Warsinger by James Baldwin (most important books of all time txt) 📕

Suri seemed satisfied, and nodded. I passed the Meewfolk two and a half rubles. “One serving of your finest cetacean curd, please. And I’ll take a beetle wrap and a tweety bird skewer as well.”

The chef’s ears pricked this time, and his long tail curled into a question mark as he gently bit the first coin to test the silver, nodded, and handed them to his kid. “My thanksss. Giant water-beetle food is called ti’kak’ak in my mother’s tongue. You want try?”

“Hell yeah,” I said.

“Then you take while I make ki’kira,” he replied. “And if you like, take another!”

“You have to be kidding me.” Suri watched with dismay as I wiggled my fingers over the basket of giant water beetle wraps, then plucked one from the heap.

I grinned at her. “Hey, man, if prawns are the chicken of the sea, then giant beetles are the prawns of the land. Right?”

“If you say so.” She watched on with her arms crossed.

“Here goes.” I jammed the end of the roll into my mouth before I lost my nerve and bit down. Juice squirted out the other end, narrowly missing Suri. She let out an indignant yip. I chortled at her, then moaned as the flavor hit. It was like a really good shrimp taco. The meat was almost translucent, delicate and sweet. The sauce was smoky and fiery, with layers of flavor: chilis and lime and some kind of herb with a nutty, celery-like taste.

“This is great!” I said, once my mouth was clear. “Kind of does taste like shrimp. I dig the shit out of that sauce, man. Suri, you want to try?”

“Yeah no, I’m fine.” Suri held up both hands. “Ate enough bugs in Al-Asad to last me the rest of my life.”

I took another bite. “Mmph, yeah, but now you’re the Voivodzina, you can eat bugs just because you want to. And I swear, it’s worth it.”

The Meewfolk pinned his ears to his skull, and his fur puffed in surprise. “Voivodzina? You, my lady?”

“Don’t tell anyone.” I winked, shrugged, then pulled one of the songbirds off the skewer and wolfed it down. It was decent, but it was gamey and not nearly as good as ti’kak’ak had been.

The Meewfolk chef cocked his head, then looked to the right and slightly over my head. His eyes widened. “Khom pra quai! You new Count and Countess of Myszno?”

“Shhh.” Suri was trying not to laugh, because it was way too late now. As soon as the chef remarked on it, other people nearby started to pay attention to our status.

“I am sorry – this one did not mean to expose you.” His ears were still back as he deftly scooped out the small ladle of cheese from the oil, shook it, then turned it into a metallic giant beetle shell. “You are… eehh… what we call Dāwā dĕk. Star Children? You, you drive Demon out of Myszno?”

“Uhh, yeah.” I swallowed my last bite of barbequed bird and nodded. “That’s us.”

He glanced behind us for a moment. “You do me great favor, great praise to eat our food, my Lord. I cannot take money.” To the kittenfolk, he said: “Kaathi,hee rin pawk nan nai maaw?”

The kid nodded, and went to retrieve the coins.

“No no, they’re yours.” Suri held her hands up. “We insist.”

“Yeah, absolutely,” I said. “I want to pay you. This is great.”

“As you say, Your Grace.” He sketched a nervous bow. “I will add garnish for you if you wish, mrr? Usually only Prrupt’meew like, but if you like ti’kak’ak, you will enjoy this, I think. Do you like spicy? Sweet?”

“Both,” I said. “But make it as spicy as it goes.”

The chef grabbed a small handful of chopped bluish leaves and threw them on the cheese, followed by tiny chilis, sugar, lime juice, and then a small handful of small brown beetles in some kind of marinade. A collective gasp went up behind us. Confused, I looked over my shoulder - and saw that we had actually drawn a crowd of townspeople, who were watching us eat with startled expressions.

The Meewfolk jammed a toothpick into the cheese and passed it over. “This is how I would eat it in my home, mrah? They’re good - juicy and sweet.”

“This looks great, thanks.” I made sure I got a piece of cheese with extra beetles and turned to Suri. My six-foot-tall Berserker girlfriend, a woman who had once literally torn the head off a zombie with her bare hands, turned green around the gills as I flourished the toothpick and nipped the cheese off the end.

“Hmm…” I looked skyward as I chewed. “Sweet, spicy… crunchy… “

“Hector.” Suri had fixed a grim little smile on her mouth. “When we get back to Kalla Sahasi, I will wring your neck.”

It was definitely an adventure in food, but it was actually pretty good. The cheese was very, very fatty, like a cross between butter and perfectly tender tuna steak. The portion had looked small, but it was so rich that I was grateful he hadn’t given me more.

“Wow,” I said. “This is fucking amazing. Seriously, Suri. Want to try some?”

“Nah, I’m good, thanks.”

I squinted at her. “Hey, I’m trying something here. I want to see if we can drum up business for this guy.”

A tic started beside her eye. “Fine. But give me a piece without any bugs on it.”

No sooner had I picked out a morsel for her than other people - humans, mostly wealthy townsfolk - began to come up to the food stand to order. The chef put his hands together under his chin and bowed to us, then dragged his attention away from us to serve the customers now waving money at his kid. I stepped aside before feeding it to Suri. She took it off the toothpick carefully, but once she tasted it, she made a high-pitched sound of surprise and nodded.

“Actually,” she said, once she’d swallowed. “That’s not bad, is it?”

“Nope.” I looked over to the gathered crowd.