Page 22 of The Chef

Chapter Twelve

CHAR OPENED HISeyes and let out a breath. Even after a bad night’s sleep, he was still conditioned to get up at 4:30 every morning. The first forlorn chirps of birdsong were starting to ring out as a faint line of light colored the horizon. Sunrise was getting later and later as autumn really set in. It was time to start thinking about canning and bottling supplies for winter to supplement the jams and various sauces Char had already added into storage. Even if the city imported hothouse fruits and vegetables, they would be more expensive, and Char had a budget to adhere to. Everything he could bottle now would save him a ton later.

That was where he ought to be focused, yet somehow swirling thoughts and worries about Fen intruded into his plans to buy enough vinegar to start pickling. Those worries had kept him tossing and turning all night, wondering how Fen’s mission was going, whether they were safe, and whether they had been able to cook the mac and cheese or been forced to eat it cold. Had the discovery of the brownies at the bottom of the bag buoyed their spirits?

Char groaned and rubbed his hands down his face. Resolute, he threw his blankets back and climbed out of bed, heading to the wardrobe where his work clothes hung.

His room had slowly changed over the last three months. The second bed and two armor and weapons stands had vanished within a day, but eventually the two dressers and one of the blanket trunks had gone as well. His bed was turned ninety degrees and the headboard pushed against a side wall, opposite of which one longer dresser had been placed. A nightstand stood on the window side of the bed, and under the window was the remaining blanket trunk. Char quite liked the setup and as soon as he figured out which servant was responsible, he would definitely thank them. He also appreciated someone—probably Fen—had decided he got to have his own room.

Char finished getting dressed and headed down to the bathroom to wash his face. A few minutes later, he arrived into the familiar comfort of his kitchen. He tied an apron around his waist and fired up the ovens, before going to check his bread and rolls. They had risen perfectly overnight and were ready to bake once the ovens were hot enough. In the meantime, he was thinking pancakes for breakfast: one plain, and the other made with fresh blueberries inside. He needed flour and a bunch of ingredients from the pantry. Char pulled open the door to the deep room with floor to ceiling shelving on all three walls, then froze.

Something wasn’t right.

The bag of apples was open, Char noticed immediately. He kept everything in the pantry sealed to prevent bugs or animals. Some of the jars on one of the lower shelves had been moved as if someone had picked them up to try to open them. Char gingerly checked them, but his magic had been used to vacuum seal them and whomever or whatever had tried to open them didn’t have the strength to pop the lid.

Visions of Roe dosing the food with poison danced through Char’s mind as he walked deeper into the pantry. Except, thesituation was far odder than that. Only things on the lowest shelf or the floor had been touched, aside from where the bag of potatoes had been knocked over and the two indentations in the bag revealed how the jars on the second shelf directly above had been reached.

Any non-perishable leftovers were moved to the common areas when the kitchen closed at night, so there was plenty of food available for anyone coming in from a late shift or who wanted a midnight snack. They also knew better than to touch Char’s stores, something Fen had made very clear early on after some innocent late-night foraging attempts had disrupted some of Char’s meal planning. Which meant either something sinister had occurred, or something very strange.

Char spun around and stomped out of the pantry, intent on checking the cold box, and stuttered to another shocked freeze. Someone was leaning on the counter, waiting for him.

The helpers assigned to morning duty—and Karl—wouldn’t arrive for another half hour; they were probably still asleep. Besides, the stranger was dressed head to toe in black and standing in the shadowed area since Char hadn’t bothered to light any of the mage lights outside of his prep area.

“The kitchen doesn’t open until six,” Char said, trying to make out any of the stranger’s features. All he saw was shadow and dark.

“My master has an offer for you, one you can’t afford to refuse,” the stranger said. The voice was airy and higher pitched, yet masculine at the same time. Char couldn’t distinguish a gender by the sound.

“I refuse,” Char responded immediately, uninterested in what this scary individual had to offer. If it were something aboveboard, they would have met with Char when there was anaudience, not at a quarter to five in the morning, and certainly not with any distinguishing features concealed. And also not when Fen was conveniently away.

“My master can give you riches beyond all belief. You would never have to work another day in your life; never have to slave in another kitchen again,” the stranger added, their voice cajoling.

