Page 19 of The Signature Dish of the Underworld

“You know what I understand, Garth? I understand the books. I look at them, just like you, every night when we close. I see how many tokens you send off to Zeus. Fifty percent of them! All because yourstupidgreat-great grandfather agreed to that ridiculous libation tax with him! Who the hell agrees for libation power in exchange for fifty percent of their profits?! Anddon’teven get me started on the fact that Zeus never pays his bill when he’s down here. The cook-off token prize is theonlything that has kept this place afloat the last five centuries. You know it, I know it, the whole team knows it. It’s why we work so hard for you. You’re willing to throw all of that away, just for her to catch her break?”

“Yes, I am.”

Nika sighed. “You can’t help the poor by getting poorer, Garth.”

Before she could hear any more, Rae forced herself to head back inside and ask Tomas to fetch her jacket instead.

***

Rae wriggled around in an uncomfortable silver dress. The awards show envelope that had spat through her house door yesterday was welcome, it meant she was a finalist again, but she hadn’t realised until this moment that meant she had to go to the show and lose in public ... again.

When was enough going to be enough?

There was no way Garth had been serious about pulling out of the festival. Nika would have talked him out of it, Rae was sure of that.

“Can you believe we’re at another one of these things?” Geras said, interrupting Rae's thoughts, as he handed her a glass of bubbly wine the colour of peaches. “Not that you ever win this silly little thing you insist on competing in anyway.”

“Can we just go in and get it over with?” Rae muttered, putting the untouched glass back on one of the moving side tables that was going around collecting and dispersing drinks.

“Come now, Sunshine. You should be celebrating! It’s an awards night!” Garth appeared in front of Rae and Geras, smiling that suave smile of his, his hair slicked back and a tux sharpening his look.

Rae was about to berate him – wondering where he’d come from and why he’d been eavesdropping – when another tall, white daemon schmuck waddled up to the group.

“Geras, of Geras’ Grub?” he said.

“Yes,” Geras smiled, the smile taking up his whole face in a maniacal way.

“My name is Plutus, I’m an Olympic investor. If you and your—” a glance at Rae, “cook win tonight, I’d like to discuss making you an offer.” He handed Geras a card, a vigorous handshake passed between them, and that was that as Plutus wandered off to go schmooze another schmuck.

“Well then,” Garth clapped his hands. “Shall we head on in to the awards?”

Geras nodded, striding ahead of them. Garth went to follow, until Rae grabbed his elbow and tugged him back towards hers – hard.

“What the hell was that?”

“What the hell was what?” Garth feigned an innocent look.

“Why is an Olympic investor getting Geras’ hopes up?”

“Is he?” Garth raised an eyebrow at her. Then he placed his hand on the small of her back and nudged Rae into the awards show with him.

***

“And the winner is … Rae from Geras’ Grub!”

Rae barely remembered being pulled up from her seat by an ecstatic Geras. Or being pushed towards the stage by an over-enthusiastic Garth. She didn’t remember the judge handing a sack of tokens, so heavy it felt like a sack of potatoes, or the delight on Queen Persephone’s face when Hades presented her with Rae’s dish to try.

It all felt like a surreal, slow-motion, dream.

One which was announced in bold lettering across the top of the ν?α the next morning: GERAS’ GRUB TAKES TOP SPOT IN Vraveío Astéri! There was a brief paragraph talking about the “smart hire” Geras had made in bringing Rae into the fold “to bake out back”, and how he had generously – out of the kindness of his heart and not his pocket – backed Rae to win every century.

The picture was one of Geras standing outside the bistro, arms raised triumphantly. Rae wondered when the photo had been taken. When had they come to talk to Geras?

Of course, there was also a paragraph dedicated to the dish that had won it all. Rather surprisingly, there was a sentence or two from Geras about how he had come up with the inspiration for the winning dish and, with the help of Rae, perfected it.

But there was no mention of the grand-champion daemon, or why he had chosen to pull out of the cook-off. It hadn’t even mentioned that hehadpulled out of the cook-off.

“I see you went and won this thing!” Simon commented, as normal business resumed and Rae served him his morning kylix of coffee.

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