“I thought you two went hunting,” Rylana said.
“It was a specialkindof hunting.” Zilek winked, then waved toward the hallway. “I’m going to the wine conclave before all the best vintages are gone. Tell my brother that he can express his gratitude for my assistance in here later.”
“The dragons that choose to reside in this city are a touch eccentric,” Sylin observed.
“I would think they’d have to be to deign to mingle with our lowly kinds,” Rylana said.
Sylin rested a hand on her chest and mouthed, “Lowly?” with her eyebrows up. “Elves are considered genteel and sophisticated and respected by all the races. Dragons often appreciate our companionship.”
“Didn’t you cut off one’s tail during a skirmish in the war?”
“Just the tip. Dragon tails are quite thick, and their owners rarely sit still for a thorough maiming.”
“I’m sure it was a genteel cut.” Rylana headed to the kitchen, bracing herself for Jildarin's anger.
But when she stepped inside, the scent of smoke hanging heavily in the air, he was slumped against the pantry doorframe. Several shelves had burned, broken glass jars and bottles littered the floor, and dented tins lay in the middle of it all, everything from raisins to garlic to dried herbs spilled out and charred.
From behind, Jildarin looked more defeated than angry. That slump was uncharacteristic; he always seemed tireless and so determined to fulfill his quest to win the Golden Whisk that minor irritations couldn’t derail him.
“We can get everything cleaned up,” Rylana offered when Jildarin didn’t turn to look at her but continued to stare dejectedly into the pantry. Soot coated the walls of the entire kitchen, but his focus was on the mess in there. “I’ll help,” she added. “And IknowRolf will help.”
If he wanted his half of the coins, he would.
“If you can give me a list of what was destroyed in the pantry, I’ll shop for fresh ingredients at the market in the morning. The diner was actually rather, uhm, busy before the fire started, and we should have the coin to replenish everything in there. I’m not sure what was destroyed in the storeroom, but…” Rylana trailed off when Jildarin turned, his head shaking as he met her gaze.
“The dragon spices were in here.” He pointed to a couple of broken ceramic canisters among the mess, their contents dumped out and charred and mixed with everything else. “You can’t get more from the market. I’ll have to fly to the southern hunting grounds of my people, where the mosses and fungi grow in the ancient caves of our homeland, and collect more. Then they must be dried and properly preserved and ground.” He shook his head again. “But the competition is in two days. There’s not time.”
Ah. And they were the secret ingredient he’d been perfecting, trying to mix enough into his dishes to make them deliciously irresistible without the side effect of randiness.
“You can win without them,” Rylana said. “All of your food is good. I know you don’t put dragon spices on the bacon.”
“At the Golden Whisk,goodwon’t be enough. The chefs who will compete are masters at their craft, many with decades of experience, including years spent studying at culinary academies. And I… I learned to cook from an elf in the forest.”
Since she’d met him, Jildarin had seemed supremely confident of his skills and ability to win the contest, but his shoulders remained slumped as he walked slowly out of the kitchen. “I cannot win without the spices, and I cannot get more in time.”
As he continued toward the front door of the diner, Rolf stepped into the kitchen.
“All of the lovers are gone.” He looked expectantly at the purse in Rylana's hand.
“More because of the fires than your hard work at booting them out,” she said, but they’d made a deal, so she doled out half the coins. “I don’t suppose you saw and recognized the goblin who did this?” She waved at the destroyed pantry.
“I did see him. He’s one of the dock goblins that loiter around on the waterfront. They get work loading and unloading cargo or whatever people will pay for. As soon as they make a bit, they go spend it on booze and gambling.” Rolf sniffed with disdain.
“What do you spend your money on?”
“I have two wives and eleven kids.”
Rylana blinked. “Really?”
She didn’t trust much of what came out of Rolf’s mouth, but Gniknik was passing in the hall and said, “Rolf is known among his people for being virile. There’s a twelfth baby on the way, isn’t there?”
“This summer, yes.”
Rylana gave the goblin a couple more coins. She might have returned the entire purse to him, but he’d made those coins by drugging the customers. Besides, even mundane spices were expensive. It would take a lot to restock the pantry.
Not complaining, Rolf bowed to her and departed. Rylana went out front to help Zalani start cleaning, but she’d paused with her broom in hand to look out the window.
“Is he going to be all right?” Zalani asked. “He’s just standing there, letting rain fall on him.”
