sometimes literally) pedestrians were protected by lower windbreaks, with the wind only starting from the second floor.

A proud representative of the proud race of Catfolk, ginger Isidra, dressed in a white shirt, trousers (with a hole for her tail), a felt hat (with holes for her ears), suspenders and a tie (all right for business), stood in the street, hands on her hips, looking around her new domain - a city of wood, stone and wind, no worse or better than any other western city.

"This is where my takeover of the world begins," she announced.

"Takeover of the world?" a Giz looked up hopefully as he rolled a wheel down the street.

"A world of delicious food and satisfied customers," the cat said, no less pretentious.

"Ahh..." the Giz looked down and continued to roll the wheel.

"But how do I buy a shop? Get supplies? Protect my place? And why is this Giz rolling the wheel?" Isidra thought.

The takeover of the world of delicious food and satisfied customers began at the City Hall. Heroically overcoming the epic queue, the catwoman triumphantly entered the depths of a clerk's office. The clerk was a ghost of an incredibly thin Fon. Which was not really a problem, since ghosts do not suffer from metabolic disorders.

"Probably his own boredom was the cause of his death," the cat thought, trying to find something with her eyes to amuse herself and avoid becoming a ghost.

"And of course, according to MOH-315, the tavern has to pay a tax on the sale of alcohol," the ghost mumbled.

The word 'tax' made Isidra grimace as if she'd been sprayed with lemon juice. Although that would be preferable.

"Then I won't sell alcohol."

The dead bureaucrat was so taken aback by these words that he even paused for a second. It was the second time in his existence he had been so shocked. The first time was when his future wife said 'yes'.

"Then you need form A..."

"A31? Here it is. Filled in. Here are A45, B17 and Z50. All filled in, only your seal is missing, here, here and here," the cat smiled triumphantly. She had already won this battle against bureaucracy. The ghost was surprised for the second time in his death.

A few hours earlier, Isidra had walked through the building and, in a stern voice, asked anyone planning a new business to follow her. When faced with bureaucracy, individuals enter a special state of mind, the goal of which is to get out of that state, so they do what is asked of them. If the cat said something like "Where is your form for pickled hyperbole?", everyone would pickle the whole form of stylistic techniques, even though they had little idea what it was. But instead of that nonsense, she said something more helpful: "So as not to repeat last time, I'll ask in advance. Have you collected, filled and certified all the necessary documents?" It turned out that one half of the crowd did not have half of the necessary documents, and the other half did not have the other half. And the halves of the halves had filled in the documents incorrectly. Cursing, they all filled in the necessary forms together, helping each other to check the scattered scraps of common knowledge. If civilisation hadn't been invented yet, it would have been invented now. Isidra supervised the crowd with confidence, for she was confident in herself. When everything was done and checked, the cat, after praising everyone, returned to her place in line, where her hat held her place.

"I just have a very responsible approach to documentation. Opening your own business is not a game of Kick a Giz with kids," the cat explained, smiling predatorily (she couldn't smile non-predatorily). Isidra didn't mention that it had only been a few days since she'd decided to open a food store. Nor did she mention that all the paperwork had been collected and filled in for her by more experienced queue standers. And rightly so, it would spoil her bragging rights.

"So you need a building," said the ghost, returning to his mumbling. Mumbling is so comfortingly familiar. Not like a first-time visitor with all the paperwork in order. "There are several former taverns..."

Isidra rejected all the offers because they had a price, which is absolutely outrageous. In the end, the clerk, realising that a price was too big a disadvantage, offered to buy a plot of land on which there was an emergency multi-storey building that had to be demolished, but on the condition that the buyer would make the house non-emergency. It was an outrage of a moderate degree, and after all the signatures, the cat became the owner of a piece of city land with a pile of rubbish in the shape of a house on it, for a modest astronomical sum, depending on who you ask.

Isidra walked to her new home through the golden city at sunset, watching the lights come on in the windows. In the warm twilight, the city's residents sleepily cleared the streets out themselves. The wind stirred the leaves of the trees, carrying the scent of the ocean and the spores of the velvetling. There was so much work to be done.

-/2/-

Place

After waking up in one of the rooms of her new home, the cat began to inspect her new possessions. Well, she didn't start right away, she just needed to snuggle up in bed, stretch out and lie down a little longer to catch the morning light through a hole in the wall. A hole in the wall? Oh, well... She also had to slowly get dressed, wash her face, brush her teeth, stretch again and eat dried meat for breakfast. Now she can do whatever it is.

Wrapped in rags and with a brush tied to the end of her tail, Isidra began to clean. Collecting cobwebs and dusting, she soon found a pile of things left behind by the previous inhabitants. There were many cupboards filled with tattered clothes, some appliances and scribbled notebooks. The cat didn't want to read them, just flick through them in case there was something important, like money. Well, or if her eye caught something interesting. Checking bore fruit, as the hostess discovered a riddle, and after solving it, she found a cache of dried flowers and some kind of Minim portrait. She put it all back, so perhaps the search for hidden places can somehow be used to create rumours about the establishment. It looks like this building used to be a three-storey block of apartments where many families lived.

