Chapter 28
Rylana alternated collecting dirty dishes and sweeping while Gniknik, Rolf, and Zalani waited tables during the increasingly busy lunch service. After being up all night, she kept yawning, but the number of people coming in promised she wouldn’t be able to sleep for a while.
On the return trip, they hadn’t seen any green vapors wafting from storm drains, all the pillars had been silent, and not a single earthquake had shaken the streets.
The gnomish peacekeepers and the elven forces had departed to tend to their affairs, with none of them bringing up detaining again, and Rylana and Jildarin had reached the diner without trouble.
When she’d spotted Vilma carefully balancing a cup while climbing the ladder to the roof of the coffee shop, Rylana had assumed Sylin had also made it back from the island.
Maybe she would be paid later by the gnome captain.
He’d presumably been the one to give her the net, though Rylana couldn’t imagine that either of them had foreseen it being used on a dragon.
By the noon hour, Rylana had begun to believe they might truly have sated the troll gods and that the curse had been lifted.
The rest of the city must have been starting to believe that too, which accounted for the increased traffic to the diner.
Scents of elk loin sandwiches and caramelized onions wafted from the kitchen, further enticing people.
Jildarin had gone straight to work, not complaining of fatigue. Dragons were hearty beings.
“If the curse is over,” Rolf said to Gniknik as they passed by Rylana, “profits should increase soon.”
“Profits or the amount of excessive tips that you can swindle out of people?” Gniknik asked.
“The two are linked. Ask our bookkeeper. I bet there’s a mathematical formula.”
They paused to look at her.
“A correlation between the amount of tips a goblin can swindle and the number of people eating in the diner? Yes, I assume that’s a one-to-one correspondence.”
They walked off, nodding to each other as if Rylana had said something wise. What she should calculate were ways to pay Rolf enough that he didn’t feel the need to swindle their customers, but that might be as hard to change as the color of his green skin.
Rylana was in the middle of putting dirty dishes in Gniknik’s collecting contraption when the front door opened, and the landlord strode in. She couldn’t stifle a groan.
Aztor planted himself in front of her without so much as glancing around for Jildarin. “I came to make sure you’ve not defiled the rooftop, built unauthorized stairs, or otherwise altered my building.”
“We’ve been too busy alleviating the curse to work on our outdoor-seating plans,” Rylana said. “Have you ever considered selling the diner?”
If he had, could she and Jildarin make enough to buy it from him? That might be the only way she could see her rooftop dining dream come to fruition.
“Certainly not. It has recently become the home of a profitable venture, and I expect the rents to henceforth come in regularly and on time.” Aztor gestured toward the golden whisk hanging in the window. “With its new renown, I might even be justified in raising the rents.”
He tapped a ledger book he’d brought with him, and Rylana grimaced, having a feeling he’d already penciled in a planned increase.
“You should discuss that with Jildarin.” She made a mental note to find the lease and see how long the diner was locked into its current terms.
“Are you not now the bookkeeper? The one who handles numerical calculations and pays the rent?”
“Yeah, but he’s the one who breathes fire on vendors, lenders, and others who attempt to get greedy with us.”
Aztor scoffed. “I am not afraid of a dragon, certainly not while we both stand in Tranquility.”
“No? Take a field trip out to Lucky Island later, and you’ll see where a cranky dragon knocked over the pillar there with one powerful blow.”
Technically, the earthquake had been responsible for that, but the landlord didn’t need to know that.
Aztor waved dismissively. “It’s in our lease agreement that Chef Jildarin can’t bite, claw, or otherwise maim me in any way, including but certainly not limited to by fang, talon, or fire-breathing ability.
I had a goblin lawyer draw it up. Their kind are excellent at making sure they’re well defended from larger species. ”
Too bad Rylana hadn’t been there to read over that lease agreement before Jildarin signed it. It sounded overly stringent.
“While that lease is in effect and you are running your diner from my building,” the landlord continued, “you will do no alterations.”
He turned toward the door to leave, but it opened before he’d taken a step, and four elves walked in.
Captain Tassani and another armed male who might have been one of his troops led them.
The green-haired Layothlee walked in behind them, followed by an older lady in a flowing silver-and-blue wrap with artsy tree-and-star designs all over it.
She promptly left the group to give herself a brief tour of the dining room, then didn’t hesitate to walk down the hall toward the kitchen.
