Page 30 of The Chef

“This is Shan,” Karl explained. “He can contribute too!”

Char snapped his mouth shut, but before he could come up with something to say, Zain blew into the room, her footsteps slapping with command against the tiled floor. She was wearing her leather practice armor and cut an authoritative figure that had all three kids staring at her.

“I arranged school for you two.” She paused as she caught sight of Shan, then amended her statement. “For you three. You’ll be attending with my youngest son. Be ready to leave at eight. Emily, with me.” She headed off, taking her aura of authority with her, going outside where she could terrorize the troops through morning drill, Emily trotting in her wake.

Since the decision on whether Shan was staying had just been neatly taken out of Char’s hands, he shrugged and let it go.

“How can you contribute, Shan? Do you know anything about cooking?”

Shan first shook his head, then nodded. “Not food, but I’m real good with knives. I think I’d like sticking a knife in a potato more than in a guy’s belly though.”

Char very much did not want to know, so he didn’t ask. Ralph opened his mouth, then closed it while shaking his head, so apparently he didn’t want to know either.

“Potatoes it is,” Char finally said, since home fries would be a good accompaniment to the egg sandwiches. “Karl, I need thirty-five potatoes and ten onions cleaned. Shan, I’ll show you how to cut the potatoes as soon as they’re ready, so why don’t you help Karl clean them for a bit?”

Char got everyone else situated at their tasks and returned to making muffins and cooking the bread. About twenty minutes passed before Shan walked over.

“Um, Mr. Char, sir?”

“Call him Chef!” Karl yelled over the sound of splashing water at the sink, where he was scrubbing potatoes.

“Um, Chef, we have lots of potatoes ready,” Shan continued.

Char dusted the flour off his hands and went to retrieve two knives—one from his personal set, and the second for Shan to use from the kitchen set.

“Curl your fingers into a cat’s paw,” Char explained, demonstrating with the hand holding one of the damp potatoes in place on a cutting board. “That way you don’t cut yourself.”

“Oh, I don’t have to worry about that!” Shan exclaimed. He grabbed the other knife and sliced it across his palm before Char could do more than let out a yelp. His palm flared with magic, a blue-green mix that said Shan hadn’t settled on whether he wanted to go the route of the household—blue—or of the body—green. When he pulled the knife away, he was uninjured.

“I see,” Char said, trying to channel what he remembered of the magic tutor his parents had hired when Char was about Shan’s age. “Magic is very useful and the fact that you know how to use it to protect yourself is impressive, but magic has limitations. It is not an endless well of power inside you, and it will run out. If you do not learn how to use a knife correctly, what will you do when your magic reserves are empty, and you’re asked to slice potatoes again?”

Shan was definitely a street kid, probably in the same gang or group as Karl. What had Char confused, though, was that he didn’t have to be. Children with magic were sent to special schools to train them at the expense of the crown, particularly the children from poorer families that couldn’t afford the private tutors Char’s family had provided him. All schools in Toval were crown-funded, but the magic ones specialized not only in teaching children to use their magic, but also in helping them find employment after graduation. Shan should have jumped at the chance to attend, yet here he was instead. Shan’s background was definitely mysterious, but it wasn’t Char’s mystery to solve. If Shan was going to be Char’s responsibility in the kitchen—when he wasn’t in school per Zain’s orders—then at the very least Char was going to ensure Shan knew what he was doing.

Shan pursed his lips as he thought, and then he let out a little sigh. “I’d probably cut myself and bleed lots. So, a cat’s paw?” He placed his hand on a second potato, his fingers curled.

Char showed him how to do a medium dice. “Slowly. Speed is not the goal. You want the pieces to all be the same shape to ensure they cook evenly, which is much more important than cutting quickly.”

Char watched Shan slice at the potato. He was slower than Char but fairly precise. Speed would come with practice, and Char was impressed by how evenly shaped Shan’s dice was. The only problem was every time Shan sank the knife into a cut, his magic flared in a bright blast, strobing in the room.

“You need to be slow with your magic too,” Char said, his voice going deeper as he reached for the meditative chant that was almost second nature at this point. “Breathe in...and out...and in...and out...” Char continued, saying the words at a smooth beat, gratified when Shan followed the instructions perfectly. The pace of his cutting moderated to match his breathing. “Pull the magic evenly in a constant flow,” Char said, still at the same cadence. “Let it coat your hand in a thin glove.” The flaring slowed and then dimmed until Shan’s hand glowed with a constant light. The power was more like a gauntlet than a glove, too thick and uneven, but Shan had the idea of it now. Like his cutting, he would improve with practice.

Char returned to his bread and muffins. When he paused to get a large pot of salted water and vinegar boiling for the eggs and to fill a deep-sided skillet with oil for the fries, a quick check on Shan showed he was still doing well.

The morning passed quickly, and it wasn’t too long before the first diners began trickling in. Char was distracted with poaching eggs, but he still looked up almost instinctively when Fen walked in.

Fen immediately looked over at Char. His lips lifted just the slightest at the corners, and his eyes twinkled. Char’s cheeks heated, and he ducked his head, looking down at the raw egg he had just cracked into the custard cup in his hand. He gave the simmering water in the pot on the stove between them a spin with a spoon to renew the swirling vortex before gently lowering the custard cup and pouring the egg into the water to begin cooking. In the half second that took, Char’s cheeks cooled enough he felt safe looking up again.

Fen was closer, heading toward the end of the serving area to retrieve a plate. Still smiling at Char, his eyes crinkled at the corners, and the heat in Char’s cheeks flared back up. Fen reached out to grab a plate but paused with his hand in midair to glance over his shoulder. Char noted the silence and followed his gaze, blinking as nearly every single person sitting at the dining tables abruptly looked away or averted their eyes. The general din of conversation picked back up, and Char’s cheeks hit the Scoville scale again as he realized everyone had been watching them interact. When Fen looked back at Char, he winked and finally picked up a plate. Except, when he turned to look at the food on offer, he slowly put the plate back down. Char had sent Karl and Shan to eat a minute ago so they would be ready to leave for school on time, and the two of them were busy filling their plates exactly where Fen could see them.

“You two, with me!” Fen barked out, pointing first at Karl and Shan and then at the ground directly in front of him. The boys obeyed, leaving their plates in the serving area as they shuffled over to Fen.

“Who are you and how did you get here?” Fen asked, his voice only marginally quieter and still as stern and unyielding.

“Um, sir, this is Shan,” Karl explained, gulping, both boys shivering under Fen’s glare. “Err, Shannen Mitely. It was just us. Him, me, and Emily. And then I ended up here, and Shan helped get Emily safe, so I hoped I could help Shan too? He snuck in when the guard at the gate took his nighttime pee break, same as Emily.”

Fen let out a very slow, very heavy breath and pinched the bridge of his nose for a long moment. He looked at Char. “Who approved him staying here?”

“Captain Zain, when she saw him this morning,” Char replied immediately.

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