“Let’s get that coffee.” She extended a hand toward the shop.
The door opened before they reached it, the blue-haired half-gnome who had waited on Rylana before inviting them in. Vilma, wasn’t it?
“Greetings, greetings.” She nodded at Rylana, then looked curiously at Jildarin as she guided them to a table.
During her previous visits, Rylana hadn’t received such prompt treatment. Maybe the coffee shop had a different policy in the evenings. Or maybe, since she’d brought two comrades by who’d proven generous tippers, she was now rated as a V.I.P. guest. Indeed, another server was rubbing her side, like Vilma might have elbowed her to reach the door first. Rylana doubted Jildarin would be as grand a tipper. Dragons, after all, were notoriously stingy about giving up portions of their treasure.
Vilma seated them in a cozy corner near a fireplace with a partial view of the kitchen where a magical gnomish espresso machine hissed as it heated and foamed milk. Most of the tables were occupied, with the usual middle-aged or older clientelereplaced by university students with stacks of books surrounded by coffee cups in various stages of depletion. A gnome with a pad of paper knelt before the roasting equipment, either drawing a schematic or simply sketching the machinery like a human or elf would paint a landscape piece.
“What can I get you?” Vilma asked over the sounds of an argument in the kitchen.
“Itoldyou the recipes would have to be adjusted,” one voice wafted out. That sounded like Tezilly. “The oven is far moremagicalthan normal ones. That will affect the baking process.”
“You can’t possibly believe that a dragon sleeping next to this oven for a few weeks means the cookie recipe needs adjustments.” And that crabbier-sounding voice belonged to Brella.
“Dragon emanations areknownto cause things around them to turn magical. It says so in the book.”
“It’s talking about the rock formations in their caves, not gnomish commercial ovens.”
“Allthings.”
“It’s fine,” Vilma assured Rylana and Jildarin when they hesitated to place their order. “Those two argue about everything. And the sprinkles are hardly glowing at all with the latest batch. Some customers might evenlikea little sparkle in their baked goods. What can I get you?”
“My enemy assures me that I will enjoy the flavored water with milk,” Jildarin stated.
“My enemy?” Vilma mouthed.
“I didn’tassureyou that you would like a latte,” Rylana said. “I just said you might.”
“We have a new mocha sampler with four small cups using different roasts and different cocoas,” Vilma offered.
“I’ll take that,” Rylana said. “Jildarin will have a latte. Without sugar.”
“Hm,” he said, almost a growl.
“Jildarin… the dragon?” Vilma took a step back.
“The dragonchef,” Rylana said. “He’s quite talented. Have you been to the diner?”
“No, I’ve heard… things. And earlier…” Vilma looked toward the window and made a face.
She must have seen some of the amorous couples stumbling out with clothing askew—or missing.
“The food is very good,” Rylana promised.
“I’ll get your drinks.” Vilma hurried away. Maybe she’d figured out that Jildarin was unlikely to leave gold coins.
“What happened at the diner while I was gonebesidesthe fire?” Jildarin asked.
“I wasn’t there the whole time, so I’m not entirely sure.” Rylana was reluctant to tattle on Rolf, especially since his ill-gotten coins would help replenish the pantry.
“Under the pervasive scent of smoke—smoke that will linger for ages and befoul the taste and appreciation of my meals—I detected the myriad musky odors of sex.”
“Huh.”
“Manypeople were engaged in coitus. Not only in the diner but in mylair.” Jildarin shuddered. “Isleepback there.”
Rylana thought about suggesting that, if he could tell all that by scent, he ought to join the canine-handler division of the peacekeepers. He could find missing treasures lost to pixies and other thieves as easily as the trained hounds did.