Rylana lifted a finger, not sure if she should object or not—they didn’t typically encourage patrons to interrupt Jildarin’s work, but maybe the elf needed to use the lavatory.
“Sergeant Falcon.” Tassani nodded to her, but he and the other male strode past her to follow the older female. Maybe they needed to use it too.
Layothlee was the one to stop, glancing curiously at the landlord but facing Rylana.
“That’s Plant Master Chalora,” she said as the female stepped into the kitchen with the male elves trailing after.
“Our people are pleased with Lord Jildarin-grozanarav, and you too, of course, for lifting the troll-god curse. The elders suggested to Chalora, who rarely takes on duties outside of the enclave anymore, that she might enjoy designing a relaxation experience in your diner. Or above it since I believe that’s what you mentioned? ” Layothlee pointed upward.
“That’s thoughtful and appreciated, but…” Rylana extended her hand toward Aztor, bracing herself for an outburst.
“Plant Master Chalora?” Aztor breathed with surprising reverence as he peered toward the kitchen.
“I’ve heard of her work. Years ago, she designed and installed the botanical gardens at the northern end of the city.
The greenhouses are in spirals shaped like snail shells.
They’re brilliant. And all the living-tree sculptures and benches and tables—even the chicken coops and composting stations in the back—are pieces of art. ”
Rylana’s jaw descended. She hadn’t expected to hear the surly landlord speak of art—or compost and chicken coops, for that matter.
“She’s an architect too,” Aztor went on.
“Some of her buildings appear in textbooks and are studied at the university here. The gnomes sit in front of them to sketch them regularly. I’ve heard her designs and blueprints have been put to use by several governments in the southern kingdoms as well as here in the north, in cities that should loathe elves after fighting them in the war, but who can hate such wondrous art? ”
“Nobody,” Layothlee said with a firm nod.
“Do you think she would sign my ledger book?” Aztor asked. “Or draw something in it?”
“It wouldn’t hurt to check.” Rylana made a shooing motion toward the kitchen, though she imagined Jildarin feeling beleaguered by so many intruders into his domain. The plant master he wouldn’t mind, but the rest…
“Yes, I’ll do that.” Aztor took a few steps but paused to look back. “If she were to design a rooftop dining area, I wouldn’t consider its implementation a breach of contract. It would surely increase the value of the property.”
“So much so,” Rylana said, “that there would be no need to increase the rent for some time? Especially if we paid for all the costs associated with the improvements?”
Aztor pursed his lips and tapped his ledger. She could tell his first instinct was to object, but he said, “We’ll see,” and headed for the kitchen.
“Do you have sway with your plant master?” Rylana asked Layothlee, though it occurred to her to wonder why she’d come along.
“We’ve only spoken a few times, but she said she enjoyed watching our troupe practice in the enclave and that she would attend our opening-night performance. It’s back on now, thanks to the lifting of the curse.” Layothlee nodded to her.
“Good. And if you do have sway and could talk the plant master into signing our landlord’s book and drawing a mushroom or something in it, I’d appreciate it.”
“A mushroom?” Layothlee’s lips quirked with amusement.
“Whatever she can do easily that’s, you know, elven. And nature-y.”
“Is nature-y a word?”
“One that we apply to elves frequently, yes.”
Layothlee arched a skeptical eyebrow but said only, “I’ll see if she’s willing if he doesn’t finagle that of his own accord. I came because I wanted to personally thank you for your role in lifting the curse.”
Layothlee gazed around the diner, as if looking for something. Or… someone? Could she have heard that Sylin had been on the island? If so, Rylana hoped that the elves or gnomes or somebody in authority had reported that Sylin had also helped.
Layothlee’s gaze settled on the hallway, the kitchen door swinging open as someone leaned against it. Maybe she was simply looking for a promising dish for lunch.
“You’re welcome.” Rylana didn’t know if that was the proper response for working on lifting a curse that had affected the whole city, but Layothlee smiled, so maybe it was.
Rolf came over and planted himself in front of them. No, in front of Layothlee.
“Greetings, beauteous elf lady,” Rolf said. “Are you here for lunch? May I seat you? Do you have any interest in becoming my third wife?”
Rylana smacked a hand over her face. Maybe she should have smacked it over Rolf’s face.