Chapter 13
Before heading to the enclave, Rylana returned to the diner to ask Jildarin if he would come with her. The elves called him lord and respected his powerful dragonness. If he walked at her side, she doubted they would torture—or mentally interrogate—her. Going alone seemed a lot dicier.
An ogre who occasionally visited the diner with his mate for the special soup was in the front room, drawing glowers from the handful of other customers braving the curse as he waved incense around.
Rylana’s nose wrinkled at the pungent scents of frankincense, patchouli, and orcwort filling the air.
Outside, the odors diffused quickly, but in the diner, they would interfere with the ability to taste and enjoy the food.
Rylana paused to tap the ogre on the shoulder. “The chef appreciates your desire to keep our establishment free of curses. Would you mind waving that around outside the front door? There’s a suspicious green ooze wafting out of a grate.”
“I saw that,” he said, then swore in his own tongue and stomped out with the sticks of burning incense.
As if he’d been poised in the hallway and waiting, Gniknik appeared, pushing a wheeled box-shaped contraption with hoses protruding from all sides. He’d first produced it after the fire in the diner, and Rylana recalled that it, among other things, purified air.
Nodding with approval, she pointed toward the center of the dining room.
Gniknik returned her nod firmly and turned it on with a rumble-whirring noise.
The hoses came to life, floating in the air as they sucked.
Rylana stepped away quickly enough to avoid any of them attaching themselves to her clothing.
In the kitchen, she found Jildarin grinding spices while Zalani flipped through a stack of old cookbooks on the counter.
With pages yellowed by time, they looked like they themselves might have come from the elven library—someone’s old library, anyway.
Their presence surprised Rylana since, thus far, she hadn’t seen Jildarin consult cookbooks or so much as pluck a recipe card out of a drawer.
He seemed to have memorized how to make everything with intuition and experience guiding him.
“Looking for something new and exotic to cook to lure in guests daunted by the curse?” Rylana stopped beside Zalani to peer closer at the texts.
The pages were full of crudely drawn pictures with little in the way of instructions, only lists of ingredients.
“That looks like the work of a goblin scribe,” she added.
“A troll scribe,” Zalani said. “Well, the recipes were probably copied and put into book form by a human or gnome, but they’re troll cookbooks.”
“Oh?” Rylana looked to Jildarin. Was this research related to the troll gods and the curse?
“There are many recipes for a type of flat bread favored by their kind,” Jildarin said. “The half-elf is assisting with research since my bookkeeper wandered off after our return to the city.”
“Her name is Zalani,” Rylana said, “and your bookkeeper specializes in accounting and math, not perusing pictures of… is that a squid?”
“If I’m interpreting the pictures correctly,” Zalani said, “this particular flat bread recipe is delightful with cured fish or marinated squid. Squid ink is the secret ingredient. According to this…” She flipped the page to a rare description beyond a list of ingredients.
“It turns the bread black and gives it a mild, briny depth rather than a fishy taste. If I were a troll god, I would find that delicious.”
Jildarin must have given her some of the details about their visit to the ruins.
“It uses rye?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Bookmark it. I will attempt to bake the most promising of the recipes.” Jildarin waved toward the gnomish commercial oven on the far wall. “Even if baking is not my special gift as a chef, I am capable of following a recipe.”
“I can help research later if you like.” Rylana felt a twinge of guilt that she’d been at the coffee shop and poor Zalani had been swept in to scour troll recipes.
Even if Rylana had been correct in pointing out that such assignments didn’t typically fall under the duties of a bookkeeper, it was closer to something she would do than something a server should be tasked with.
And she liked research, even the non-number-related kind.
“I came to see if you would accompany me to the elven enclave for some research of my own.”
“Me?” Zalani raised her eyebrows and touched her chest.
“Jildarin. I’m hoping his dragonly aura will convince the elves to treat me nicely.”
“Ah, of course. My aura wouldn’t have that effect.” A wistful expression crossed Zalani’s face as she returned to studying the cookbook.
As a half-elf, she probably wasn’t treated any better by her elven kin than a human would be.
Maybe worse. Rylana had observed that both species tended to look down upon those with mixed blood.
Since Zalani also looked disappointed, Rylana was tempted to invite her along, but that would leave only Gniknik and Rolf, if he was around, looking over the diner.
That seemed like it would result in even more chaos than a curse could bring.
She resolved to invite Zalani for coffee once the city was back to normal.
“You seek to research pergolas?” Jildarin asked.
“Not today. And probably not at the elven enclave, though I’ve heard they can use their magic to coerce living trees into growing branches and shifting their trunks about to create benches, beds, and other comforts for the elves.”
“That is true. They have plant masters who specialize in such work. Such an individual could likely make a pergola out of trees.” Jildarin gazed toward the ceiling. “Perhaps, when you are getting bids from contractors, you should consult an elf.”
“You don’t have any trees growing out of the roof that could be used.”
“Cannot some smaller species of trees exist in large pots?”
“I… probably.” Rylana waved a hand to dismiss the tangent.
“I want to ask the elves about gnomish history and the troll gods. Sylin thinks that because they’re long-lived, some might yet be around who were here at the founding of the city.
Even if that’s not the case, the enclave apparently houses an extensive library. ”
“One containing old troll cookbooks?” Jildarin asked.
