After the first mad scramble, Qube actually found she quite enjoyed sorting and putting away all the various bits and pieces the Chosen One had accrued during their adventures. However, only the doors to the main room and the alchemy room would open, so the Chosen One was already grumbling about needing to go back to Mr. Igma.

“I can probably get him to give us more storage in this main room too… Actually, you know what, let’s go find out how much it is to get everything,” he said, turning and leaving the giant pile of stuff being sorted through by Qube. None of the others had seemed particularly interested in helping, and when Sewer Bard had started trying to put the meals inside the alchemy room, the Chosen One had banned everyone except for Qube and himself from touching anything.

Qube had expected Sewer Bard to be upset about not being allowed to help, and being scolded for being “useless, honestly,” but instead he just gave the Chosen One a placid smile.

Had he… deliberately sorted things in a very obviously wrong way to avoid being given the job to do? No! Qube dismissed the ignoble thought. No Good person would ever be so devious!

… Although it was a smart idea. Unfortunately, she had already displayed her competence. Also, she would never actually do that, of course! But it would be something she would keep in mind if she was ever captured by Evil people — she would just feign incompetence until they left her alone.

Pleased with her new emergency plan, Qube went back to sorting through the items. She would scan the pile, grab an item, place it in one pile, and then quickly place all associated items next to it. She didn’t try and put them away or anything; that was for the Chosen One to do. But she did make it easier for him to just pick up a pile.

“I don’t have enough space to put all this,” the Chosen One said, glancing over her work as she sped through the sorting. “Wow you are really fast at this.”

“Of course, Chosen One,” Qube said as she catalogued all food items in a liquid state.

“Why are only half the arrows in that pile and the other half over there?” he asked.

“Length of the shaft,” she replied absentmindedly. “Indicates they’re for different bows.”

Sexy Screamy Spider Lady made a choking sound from across the living room.

“Man, I should have you sort out my room,” the Chosen One said with a laugh.

“Do you have a bedroom?” Qube blinked. “Oh, you mean back at the village. Yes, you did leave it a bit of a mess.” Mostly because he’d pillaged it of everything of interest before leaving, Qube mentally added. Not that she blamed the Chosen One — leaving the village for the first time had been nerve-wracking, and having items from home had probably brought him comfort.

She just wished she’d thought to bring more of her own possessions.

It wasn’t that Qube was homesick — this was what she had spent her whole life preparing for, after all! She just… missed it a little. The routine. She would have expected to miss the other villagers, and she did, a bit, but the people she was traveling with just felt more alive than the villagers ever had. It made sense: the same people in the same routines all day, every day — you would expect them to get in a rut, and not really grow.

Looking back at the Qube from the village, she could even see how stuck in her own ways she’d been. How sheltered, and stubborn.

How scared of not being good enough.

But now she was like a whole new person! One who wasn’t afraid to do what she wanted, even in the face of opposition!

“Come on, let’s go buy some more stuff,” the Chosen One said to her, turning his back on the piles of unsorted items. “The rest of you can stay here and make sure it doesn’t disappear.”

“Yes, Chosen One,” Qube said, instantly jumping to her feet and following him.

As she trailed behind the Chosen One, Qube contemplated the power of Mr. Igma. Somehow, he had managed to wallpaper their entire house in the time it took them to get back home. It seemed like he was more powerful than she had feared.

Either that, or there was something she just fundamentally didn’t understand about decorating.

“Hey, what can I get in the other rooms?” Chosen One rudely greeted Mr. Igma as he barged into his shop.

“There are eight types of rooms you can get,” Mr. Igma immediately started his spiel. “It comes with a bedroom and living room, but you can also purchase a storage room, kitchen, library, greenhouse, smithing room, alchemy room, and dining room. You can also get various decorations such as trophy mounts, shelving, a flower garden, or herb garden.”

“Okay, gimme… the kitchen, how much is that?”

“500 gold,” Mr. Igma replied.

“What! But the alchemy room was 250. Fine. Gimme the kitchen. How much is the greenhouse?”

“750 gold.”

“Oh, okay, I see your game here. Fine. Gimme the greenhouse, and … the storage room. I’m guessing that’ll be —”

“1,000 gold,” Mr. Igma said with unnecessary relish. The Chosen One sighed.

“Yeah that’s what I figured,” he said mournfully. “All right, give me that too. And change the colour of the paint to something less eye-gougingly bright. Maybe red. That should be less glaring. Also upgrade the bedroom.”

“That will be 1,250 gold.”

“Of course,” the Chosen One replied with grim acceptance.

Having placed his orders, the Chosen One gave a mournful look at the rest of the store before shrugging.

“I’ll have to come back for the rest of the stuff when we’ve got more funds, considering someone decided to stop me from getting them free stuff.”

“Chosen One, please don’t try and get me to let you steal things,” Qube said brightly. “You’re the beacon of hope for Good, after all.”

“I know,” the Chosen One sighed. “Okay, let’s go see if the others have eaten all our items or whatever.”

“You could always sell some of the goods we’ve accumulated if you really need more money,” Qube offered tentatively. “For example, I don’t think you need those jars of jam from Alderman’s house.”

“But those are unique!” the Chosen One gasped. “I could never!”