As Isidra explored the rooms, she noticed rotten floorboards, holes in the walls and the house groaning, clearly unhealthy. She began to worry that buying such an old house instead of a relatively new one might not save her money, but rather cost her more in repairs. To distract herself from such terrible thoughts, she began to think about nightmares.

Walking around the building, the cat noticed that the house consisted of three blocks joined at right angles, with a small courtyard between them. Isidra attributed this courtyard to her building. Obviously, someone else's assets didn't hug like that. The building itself was set back from the magistral windway and was also protected by rocks on either side. That's probably why the land here was cheap - meaningless to build windmills here.

As Isidra made her way around the building, a smartly dressed citizen approached her and joined in the intense scrutiny:

"Are you interested in old abandoned things? Or can you see what I can't? My eyes aren't what they used to be."

"It will be a place of food, recreation and entertainment," Isidra explained without looking at the other person. "We are not open yet, come back later, with everyone you know."

"We?" the snide citizen looked around. "As in the royal we? Isn't it premature for you to use such a pronoun?"

"How..." the cat turned to the impertinent man, but what 'how' we will never know, for she saw that her interlocutor's eyes were not what they used to be. Wherever they are. Certainly not in the eye sockets of this skeleton, even though he wears a top hat and a tailcoat. Isidra lifted all her fur and hissed. Then she ran to the door, glanced over her shoulder, hissed again and, with a loud slam, hid in her new fortress. The fashionable skeleton shook his skull and walked on, twirling the stick on his bony wrist.

Only after confirming through the window that the walking marionette of inner solidity was indeed gone, did Isidra dare venture outside.

"Are you our new neighbour?" came from behind the cat. She turned in a flash, having learned from her terrible experience to see the speaker. As she turned, her muzzle was already in position to hiss. But it was only a Saigafolk woman with a bunch of obviously adopted children, one of whom she was holding in her arms. Isidra's face returned to a calm state.

"Oh, yes... I'll cook my food here..." the catwoman stared intently at the saiga's friendly face. She carried her bones inside her body, as she should, but their races shared a common history.

"Oh, what am I doing? My name is Agnes," the saiga didn't seem to be thinking of anything like that.

The cat shook the offered paw.

"And what are you going to do with the food? Sell it? Will you set up a tavern here? Do you want drunks, brawlers and gamblers in our neighbourhood?"

"Not a tavern. It will be..." Isidra thought for a second, then two. What will it be? "...not a tavern. It won't be a tavern," she repeated for some reason. Where had her eloquence gone?

"All right, Isidra," Agnes smiled, "you're in a new place, you've got a lot of work to do and I'm interrupting. Goodbye, I will definitely visit you as soon as I can free myself."

The cat continued to inspect her new home. The house is in a bad state, and if she starts counting how much it will cost to hire carpenters and buy materials, then the owner will be in a bad state herself. No, she needs a reliable tool. Magic! The cat went to the nearest wizards' labor union.

The wizards' labor union was a nondescript building, fitting perfectly into the neighborhood of a tailor's shop and a gliding club. Unlike the Universe Fairs, where everything buzzed, danced, morphed and glowed to attract attention. Or the Gymnasiums and Lyceums of Secrets, usually located in places hard for mere mortals to reach, such as the sky, the ocean floor, or the gaps between realities, whatever that meant. Isidra wasn't quite sure what this labor union was, some sort of association of local mages. There were membership fees to pay, and Isidra always lost interest at that point.

At the entrance, she was met by a burly Fle bouncer in a sleeveless purple robe with gold stars and a cap hanging down over his forehead. This was the first Fle Isidra had ever seen, but she had heard a lot about them, and it seemed to be true - huge, muscular, but with a noticeable belly, no fur, no tail, with skin of a dirty green colour. With upturned fangs and a flattened nose, like a boarler's.

"To your boss," the cat said. The Fle did not interfere, but followed. "Who shows the way that way?" Isidra thought as she meandered through the corridors. "I shouldn't have been less confident when I said 'To your boss', now he thinks I know what I'm doing." Together with them, the mages wandered through the corridors, busy with something. Finally, on the fifth loop, the Fle tapped the cat on the shoulder and opened the nearest door.

In the study sat a mage in a jacket whose race Isidra couldn't identify. Something like a deflated frog. The cat glanced at her escort's outfit. Come to think of it, all the mages they met in the building wore normal clothes - suits and lab coats. Well, never mind...

"Hello, I have a small building to repair..." the cat began.

"Ah, that residential building on Bastion Street, now unoccupied. You want to open a tavern, Miss Isidra," the headman said, his voice surprisingly not croaking.

"And you are well informed about the affairs of the city. But not a tavern..."

"We are mages, after all," the mage chief said patronisingly, putting the reports on the purchase of buildings in the city into the drawer of his desk and taking out a magic ball with a piece of paper on it. He began to spin the ball in his hands and gave the paper to the cat. The cat took the paper and glanced at the first numbers, but didn't read any more for mental health, and her movement smoothly turned into a paper toss behind her back.

