Page 9 of Morel Dilemma

With the cookbooks clutched to his chest, Jildarin looked like he wanted to find a quiet corner of the kitchen to peruse them thoroughly, but he instead joined Rylana as she stepped into the dining room.

“I trust Zilek will be no more successful in wooing the elven lady with a second batch,” he murmured as they headed for a booth the landlord had claimed. Whatever he wanted to discuss hadn’t kept him from ordering a poached-eggs dish.

“Not unless she wishes him to be.” Though she’d already told Jildarin as much, Rylana added, “I warned her all about that soup.”

He nodded. That was the only reason he’d been willing to make it for his brother, apparently having no interest in aiding him with seducing unsuspecting women.

The landlord, Aztor, was prone to surliness, and Rylana braced herself when he spotted them and rose from his seat. Surprisingly, he looked around with almost a glum expression before meeting their gazes.

“I regret to inform you,” he said, “that I won’t be renewing your lease next month. You’ll have to move your business to another establishment.”

“What?” Jildarin asked. “Just a few days ago, you approved the rooftop seating area, provided the elven plant master was the one to design and implement it.”

“I’m aware, but I have a… new tenant who wants the building and will pay a premium.”

Rylana squinted at him. “This is a negotiating tactic, right? Since the lease is up for renewal and the diner is profitable, you want to increase the rent.”

She didn’t like the idea, but she couldn’t blame the landlord for desiring to implement an annual increase. She did hope, however, that he wouldn’t attempt to price gouge them because of their business success. Maybe Jildarin shouldn’t have hung the glowing golden whisk in the window after winning that contest…

Aztor shook his head. “I’ve already told the other tenant that he can have the place. Sorry about that.” He placed a couple of coins on the table for his meal, then started toward the door.

Jildarin reached out and gripped his shoulder to stop him. “Why would you do that when we are currently leasing your establishment? We create no trouble.”

“Not now anyway,” Rylana added, “since the soup recipe has been perfected, and we’ve stopped letting Rolf scheme to host org— er, organized love-ins.” She wanted to say more but also didn’t want to appear too desperate in case this was part of Aztor’s negotiating strategy. She couldn’t imagine what else it would be. Otherwise, why would he kick them out to bring in an unestablished tenant?

The landlord eyed the hand on his shoulder with concern, though he covered his wariness with a hostile glower. “If you manhandle me, I will speak to my lawyer about ending your lease prematurely, and you’ll have to leave this month.”

“I am, in fact, dragonhandling you,” Jildarin said, “but without force or inflicting pain.”

“Let go.”

Jildarin looked at Rylana, his eyebrows raised. Wanting advice?

“We can’t keep him here against his will,” she said.

“The pantry door has a lock. After the goblin arsonist ignited my ingredients and we had to replace everything, I had Gniknik install one.”

It took Rylana a moment to realize he meant they could keep the landlord against his will. But locking someone in the pantry was hardly a long-term solution.

“Unhand me,” Aztor said, glancing around, “or I’ll call for the peacekeepers, and they will force you to leave your diner this very day. I will, at least, give you until your lease is up.”

Jildarin frowned at him.

Rylana grasped his wrist and pulled on it, urging him to release the man.

Jildarin sighed and did so. Aztor scurried out the door.

“Humans are very confusing.” Jildarin looked around the dining room with distress furrowing his brow. The thought of leaving distressed Rylana as well, and she hadn’t been working at the diner nearly as long.

“That is an interesting business practice,” came Zilek’s observation from the hallway.

Rylana hadn’t realized he’d remained and turned to face him.

“And since that man is known for having some acumen in that area,” Zilek continued, “an odd choice.”

“You know Aztor?” Rylana asked.

“Vaguely.” Zilek waved his fingers. “He’s come to the wine conclave a few times. I understand he’s a self-made entrepreneur and has accumulated much real estate and some degree of wealth, but he’s hardly considered cultured or sophisticated. Worse, he considers those dreadful hybrid wines with the foxy aroma to be palatable. It’s appalling. It’s because of his wife, who has much superior taste in all walks of life, that he’s permitted to attend.”