“He makes jam every year,” Qube reminded her childhood friend. “We can always go back and get more.”

The Chosen One pulled a face. “Never mind. Come on, let’s go check out our new pad!” he said, grabbing her wrist and pulling her back to their home.

---

The interior of the house looked like the aftermath of a massacre. The red wallpaper (it couldn’t be paint; no matter what the Chosen One said, there was no way paint would dry so fast) was certainly less bright than the green paint — with the unfortunate side effect of looking like the walls had been bathed in fresh blood.

None of the other items had moved, even the fresh food was still steaming hot. Sexy Screamy Spider Lady and Sewer Bard were deep in conversation, while Definitely Bad Guy was reading a book. They all looked around when the Chosen One and Qube entered.

“I approve of the new colour scheme,” Definitely Bad Guy said.

“While it clashes less with my outfit than the green did, I don’t think it’s quite right,” Sewer Bard said, smoothing down his green tunic.

“So much passion in red,” Sexy Screamy Spider Lady cooed.

“Where’s Squiggles?” Qube asked, looking around for her pet.

“In the kitchen, darling. She seemed a little hungry, poor dear,” Sexy Screamy Spider Lady said, indicating a white door in the corner of the living room that Qube hadn’t noticed before. Qube blanched, visions of Squiggles getting accidentally burned in the oven, or worse, eating all the furniture, dancing through her mind.

“Squiggles, don’t eat anything, you don’t know what will give you a stomach ache,” Qube called as she practically ran to the kitchen. Granted, Qube also had no idea what the typical diet of a sharktopus was, but at least she knew better than to try and feed Squiggles mechanical wings, shadow otters, or any other insane thing Squiggles had recently tried to digest.

As she burst into the kitchen she saw Squiggles sitting on the kitchen table, radiating an air of innocence. All around her were the half-chewed remains of strings of garlic, dried sausages, a jar of salt, bags of flour, and several saucepans and pots with large chunks bitten out of them.

“Squiggles! Did you do this?” Qube asked. Squiggles happily waved several flour-covered tentacles.

“Bad Squiggles! Look! You’ve got food all over your pretty green ribbon! Now we’re going to have to clean it, aren’t we?” Qube scolded the unrepentant mascot. As Qube huffed, Squiggles fixed her little black eyes on her and, perhaps sensing Qube’s displeasure, thoughtfully picked up one of the less demolished saucepans and offered it to her.

“No, thank you,” Qube said crossly. Squiggles lowered the saucepan for a moment, before offering it again, pressing it against Qube’s mouth. Qube pushed it away. “Squiggles, I don’t eat saucepans. You probably shouldn’t either.”

Squiggles tilted her head to the side. She took a contemplative bite out of the saucepan, then reoffered it to Qube, as if trying to reassure her that the saucepan was really quite safe to eat.

“Oh, how can I stay mad at you?” Qube melted and hugged Squiggles. “I love you, Squiggles.”

Squiggles wriggled happily and wrapped half her tentacles around Qube in a tight hug. Qube closed her eyes and rested her head against the sharktopus’s sandpapery skin. For a moment, there was peace, the only movement the rise and fall of Squiggles’s side as she breathed. Then there was a horrible screeching sound, followed by discreet chewing.

“You ate the rest of the saucepan, didn’t you?” Qube asked, not opening her eyes. There was a beat of guilty silence, then a tentacle tapped Qube. She opened her eyes to see she was being offered a saliva-covered saucepan handle.

“That’s quite alright, you enjoy your saucepan,” Qube said with a smile, only to watch the handle be whipped away and instantly shoved back into Squiggles’ mouth. Swallowing the crockery, Squiggles bonked against Qube and gazed up at her adoringly. Qube smiled back at her.

“What the [fiddle] happened to my kitchen?” the Chosen One bellowed.

… Oops.

---

The Chosen One, having very unfairly blamed both Squiggles and Qube for the mess in the kitchen, put Qube in charge of putting away everything that belonged in the alchemy room.

“At least that way, if you make a mess, only you have to deal with it,” he said. Qube resisted the childish urge to stick out her tongue at him as she gathered up all the ingredients strewn around the renovated living room and carried them up to the alchemy room. As she walked down the corridor, she saw two doors which had previously been shut tight were now invitingly ajar.

Surely she could just take a quick peek and then get back to sorting…

Qube poked her head around the first door and gasped at the sheer opulence of the bedroom. Had this been here before? Had this been what the Chosen One had just bought from Mr. Igma? Did Mr. Igma have some kind of teleportation spell mapped to every room of every house that let him instantly place furniture and wallpaper? Or was the bedroom the Chosen One had ordered still on its way? She couldn’t imagine it would be any fancier than the plush four poster bed, with its dark wooden chest of drawers and chest. There was even a ceramic basin for the Chosen One to wash his face in! He’d have to bring his own water (Possibly there was a well in the cellar or out the back of the house? She hadn’t noticed any communal water pumps about town...) but it was still luxurious.

Backing out of the room, Qube went to the alchemy room next door and carefully dropped her items on the floor. Somewhat sneakily, she glanced around the corridor before casually walking to the partly open door at the end of the corridor. She calmly opened it and was suddenly very glad that she wasn’t holding anything. Otherwise, she surely would have dropped it.

Qube had found the greenhouse.