"I have a better idea! Instead of a pitiful one-off payment, I offer a permanent benefit! Partnership! You have a dining room, don't you? We can provide you with delicious food and the highest level of service."

The wizard's face darkened with each word:

"We already have those who are engaged in our nutrition. Serious people, not even a single-person tavern that hasn't opened yet."

"Not a tavern. And it will be very profitable. This is a great investment. Well, look in your ball."

"Success and failure of enterprises are too common. The probability matrix will show them to be equally likely. Grum, show our guest to the way out. And remember her face, just in case."

"Why are you charging so much money? It can't cost more than a bunch of workers with lots of resources to cast a finished spell!" said the evil cat, whom the Fle gently pushed towards the exit.

"With this knowledge of the real market, I don't even need to look into a crystal ball to know the success of your tavern," the mage gloated.

"Not a tavern!" shouted the cat from outside the door.

Already on the street, Isidra began to walk with angry steps, the Fle for some reason deciding to walk beside her:

"Mistress, do you need to magically repair the building?"

"I need to repair the building in some way with minimal expenses," the mistress kicked a rock that successfully turned under her foot, almost causing her to fall.

"Building reliability is not something you should skimp on, my lady. The well-being of the inhabitants depends on it. Let me repair your building. Just give me the food. That way you'll get almost free repairs, and I'll make sure your... thriftiness doesn't endanger anyone."

"I won't hide it, it's very suspicious," Isidra said suspiciously.

"I have to practice rebuilding buildings. That is why I came here from my homeland. But they put me at the entrance like some kind of thug. I can't promise to do everything perfectly, but I'll try my best."

Isidra stopped and looked at the Fle. Then she held out her paw.

"Isidra."

"Gral." Gral wrapped his strong hand around her clawed paw and shook it.

The roof tiles glistened in the afternoon Dayorb. The blue sky was like an ocean. The wind ruffled Isidra's fur and Gral's beard. By mid-afternoon, the cat's building was warped almost to the breaking point.

-/3/-

Provisions

The building tilted a lot in one direction, but then, on the second floor, it caught itself and tilted a lot in the other direction. Each side of each window had a different length and angle, which was, in its own way, an impressive achievement. The door decided not to go through at least half of its own opening.

The cat, who had stopped screaming due to the loss of her screaming powers, ran around the would-be magebuilder and pointed with two paws at the next curvature in the building.

The Fle scratched his head anxiously:

"Yes, the parameters should be counted and counted... By the way, mistress, what about lunch?"

Isidra was tempted to throw a piece of dried meat into the dirt so that the pay would match the work, but that wasn't the way to handle food. So she handed the food to the Fle with as much displeasure as possible. Thinking about food made her think about food.

Isidra opens the tave... ugh, something to do with food. To sell food, you need to get that food somewhere. The cat could cook, which was a good thing, since she was opening a food store. But she needed ingredients. Isidra weighed her purse in her paw, which was filled well enough to make its owner relatively rich, but to Isidra it only looked like a plate of food only around the edges, which meant it was almost empty. Well, keeping a tave... Damnnit! Keeping an establishment not paying the product suppliers was very difficult.

The cat walked through the city and finally got a better look at it. The buildings were mostly made of stone, but some were made of wood. All the houses were long, with large openings between them. On the roofs were small windmills that turned the ocean winds into wind for household appliances. The iron roofs glistened with salt, and their colours indicated the purpose of the buildings: blue - residential, green - social, yellow - government, brown - industrial, purple - religious, red - entertainment. The whites were magical, but Isidra had never seen them except on the wizards' labor union. The only black, mournful building, the Palace of Sorrows, stood in the distance, occasionally releasing balloons with cargo. So today is the right wind and The Day of Farewell.

Various inhabitants of the city wandered, hurried, crept, and passed through the streets: beastfolk, gizoids, Fons, treecreepers, Minims, and life forms unknown to the cat. She even saw a spectral crystallite and a magmanide. Land sailboats, sled animals, and wind-up carts tried to squeeze in between them. The cat clung to the stern of a public sailboat to avoid paying money.

"For transport, it would be nice to have a separate road, preferably two. But then the whole city would have to be rebuilt. It's a good thing I just sell food and don't have to deal with the city's infrastructure," the cat thought idly, watching the streets fly by.

A merchant thought his loaded gifalan might be able to squeeze through the city streets. It turned out it couldn't, but it was an excellent road blocker. The cat had to walk the rest of the way, trying not to fall under the huge paws that were looking for a way to escape.

Finally, Isidra reached the city's harbour. A strong stench of port hit the cat's nose, so she had to cover it with a paw, but there was also a strong smell of fish, so she opened one nostril. There stood the giant windcatchers and windbreaks, and the sound of them catching the wind was like the shrieks of thousands of damned souls. Although where did Isidra get this knowledge? Maybe the shrieks of thousands of damned souls don't sound so terrifying. The cat paused to look out at the ocean. Polinero was as calm as a well-fed cat today, and the rays of the setting Dayorb were still playing on him. But his wife was frowning again from above, gathering thick clouds, just like a mother cat tormented by her kittens. Classic Yara. After going through the fishermen, she arranged for fish supplies to be delivered to her non-tavern. Negotiations were successful with some, not with others, but there were no surprises, just business as usual. With one last look at Polinero and Yara (Isidra couldn't imagine them as non-catfolk) she hooked up with another sailboat and headed out of town.

