Page 5 of The Chef

“I’m sorry!” Fendle’s eyes were soft with remorse. He reached for Char as if to pat him on the shoulder or even draw him into a hug, and yet he returned his hand to his side a moment later without making contact. “I didn’t mean anything bad by that! I promise. Just…anyone else in your position would have been demanding an explanation by now, and you’ve been content to go along with us without complaint. You confuse me, to be honest.”

Char tried to let the hurt go. The feelings were like a sore tooth; if you poked at it while it was healing, the pain flared up again. Fendle didn’t know Char well enough to purposefully hit him on such a personal issue, so he couldn’t have meant to be mean. He deserved an explanation too.

“I’m— I love cooking. More than anything else, I really love cooking. In the restaurant business, you very rarely get to actually see or hear people enjoy your food, so being with you all has actually been a nice change. Figuring out what I can cook with such limited ingredients and dishes over a fire has been such a unique challenge. Yes, I do wonder where we’re going and why, but this opportunity trumps that. I’m having fun.”

Fendle grinned, and suddenly his captain’s veneer faded. He looked five years younger, softer, and more approachable.

“I put a sword to your neck, and your initial concern was that I not drip blood in your oatmeal. I’d say you really love your cooking. Nothing wrong with being passionate about something. My father had to force me to leave the training ring when I was a kid and practically had to tie me to my chair in the schoolroom until he finally found an instructor smart enough to couch the math and history from a military standpoint to keep me interested. My brother says I love my sword more than our mother, which isn’t true, but I do see how my words earlier came out wrong.”

“Forgiven and forgotten,” Char replied, smiling back when he realized his words were true. The hurt had faded, dissipated by Fendle’s understanding. “Before I sidetracked us, I believe you were about to assuage my, erm, absent curiosity?”

Fendle blinked and stopped staring at Char, as if remembering they had a reason to be huddled together at the edge of a clearing in the middle of the forest.

“Right. I’m trusting you with this. Betray me and leaving you helpless on the side of a mountain will be the least of your worries.” His hard glare returned, and he stared Char down for a long moment before looking away. Magic flared, a gentle green light that meant it was military. Char’s was blue for household-type magic. The back of Fendle’s hand glowed for a brief second in the pattern of the House of Etoval. “We’re a special mercenary group hired by the crown to investigate threats to the country and respond to them using clandestine means. We were sent to infiltrate a growing camp of mercenaries located near Lake Estaral, identify whether they are hired by or otherwise funded by Namin, and ascertain their final orders. We targeted the mercenary group that hired you because they were also traveling to the lake, and we’re going to assume their identities tomorrow. I’m now Captain Maximillian Greath, a known hedonist who would be willing to waste coin on dragging a professional chef into the middle of nowhere. I need you to be a level two—whichever tier you think is best—who can’t use magic. Do you think you can help us out with this mission? I promise, when we return to Etoval you’ll be well compensated.”

“You don’t look anything like Greath, you know,” Char replied, although a growing excitement was building in his chest. He wasn’t only working with fighters or mercenaries, he was working with spies! That put a whole new flavor to his cooking resume, even if he could never put it on paper or prove it. Moreseriously, he replied, “I’ll have to dig out some hand protectors, if I’m going to pretend to be a level two.”

Fendle grinned at him again, returning to looking younger and more approachable. Char swallowed, wondering why that smile made his stomach feel tight and fluttery. He usually felt this way when being handed a new or unusual ingredient. The excitement of the challenge coupled with the fear of not doing the ingredient proper justice with his cooking was what usually sent his body into overdrive. Never before had a smile come anywhere close, and Char didn’t know what to make of it. He tried to ignore himself, focusing on more immediate needs.

“I’ll do my best to play the role you need me to. Thank you for including me,” he added. A glance over at the fire showed the coals were starting to glow cherry red as the flames reduced down to proper cooking levels.

“I’ll do my best to continue including you in the future,” Fendle replied. “Now, my stomach is growling, and I can feel the rest of the team staring at us, wondering when dinner is going to be ready.” He laughed. “I won’t hold you up any longer.”

Char grinned back and returned to the fire. He got the grill set up, the large pot of water starting to heat, and pulled out his cutting board, knives, and ingredients, then got to work. He rushed a bit, since he could also feel the hungry stares focused on his back, so he wasn’t pleased with the evenness of the cut he made on the meat and some of the potatoes were different sizes. Definitely not top-quality work, but he wasn’t going to be graded on it so he didn’t worry. Twenty-five minutes later, he started dishing out portions onto outheld plates.

The last plate was for him. Char plated his own dinner, his stomach also rumbling, and set the skillet aside to cool. He found a fork and dug in.

Smooth, yet firm potatoes mixed with the diced meat—still too salty, but it balanced out the otherwise bland parboiled potatoes—and the pleasant snap of rehydrated vegetables. Garlic, onion, a touch of red pepper to elevate the flavors. Except, as Char continued chewing, a strange, mild earthiness ran over his tongue. The flavor jangled, fighting with the rest of the ingredients. Subtle, with a slightly bitter aftertaste to his magic-trained taste buds, Char couldn’t figure out what ingredient might have caused it.

“Did I put any powdered mushrooms in this dish?” Char asked aloud, mostly talking to himself as he licked the tines of his fork, trying to figure out how that peculiar flavor had gotten into his food.

“Everyone, freeze!” Fendle abruptly snapped, his eyes wide as he stared at Char with a dawning look of horror growing across his face.

“Poison,” one of the fighters whispered, the word echoing through the silent clearing, and suddenly Char knew exactly what that awful flavor was.

Chapter Three

SOMEONE HAD MESSEDwith his food.Someonehadtouchedhis food!

Char growled. “Who put fool’s mushroom in my hash?”

“Who was on kitchen duty today?”

“Ralph!”

“How bad is fool’s mushroom?”

“What do we do?”

Char couldn’t keep track of who was saying what or the growing panic, too furious to focus on individual voices.

“Ralph, did you poison us?”

“Absolutely not. I hate kitchen duty, but not that much!”

“Ralph’s tried to poison us multiple times with his bad cooking, but not like this,” someone joked, but it fell flat as no one laughed.

Except…someonewaslaughing. Char joined everyone in turning to look at Roe, who was grinning and giggling.

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