As Rylana headed for the dining room, she decided she wouldn’t ask about a salary until she’d proven herself. For now, if Jildarin believed she was scheming his demise, he wouldn’t give her money or anything else. Once she helped him turn a profit on his business and catch up on his rent, he might be more cooperative.
“Do you work here?” a middle-aged man asked when Rylana stepped into the dining room. He was seated at the bar with a woman about the same age, both wearing brown dockworker uniforms and matching marriage bracelets.
Rylana started to shake her head, but hadn’t she just talked herself into a job? Sort of?
“Yes, but I’m new.Verynew. And I’m the accountant. You probably need…” Rylana looked around for the gnome she’d seen earlier. His toolbox and pile of parts were in the corner, but she didn’t see him.
“We don’t need anyone in particular.” The man glanced at the woman—his wife?—and lowered his voice. “We’re looking for two orders of the special soup. Well, really only one is necessary, but we’d both like to try it. We’re hoping to rekindle sparks. With, uhm, kindling.”
The wife rolled her eyes. “He has trouble getting hiszergstick up these days and is hoping magic will help.”
“It couldn’t hurt, and don’t tellstrangersthat, Mulivy. By the old and new gods.” He rubbed his face, including reddening cheeks.
“I’m not sure…” Rylana looked down the hall, thinking of how Jildarin had thrown out the earlier amorous couple.
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 beensometwitching.” 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 rubbedherface. As a mercenary, she’d heard everything—and far cruder talk than of twitchingzergsticks—but that didn’t mean shewantedto 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,therewas the gnome that Rylana had seen earlier. He waved a wrench when their eyes met. Whether he was repairing awobbly 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 adragonin the kitchen?”
“Isn’t he the owner?” the woman asked.
“Yes, but he’sverygrumpy. 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. Especiallygreenpeople.”
“Sixcopper 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.Gniknikrudely 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 voluntarilytipsgoblins. 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 youseekto 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 themfallin 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 tryingto 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?
