Page 83 of Morel Dilemma

“What if it’s up on the rooftop? You can’t see that from here. Look, here’s my idea. It won’t even require violence. In fact, it could stop it. I’d like you to make a special batch of your sautéed mushrooms, one that uses more than the recommended amount of enchanted morels. Quite a bit more. Enough for the side effects to occur.” Rylana rested her finger on the line about how an overdose could make people fall into a deep magical slumber from which they cannot be woken for a full day and night.

Jildarin drew back, his mouth opening. “You want me to risk rendering the queen unconscious? And what of this?” He gripped her arm and moved her finger to the line about excess mushrooms causing intense intestinal distress.

“Not the queen. Just her people. Her armed guards. Make them a special batch.”

“I’m not going to give the elves who eat in my diner fluid evacuations!”

“I’d rather not see that either, especially since I also use the lavatory here, but the elves would survive, and they wouldn’t be able to threaten Sylin. Or anyone else.”

“What if the queen ate from the wrong dish?”

“She would survive too. I’m not asking you to poison anyone.”

“As a chef, to deliberately inflict intestinal distress on one’s diners would be the greatest form of sacrilege. I refuse to consider it.”

“The very fact that you’re appalled—a professional chef would never be suspected of doing such a thing—is why it would work. They’ll cheerfully eat your mushrooms, then pass out, and the queen and Sylin can chat without being attacked.” Rylana reached for his arm, wanting to give him a conciliatory—and maybe encouraging—pat.

But Jildarin stepped back, frowning fiercely. “My enchanted morel dish will be prepared with care and precision, not with an overdose of intestine-twisting mushrooms. To deliberately drug someone with my cooking would never be acceptable under any circumstances.”

“You drug people all the time with your magical dragon spices.”

“Those create only the pleasant side effect of making people love the food. Even if they consume large quantities, they only develop lust for each other. They don’t drop into a coma or require emergency lavatory use.” Jildarin lifted his chin, as affronted as she’d ever seen him. “I refuse to intentionally create distress in those who dine from my plates.”

Rylana lifted her hands. “I understand that you want people to enjoy your food, not get crippling cramps from it, and I don’t blame you at all. I’d certainly never suggest serving such a meal to the queen or an ally or a customer. But those elves have been harassing us in one way or another for weeks, and they may mean to kill Sylin—the queen’s daughter. It’s not what the queen wants.”

“May mean. You have no proof. Only that captain’s feeling. And the elves have not harassed me.”

“No.” Rylana lowered her hands. “That’s true. It’s only been me and my friend that they’ve been pestering since we walked into town.”

“Elves were allies to dragons in the war and for many generations before.”

“I understand.” And Rylana did. That didn’t keep her from feeling hurt that he wouldn’t stand beside her in this. Maybe she even felt a little betrayed. They were partners, and he’d said he valued her. She believed he valued her. But… not enough to go against his principles. Logically, she couldn’t blame him for that. Emotionally… Well, she doubted she kept her disappointment from showing on her face. She wouldn’t push him further though, and she forced a smile as she said, “All right. We’ll hope for the best and see what happens. I’ll take my bow and quiver upstairs for the coffee tasting. Just in case.”

The grunt Jildarin issued as she turned to leave sounded more exasperated than sympathetic.

More than concern for her friend’s safety left a knot in Rylana’s stomach, but she squared her shoulders. Before stepping out of the kitchen, she grabbed one of the normal morels off the counter.

Mindful of all the elves now seated at the booths, some of whom watched her passing, Rylana casually set it in the windowsill, the warning for Sylin that they’d arranged. But would her friend heed it?

24

As another squad of elves arrived, Rylana stepped out of the diner, intending to find a few peacekeepers to report that the queen would be visiting and to ask if some patrollers—with their sturdy golems—could arrange to be in the area in case trouble broke out. Most of the elves carried weapons tied with tranquility ribbons, but they all had the look of warriors, warriors who could swiftly untie those ribbons whenever they wanted. Further, many gave Rylana cool looks as they passed. She had little doubt that they all recognized her and had been warned she was Sylin’s ally.

“No, we don’t have any elven tea,” a crabby voice floated down from above. Brella. “This is a coffee tasting.”

Rylana wagered Captain Tassani’s pointy-eared horde didn’t represent the kinds of customers she’d hoped to serve. Fortunately for Brella’s sake, humans, goblins, orcs, trolls, and dwarves were also filtering into the diner and up the stairs on the side, some clenching fliers. A well-dressed human couple carrying pads of paper looked vaguely familiar, and she thought they were food critics for one of the newspapers. This evening, maybe they would include coffee in their column.

“Nothing to be nervous about,” Rylana muttered, daunted by all the people arriving. She wondered if Jildarin had considered that the coffee tasting would attract even more guests than usual when he’d come up with his scheme. “Lots of people to be present if trouble breaks out.”

As soon as the elves were inside, Rylana jogged down the street, looking for uniformed gnomes. She debated grabbing one of the communal bicycles parked around the city and pedaling the handful of miles to Peacekeeper Headquarters, but she worried the queen would arrive at any moment. She wanted to return, grab her bow and quiver out of the back, and make sure the weapons were close at hand by then. If the elves removed their tranquility ribbons, she would do the same, and deal with the ire of the peacekeepers who would inevitably arrive later.

“Such a complicated city.” Rylana spotted three uniformed gnomes at an intersection with a fountain.

Diverting from her bicycle idea, she trotted toward them. A copper-furred dog with a white muzzle accompanied them, and was one of the gnomes the red-haired Bixtok? Yes, and that excited tail wag belonged to his hound, Willow. Apparently, all of life enthused her, not only hunting for magical items in the forest.

As Rylana approached the group, thinking she could ask them to carry word to their headquarters to request troops in the area, it occurred to her that she could invite them to dine. Even though the trio didn’t have any golems with them, they ought to be able to summon some if the need arose. Further, since she didn’t have any proof that some or all of the elven warriors would misbehave, she didn’t know what she would report even if she were standing at the counter in Peacekeeper Headquarters.

“Hello, Bookkeeper Rylana,” Bixtok said with good cheer.