Chapter 5 #2
He made the soup and presumably knew how the dragon spices affected his clientele, but were there rules about who could get it?
And how large a dose? And was one supposed to then promptly leave the premises before engaging in amorous activities?
Maybe Rylana should have asked about that instead of ledgers and pencils.
But she was applying to be the bookkeeper, not a server.
Hypothetically, the only information she needed was the price Jildarin sold the soup for and how much the ingredients that went into it cost him.
“Please,” the man said. “I’ve tried everything.”
“He has,” his wife said. “That includes all foods that are reputed to be aphrodisiacs, the special vigor and dilation herbs from the apothecary, and even a potion from the wizened half-elven alchemist in the Forbidden Market, but he’s not had a twitch lately.”
“There’s been some twitching.” He elbowed her, his cheeks redder than before. “Just not enough for, uhm, you know. And Mulivy is pining, you see. I don’t want her to turn to another.”
“I’m not pining that much,” the woman told Rylana. “I’ve actually been enjoying evenings with my tea and books and not having to worry about being poked in the back.”
“I…” This time, Rylana rubbed her face. As a mercenary, she’d heard everything—and far cruder talk than of twitching zerg sticks—but that didn’t mean she wanted to hear the sex details of strangers. Never had she thought a desire to return to bookkeeping would lead to this.
“I’ll handle it, new lady.” The goblin that Rylana had seen in the hallway bounced up to her arm. “The special soup is eight copper,” he informed the couple. “Each.”
“It’s six copper for a bowl,” came a call from under a table.
Oh, there was the gnome that Rylana had seen earlier. He waved a wrench when their eyes met. Whether he was repairing a wobbly leg or had simply wanted a quiet nook to work, she had no idea.
“There’s a mandatory tip for delivery,” the goblin said, smiling at the couple while gesturing at the gnome. It was the two-fingered get-out-of-here-before-I-poke-these-into-your-eyes gesture popular with his kind.
“For delivery from… the kitchen to the table?” the man asked, though he was delving into the purse fastened to his belt.
“Yes,” the goblin said. “Hazard pay. Did you know there’s a dragon in the kitchen?”
“Isn’t he the owner?” the woman asked.
“Yes, but he’s very grumpy. He talks about how he wants to introduce dragon spices to the world while inventing new and innovative dishes, but I don’t think he really likes people. Especially green people.”
“Six copper each.” The gnome came over, unfazed by a second finger gesture from the goblin, though he was six inches shorter and less muscular than his green-skinned colleague. “And Chef Jildarin isn’t grumpy as long as you don’t interrupt him when he’s working.”
The man counted out the coins, and the goblin reached for them, but the gnome’s hand darted in first, sweeping them off the table, then depositing them in a metal cashbox bolted to a shelf under the bar.
It took a finger press to a slightly glowing oval-shaped button to open the lid.
For the sake of her future accounting work, Rylana hoped the goblin didn’t have access to the cashbox.
“Who are you, and what do you do here?” she asked the goblin as the gnome went to retrieve the order.
“I’m Rolf, and I make deliveries and work for tips. Gniknik rudely proclaims that I have to wait for those receiving the food to think of their own accord to give me a tip. As if anyone voluntarily tips goblins. It’s much more logical and lucrative to add my fee to the total preemptively.”
“Or liberate it from their purses if they’re not generous enough?” the gnome asked, returning with two steaming bowls that smelled wonderful.
Chunks of meat and vegetables floated in a rich broth with herbs sprinkled on top.
Slices of bread with small ramekins of whipped butter accompanied the soup.
It all looked wonderful, and Rylana couldn’t see or smell anything suspicious about the meal.
Her mouth watered, and she wanted to taste it herself.
It had such an allure that she had to stick her hand in her pocket to keep from grabbing one of the spoons and helping herself.
“Do not share,” Gniknik warned the couple as they accepted the offerings eagerly, inhaling the scents with as much interest as Rylana had.
“There should be one bowl only for each person. I’ve already filled them fuller than is advised by the chef since I heard that you seek to feel amorous afterward, but he doesn’t desire that outcome and is still experimenting with portions.
He wants to make food that all species love but not that makes them fall in love.
” The gnome winked and headed back to his table.
Rylana scratched her cheek. Was that what all this with the dragon spices was about? Jildarin wasn’t trying to turn his customers, er, amorous, as the gnome had said? Only make the best recipe he could? Perhaps to win that competition and be able to pay his rent?
Hinging financial security on something called the Golden Whisk was a gamble at best, so Rylana would help Jildarin get his affairs in order the old-fashioned way. With numbers.
Nodding to herself, she started for the door, intending to go buy a ledger, but someone walking past the window paused to look in.
With sunlight limning the well-dressed gentleman from behind, and a beaver-fur hat low on his forehead, Rylana couldn’t see him clearly, but her gut recognized him faster than her mind, and dread slammed into the pit of her stomach. Was that…
Before she could tell for certain, he backed away from the window and walked off.
Maybe she could have opened the door and peered out for a better look, but her instincts were to skulk out the back door instead.
Unless her gut had been wrong, that had been Vernest Vormalt, the man her father had long ago tried to arrange for her to marry.