“I don’t know why they wouldn’t have such excellent literature in their collection.”
He must have sensed she was teasing him, because he squinted at her with disapproval.
“Will you come along?” Rylana asked, not daunted by his expression. “The elves are more likely to give you a tour of the library than me. I’m also a little concerned about being dragged away for questioning. Rigorous questioning.”
“Because of your association with the elf assassin,” he said.
“Yeah.”
“She should depart from the city, for her safety and yours.”
“She’s mentioned possibly doing that, but she has a coffee addiction to work through.”
“You can get coffee almost anywhere.” Zalani tucked a bookmark into the page with the squid-ink flatbread recipe and continued to flip through the tome.
“Not the kind of quality coffee that her elven palate demands.” Rylana waved in the direction of the shop across the street.
“I’ve only been there a couple of times. The roaster thing does smell really good when it’s running. And I liked the little cookies that came with the drinks.”
“Quality,” Rylana assured her.
“They used to have a sexy half-orc male who worked there. When he delivered my cookies, they were extra delicious.” Zalani smiled slyly at Rylana.
“The next time I’m over there, I’ll mention the need for more sexy male servers.”
“Just tell them to bring that one back. He was seven feet tall and very fit. He played sports to take out the aggressive urges from his orc side but also attended the university and was studying to be a healer. He wore spectacles. So dreamy.” Zalani clasped a hand to her chest. “I wonder if he finished his studies and is practicing in the city.”
“Do you feel a malady developing that requires the attention of a healer?”
“Maybe.”
Jildarin, who hadn’t stopped gazing toward the ceiling, said, “We will go to the elven enclave.”
“To research the troll gods and the history of Tranquility or to see if any plant masters have openings in their spring schedule?” Rylana asked.
“Both important missions may be accomplished. Meanwhile, the half-elf—Zalani—may continue looking for troll recipes, especially ancient and traditional troll recipes that call for rye. If their gods are like the gods of the other lesser species, appropriate offerings may appease them.”
“I know they appease me.” Rylana waved a goodbye to Zalani, hoping she was pleased that Jildarin might start using her name going forward, and followed him out of the kitchen.
They left through the front door of the diner, but Rylana halted abruptly when she spotted two elves in green cloaks standing in front of the coffee shop. Alarm swept into her since she’d just left Sylin inside. Was she still there? Or had she seen the elves coming and slipped out the back?
One had his hands clasped over his pointed ears while casting glares at a nearby pillar, which continued to send its resonant alarm gongs through the city.
A gnome in overalls crouched next to an access panel, a toolbox at his side.
It was open, and he held a wrench, but he looked more frustrated and perplexed than enlightened as he studied wires and a glowing orb inside.
The second elf nudged his comrade and pointed toward the rooftop of the coffee shop. They must have figured out that Sylin sometimes consumed her beverages up there.
“Let’s go out the back.” Rylana didn’t think they’d noticed her yet and pointed through the diner toward the storeroom exit.
But Jildarin put a hand on her sleeve while pointing at the elves. “That is not necessary. An escort has arrived to take us to the enclave.”
“I don’t think they’re here for us.”
Even as she spoke, the elf considering the roof turned to look at them. His eyes narrowed, recognition in them, as his gaze settled on Rylana. Tranquility ribbons tied the bow and quiver on his back, but that didn’t keep her from wanting to trot off in another direction.
Jildarin released her arm and strode toward them.
“Lord Dragon,” the elf less bothered by the noise said. “It is always an honor to see you.”
“Yes,” Jildarin stated.
“But you do, considering that you and your kin fought in the Ore War, keep strange company these days.” The elf pointed at Rylana.
“To find a quality bookkeeper, one must be agreeable to considering applicants from all of the lesser species,” Jildarin said. “Even those of extremely dubious backgrounds.”
“Have I mentioned how delightful it is when you stick up for me to them?” Rylana wasn’t even sure that was what he was doing.
“You have,” Jildarin said. To the elves, who both faced him now, though the sensitive one winced with every gong round, he added, “I require that you take us to the elven enclave. We seek a plant master.”
“And a librarian.” Rylana wondered how the warriors would respond to a dragon requiring things of them. “Ideally, a very old one,” she added.
The elves blinked and exchanged looks at the request. Maybe she was strange.
“Lord Dragon, the enclave is not accepting visitors at this time. We are preparing for the arrival of someone of great importance.”
“Queen Fareesa from the southern core of the elven kingdom,” Jildarin said. “We are aware, but we do not seek an audience with her.”
“Our plant masters are very busy preparing for her and her entourage. So are the librarians. We all are.”
“Yet you are here to visit the social gathering house for flavored waters.”
“No, we’re looking for someone who is a threat to our queen.”
His comrade nudged him and nodded toward Rylana, then murmured something softly in their native language.
“Yes, that’s true,” the other said. “We will take you to the enclave, Lord Dragon. Our captain of arms would like to see your bookkeeper. He has questions for her.”
“She is prepared to answer questions on pergola requirements and trees that can grow in large pots.”
“I’m sure that will come up.” The elf nodded again and extended his hand toward the southwest, the corner of the city that held their enclave.
Rylana sighed, fearing Jildarin's presence might not be enough to keep her from being interrogated.