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Van Halm continued, taking your quiet for interest (it was, sort of). “It has to be kept this fresh this far in, you see, because even though this place does have its own fish, there’s little room to raise them. And they must be a certain degree of fresh-killed to be eaten without cooking them. It’s a common style amongst the eccentric coastals.” Karel turned his head and pointed. “There it is.”
The restaurant, styling itself <span class="mu-i">Zee in de Stad</span> announced itself loudly and proudly through its design. Blue and green like the seas, with white wavey surf patterns crisscrossing the walls. You’d seen its style of round roof somewhere before, and it was wider than the other buildings. At this early hour of ten o’clock, it was just opened, and not a place ritzy enough to require reservations when many nobility might apparently be barely out of bed.
The inside seemed more like a bathhouse to you than a restaurant- the middle was dominated by a series of pools with bridges over them lit by an oculus two floors up, the walls also clear, backlit glass before the brick. Inside those tanks, you could guess that what was in them was the same as the center. This place was as much an aquarium as an eatery, though it seemed that now wasn’t the most popular time- you were the only customers inside.
“Sheesh,” you couldn’t help but say, “They want y’ to pay in gold for a brunch here?”
“Believe it or not, no,” Van Halm said, “This was initially an eccentric merchant’s private holdfast. Now, it’s a curiosity sustained so long as highborn wish to supply it with what they desire prepared, or researched. I myself have a few fish here being cared for.”
“You brought me here to look at your fish?” You snickered, “Careful, or I’ll eat ‘em.” More seriously, you added, “Didn’t think y’ were the type.”
Van Halm put on a false display of hurt. “You should know I’ve an inquisitive mind, Miss Nowicki. I’m fond of studying all sorts of strange creatures.”
You seated yourselves, and an attendant quickly paced over to you, a heavyset, thin haired man light on his feet and small of eye. He reminded you of Schweinmann, in a way, who you could call an uncle in the same way Heller Von Tracht had been a father of sorts.
“Pardon us, Lord Van Halm,” the attendant said, “We did not know you were bringing such…” the man squinted at your face. The look of searching for the right word and failing. “…company, or else we would have prepared appropriately.”
Van Halm waved his hand. “Sergeant Nowicki is a <span class="mu-i">friend</span>, Mano. We are here on a whim. That said,” He tapped his finger twice on the table between you. “Milt, nude and pale, soft and wet. Is the Crescent Cod in season?”
“Yes, milord.”
“That, then.”
With only a slight furrowing of the brow, Mano bowed and walked off.
