Arcane Exfil
Chapter 35: Interview (2)

“Have you aught need of me before I depart?” Lisara asked, wiping her hands on a small towel.

“I think we’ve seen everything we need,” Cole said. “Thank you for coming in. We’ll be in touch through the registry soon.”

He escorted her to the door, opening it to find a college-aged guy already waiting outside. The young man stepped aside respectfully to let Lisara exit before offering a polite nod.

Looking at the guy, it really seemed like his file fudged the age; the kid barely looked old enough to buy his own liquor, let alone run caravans. But the eyes… they weren’t some sophomore’s anxious stare. No, the gaze was centered, holding Cole’s own like he’d faced down bigger problems than an interview and had learned to keep his nerve.

His coat was dark wool, well-kept but not new, worn over practical canvas trousers. His outfit ended in boots that looked like they’d seen more road than polish, but were cared for. Solid gear, chosen for use, not show.

All in all, the kid carried himself like he belonged there – not like he was asking permission or trying to impress or placate. Maybe the file hadn’t entirely bullshitted about the ‘delivery network’ part after all. Competence was competence, no matter the package. Cole could work with that.

“Darin Lars?” Cole extended his hand after Lisara left.

“Sir Cole.” Darin shook with a firm grip. “It is an honor.”

“Come on in. We just finished testing our cook candidate.” Cole led him back to where the others waited, making quick introductions.

“Sit yourself down,” Miles said, kicking a chair out with his boot. “Our cook just made somethin’ you ain’t never tried before.” He nodded toward the plate of burgers. “Might have a notion for you to consider.”

Darin glanced at the food items, curiosity winning out. “Beg your pardon, sir?”

“They’re called burgers,” Cole said. “Don’t exist in this world, as far as we know. They’re from ours. Try one.”

The kid picked one up, lifting the top bun to peer at what was inside before carefully setting it back down. “Hmm… simple, and not entirely foreign. Interesting.”

Darin took a bite, already smiling as soon as the flavors set in. He didn’t hesitate for the second bite. “The spicing is familiar, but the sauce is rather unique. Goennate, isn’t it?”

“If you’re talking about that reddish fruit, then yeah. Plus sugar, vinegar, and some other stuff,” Mack confirmed. “Simple ingredients, but it’s all the chef’s magic.”

Darin nodded. “This meal’s clever, it is – convenient, no plate nor knife nor even a table needed. You could eat it walking, or at a stall. And it’s rather good.” He looked up, smirking like he’d just figured it all out. “There’s certainly coin in it, done right.”

It’d be far-fetched to expect the kid to arrive at fast-food off of a single taste, but if he managed to get there, then all the better. “And why do you think so?” Cole asked.

“Comes down to two things, most times: ease and flavor. If a meal’s quick to hand and good on the tongue, folk’ll line up twice ‘fore dinner bell. What you showed has both.”

Cole glanced over at Mack and the others. The kid more than met expectations, based on their suppressed smiles. But just how far would he exceed them?

“Depends on where you sell them, though. Ease and flavor are just half the battle,” Mack pressed.

“We might set a stall near the Commerce Association. That district’s tight-wound – clerks and officials with no time to sit, scarcely time to breathe. Come midday, they queue at taverns or else make do with a cold and meager pie off the street.” He raised what was left of the burger. “This’d turn the trade on its head. Folk in haste would pay for such a fix, and glad of it.”

“Vendors usually have their pies pre-made,” Ethan mentioned. “A cold burger won’t do that much better.”

Darin squinted at his burger for a few seconds. “Aye, it won’t do cold. Folk’ll stomach a pie chilled, for they know the taste. This needs heat, or it turns heavy in the mouth.”

The toaster in the corner drew his attention. “But maybe there’s a fix – keep the meat hot in a sort of contraption, wrap the rest separate, put it together as they order. And you don’t need a seat to eat it, though you could have a few, if there’s room. Point is, you’re not waiting on plates, not waiting on lads with trays. Just a counter, quick hands, folk fed in minutes. That’s the trick.”

If Cole hadn’t known better, he’d have thought the kid used to work at McDonald’s – maybe not the register, but somewhere in corporate, buried in logistics. He didn’t, obviously. McDonald’s didn’t exist here, and Darin didn’t even know what a burger was ten minutes ago. But somehow, he still landed on the shape of it.

