Chapter 12 #2
There were sorcerers at Skarrow who objected to granting affordable and open access to Transportation Circles, worrying about misuse by the public, overuse, and missed opportunities to funnel profit back into the institution.
But Ainsworth disagreed, and he hoped that as the system continued to be implemented over the years it would remain accessible and affordable.
“Say your request is granted, then. Why would anyone want to come here except to tackle Mount Vengeance? The Misnich Inn doesn’t offer much that others don’t, except the pristine view—mostly obscured by the weather—and the solitude. Which would be destroyed if your plan is a success.”
Time for his gamble. “That’s where you come in. I’d like to send out advertisements detailing that you are here, and that your kingdom-renowned food can be sampled at the Misnich Inn for a fraction of the price than would usually be the case.”
Alvea shot to her feet. “You said you wouldn’t—”
“I know, I know! But I’m not asking you about your past, am I? I am simply…asking that you let me flaunt it a bit, to let people know you and your food are here.”
“But what if I don’t want people to know I’m here?” Alvea snapped, picking up her glass, draining it, then slamming it on the table.
Admittedly, Ainsworth hadn’t considered that Alvea might not want to be detected. Had the chef gotten involved in something unsavory? Was she being pursued? “I…couldn’t imagine why not,” he said delicately.
She paused a moment to consider him, then her face lit briefly in amusement.
“No, I am not involved in anything untoward. First of all, do you think I would be here if I was not content with the way things are now? And second…I simply…do not want people from my old life to seek me here. I am done with them—and their expectations.”
“Their expectations?”
Alvea sat back down and poured herself another glass.
Liberally. Ainsworth hoped she’d sip this one as delicately as it deserved.
“All I ever wanted to do was cook. Growing up, I was sick of the bland food that our community cooks came up with each day. Meat grilled over flames, all the fat dripping away to waste. Vegetables charred past delectable to a sooty mess. No spice in sight, either!” She rolled her eyes and huffed, as though the taste of such horrors still haunted her.
“So I took over our provisions. With the money allotted to me, I purchased better-quality ingredients. Found a spice merchant who would give me the oldest, dustiest pots he had left to fit within my budget. Not quite as fragrant, and crumbling, to boot, but they did the job. And oh, how I cooked! It was the one thing I had a good instinct for—taste. Soon, people from adjoining villages were visiting, eager to spend a little coin if they got to sample my work. I indulged them, of course, until I had enough coin to head out on my own and seek accommodation in Hinslyth—one that would allow me to commute to a local tavern or food house for an apprenticeship. And I suppose it all went downhill from there.”
“Downhill?” Ainsworth scoffed. “Surely things went rapidly uphill? You impressed everyone! You owned your own tavern house in less than two years from your beginnings in the city! Your steaks were thirty gold—!”
“Do you think people who have nothing give a damn about steak being thirty gold?” she asked, her voice low.
Her words were a blow. When he was a boy, he would not dream of spending such coin on a meal when he could fill his belly for much, much less.
But he had worked hard! He had earned his place at the table, had he not? “Do not make me feel bad for liking nice things,” he found himself snapping. “Especially when you were the one providing them!”
“For a time, yes. But…it wasn’t fulfilling, Gladsly. All I kept wanting to do was be better. I was…running myself into the ground. I had to keep ahead of the competition, to ensure I kept my standards high. I—” She closed her eyes. “I left everyone behind. My family. My friends.”
Despite Ainsworth having no history in hospitality, her words were shockingly familiar. Who knew chefs had so much in common with academics?
“Haven’t you— Haven’t you left them behind to be here at the Misnich Inn, too?” he asked.
She finished her glass, much to Ainsworth’s dismay.
He was still on his first. “There was no one left to leave behind by that point,” she said quietly.
At his horror-stricken look, she quickly added, “Do not fear. Nothing terrible or tragic happened. It was simply…their time. And for others, they moved on and I had no idea where or how to reach them. And everyone at work—well, I always said we were family. But they were all…simply like me. Trying to get ahead. And using anyone however they could to do it.”
She idly batted away a small, fluttering insect from the glow of their table lantern before continuing.
“So I left. I could not stand being so lonely and yet surrounded by all these people. If I had dug myself into an isolated hole, then I wanted to be in the kind of surroundings that reflected that. After a few months of wandering, I stumbled upon Wenslykirk. I had zero—zero—interest in coming to Mount Vengeance…but that was when I ran into a small hauflin boy putting up a poster, seeking a kitchen hand to help Bren at the Misnich Inn.” She snorted.
“It was not long after I started my post that the old boy realized he could stop filling in for the previous cook and leave me to it. He was always more suited to bar work anyway, I think.”
“Alvea,” Ainsworth said after a moment had passed. “I am sorry. I admit, I cannot say I understand why you chose to leave it all behind, but I now understand that you were truly unhappy. And everyone who is unhappy should make changes for the better.”
As he spoke, he wondered: Was that why he was here?
No. No, he did not really want to be here, he told himself.
He had not been unhappy back home, despite his recent misgivings about…
everything. He knew this was the case because he still longed for the fine food, drink, and company in Hinslyth.
He still felt a pang when he thought of Enach carrying out their dream project without him.
He felt sullenly resentful when he cataloged all the events he would miss, all the networking and opportunities for further projects and grants.
It was Heritage Master Lyria who, upon realizing his great-grandfather’s links to the mountain and tiring of Ainsworth’s constant demands for a project of his own, had sent him here.
And it was she who had sent him away from Enach, when she found him after the argument between them. Who had bandaged the cut on Ainsworth’s shoulder and held him while he wept.
He cast those thoughts aside, snapping back into the present.
Alvea was looking at him as though he were a questionable ingredient, not quite belonging to whatever dish she had in mind.
But finally, her face lightened. “Well, thank you for that, I suppose. And I must admit, I don’t understand why you’re chasing the tale of this sorry mountain so bullishly, but we don’t have to understand each other fully to be friends, do we? ”
“No!” he said quickly, and together they raised their glasses—Alvea having already helped herself to the final trickle of wine—to meet with a gentle clink. “I can pursue the plan without advertising your whereabouts, Alvea. I—”
“No, how about this,” she said, her eyes twinkling.
“I have been hiding for years, and I suppose if anyone from my past came knocking…” She shook her head.
“Well, then I wouldn’t mind the opportunity to tell them exactly what I think, and to offer an explanation.
I worry that I let my apprentices down when I left them like that.
I suppose I should answer to any who decide to call.
And…while I do enjoy the slow, sleepy pace of things here, I suppose it is a bit too sleepy. ”
She suddenly slammed her hands on the table, making him flinch. “All right, I’ve decided. I will happily let you advertise where I am, on these posters or leaflets or whatever it is you want to circulate. If, and only if, you can cook a meal that makes me smile.”
“Ah!” Ainsworth’s heart beat faster. He was not as delicate, as intricate, a cook as Enach, but he could certainly throw a good enough meal together. “I think that could be arranged.”
“Great.” Alvea smiled. “Now call for Quiddle. I’m in the mood to beat someone at dice, and I don’t care which one of you it is.”