Calculated Whisk (Tales from the Dragon Diner #1)

Chapter 1

The Dragon Diner: Bookkeeper Wanted.

“Finally, someone is hiring.” Rylana “Falcon” Avandar reached toward the door, a ferocious dragon artistically burned into the wood.

Sylin’s firm hand landed on her wrist. The slender elf assassin possessed far more strength than one would guess, and the grip halted Rylana as surely as shackles.

“You are an archer for the Moon Daggers, one of the most well-known mercenary bands in the southern kingdoms,” Sylin said.

“Enemies run for cover when they see you on the battlefield with your bow, and even dragons speak warily of you since they’ve felt the sting of your arrows.

They speak warily of you while they plot your demise. What are you thinking?”

“I was an archer for the now-disbanded Moon Daggers. You of all people know the Ore War is over, the unit has dispersed, and Captain Maverick is gone.” Rylana's throat tightened as she said the last, Mav’s irreverent smirk floating through her mind.

Nine months of traveling the world and trying to forget the past hadn’t been long enough.

“Besides, I’m qualified to be a bookkeeper.

When I wasn’t busy perforating enemies with arrows, I handled payroll and the ordering of supplies for five hundred people.

I’m sure I can run the calculations for a diner.

This one doesn’t even look that busy.” Rylana peered through the window beside the door.

“It’s not your pen-wielding ability that I question; it’s your intent to walk into an establishment owned by a dragon.

” Sylin released her grip and tucked a lock of her forest-green hair behind her pointed ear, though her frank blue eyes remained on Rylana.

“That would be even more foolish than me visiting the elven enclave while we’re here. ”

“I’m sure the diner isn’t owned by a dragon.”

Sylin pointed at the pyrography on the door.

“I’ll wager two gold coins that a human owns this and put dragon in the diner’s name because it might draw more business. Or he or she liked alliteration. The place also might specialize in meat dishes, the kind carnivorous animals, humans, and crazy elves who were raised by wolves like to eat.”

“Hilarious. As if I’m the crazy one here, the one contemplating applying for a position under one of the great scaled, winged, and fanged enemies that we were paid to battle in the war. Also, meat is delicious. Especially slow-roasted northern elk or herb-crusted star-darter tenderloin.”

“Not according to your vegetarian elven kin. I assume your culinary preferences are the reason you won’t be visiting the enclave and that it has nothing to do with the fact that elves were allies to the dragons in the Ore War—and that you killed even more of them than I did.”

Rylana spoke of their triumphs without pride.

Had they even been triumphs? Years ago, she had been pleased by the development of her skills and rising in the ranks as a mercenary.

But as she’d gotten older, losing comrade after comrade, the unit often being forced to obey dubious orders, she’d started questioning if they had been doing the right thing.

“I am certain of that. You know the old saying: in the depths of night, a single blade may cut a thousand throats.” Sylin, who always noticed everything, turned as two goblins approached.

Only a block away from the busy Luminous Lake docks, the shop-lined cobblestone street held many passersby, most minding their own business, but the pair of three-and-a-half-foot-tall, green-skinned males were whispering to each other and pointing at them.

No, judging by the lewd gesture that one drew in the air, they were pointing at Sylin.

She always attracted more male gazes—species regardless—when she and Rylana were together.

With her own feminine curves and reasonable facial appeal, Rylana wasn’t usually ignored by men when she traveled with a less striking companion, but as a mere human, she didn’t star in their fantasies the way Sylin did.

That was fine with Rylana since she was one who chose companions infrequently and with care.

Today, with her short black hair in need of a washing and her trousers and tunic travel-stained, she doubted she would interest even a horny goblin.

“Do you think they’d like to zerg with us?” one of the males asked, drawing close enough that their conversation was audible.

“When has a beautiful elf ever zerged with you?” his companion asked.

“In my dreams every single night. Sometimes many times a night.” The speaker hurried forward, beaming a smile at Sylin, his wispy white hair sticking out in all directions like a dandelion gone to seed. “Beautiful elven maiden, I was wondering if—”

Sylin drew a knife so quickly that Rylana almost missed it.

Sylin flipped it casually up and down at the level of the goblin’s face.

It was her utility knife, not one of the various blades she used in her profession.