Cole had never worked fast food in his life, didn’t know how the backend ran, but even he could tell that Darin had clocked the core of it. He was probably missing pieces – stuff Cole wouldn’t recognize anyway – but still, for someone with no frame of reference, getting that close was pretty damn impressive.

Miles caught it as well. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

The kid glanced down at the compliment. Nothing in his reaction suggested he was surprised by it, but he seemed to appreciate it all the same. “Naught clever about it,” Darin murmured, half-smiling as he gestured with the remnants of his burger. “Merchants have done much the same for years. Know your buyers, suit the goods to their needs – that’s all.”

Cole was already starting to like the guy. Competence without the ego to match? Now that was a rare combination.

“Still,” Mack leaned forward, “shows good instinct. So you’re with the Commerce Association. What exactly do you do day-to-day?”

"Officially, I carry urgent items – contracts, sealed letters, rare wares. Less official? I smooth matters when the usual paths falter."

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‘Smooth matters,’ huh? Interesting that someone who operated in the gray areas was officially on the Commerce Association’s payroll and in the OTAC registry. Either the system here was more flexible than it seemed, or Darin had connections that let him work both sides. Worth keeping in mind.

“And how’s that gonna help us, specifically?” Cole asked.

Darin didn’t rush to answer. He took another bite of the burger first instead of spouting the immediate bullshit that an amateur might fall back on.

He looked up, meeting Cole’s eyes. “Well, truth told, I’ve not worked with high nobility before, much less Heroes. But I’d wager you’ve wants our market has no name for. That’s where I might help – my ties run deep, and wide besides.”

“What services,” Elina put him on the spot, “would you imagine our household might require that others would not?”

Darin inclined his head towards her, showing more reverence than he’d shown Miles. “Lady Elina, I’d not claim to know the fine points. But I’ve seen things done by other means, when doors stay shut. Folk see the wares, never the workings. And Heroes, I reckon, deal in needs our ledgers have scarcely beheld.”

“Fair enough,” Cole said, rubbing his chin. How would he test him? A single glance at Miles gave him an idea. “Now, back home, we had this drink called coffee. Dark, bitter, keeps you awake and focused. Some teas can do that, but this is made from a certain type of bean and does the job a hell of a lot better. Anything like that here?”

“Coffee? Not by that name, no. There’s kaff beans down south – bitter, taken hot, said to sharpen the mind. Rare here, though. If it’s a manner of stimulant, then aye, it might be the one. The Botanical Exchange keeps samples; I could fetch a few for you to try.”

Mack nodded. “Yeah, you can do that. But uh… the registry shows you’ve been with the Association for a few years now. How’d you land in the pool for a household logistics role? Seems like quite a different skillset to me.”

Darin didn’t seem fazed by the question. “Truthfully, it’s an arrangement. I’ll still see to your needs, proper and full, but the Association’s keen to know what sorts of things Heroes seek that our markets scarce provide. They’re quite aware of the coin to be made from the contrivances Heroes bring across – like that ‘Japanese’ Hero in the Aurelian Empire.”

Cole had to respect the honesty, even if it took a direct question to get there. Better than fake deference – and his team felt the same way.

Mack gave a decisive nod, which Elina and Ethan both mirrored. Miles offered a shrug – ‘Looks okay to me.’

“Think we’ve covered what we need to,” Cole announced, pushing his chair back. “Any other questions before we wrap up?”

Silence was his cue to stand. “Alright, then.” He shook Darin’s hand and walked him to the front door. “We’ll be in touch soon. Appreciate your time today.”

“The honor was mine, Sir Cole,” Darin replied.

When Cole opened the front door, it revealed their final applicant: a man with serious NCO vibes – Melnar Hartwell. His profile had mentioned prior service as an officer serving directly under General Galahad, but Cole knew there was more than met the eye.

The authority rolling off the man wasn’t that of a kid doing his eight years before enjoying a free ride; Melnar had seen shit. And all of a sudden, he became a gardener? The official transition felt like skipping chapters, maybe the most critical ones. People with that kind of intensity didn’t suddenly switch to pruning bushes without a damn good reason – or someone’s thumb on the scale.