Outside the city, she began to visit farmers, cattle breeders, and millers. At one of the boarler farms, she was looking at these very boarlers. About the size of a public sailboat, they gained weight during the wild hunt season, and during the mushroom season they unhooked their meat, which was attached to them with special meat stalks, and gave it to farmers for their care. Without meat, they straighten up and can reach up to the highest caps of megashrooms. As she walked around one of these meat mountains, the cat was thinking about cooking and licking her lips, so she didn't notice a mouseboy flying towards her. The impact made the catwoman stagger, but the mouse fell, being half Isidra's size, and scattered the boarler food he was carrying.

"Sorry," the mouse squeaked.

The sight of the mouse made the cat very happy. She hurried to pick him up, dust him off, and help him gather food.

"Oh, you clumsy one, you'll kill all your boarlers like that."

"But how am I going to kill them, they're so big," laughed the mouse, wiping his nose with his finger, "and you're going to choose our boarlers to buy, or are you just going to buy their meat?"

"Don't worry, little grey, I'm not going to compete with you in animal husbandry. I am opening my own food house, a realm of taste and good service."

"Oh, and you will not need a servant for all this tastefulness and goodness? I'm ready," said the mouse to the cat.

"Hmm, I cook and Gral builds... well, changes the design of my establishment," the cat thought. "He doesn't really want to go back to his magical union, so I was going to make him work on everything else, from janitor to bouncer, but since the mouse asks himself..."

"Isidra," the cat stretched out her paw.

"Mousey," Mousey shook this paw.

Daylight gilded the colourful roofs, and the wind gods set the city-on-the-ocean in motion. The cat and the mouse walked together, carrying food samples. Mousey refused to be carried in her arms. The catwoman thought about the food.

-/3.5/-

Products Preparation

Isidra laid out all the ingredients the city had to offer on the table (which had such a pleasant directness and stability to it that Gral obviously hadn't had time to get to it) and began to put together the menu for her establishment. She was wrapped in rags from her tail to her ears, because cat hair is not an ingredient in most popular dishes.

Boarler and fish meat, mushrooms, dried seaweed, a classic range of vegetables and berries, rice - this was the city in culinary terms. From the local cuisine, Isidra could determine a place's location, prosperity, culture and mood. Once again the cat was convinced of her abilities. She would have chosen this city anyway, for she loved fish, but otherwise it didn't disappoint.

How could she use these ingredients to cook as tasty a meal as possible at the lowest possible cost? She needed bread. The more bread in the dish, the less expensive meat there is. If Isidra hadn't become a merchant and a cook, she might have become a philosopher.

The cat made bread and cutlets. Her secret, which still delighted her, was to put more bread into the minced meat than meat, so that the cutlets were fluffier, tastier and, most importantly, cheaper.

There is bread, there is meat. Now we need a side dish. But here's the problem - there's nothing to make a side dish out of. Isidra cut the bread into slices and put the cutlet and the mushroom in it. After biting off a piece, the cat realised that the recipe needed to be refined, maybe just a little sauce, but the potential is there. Perhaps make several versions of the cutlet bun with different ingredients? Or let users offer their own content options, shifting the thought and responsibility to them?

What if it was not the ingredients that could be changed, but the way they were served? Isidra rolled up a flatbread instead of a roll and put the meat, mushrooms and vegetables on it. Yes, there is something to it... But what about the rice and the sea products? The cat thoughtlessly rolled the rice into a crumb around the raw fish. Yes, this definitely cannot be served. But when she took a bite, she changed her mind. The cat made sweet water from the berries. Just to think, once these berries have fermented, she will have to pay extra taxes. It's not bad for the first time, but then she'll have to develop a normal menu.

-/4/-

Promotions

"We've been open for a week and the only customers we have are Agnes and Mr. Vainchise, who doesn't bring us any money," Isidra rubbed her tail angrily on the floor. "Although I have put up announcements about the opening wherever possible, impossible and seemingly impossible.

"Mr. Wine'n'cheese," Mr. Wine'n'cheese corrected, leaning on a cane in the corner. "I don't need food or drink, but I do like a quiet, empty room, Ms. Isidra," the skeleton began to shake his jaw, and the fact that it was laughing could be seen by the way the blue lights in his eye sockets changed to crescent moons pointing down.

Isidra hissed and lifted her fur, either because of the mockery or because Mr. Wine'n'cheese was still a talking skeleton, albeit very well dressed.

