“The two are linked. Ask our bookkeeper. I bet there’s a mathematical formula.”
They paused to look at her.
“A correlation between the amount of tips a goblin can swindle and the number of people eating in the diner? Yes, I assume that’s a one-to-one correspondence.”
They walked off, nodding to each other as if Rylana had said something wise. What sheshouldcalculate were ways to pay Rolf enough that he didn’t feel theneedto swindle their customers, but that might be as hard to change as the color of his green skin.
Rylana was in the middle of putting dirty dishes in Gniknik’s collecting contraption when the front door opened, and the landlord strode in. She couldn’t stifle a groan.
Aztor planted himself in front of her without so much as glancing around for Jildarin. “I came to make sure you’ve not defiled the rooftop, built unauthorized stairs, or otherwise altered my building.”
“We’ve been too busy alleviating the curse to work on our outdoor-seating plans,” Rylana said. “Have you ever considered selling the diner?”
If he had, could she and Jildarin make enough to buy it from him? That might be the only way she could see her rooftop dining dream come to fruition.
“Certainly not. It has recently become the home of a profitableventure, and I expect the rents to henceforth come in regularly and on time.” Aztor gestured toward the golden whisk hanging in the window. “With its new renown, I might even be justified inraisingthe rents.”
He tapped a ledger book he’d brought with him, and Rylana grimaced, having a feeling he’d already penciled in a planned increase.
“You should discuss that with Jildarin.” She made a mental note to find the lease and see how long the diner was locked into its current terms.
“Are you not now the bookkeeper? The one who handles numerical calculations and pays the rent?”
“Yeah, but he’s the one who breathes fire on vendors, lenders, and others who attempt to get greedy with us.”
Aztor scoffed. “I am not afraid of a dragon, certainly not while we both stand in Tranquility.”
“No? Take a field trip out to Lucky Island later, and you’ll see where a cranky dragon knocked over the pillar there with one powerful blow.”
Technically, the earthquake had been responsible for that, but the landlord didn’t need to know that.
Aztor waved dismissively. “It’s in our lease agreement that Chef Jildarin can’t bite, claw, or otherwise maim me in any way, including but certainly not limited to by fang, talon, or fire-breathing ability. I had a goblin lawyer draw it up. Their kind are excellent at making sure they’re well defended from larger species.”
Too bad Rylana hadn’t been there to read over that lease agreement before Jildarin signed it. It sounded overly stringent.
“While that lease is in effect and you are running your diner frommybuilding,” the landlord continued, “you will do no alterations.”
He turned toward the door to leave, but it opened before he’dtaken a step, and four elves walked in. Captain Tassani and another armed male who might have been one of his troops led them. The green-haired Layothlee walked in behind them, followed by an older lady in a flowing silver-and-blue wrap with artsy tree-and-star designs all over it. She promptly left the group to give herself a brief tour of the dining room, then didn’t hesitate to walk down the hall toward the kitchen.
Rylana lifted a finger, not sure if she should object or not—they didn’t typically encourage patrons to interrupt Jildarin’s work, but maybe the elf needed to use the lavatory.
“Sergeant Falcon.” Tassani nodded to her, but he and the other male strode past her to follow the older female. Maybetheyneeded to use it too.
Layothlee was the one to stop, glancing curiously at the landlord but facing Rylana.
“That’s Plant Master Chalora,” she said as the female stepped into the kitchen with the male elves trailing after. “Our people are pleased with Lord Jildarin-grozanarav, and you too, of course, for lifting the troll-god curse. The elders suggested to Chalora, who rarely takes on duties outside of the enclave anymore, that she might enjoy designing a relaxation experience in your diner. Oraboveit since I believe that’s what you mentioned?” Layothlee pointed upward.
“That’s thoughtful and appreciated, but…” Rylana extended her hand toward Aztor, bracing herself for an outburst.
“Plant Master Chalora?” Aztor breathed with surprising reverence as he peered toward the kitchen. “I’ve heard of her work. Years ago, she designed and installed the botanical gardens at the northern end of the city. The greenhouses are in spirals shaped like snail shells. They’re brilliant. And all the living-tree sculptures and benches and tables—even the chicken coops and composting stations in the back—are pieces of art.”
Rylana’s jaw descended. She hadn’t expected to hear the surlylandlord speak of art—or compost and chicken coops, for that matter.
“She’s an architect too,” Aztor went on. “Some of her buildings appear in textbooks and are studied at the university here. The gnomes sit in front of them to sketch them regularly. I’ve heard her designs and blueprints have been put to use by several governments in the southern kingdoms as well as here in the north, in cities that should loathe elves after fighting them in the war, but who can hate such wondrous art?”
“Nobody,” Layothlee said with a firm nod.
“Do you think she would sign my ledger book?” Aztor asked. “Ordrawsomething in it?”
