Page 21 of The Chef

The first rush hit exactly at 6:00 a.m. when the doors opened, and Char worked flat out on making more eggs as the large serving bowls kept emptying. When that rush died down, Char knew they had about a half hour before the second rush hit, mostly comprised of the fifty or so servants who completed morning chores first and ate after.

“Hey, break time. Let’s eat while we have a chance,” Char called to his four helpers. Karl had yet to reappear, and if he didn’t show up by the time they were done eating, Char would have to send Omir out hunting for him. Omir would appreciate the break from shredding yet more cheese.

Char let his helpers line up ahead of him, watching them fill their plates and grab cups of tea. Char was just reaching for a plate when someone walked into the dining hall. He was trained to let customers enjoy before he did, so Char stepped back and turned to look, words of welcome on the tip of his tongue.

The man wasn’t wearing the usual brown pants and white shirt of the rest of the royal guard, nor was he wearing armor that said he was going on or off duty. In fact, Char didn’t recognize him at all, and Char was getting pretty good with at least knowing the faces of all his regular customers. The man’s clothes didn’t look like anything from any of the other military units in the complex either, what with the embroidery at the hems and cuffs and the tailored, personalized cut of the jacket.

The man looked around for a minute, caught sight of Char, and walked over, his stride arrogant and full of purpose.

“I’ve heard this is the best place to eat around here,” he said, his lip curling slightly into a full-on sneer.

If all he wanted was some food, Char was happy to feed him, but Char had a sinking feeling he really wanted something else. Still, Char could play along.

When Char had first started cooking here about a month ago during his trial and error—mostly error—period, word had gotten out to other units within the military complex that his food was much better than any of the other dining halls. There had been a sudden influx of additional people to feed, none of whom Char had planned or budgeted for. He had trouble keeping the serving area full of food, and often ran out of ingredients before the meal times ended. Fen had stepped in and brought over a wide-mouthed jar, which lived on the end of the serving counter closest to the door.

“Visitors are always welcome,” Char replied. “However, anyone who doesn’t have the commander’s permission is required to give a donation first.” He waved toward the jar. Since most soldiers weren’t paid nearly enough, the crowds of outsiders had immediately vanished. Food was free for them in the other halls after all. Occasionally, some soldiers from other units still stopped by to “treat themselves,” as they referred to it, but the numbers were much more manageable now.

The man sneered at the jar. He moved closer to Char and bent his head as if he wanted to share a secret. “Someone with your talents deserves a much nicer kitchen than this. If you’re willing to work with me, I can ensure you move up in culinary society.”

Karl walked in the door. His hair was still damp, and his cheeks red from scrubbing or the hot water, but he was clean. He saw the stranger and froze, going wide-eyed in shocked recognition. Apparently, Karl knew who the man was, even when only able to look at the man’s back.

Char took a step farther away from the stranger and said, with his eyes focused on Karl pointedly, “Sir, I’m sure Vice-Captain Jensen would be happy to hear about your ideas.”

Karl nodded, spun, and dashed back out the door.

The man frowned at Char. “You’re going to miss out on a rare opportunity if you say no to me,” he said, his voice still low and cajoling, although notes of anger had crept in.

Char took another step backward. “I like working here, and I don’t have any need for help getting anywhere in society.” Char was aware his four helpers as well as the few stragglers still at the tables had all abandoned their plates and were coming over, at which point this would get uglier than it already was. Luckily, Jensen strode into the room before it reached that point.

Jensen didn’t look winded or as if he had been dragged here from some other task, but Karl dashed in behind him, and he was panting for breath.

“Second Minister Protus, what brings you here?” Jensen asked, walking swiftly over to Protus’s side. “I wasn’t aware the royal guard had an inspection today. Is this a surprise one?” He grinned widely at Protus. “Come, we can talk in Commander Fenwick’s office.” He waved one hand in the direction of the doors, still smiling. Protus huffed but went, and Char let out a heavy breath of relief as Protus vanished from view.

“Thank you,” Char said to Karl.

“Luckily the captain was in his office, just at the top of the stairs,” Karl explained. “But, man, he’s fast. The second I said you were in trouble, poof! Now I know why I failed their running test thing.”

“Nah,” Omir cut in, clapping Karl genially on the back. “Jensen’s just really fast. No one can beat him on the track. You failed because you’re slow and out of shape.” He eyed Karl’s skinny frame with a wry twist to his lips that said he had also noticed how underfed Karl looked. “Anyway, time’s a’wastin. Better get your breakfast before the mobs reappear.”

Karl didn’t wait to be told twice, grabbing a plate and filling it. Char followed, and joined the rest of his morning crew as everyone took their seats at a nearby table.

“You recognized Protus?” Char asked Karl, who was busy stuffing his face.

Karl nodded. “He’s in charge of the court stuff for the military,” he replied, his mouth full. To everyone’s relief, he swallowed before continuing. “Minimum sentence for a first offense of attempted robbery is a month. He sentenced me to six. Of course I’m gonna remember someone that nasty.”

“I wonder what he was doing here, then?” Sherri asked. She reached out and repositioned Karl’s hand around his fork—reminding Char that she had kids of her own—so he wasn’t holding it like a shovel.

“I’m sure Jensen is finding that out right now,” Char answered. He had emptied his plate, and he needed to get back into the kitchen to start prepping lunch and to continue rolling pasta for dinner, but he had been up since three and taking the respite to enjoy being off his feet was far too tempting.

He definitely found it interesting Protus had approached him the first morning Fen was away. He also wondered if someone else in the room had been closely watching Char’s response to report back. Char completely understood the position he was in. His life might revolve almost exclusively around food and cooking, but Char wasn’t completely checked out of reality. He was an outsider of origins that hadn’t been made public, with access to a royal prince and the entirety of the royal guard. And, if anyone had seen how close Fen and Char had been sitting this morning—had seen Fen’s caress of Char’s face or the way Char had melted like butter in a hot pan—they would know Char was even closer to Fen than just being his private chef.

“Don’t worry,” Omir said. “A whole bunch of people saw him try to threaten you today. No one gossips as much as soldiers. Give it an hour and every royal guard will know what happened, and I bet an honor guard will be in place by tonight. By tomorrow every soldier in this complex will know too, and they’ll add to your protection detail. No one threatens one of our own.” He grinned at Char.

“Thanks,” Char replied with a smile in return.

The first diners of the morning’s second rush began trickling in. Char sighed but started collecting his dishes.

“Time to get back to work.”

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