Char rolled his eyes. “Your master didn’t do his homework if he thought that would tempt me,” he replied, scoffing. Telling Char he’d never need to work in a kitchen again was guaranteed to make him say no. “Go tell him to take his scheming elsewhere. I have pancakes to make.”

“I will leave you to think over my master’s offer,” the stranger said, as if they hadn’t heard Char’s answer. “If you decline further, my master’s next offer will not be as friendly.”

The stranger turned and walked away, deeper into the darkened area of the room and then through the glass double doors leading into the massive courtyard outside. With only dimming stars to light the way, Char quickly lost sight of them.

Char let out a slow breath and rubbed his sweaty palms against his hips to dry them. That was now two people who had offered him things for no apparent reason. At least they had caught the first, but this second one seemed a touch more dangerous. Plus, someone had been rummaging through his pantry, Char remembered. The stranger was long gone; running to get Jensen now would only wake Jensen early for no reason and delay breakfast preparations. Char would catch Jensen when he came in for food.

What Char could do right now was check the cold box to see if his suspicions might be correct, so when he told Jensen about the food-stealing visitor he could provide some evidence. Charpopped open the door to the cold box and wasn’t surprised to see the cheese on the lower shelf had been moved around, and the smaller brick of cheddar was completely gone. Nothing on any of the higher shelves appeared to have been touched.

Definitely curious, but Char didn’t think anything nefarious had occurred. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything he could do about it now, and dwelling on it wouldn’t get his bread cooked. Char pulled out the last of yesterday’s milk and closed the door. He left the milk on the counter and went to his bread, which had risen on trays set into his tall cooling rack. The larger loaves took longer to cook, so Char filled his ovens with those first, checking the clock and setting a mental timer.

He retrieved the rest of his ingredients to make pancake batter and got to work, mixing the dry ingredients in one bowl and the wet in a second, so he would be ready to combine the two when it came time to cook. Char had two secret touches he used when making pancakes that made them extra fluffy. The main one was he included bananas, about one banana for four servings and the darker the outer skin the better—depending on the size of the banana, of course. He used a fork to squish the bananas into a chunky paste to mix into the flour with the wet ingredients. His second trick was to never use a spoon to mix the batter. He only used a fork and his arm strength, since a whisk couldn’t handle how thick the batter got, and this added air and volume to the batter even before it was cooked.

And all the while, Char kept looking around, glancing over his shoulder and half expecting yet another visitor to appear. When the doors opened to admit the morning’s helpers, Char let out a breath. At least now if he did get a visit from another unwelcome stranger, he had backup.

Char removed the bread from the oven, setting it aside on racks to cool, then put in the rolls while he waited for his helpersto find their aprons and conduct a few rounds of rock/paper/scissors to decide which two got stuck with the dishwashing.

He set the two soldiers who didn’t get sink duty to cleaning fruit, particularly the blueberries for the pancakes, but also strawberries, cantaloupe, honeydew, kiwi, and raspberries for a fruit salad. Blueberries were a spring fruit, and not something Char was likely to get his hands on for a few months, so he had them wash every carton still in the fridge. After the breakfast rush ended, Char would start making jam and pie filling, both of which he would bottle to use over winter. He wished he could dry blueberries too, but there weren’t enough hours in the day for that. Maybe he would be able to buy some the next time he went to market.

At some point he would have to start bottling the summer and autumn fruits too—the strawberries, raspberries, and blackberries—but one set of fruits at a time.

“What do you want me to do?” Karl asked.

Char grinned at him and passed him a fork. “You see all those bruised bananas?” Char asked, pointing to the open pantry door and the three bunches of blackening bananas on the third shelf to the left. “I need you to peel and mash them until they look like this,” Char explained, showing Karl the contents of one of the large bowls he had been working with. “I need thirty added to this bowl, and another thirty into another bowl.”

Char’s pancakes were in good shape, timewise. He had one massive bowl of dry ingredients, a second of the wet, and only the third, with the bananas, wasn’t actually ready. Pancakes were much better served fresh off the griddle, so Char left Karl to prepare the last part and moved on to his next recipe.

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