"We need a plan of action," the cat said after she had calmed down, tapping a claw on the slate covered with diagrams and inscriptions. "I already have one, but I want to get it out of you so you think this is our collective decision. Team building and all that. Like any puzzle, you have to solve it from the end, so we'll take a perfectly brilliant result for a perfectly brilliant plan to achieve it. Crowds of citizens are storming our walls and we don't have to do anything or spend any money. Perfectly brilliant suggestions?

"Say, we give out free food here," Mousey squeaked.

"Oh, you're my little sweetie," Isidra patted Mousey's head adoringly. "But we need a solution that will last longer than five seconds, so a blatant lie doesn't suit us in this case, my sweet."

"Straighten the house. Or at least come up with a name," the corner skeleton said.

"We're working on it, Mr. Winecheese. As for the name, the house will still be called the Crooked House, regardless of our wishes."

"Mr. Wine ' N ' cheese, Ms. Isidra. Don't forget the apostrophes."

"Bards play music in other taverns..." Gral said, ignoring the discussion of his work. The Fle stood behind the counter now, drawing plans for the house.

"They play for tavern money," the cat said, which sounded like 'for the chance to kick kittens'. No, we organise people's own performances in front of an audience. They might even pay for it.

"But we don't have an audience..."

"There will be when we have free performances. Why pay to The Universe Fairs if you can not pay us? Well, maybe buy some food and drink, since it's all under your paws. And invite friends. Young talents will surely be invited them to witness their magnificent musical triumph.

"I know a few poets," Gral said. "We can have a friendly competition."

"I know a jester who will only work for the money visitors throw him in return for his jokes. Just remove all the rotten vegetables when he performs," Mr. Wine'n'cheese rasped.

"I know some 'Castles and Heroes' players," Mousey squeaked. "And they need a place for a small group."

"You know other creatures and you haven't invited them here yet!" Isidra took a mental hit. "Oh yes, my dear Mousey, I've thought about your suggestion. The temple also distributes free food to the poor and destitute, but these are raw products. I could prepare these products and provide tables and a roof for lunch, and they would serve as a promotional crowd at the entrance. During the hours when there are the fewest paying users.

At first, the competition of poets and bards attracted little attention, but then more and more citizens began to gather, drawn by the sounds of the merry crowd. The players of Castles and Heroes sat aloof, but they were always there. And now visitors have their favourite places.

However, not everything was perfect: the jester was booed and some visitors left, but many more returned to see how funny the owner of the non-tavern was chasing the unsuccessful jester and how cleverly she insulted him. He began to come to her, begging for ideas, and Isidra wasn't stingy. Thanks to her help, the jester's ability to make jokes has grown considerably, albeit at the expense of his self-esteem.

The cat went to the nearest temple on Faith Street. Its matron was an ascended succubus who, during the War of Emotions, used her magic to inspire soldiers with visions of the war goddess Valkali. Mother Kzarina the First Faith was tall, thin, stark white, with sharp features, and her eyes were ever-changing nebulas.

"Child, you want to use charity for your own selfish purpose."

"Yes. Who will feel bad about it? Everyone will be fine."

"I could tell you stories in an allegorical and ornate way, but we're both grown women. Greed is bad."

"When I came to you, I prepared several logical traps, arguments and plans. But that won't work, will it? Here you need emotions and other esoteric things. So here are my emotions: Please help me!"

Mother Kzarina brought her face close to the cat's muzzle, bending down to do so, and looked into her eyes. Then she stood up and walked away confidently:

"Pick up your products here mid- and late-week."

Isidra had to prepare separate meals for the underprivileged, but the demand was so great (as was the amount of dirt and odour from those who needed free food) that she had to move tables and benches out into the courtyard.

The Cat's Crooked House finally began to enjoy popularity, allowing the owner to sleep peacefully at night. People ate and laughed, and the city-on-the-ocean took its new place.

The city spun and passed through the breath of the north winds. It glittered gold on roofs and puddles, and at night it shone with a warm glow from windows and lanterns. But Yara bit Polinero. A storm is gathering in the heart of the ocean.

-/5/-

Problems

A Giz wearing a coat and fedora entered the establishment. Like all Gizes, he was shorter than even the average Minim, covered in green scales, and had a sharp nose and angular features. Isidra took a break and went into the dining room, taking off her work clothes. "And that Giz has style," the cat remarked to herself.

"Mistress? It's a lovely little place," the green visitor said, looking around admiringly. "And it would be a shame if anything happened to it. A tragedy, really."

"Oh, how nice of you!" the catwoman thanked him. Few of the customers were concerned about her well-being.

"Yes, a fire would be rather inappropriate," the Giz continued, more inspired by the hostess's reaction.

"Oh, don't tell me, I have nightmares about it."

"Or a gang raid. You know what times are now... The city's gangs have become quite bold," the Giz is now really involved in the conversation; he has never had such a grateful audience before.

"It's terrible. Thank you for warning me."

"So you want us to protect you?" the fancy visitor held out his hand, and Isidra began to shake it happily. "For money..."

The rising wave of hair on the cat's body could be used to track the arrival of sound signals in the brain. "'Protection', 'For', 'Money', 'They want me to pay them money', 'Me - them, not them - me'." The racketeer screamed as the cat's shaking paw extended its claws, preventing him from releasing the pawshake. Then he flinched at the sight of the cat's hissing face so close to him.

