Page 57 of Morel Dilemma

Further magic and a pale-blue glow emanated from a gnomish recording contraption on the desk that the receptionist towered—and glowered—over. It buzzed and squeaked, looking as eager to spit out papers as the fine-issuing devices the peacekeepers carried. It was in the process of doing so when Rylana and Jildarin stopped in front of the desk, pages listing ships, cargos, and routes forming a stack.

At their arrival, the half-orc female’s glower lessened. She leaned across the counter on her elbows and regarded them with interest. Actually, her interest seemed to be for Jildarin. Maybe she possessed enough magical ability to sense power and recognize him as a dragon.

“Is my brother, Frodin, in?” Rylana asked. Not wanting to risk being shooed away because she didn’t have an appointment, she added, “I’m Rylana Avandar.”

“That’s nice,” the half-orc said in a deep rumbly voice. “Are you Jildarin-grozanarav of Clan Killcrusher? Chef Jildarin-grozanarav? I’m saving my money so that I can visit the Dragon Diner. I’ve heard you do magnificent things with elk loin and that your roc ribs are to die for. Orcs love fowl ribs, especially large fowl ribs. I inherited those tastes from my father, I think.”

“I am Jildarin, yes,” he said. “You will dine for free at my establishment, providing you help my business partner, Rylana.”

“Free? Oh!” The half-orc turned her gaze toward Rylana. “How may I be of service? Did you say Lord Frodin is your brother?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve heard you’re the serious, focused, and less forgetful one.” Was that a wistful sigh?

“I, ah, might be at times. Frodin has always been more⁠—”

“Distracted, self-absorbed, and prone to run off to have adventures instead of working? Don’t tell him I said that. My pay has already been docked three times this month. It’s not my fault I’m honest and say what I think. That’s why he hired me. Well, also because I know just about all the laborers really well, since I used to be one. But he likes that I say what I think about them and tell him who’s a good worker and who’s prone to thieving.” She shrugged. “What did you say you want?” She glanced at Jildarin. “And will roc ribs be free?”

“If my partner can source them,” Jildarin said. “They’re not easy to come by. But if you please her…”

It always amused Rylana that Jildarin, despite his disinterest in the business side of running the diner—and occasionally being puzzled by the phrases and antics of two-legged species—had no trouble with negotiations when he put his mind to them.

“Yes, of course,” the half-orc said.

“I don’t need anything from you,” Rylana said. “Just to be allowed in to speak with my brother about a family matter.”

“He has threatened the landlord of our diner and seeks to have us evicted,” Jildarin stated with indignation.

“What?” the half-orc asked. “It is in an excellent location. I’ve walked by it several times and gazed longingly through the window.”

“It is excellent, and we have almost completed our rooftop improvements,” Jildarin said. “Should we have to close…”

“That would be awful. I would love to help you, and I could even grip Lord Frodin’s shoulders while you assail him, but he’s not here today. I believe he’s riding the river because of the currents the storm weather creates.”

“So, he’s hard at work for the family business,” Rylana murmured.

“When he is here, it’s grudgingly.” The half-orc issued another wistful sigh.

“I guess we can leave a message.” Rylana plucked up a piece of paper from the stack the contraption had issued.

Jildarin watched as she wrote on the back that she was back in town and wanted to meet with him. She debated if she should mention she knew he’d threatened their landlord. Frodin might guess that anyway. At the least, he would wonder why she suddenly wanted to speak with him when she’d been back in Tranquility for weeks without making contact.

Before she’d figured out how to finish her message, Jildarin took the paper from her.

“As with the bananas,” he said, “we will attempt to prompt good behavior.”

Rylana kept him from taking the pen, worried he would write something that would cause more trouble rather than resolving anything. But Jildarin didn’t need the pen. As he’d done with the chalkboard, he burned a message into the bottom of the paper, demonstrating a delicate touch to do so without leaving holes.

Those who threaten a dragon’s establishment often find themselves roasted like a rotisserie pig, his message read. But those who leave their kind in peace might be invited to enjoy fine morsels at the dragon’s establishment. Choose your course.

After signing his full name and clan, Jildarin pushed the paper toward the half-orc, then lay the single slice of chocolate-dipped banana on the page. “You will deliver this message and this item to him.”

“As soon as he returns.” She smiled as she eyed the banana slice. “How did you know he has a sweet tooth?”

“He is human. We will await his response.” Jildarin strode out of the building.

The half-orc sighed and gazed after him.