“Mr. Hartwell,” Cole said, extending his hand.

“Sir Cole.”

Melnar’s handshake was firm and calloused – the permanent kind only obtained from daily work with tools, and not the weekend warrior blisters from some suburban dude’s Home Depot project. Personal history mystery aside, this was a guy who did damn good work.

“Thanks for coming in,” Cole said, bringing him to the room.

Based on both Melnar’s profile and his current demeanor, the guy seemed like he appreciated practicality and straightforwardness over setup and foreplay. So right after introductions, Cole got straight to the point. “Mr. Hartwell, I’ll be frank. You don’t seem like a gardener type. Says on your profile that you used to be an officer – high-level combat mage at that. What changed?”

Melnar didn’t flinch; he must’ve expected that they’d cover the gap in his resume. “A campaign in Ossern Forest, Sir Cole. Year 585.” His posture remained fixed – straight, but not rigid. “I commanded a task force against an Archdemon. Overexertion of my mana gland precluded my continued service.”

“Against an Archdemon?” Mack whistled. “Shit, coulda been worse, I guess.”

“Indeed so, Sir Mack. I’d have struck it down myself, but I held my casting for Father Lorcan. A priest’s magic leaves nothing behind.” Melnar raised his head. “It was a necessary sacrifice.”

“And then General Galahad arranged your position as a groundskeeper after that?” Ethan asked.

The man simply nodded in response.

Oddly enough, the file mentioned none of this, though Cole could guess why. A mage powerful enough to contain a Level 19 archdemon must be level 19 himself, give or take. The Kingdom must’ve buried it to hide the fact that they’d permanently lost such a powerful asset.

“The matter is sealed in the official record,” Melnar said, probably catching something in Cole’s expression. “Your standing as Heroes grants leave to speak of it – in private counsel.”

That explained the gap between the bland service record and the man standing before them. But what about the gift?

“Why this position specifically?” Cole asked. “I imagine General Galahad could’ve placed you anywhere for your uh… ‘retirement.’ I’m sure there’s at least one tropical paradise among the colonies.”

Melnar gave the barest hint of a smirk. “Palms and sand hold little appeal, Sir Cole. Too much… leisure.” He pronounced the word as if it were a mild disease. “The General understands that men of action wither in idleness. Better to have a blade in hand – though it be for hedges.”

Cole glanced at Miles. Seemed like the two were already on the path of becoming best friends.

“As it happens,” Melnar continued, “my background affords uses beyond tending hedges. Your prominence invites scrutiny from various quarters – some benign, others less so. Should counsel be wanted, I stand ready to give it.”

“You mean the General’s keeping an eye on us,” Ethan stated.

“Yes, though not for ill cause. A gardener sees much – and is himself seldom seen. And while I prefer solitude, my experience remains available at your behest.”

Not bad on the General’s part. This wasn’t some retirement sinecure but a deliberate placement – one that was, as far as Cole could tell, mutually beneficial. The question was whether this arrangement primarily served their interests or Galahad’s.

“And if our interests and the General’s diverge?” Cole asked directly.

“My duty is to God and Country first, as all our duties ought. But I serve the hand that hires me – in good faith, and in full. The garden I tend is the garden I protect.”

Cole had known enough soldiers to recognize when someone operated from genuine principle rather than expedience. Melnar struck him as the former – a man whose personal honor wasn’t situational, an honest guy who lived by a code.

Elina had still yet to speak, but perhaps she didn’t need to. She gave a nod, approved by the others.

“Well, Mr. Hartwell,” Cole said, rising to his feet, “I think we’ve covered what we needed to. We’ll be in touch through the registry.”

Cole showed Melnar out. By the time he made it back to the drawing room, the rest of the team had already launched into their assessment. They’d all seen the same interviews, drawn the same conclusions.

The unanimous decision to hire all four was as easy as expected – the candidates were just that strong to begin with, and only needed a final confirmation to seal the deal. The process wasn’t as exciting as the prospect of teaching Fotham how to cast plasmaballs, but it was about as important. They’d just finished their next step in helping their new home actually feel like a home.