"This is war," Isidra pronounced the verdict after finishing her hiss. "Gather your troops, one of us will be destroyed."

"Ah, but you have no war power... Oh, you're just a tavern..." the Giz tried to rationalise with the cat.

"That's it! That was the last straw that broke a gifalan's back. We have something you bandits will never understand! Unwillingness to part with our money!"

"But..."

"Go and gather your friends, and tell them of duty and honour, of what have you... And prepare to meet people united by the desire to earn money. War! War! War!"

"Everybody calm down! No panic! No!" the catwoman panicked, looking at her absolutely calm team. "Yes, Gral, if this isn't panic, then tell me."

The Fle, who had cautiously raised his hand, cleared his throat:

"Forgive my question, my lady. You have declared war on a city gang. Are you sure of your actions? I've drawn fire protection runes, of course, but they can be circumvented.

"Graly," Isidra purred. "How good a warrior are you?"

Graly shook his head:

"I stand ready to support your building, my lady. Take orders, deliver food, if necessary. I can clean up. But I won't fight. That's my word."

The cat looked at his huge fists and just sighed.

"I'm ready to fight, mistress!" Mousey squeaked.

The cat ruffled the fur on the mouse's head:

"It's too cruel to set you against anyone, my protector. Even bandits. I can see that you are not yet ready for perfectly brilliant solution to our problem. Think about it, and I'll sit on the porch and wallow in self-pity," the hostess waved her tail and went to do what she had just said.

Isidra sat on the porch, her head propped up on one paw, until Agnes approached with the baby in her arms:

"Not working today?"

"I declared war on a city gang today. I think I should take a break and think about my behaviour."

"Oh, those city baddies-two-shoes? Don't try to solve everything by dialogue, compromise, or any other nonsense. Physically crush them," the saiga said, adjusting her grip on her child. "Yes, Shroombold? The bandits only understand one language - the language of Regent of Death."

"I have paws. They can only drop something on them," the cat squinted suspiciously, "I must admit, that is the last advice I expected from you."

"I'm a former bandit. We used to pinch merchants east of here, at Tribulation's Break, beyond the Circle of Fire, know? Believe me, we only understand the language of the violence, especially such pomaded urban slickers. Just don't ask adventurers, they're unreliable, expensive, and slow."

"Are there any cheap fighters for a just cause anywhere?"

"A rival gang is just the ticket. We love to slit each other's throats," Agnes said as she played with her child. "Just find another organised group that demands money and submission for protection."

"Well, that leaves one last resort. The gods are my witnesses, I didn't mean to. I'll go to the city guards."

The cat went straight to the commander of the guards in the palace, on Dragon Street. The case was too important! At the palace itself, she decided not to wait in line, as she didn't need to fill out any paperwork. Using her feline agility, she climbed to the right floor and made her way to the study, avoiding the royal patrols.

The commander of the guards was a very fat wolfman who was currently scratching his back with a stick.

"They're extorting money from my place!" Isidra immediately started with the main thing, bursting into the room.

"How did you get in here, cat?" the wolf said indignantly.

"Are you a representative of the city guard? So you must take reports of crime. A stylishly dressed Giz threatened to take my money for protecting my food store!"

"You may have misunderstood something. It is not a crime to discuss protection services. Talking is a business, not punishable at all, as long as you don't distract important people from their work. Now I want you to leave, or I'll have to arrest you. And my personal advice is that you better pay Smokelight, it's better for everyone," the commander said irritably.

Isidra didn't wait to be pushed out of the office again, and went off on her own, hoping to find an ambitious and honest guard willing to challenge his dirty boss. Not yet. Nor around the corner either. So there was no one in this wing of the palace to help her either. Oh, a meatball in a bowl! Suddenly, the cat noticed the Lord Governor's office, just as his personal guard was being replaced. Sneaking in, she confirmed that it was indeed the Lord Governor's office, for the Lord Governor was in there.

"What is it? Now is not the time to receive petitioners," the Lord of the City was the High Fon, wrapped in towels and looking like he had just taken a bath. Over the towel he wore an iron circlet with a golden tine from the Metaphor Crown. "You can't make any mistakes this time, Isidra," the cat thought, "you're a merchant, you should know what to offer people." She looked around at the throne strewn with soft pillows with its headboard reaching up to the ceiling; the fat lips of the viceroy, who seemed to be eating boarler meat in a bathtub; the half-closed eyes of the contented Fon. What can you give to someone who has everything? Ahhh, yeah. But it's very dangerous. Or is it just dangerous?

"Miss, can you speak? What are you looking at so intently?" the Fon asked the cat, who was frozen in place.

"Alarm, sire! The rebels are planning a revolution!" Isidra cried, wringing her paws. With each new letter, the Lord Governor's face grew longer, and his eyes bulged more and more, almost taking on the shape of a normal Fon. His body overflowed from a relaxed state to a state of increased discomfort.

