Page 3 of The Chef

The captain studied Char for a few long moments, his eyes hard and searching. He must have come to some sort of decision because he abruptly nodded to himself, and his expression softened.

“I have a proposition for you,” he said. “Either we can leave you here with enough supplies for the three-day journey to Marketon, or you can join us. Our mission should last about two, maybe three weeks. After that, we will deliver you directly to your cousin’s doorstep.”

Char swallowed hard. He had been trying not to think about what his next steps might be until after the captain decided what to do with him. Now, his choices were equally difficult. He could attempt to finish climbing down the mountain alone, easy prey for the wild animals and the bandits. His chances of making it to Marketon at all were slim; his body would likely be left to rot where it fell, much like the mercenaries, and all of his worldly possessions stolen. The second option sounded better, but joining the captain was likely to be fraught with equal amounts of danger. Char didn’t know anything about them, nor why they were in the mountains. Although, he hadn’t really known much about the mercenaries either. They were a convenient way to be protected through the mountains—a means to an end. It sounded like he would get the same protection if he joined the captain. It would just take an extra two to three weeks to reach his destination.

“If I joined you, what would my duties be?” Char asked.

“Same as what you were doing for the mercs,” the captain replied with an easy shrug. “Cook for us, help maintain the camp, and stay out of the way during a fight.”

Joining sounded like a more certain way to survive. Char didn’t really have a choice. He stuck out his hand to shake.

“Call me Char. Pleasure to be working with you, Captain.”

Chapter Two

THEY TRAVELED FASTthe rest of the first day. After loading the donkey and locating Char’s pony, they led Char about a mile through the woods to their own camp, which they then cleaned and packed up. Then it was into the saddles, and they continued heading even farther away from the usual mountain path. They moved as quickly as the narrow path they were following allowed between the trees, rocks, and stream. They only stopped to rest the horses around lunch, during which Char enjoyed his homemade jerky.

About midafternoon, Captain Fendle abruptly turned their band north, following a game trail that wound through the trees and brush. The next few hours were slower going. They were forced to reduce their horses to a walk as they went single file down the winding trail. Char was beginning to wonder if they were going to stop at all, or whether they were going to travel through the night too, when they stepped out into a long clearing.

“Quick camp tonight,” Captain Fendle called as he dismounted. “Fast, before we lose the last of the sun.”

Captain Fendle was right. While they still had a good couple of hours before sunset, beneath the thick canopy of the trees the light was vanishing swiftly.

“What’s a quick camp?” Char asked Roe as he dismounted with the group. The name Roe was no doubt short for something, but Char knew better than to ask what. She was the soldier who had searched his bags, and she had stayed close by throughout the day. Roe was likely assigned to watch him.

“Bedrolls and canvas for shelter, rather than putting up tents. Makes us more mobile and takes up less space,” she explained. “I’m on tent duty, so I’ll get your bedroll laid out and tie a bit of canvas overhead for you.”

“Tent duty?” Char asked, wondering how they figured out assignments like that.

Roe nodded. “Better than latrine duty. Come find me later, and I’ll show you where you’re sleeping.” She trotted off with a wave, heading to a man setting up a picket line. Char followed, passing over his pony and the donkey’s reins and removing his pack, one of the bags with food, and a second bag with dishes.

“Where should I build a fire?” Char asked Captain Fendle, who was also handing over his gelding.

“There,” he responded, pointing to the center of the long clearing. “Horses and latrine over here, bedrolls on the far side. The fire in the middle will give us enough light to keep an eye on both.” He trotted off to oversee something else, so Char got to work.

He brushed clear a large space of old leaves and forest debris, all the way down to the damp earth below. The forest provided rocks to line a circle, and by the time that was done, Ralph had brought over cut logs and sticks. Char made a small pyramid and gently tucked some dry brush underneath. The flare of thematch was bright in the dim clearing, and the brush caught immediately, jumping upward into the logs.

Char left the fire to do its thing, turning instead to his bags. “What’s the water situation like?” he asked Ralph as he came over to drop another load of cut logs next to the fire.

“Tributary’s over there,” Ralph said, grunting and pointing off to the left with his chin. “‘Bout a hundred feet? The track we’re following was made mostly by deer going to find water. Captain will warn us if we need to start conserving because we’re leaving the stream.”

“Thanks,” Char said, but Ralph was already leaving again.

If there was a chance they might have to ration water later in their trip, Char would make the dishes that required it now. Calculating for thirteen—twelve soldiers...mercenaries...whatever the fighters he was traveling with called themselves—plus himself, Char started pulling out dishes and ingredients.

“Hey, Captain told me to lend you a hand,” Roe said as she jogged up to the fire. “What do you need?”

“Water, for right now. Enough to fill this pot to about here,” he explained, pointing to a line about three inches below the lip of his four-gallon pot.

“On it!” Roe grabbed two smaller pots with handles to make it easy to hang them over a fire and dashed off.

Char checked the fire was going strong, wishing he could hurry the process of getting good coals. Roe took three trips to fill the pot, and then she joined Char, sitting down in the cleared space next to the fire to wait.

Horses were picketed, fed, and watered, latrines dug, bedrolls with canvas tied to tree limbs above all laid out, and thefighters were starting to join them around the fire by the time the fire had died down enough to start cooking.

Char placed the grill over the fire, setting the four legs firmly in the earth so it wouldn’t tip, and then moved the pot of water on top to start heating. Camping food for long trips was dried, salted, dried and salted, or the rare food that didn’t spoil quickly. His options were therefore limited, but between the fighters’ own supplies and what they took from the dead mercenaries, Char had plenty of options within those categories.

He diced salt-cured beef into half-inch cubes and julienned dried mushrooms, setting both aside when he was done. By the time he located the pouch of dried peas, the water was boiling. He let it go for a full minute before ladling some into one of the pots Roe had abandoned, setting that onto the fire to continue boiling. Once the smaller pot was going strong, Char dumped in an entire bag of dried quadretti; the small pasta squares immediately starting to plump up. Next, he placed two large, deep-sided iron skillets onto the grill. He ladled about a quarter cup of the pasta-flavored water into each before dropping all three dried ingredients inside. Dried spices were next: rosemary, dill, garlic, onion, and a touch of red pepper. No additional salt, because the beef was already salty. The dried ingredients soaked up the water almost immediately, rehydrating and starting to steam. A sauce was next. He macerated sundried tomatoes, which then got their own pot, another complement of spices, and a full cup of the pasta water.

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