She set the bowls on the table, alongside a loaf of rye bread, then cut the loaf into thick slices. “It’s not fancy, but given that it’s been a long day…”
“It’s fine. I’m very grateful,” Koradan said.
“Help yourself to bread.”
Paul didn’t hesitate, taking two thick slices immediately. But Koradan merely stared at the loaf. Then he said, “Thank you,” politely, but didn’t take any bread. He picked up his spoon and tasted the stew, taking his time before he swallowed it.
“It might need a bit more salt,” Paul said. He slid a small, ceramic dish over to Koradan. “Mum doesn’t like it too salty, but I think it’s bland without it.”
“Is it all right?” Lynette asked. While Koradan didn’t seem to dislike the food, he also wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about it.
“It’s very good,” he said, breaking into a smile. “I’m sorry. Food of any sort in Chalandros has been scarce for quite some time. We’re used to eating what’s put in front of us and making the most of it. It’s been a long time since I had the luxury of tailoring a meal to my own tastes. This is delicious.” He glanced sideways at Paul, a knowing look on his face. “But I would have to agree with Paul, in this case. It would benefit from a little more salt.”
Lynette forced a smile – not because she took offence to the critique of her cooking, but because she was still unnerved by their very unusual guest. “Help yourself,” she said, gesturing to the dish.
The meal continued in silence for a few minutes, Koradan tasting each mouthful slowly and carefully. “Is it very different from the food in Chalandros?” Lynette couldn’t help asking. It was largely meat and root vegetables, and she imagined that such things must be relatively similar, no matter what world one was in. But… did demons eat vegetables? Perhaps they only dined on the eyeballs of cursed goats, or some such thing.
“Not terribly different, no. I remember having something similar in my childhood. Each of the different Chalandrian species has their own style of cooking, but meat, vegetables and mushrooms were common staples. Merians ate a lot of fish, obviously.” Was it obvious? Lynette didn’t even know what a merian was. “The unicorns are vegetarians. The fire-dogs eat burning coals, which is strange even by Chalandrian standards.” Lynette chose not to comment on that one, studiously eating her stew to avoid looking too shocked at the declaration. “Salas food was largely meat based for a long time, but in more recent years, we haven’t been able to get much meat, so we moved to vegetables and grains. We cook the grains into a porridge most of the time. It’s bland, but nutritious enough.”
There were so many questions Lynette had, just off that short explanation. What was a merian? Why was there no meat available? And what sort of gods-forsaken creature was a fire-dog? There were dog-like creatures called hellhounds that came through the gate. Was that the same thing? But opening up such a conversation seemed a bit like hitting a hornet’s nest; there was no telling what sort of trouble it would create. She continued eating instead, paying a bit more attention than necessary to dipping her bread into the stew’s gravy.
Koradan watched her, seeming overly interested in the mundane loaf. But as she bit the end of the slice off, Koradan seemed to have a sudden revelation. He finally took a slice of his own and dipped it into his gravy. When he bit the soggy piece off, his eyes slid closed, a blissful little smile settling on his face. “This is perfect,” he said, with a wistful sigh. “Salases don’t cook bread. I’ve never eaten something like this plain before. But dipped in the stew… We had a dish when I was a child called figania. It was meat and spices, boiled for twelve hours, then we added lettia grains and boiled it again. It tasted just like this. I haven’t had it in… It must be more than twenty years.”
“How old are you?” Lynette asked, just before she realised it might be considered rude.
“Forty-five.”
A slew of other questions could easily have followed; Was he married? Did he have any children? And if so, where was his family now? How long did salases live for? But once again, Lynette balked at the idea of getting to know Koradan too well. Already, she was feeling uneasy, with just the simple stories of food he’d eaten as a child. Because he had been a child once. Which also meant that every other demon that came through the gate had also been a child. Were there children trying to cross the gate now? Parents, willing to risk their offspring’s lives to enter the human world? And why were they all trying to-? Lynette cut the thought off before it could go any further. The demons didn’t belong here. They should stay in their own world and leave the humans alone. Then no one would have to die in all the pointless bloodshed at the gate.
“Uh… may I ask what this is?” Koradan said, holding up his spoon with a long bean on it.
“It’s a green bean,” Lynette said, grateful for the distraction. “They grow on vines. If you leave them longer, they get fatter and grow seeds inside the pod, but we pick them young and eat the whole thing.”
Satisfied with the explanation, Koradan put the bean in his mouth, seeming pleased with the taste.
“And speaking of beans,” Lynette went on, “Paul, could you please check the veggie garden tomorrow morning before you come up the mountain. It’s been neglected for the past two days, and there’ll be beans and peas that need picking, and I know there’s at least one lettuce. And if you get some parsley, I can make a quiche for dinner tomorrow.”
“Seriously?” Paul said, with a completely predictable disbelief on his face. “That’s ridiculous. Everyone else gets to go and rescue people out of a collapsed mine, but me? No, I have to stay here and pickvegetables.”
For all her resolve to keep her temper in check tonight, Lynette opened her mouth to tell Paul exactly what she thought of his response. But before she could get a word out, Koradan spoke instead. “In Chalandros, food has been almost impossible to grow for the last few years. You’re extremely fortunate to have a flourishing garden. And as important as it is to rescue the miners, I think it would be pure negligence to not look after your food supply at the same time.”
That made Paul hesitate. But the argument didn’t defeat him entirely. “So why can’t Mum pick the vegetables?”
“Your mother is a nurse. She’ll need to be on hand to treat any injuries. And as I understand it, there’s no one else in the village with that sort of training.”
Paul sighed and rolled his eyes. But at the same time, he muttered a laconic, “Fine.” Lynette considered saying thank you, but decided in the end that it would just annoy Paul more.
A few minutes later they had finished their meal, and Paul collected the bowls, washed them and set them on the rack to dry. Meanwhile, Koradan was swirling the whisky around in his cup, inhaling the vapour and taking very small sips, so as to savour it for as long as possible. Lynette sat quietly, waiting for Paul to finish his task.
When he came and sat down at the table again, she said, “It’s been a long day. How about you pop off to bed and get some rest?”
“I’m good,” Paul said. “Not too tired. I want to talk to Koradan some more.”
“It’s going to be another long day tomorrow,” Lynette reminded him. “I think a bit of extra sleep would do you good.”
Paul opened his mouth to object, but once again, Koradan stepped in. “I think what your mother is trying to say is that she’d like to speak to me alone, and she’s politely trying to get you out of the room.”
What the…? Koradan’s assessment was entirely correct, but how did he manage to be so insightful? And how did he find the words to be both blunt and gentle at the same time?