"Where? How? Where?" Lord joined in the cat's hysteria and pulled the cord under the table.

"I have an honest place to entertain people, so I've been approached by dark characters from the Smokelight gang, and they've started inciting everyone to revolt! I am an honest hostess, of course, I chased the scoundrels out of the house and ran straight to you to do my civic and patriotic duty!"

While the cat was talking, the fat commander of the guards burst into the office. He was out of breath and waddled funny as he ran, and would have been cute if he wasn't a dirty guard.

"Missed it? Preparing for... for... for the people's discontent," the Fon pounced on him immediately.

"I ... Sire..." the wolf noticed the cat and immediately a strong suspicion crept in. "That cat... Did you listen to her? This is..."

"Oh, don't you believe it? I have proof!" Isidra scurried out the door and returned a moment later, triumphantly shoving a piece of papers up the commander's nose.

"Meat loaf...? Berry compote...? What the...?"

"On the other side!" the cat kindly helped.

On the other side was a crude drawing of someone, with crude writing: "Down with the stinking lord, no lip-slapping guys on the throne!" The lord turned pale, which was an achievement for the High Fon.

"I want you to deal with..! How did you say they introduced themselves, milady?"

"Smokelight," Isidra said helpfully.

"Smoke... light!?" the commander turned pale, which was a first discovery for the Wolffolk.

"Yes, the Smokelight. When something burns, smoke appears. And light comes to us from the sky," the cat explained magnanimously.

"And you, milady, should be rewarded for your strong civic position. You say you're a tavern owner? Do you want the protection of the crown? And a small monthly salary? I'll have a crown plate made for you right away," said the Lord Governor, pleased with such a patriotic subject.

"It will be an honour for my tavern!" Isidra was so overwhelmed with gratitude that she didn't notice the way the guard commander shredded her anti-government propaganda with his claws, or the way he glared at her.

The storm is already heading to the city-on-the-ocean.

-/6/-

Public

It was one of the quiet evenings in the tavern. The customers were busy talking, eating and laughing.

"They are growing so fast. You're already becoming a real social lioness, mistress," Mr. Wine'n'cheese began, as usual, with a swordplay.

"Mr. Wine'n'cheese, you have to grow up too. Have you already decided who you are going to grow up to be?" Isidra retaliated as usual.

The rain had begun to fall, and there were more people than usual. Isidra even noticed an old acquaintance:

"I didn't know that ghosts needed food."

"I was just wondering," said the ghost of Fon, who had arranged the purchase of this very building. "You surprised me, Miss. This building has recently been given the status of an official royal tavern."

"Um... About that... It's just a title, we don't sell alcohol," the hostess suddenly hesitated.

"You can do whatever you like now. Your building has the Metaphor Crown symbol on it. No clever government official will be hostile to you."

As if to confirm his words, the guard commander and his elite Wolf Guards rushed into the royal tavern. Thunder rumbled outside the window. The storm has begun.

"All right, pack, search for all violations, such a fraudster as this cat clearly cares only about profit! This house is obviously full of dirt, rot, and rats!" the chief of the guards panted.

"Hey! My uncle is a rat!" Mousey squeaked indignantly.

"There is already one confession!" the wolf chuckled.

"I didn't commit any violations. This is outrageous! Here stands, I mean, hovering above the floor the writer of all my documents!" Isidra said angrily.

"We'll find them," the commander assured her. "To begin with, the building is more crooked than the lives of my prisoners. No wind streamlining, and this is in our city!"

"I can assure you it's not a violation in this part of the city," the dead clerk tried to interject.

"It doesn't matter!" snapped the wolf. "We'll find them."

Meanwhile, the guards began to shooing the patrons out of their seats and roughly grabbing decorative objects.

"If you have any problems with the establishment, we can discuss it more calmly. I'm just getting all my plans ready," Gral said.

"It's you have..." as the commander spoke, he turned around and saw with whom he speaks and the muscular difference between them, "...our, kinda, common... problems..."

Outraged voices in defence of the Crooked House began to emerge from the crowd. A subordinate approached the commander from the street, not bothering to wipe the dirt from his feet.

"Commander, the beggars are gathering around us. They want to know what happened and if this food store needs their help."

The commander looked around, seeing all the worried but determined faces.

"I get it. You have cleverly diverted suspicion from yourself. And here is the Heart of Darkness. You are ready to defy the authorised authorities. You are all rebels. Arrest everyone!"

But then the thunder was so loud that everyone fell silent, and some of them fell to the ground, including the fat wolf. Everyone heard the sound of a cane thudding the floor. It was Mr. Wine'n'cheese who stood up. The blue lights in his eye sockets turned orange.

"You, Mr. Wolfling, have more serious problems than a war with a cat's diner," the skeleton began to walk towards the fallen commander and hit the floor with his cane, along with the ends of his sentences. Bang! "Your butt itches so much." Bang! Sparks flew from the impact of the cane. "When you think of Mistress Isidra." Bang! "And of this diner." Bang! "And working with the city's gangs." Bang! "And dirty money." Bang! Mr. Wine'n'cheese walked over to the wolf, who was still lying there, staring wide-eyed at the skeleton through his hairy fingers.

