“Even when he’s preoccupied by stirring his soup?”
“Less so then. That is why you are coming. You will yell if you witness skulking, sabotage, or other nefarious acts being perpetrated by my rivals or their lackeys.”
“The natural duties expected of a bookkeeper.” Rylana smiled, more pleased than offended that he wanted her to watch his back. If all he really desired was for someone to yell a warning, he could have chosen one of the employees that he’d had longer and had more reason to trust. Admittedly, Gniknik and Rolf weren’t the kinds of peopleshewould choose to watch her back, Rolf because he would accept coin to look the other way, and Gniknik because he might be distracted by an intriguing contraption whirring past.
“A bookkeeper who onceshota dragon can handle more duties than calculations,” Jildarin said.
“I am versatile.”
Though they were arriving early, since the chefs were supposed to receive instructions and set up their stations beforethe audience came, the arena was already quite full. A peacekeeper and a golem stood at each of the entrances, and a gray-haired man in a chef’s jacket was in charge of letting people in through the main gate.
Jildarin looked behind them as they stepped into a short queue. It turned into a long look, and Rylana followed his gaze. Ah, Yerin was approaching the line with a pale-green-haired elven woman, both also wearing chef’s jackets. Apparently, it was the chosen uniform for doing battle here.
The pair didn’t look toward Rylana and Jildarin, and she debated if they—Yerin, in particular—appeared nervous. The elf did not, but their kind could stride onto a battlefield against far superior odds without looking daunted. Yerin smiled and lifted a hand toward the door monitor. He must have seen Jildarin but didn’t acknowledge him. Yerin’s smile looked more confident than nervous.
“He’s got a plan,” Rylana decided as she and Jildarin faced forward again.
“To win the competition? I also have a plan.”
“I think his is a little more menacing than opting for elven, human, and orcish spices over pulverized dwarven rocks.”
Jildarin eyed her. “I did bring along some of the dwarven spices. Sometimes, their textures as well as their slightly bitter taste can play well into a recipe.”
“If you say so.”
“Iamthe experienced chef.”
“With an indeterminate culinary pedigree.” Rylana smirked since that line had affronted him when they’d read the article. He’d growled, sayingindeterminatedescribed tomatoes, not cooks.
“Good morning, Chef Jildarin-grozanarav,” the gray-haired man said and glanced at a clipboard. “You and your assistant may enter and set up at Station Seven. Once the competition begins, she must join the audience. None may have an assistant chef.”
“I am aware.” Jildarin nodded to the man and waved for Rylana to follow him.
As they headed for the stage, she looked around for threats. She doubted anyone would rise up from the benches and hurl a dagger at Jildarin, not with golems and peacekeepers monitoring the competition, but she didn’t believe Yerin was done attempting to get him out of the running. She’d lain awake most of the night, expecting another attack on the diner, and had been surprised when dawn had arrived without one.
The great stone and wood stage was elevated with plenty of room for all the cooking stations, a few feet apart from each other. They offered counter space laden with utensils, tools, and cutting boards, amid burners, grills, and ovens that were in the process of being lit by a couple of goblins also delivering wood. Three men and a woman in white chef’s coats had already arrived and were setting their knives out at their stations. In addition to the cooking areas, there were iceboxes and mobile pantries behind them, presumably full of ingredients.
Mirrors above the stations had been arranged so that those seated on the benches would be able to view the chefs working. A row of tables with chairs to the side of the stage, withJudgeswritten on a flag, would not, however, be able to see the mirrors. Rylana remembered Jildarin saying that the judges would assess the meals without knowing which chefs had made them. Two people were already seated at one of the tables, one human and one elven, both older individuals.
Behind the stage lay a flat field with folding chairs set up, and a few men and women with press badges sat back there. Enough people had meandered into the arena that vendors were already walking around, selling snacks off trays hanging from straps around their necks.
A couple of geese flew over the lake beyond the tiers of benches, honking and making Rylana wonder why an outdoorvenue had been chosen. The weather was decent, but what if it had been a rainy day?
“I will find my station.” Jildarin lifted his knife case and pointed to the stage while nodding for her to head to the benches.
Rylana did so, climbing to the top row. A goose had visited that one personally at some point during the setup, and she started to avoid the droppings it had left, but changed her mind and sat next to the spot. Maybe it would keep other spectators from getting close and distracting her. From the elevated perch, she looked all around, taking her self-appointed duty to watch out for Jildarin seriously.
As more people filtered into the arena—chefs, judges, and audience members—she eyed them, debating if any appeared suspicious. In particular, she watched the goblins heading for the benches. They were in the minority and stood out among the humans, elves, orcs, mixed bloods, and more dwarves than she would have expected, though their kind always enjoyed a good feast.
A couple of peacekeepers roamed the area, and two more golems had arrived near the main entrance. Rylana wondered if they would react to anything that wasn’t on the law books as a crime. Of course, if someone tried to set Jildarin's station on fire,thatwould qualify, but, with so many people present, she expected any sabotage would be subtler.
Vormalt arrived with a group of people, and Rylana groaned, wondering why he kept showing up in Yerin’s wake. Had they become best friends over the years?
Rylana watched intently as the group entered the arena. Maybetoointently, because Vormalt seemed to sense her gaze. He looked toward the benches and spotted her. After lifting a hand toward Yerin, who was three stations down from Jildarin and setting up, Vormalt headed toward Rylana.
She groaned again, wishing she could have found a seat withgoose droppings onbothsides. More people had arrived, some standing while others settled onto the benches, and she couldn’t see through them to find a place she could move to where Vormalt couldn’t sit near her. A group of dwarves was maneuvering to try to find seats high enough so they could see over the heads of the taller audience members.
Rylana called softly, “There’s room up here.”