Those were in a wooden case in her backpack, tied with a magical red “tranquility” ribbon, courtesy of the peacekeepers who’d searched them before allowing them entrance into the city.

A similar ribbon was tied on Rylana’s sword scabbard and around her bow and the arrows in her quiver.

If anyone tried to remove the knots, the peacekeepers would be alerted, and golems would charge into the streets to deal with the infraction.

The goblin halted midstep and midsentence, his yellow eyes transfixed on the flipping blade. “I was wondering if you might have been going in to eat the special soup at this establishment.”

“The special soup?” Rylana asked.

If that was what the diner was known for, there definitely wasn’t a dragon inside.

“Yes, the magical spices that the chef uses… Well, they’re known to put most species in the mood to, ah…” The goblin looked toward his comrade.

His buddy, who didn’t appear daunted by the knife flipping, made pumping motions with his hips. “To zerg. You know the word?”

“Everyone knows that goblin word,” Rylana said dryly.

“Elves are immune to such substances,” Sylin said, “but why would a chef use magical spices in the food?”

“Who knows what motivates dragons?” The goblins stepped back from Sylin and looked across the street, one saying, “Let’s see if our cake is ready for Vardok’s stag party on the docks tonight.”

The pair darted between a horse-drawn carriage and a self-ambulating wagon, a glowing yellow controller embedded in the front guiding it to its destination.

A grandmotherly dwarf in an apron opened the front door of a bakery with a sign that promised delicious custom goods for all needs, naughty or nice, no questions asked. The goblins trotted inside.

“I’d forgotten what an interesting part of Tranquility this is,” Rylana observed.

“I told you there was a dragon.” Sylin pointed to a tea and coffee shop next to the bakery, a steaming cup painted on its wooden sign. “Why don’t you inquire about employment there?”

“Retiring to work at a coffee shop is your dream not mine.” Of course, Rylana was almost as much of a fan of a heady dose of fresh brew as Sylin, and she smiled at a memory that arose.

She’d first become the bookkeeper for the Moon Daggers—and registered to Captain Maverick’s awareness as more than a nameless archer in Fleet Foot Squad—when she’d had a fit because the company had been out of coffee.

He’d said that if she was that concerned about the status of luxury goods, she could take over the position of supply officer.

He’d been surprised when she’d gleefully agreed.

Never again had the company been without such an important substance.

“I think it might be a bookstore too.” Sylin pointed at tome-filled cases behind a table visible through the window, then rested her knife across her heart and sighed. “I’m going to investigate.”

“And apply for a job?”

“I would be bored serving coffee. Even traveling has felt mundane without any challenges to occupy my mind and force me to keep my skills honed.”

“As a barista, you might get the opportunity to slap away handsy men.”

“That’s not challenging. And it’s the epitome of mundane.”

“Well, for my sake, ask if they’re hiring.”

Rylana had already inquired at more than twenty establishments and found that nobody was.

In the aftermath of the Ore War, a lot of former soldiers had come to Tranquility, the city that welcomed all, as long as they obeyed the laws of the new god that required all intelligent species to exist in peace.

Since Rylana and Sylin had taken a roundabout route here, those who’d arrived earlier had acquired all the available jobs and also filled the temporary lodgings, something else Rylana’s inquiries had revealed.

When she and Sylin had decided to come to Tranquility, it hadn’t occurred to them that there wouldn’t be work or a place to stay.

Sylin turned back to the door, standing shoulder to shoulder with Rylana. “I won’t let you face a dragon alone.”

“I still don’t believe there’s a real dragon. They’re not allowed to live in their native form in Tranquility because their fangs and claws are too dangerous—not to mention their magic. The gnome peacekeepers can’t tie a knot on a dragon’s ability to breathe fire.”

“It would be amusing to see a three-foot-tall gnome attempt to fasten a ribbon around one of those long scaled necks.”

Sylin reached for the door again—nobody had gone in or out in the time they’d stood in front of it, so it definitely wasn’t busy.

“Be careful in there,” came a woman’s call from behind.

It was the apron-wearing gray-haired dwarf who’d let the goblins in.

She now held a tray filled with miniature cupcakes.

“With your beauty, if any of the male patrons have been imbibing the soup, they might try to force a mating on you. Cupcake?” She smiled and held up the tray.

“I assume she’s talking to you,” Rylana murmured.