“Ah, but I like my head attached to my body, Your Highness,” he said. “Empty as this noggin may be at times, I’ve grown rather attached to it over the years.”
His words made me smile. Master Tarek’s head may have been many things, but empty it was not. I despaired of learning in my lifetime even a tenth of what he knew.
“Would that we all got to choose our professions,” I said, sighing.
“Ah. Unfortunately that is outside of my purview,” he said. “However, your education is within said area of expertise, and I have something to show you.”
His words sparked my interest. One of the things my mother had cultivated in me was my insatiable curiosity and Master Tarek was always willing to help satisfy it.
I followed him as he led me through the aisles.
“As you know, I have a friend who is rather well-traveled,” he spoke as we walked.
“Master Bacillus?” I asked.
He nodded. I had met Master Bacillus when his courtesans were hired to train me in the art of sex. Master Tarek had shared stories of his friend, ostensibly a spice trader who was, in reality, a procurer. Sex was not his only coin, however. He and his “family” of beautiful, exotic men and women traveled the silk roads of the world and collected knowledge. Knowledge which they were willing to share, for a price.
“My dear Master B recently sent me a package and I thought it would be of interest to you,” he said.
Master B often sent Master Tarek bits and pieces of the oddities he found throughout the world. Occasionally he would actually come across some rare book or bit of knowledge that would thrill his friend. To the best of my knowledge, the men had never been lovers, but their friendship was unwavering.
He led me to his quarters, and I was surprised at the mouthwatering smells that were coming from his kitchen. Master Tarek was devoted to learning of many kinds, but his passion was cooking. We had spent hours in his kitchen trying recipes from distant lands and discussing history, philosophy, and politics.
If I had been able to choose a man to be a father to me, it would have been Master Tarek. He was firm but fair; he had a strong moral compass but was open and willing to change his mind if persuaded by the facts; he was insightful and compassionate. In a word, he was everything my own father was not.
“What is that delicious smell?” I asked, my stomach growling. I had intended to eat before our departure but the King’s summons had prevented it.
He smiled, obviously pleased.
“Ah! A recipe my dear friend has sent to me. He claims it comes from the other side of the world, but…” he rolled his eyes as he leaned to open the oven. “We know how Master B is prone to hyperbole.”
Inside the oven were two chickens roasting. Their skin had been basted with a dark red sauce that was just crisping on the edges.
“That looks delicious! What’s it called?” I asked, my stomach growling again and reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
“Unfortunately, part of his letter had some water damage. All I could make of it was ‘cue’, so I’m calling it Cue Chicken,” he said as he removed the birds from the oven. “When you are King, you reallymustdo something to improve our postal service.”
Next to the stove was a bowl with red sauce in it. Before he could stop me I swiped my finger along the side of the bowl and popped it in my mouth. The taste of tomato, honey, vinegar and sugar burst across my tongue.
“That’s good!” I said, reaching for the bowl again, only to have his wooden spoon come down sharply on my fingers.
“Enough! We are not heathen savages to be eating our food with our fingers!” he declared. “Wash and set the table, young prince. Then we can have a proper meal.”
I grinned impishly at Tarek. I’d been sneaking samples of his cooking for years. I washed quickly and set the table while he pulled out the roasted vegetables he had made along with the chicken.
I looked in surprise as he placed an oblong piece of a plant with strange yellow and white bumpy knobs on it.
“What’s this?” I asked, looking at the strange thing. “And how do you eat it?”
“Another gift. Master B told me it is called ‘maize’,” he responded, setting a crock of butter on the table. “Apparently there are multiple ways to eat it, but he recommends roasting it andbasting in butter and a dash of salt. Then you can cut the kernels off and enjoy.”
I looked at the odd food doubtfully, but Master Tarek was almost always right about these things. It took a few false starts, but eventually I was able to remove the kernels from the hard stalk that Tarek called “cob.” My first bite was hesitant, but when the first burst of flavor hit my tongue I moaned.
“This has got to be the best thing you’ve ever made,” I said.
“You haven’t tried the chicken yet!” he exclaimed. “Taste it, then tell me that again!”
I laughed and tried the rest of the food. It was, indeed, delicious.