"And bananas," the skeleton added cruelly, but the lights in his eye sockets instantly became blue crescents. Suddenly, the commander grabbed his huge butt and ran out. All the guards looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders and followed him.

"Bananas are always funny," the skeleton turned to the hostess.

"Thank you. But why did you help me?" Isidra approached her rescuer cautiously.

"Oh, I was friends with a cat when I was a child. She was also red-haired like you, Mistress Isidra," the jolly skeleton explained.

"Hmm, I still don't know whose skeleton he is," the cat suddenly thought, "he's too wide for a Fon, and too long for a Minim." But she quickly put all thoughts out of her mind and sank into a chair with relief.

The crowd also felt relieved. It surrounded the elegant skeleton and the hostess, began to congratulate them and demand a party. Mousey has already managed to run to the new cooks with a bunch of orders. So, in the midst of all the fun and celebration, representatives of Smokelight entered the tavern. The familiar Giz in the coat had to clear his throat and grunt loudly to get everyone's attention. He couldn't do it. The Giz spat and said his prepared sentence anyway: "The boss wants to talk to you."

When a huge red hand gripped the doorway, half the crowd fell silent. When the other hand appeared from the other side, the rest also fell silent. A red head with a tonsured ponytail squeezed through the door. Then the entire boss entered the room, squeezing in parts, which was completely unnecessary as he was a gaseous creature. He was dressed in the same style as his subordinates, except that he also wore gold rings in his goatee. He had to tuck his legs under him and tilt his head to fit into the room.

"Ifrit, class: City Destroyer," Mr. Wine'n'cheese said thoughtfully.

With that, he shrank to a single point and disappeared with a light pop. All the other visitors had also decided to go home, and only Isidra, Mousey and Gral remained in the building. Agnes had an apologetic look on her face as she left.

"Mistress?" Smokelight's boss boomed.

"Er, yes-yes? Would you like to order something?"

"It was very impertinent of you to refuse to pay us and then set our own pet wolf cub on us. What is even more impertinent is that you succeeded and got royal protection. You know how much damage it does to our reputation to lose to a tavern.

"Well, it's not exactly a tavern..."

"So we'll pay you. Let's say for representing our organisation. We will not demand anything from you, just consider it a payment for allowing the old genie not to lose face in front of his investors.

"No," Isidra said in disbelief.

"Are you refusing a constant flow of money for nothing?" the ifrit asked in surprise.

"You take this money from entrepreneurs like me, right? I don't want your stolen money."

"All right," the boss was clearly angry, "boys, destroy everything in this building except yourselves." With these words he flew away through the chimney.

The bandits began to scatter around the room, trying to estimate the value of things.

"Don't you dare, monsters! Nothing will work out for you, you fell through!" the catwoman began to threaten exhaustedly.

With that, the bandits really fell through: the floor opened up beneath them, but caught them as they fell half of their bodies. The Giz, who was shorter than the others, was unlucky - the floor caught him by the head, knocking out the rudiments of consciousness.

"Did you start with the floor, you scoundrels?" Isidra shouted uncertainly.

"The house obeys his mistress," Gral said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

The cat looked at Gral, ashamed of all the bad things she had thought of him.

"I didn't expect you to refuse the money. Are you crying?" the Fle continued.

"Of course I'm crying! So much money lost. Aaaaaaa..." the cat said, wiping away her tears. Mousey and Gral tried to calm her down.

-/7/-

Principle

The next day, Agnes brought the sign and handed it to Isidra, guiltily:

"I think the lack of a name brings bad luck. I don't know anything about opening an establishment, but it seems that Trik's smile is just as important as it was in my previous business".

The cat picked up the sign carefully and read: "The Naughty Prince Spriggan Tavern. But we don't sell alcohol!"

"Thank you, but... but that name has nothing to do with anything at all..." Isidra twirled the sign around in her paws, puzzled, as if it might make sense from some angle.

"It's just a name. There are more important things."

Isidra looked around at The Naughty Prince Spriggan, the lazy morning customers, the intent Gral studying the floor joints, Mousey standing on a chair wiping the counter, the skeleton sitting casually in his corner, Agnes standing in front of her.

"Yes. I should have named the tavern a long time ago," the hostess nodded happily.

At night, dressed in a white shirt, trousers (with a hole for her tail), a felt hat (with holes for her ears), suspenders and a tie (all right for secret meetings), Isidra collected her money and went out into the city. It smelled like rain, there were puddles everywhere and lots of fish, but the cat didn't think of collecting them.

When she reached the portal square, she paid for the transfer and found herself in the countryside with a house on a hill. Carefully opening the wicket of the house, Isidra stepped inside. A Catfolk girl noticed her there.

"Auntie! Auntie's here!" the kitty cried, and immediately a bunch of kittens spilled out into the hallway.

Of course, Isidra was collecting money for her family. How could it be otherwise?

The end?

Yes, the end.

But why was that Giz rolled a wheel down the street?