Adam responded affirmatively and pushed the front door open. The house was empty and dark. The entrance room consisted only of a counter on the right side with numerous drawers on the wall, a staircase on the left leading to the second floor, and two doors, one to his left and one in front next to the stairs, leading to the rest of the house. A set of red carpets covered the entire floor, except for some corners where wooden boards were visible. The boy clenched his fists to warm his hands and headed left towards the fireplace. The next room was larger; on the right, a pile of red bricks in an arch held a handful of charcoal, and in front, two wide fabric sofas beckoned him to rest. Adam poured oil from a lamp onto the charcoal and, with the help of a flintstone and a fireplace scissor, ignited the flames. Not long after warming up by the fire, Dionysius appeared.
"The days aren't looking too good, you know? But... I won't charge you rent. Keep me company until the storm passes, and I'll gladly have you under my roof," the old man said, now wearing only his pants, shirt, and short leather boots.
"I don't know how to thank you, sir," Adam extended his hands toward the flames.
"Here, take this," Dionysius opened the drawer of one of the cabinets that extended through the room and tossed the towel he took from there to Adam. "Dry yourself off. Maybe I have some clothes in your size."
And luckily he did. After the boy went upstairs and entered the first room, a wardrobe full of both male and female garments held pants and nightgowns small enough for Adam. "They're from past guests, that's for sure. If they left behind money in the same proportion they leave clothes, I'd be a landowner!" assured the innkeeper, "Change your clothes, I'll prepare something to break our fast." After putting on clean and dry clothes, Adam put on a pair of socks he found in the same place where his clothes were and went down to what he imagined to be the kitchen, the next room after the reception. He was right.
The kitchen occupied the other half of the floor and seemed to have twice as many shelves and drawers as the fireplace room. The rectangle had cabinets on both longer walls and a large window with white glass and metal grates on the end wall. Three wooden counters with long gray stones on top blocked the middle aisle, their ends practically blocking the passage. Under the window, a long table leaned against the wall, with a chair at each end and two in the wide space on the side. Dionysius had lit candles and scattered candlesticks everywhere; darkness had fallen over the city, and light over the house.
"I'm making rice with meat and vegetables, there's coffee on the table," the old man, now wearing a wide dark green crocheted blouse, brown pants, and slippers, said. His head was entirely white, Adam noticed, with almost more hair than the boy himself.
"Coffee? The energy of the gods in liquid form, that's what they say. Northern delicacies, not grown in the south."
"Don't tell me you don't know," the host stirred the dinner in a pot with a wooden spoon resting on a kind of iron plate protruding from the wall. "Hurry and get some before it gets cold!"
Who was this guy, after all? A lunatic or an angel? Adam's sword had been left on the bed upstairs; only now did the absurdity of the situation occur to him. In any case, he decided to tread carefully. After some difficulty, Adam made his way through the islands of the kitchen, having to turn his body against the wall to pass without bumping into the furniture. The table was set for two with plates, glasses, and utensils at the ends. Three wooden plates scattered on the table were meant to protect the metal-hot pot from the tablecloth, and a candlestick with three candles sat in the corner, illuminating that side of the kitchen. Near it, a large metal pitcher released smoke from its spout. A strong smell filled that corner.
"It's right there, put it in the cup," Dionysius pointed to the ceramic cup.
Adam held the pitcher by the handle and poured the hot black liquid into the cup. The smell grew stronger, but the aroma was delightful. The boy let go of the pitcher and brought the steam near his nose... a smell of the gods.
"Careful now," Dionysius observed closely at the pot, which had also started to release steam.
The boy could feel the heat in his hands as he brought the cup to his lips. The first sip was taken cautiously, just a bit of coffee to taste... it was delicious! The young man's smile didn't last long; a second sip went down his throat, then another.
"That's it!" Dionysius pumped the air with his right hand and went back to stirring the rice in the pot. "That's how it's done, boy!"
The taste was as strong as bitter beer, but the warmth invigorated him. He felt his vision sharpen and his fatigue begin to fade. When he finished it all, his tongue felt thick and sore, likely burnt, but there were no regrets.
"The rice is ready!"