Page 7 of The Chef

“So you’re Greath?” someone called as they drew close to the camp. “We heard the Blood Lions were coming, but no one said when you’d be here.”

The man who stepped forward had a massive scar carved through his face, his left eye a milky-white ruin, but he was massive and muscled like a bear. An equally massive mace hung from his hip. The patch on his shirt over his heart was sky blue, with a thick, jagged line around the edge that looked like teeth.

“You must be Tarken from the Cannibals?” Fendle replied, his tone jovial and unconcerned. “Sorry about the timing bit. Had to wait for the money to come in first. You know how it is. Where do you want us to set up camp?”

“You’re the last mercenary group we’re expecting, so you get the area at the far end of the beach. A little rocky. Hope that doesn’t hurt your delicate sensibilities,” Tarken said, snark clear in his voice. He glanced at Char and the very heavily laden pack donkey and sneered. Char hoped none of the mercenaries had met Greath before. Tarken clearly hadn’t since Fendle didn’tlook much like the bearded man with prominent cheeks and a receding hairline he had replaced. However, Greath’s reputation for hedonism had definitely preceded him. That was the only explanation Char could think of for that sneer.

“I’m sure we’ll manage. Let’s go,” Fendle said as he called out to the group.

They rode through the pathway between the tents, heading toward the farthest point in the camp, eventually arriving at a rocky outcropping adjacent to the lake and the woods.

“Let’s set up,” Fendle called, dismounting and stepping aside to wait as the rest of the group got to work, Char included.

Used to Fendle’s way of setting up camp, Char located a good spot for a cooking fire in the center of the space. Flat without much leaf debris, yet still dirt rather than rock so he could dig downward to make a pit if he wanted to roast anything. They were going to be here for a while, so it made sense to set up a proper outdoor cooking fire. To that end, Char commandeered one of the shovels usually used to dig a latrine and hollowed out a bowl in the dirt. He lined the edges with rocks to keep the fire from spitting out and to provide stability to the grill, which he placed over the pit. There was enough room underneath the grill to safely add more wood, and the grill was also high enough Char wouldn’t have to wait nearly as long for the fire to die down before it was suitable for cooking.

Naomi was apparently on kitchen duty. While Char worked, she brought all the bags from the donkey over, and once that was finished, started bringing wood next. Char left the bags packed, since that was the best way to keep vermin out, but he arranged them so cooking utensils and ingredients were to the right and the plates and silverware were next to the extra wood to the left. He got the fire started and sat back on his heels to watch it catch and the logs start to crackle before letting out a breath.

Preparations were done; it was time to start cooking a late lunch. Something lighter, Char thought as he dug through his ingredients, to get them through the handful of hours until dinner. Naomi had also filled his usual pot of water. He cut meat into small cubes and left it to soak in about half an inch of water to soften and hopefully remove some of the salt. A double handful of every single type of dried vegetable and mushroom went in a separate pan with water to do the same. Next, he pulverized dried quadretti until he had a fine powder, added water, and mixed until a simple dough formed. If Char had eggs, he would have made a pie crust, but reconstituting flour-derived pasta without the addition of fresh eggs meant his best bet was to make another pasta. He rolled the dough out flat and thin, estimating for enough to make about a hundred tortellini.

Char left the dough to rest, instead turning to the vegetables. He pulled out the rehydrated peas, which were nice and plump. He smooshed them into a paste in a bowl, mixing in parsley, onion, and garlic powder, and just a touch of water and travel-safe oil. Oregano and basil would have provided the depth of flavor he usually looked for in tortellini, and heavy cream rather than water to smooth out the pea puree would have provided a silky texture and a richness to the palate, but he made do as he had been doing the entire trip. Once the peas were fully mixed, he drained and dried the rest of the vegetables and meat and tossed them into the bowl and mixed until everything was thoroughly coated with the puree. Lastly, he had to actually make the tortellini.

He dolloped small spoonfuls of the mixture in straight lines along the dough. Once he had all hundred ready, he cut along those lines, creating a hundred individual squares. Each square became a pouch around the puree, and Char twisted and pressed on the dough until he had a shape approximating a propertortellini. It wasn’t perfect, but he was learning to live with minor issues.

“When do you want to eat lunch?” he asked, looking up to find Naomi, Ralph, and Fendle standing next to the fire, watching him work.

“Whenever it’s ready,” Fendle replied.

“Right.” Char focused on twisting dough, finishing the last dozen or so. He popped a finished one in his mouth, testing it properly. The dough was gummy, the puree cold and slimy, but the tastes were as perfect as he could get them. He couldn’t detect anything that shouldn’t be there, and the issues with the rest would resolve with cooking.

For ninety-nine tortellini, Char used the big pot, salting the water before gently dropping them in and monitoring the strength of the boil to ensure the temperature was as exact as he could make it and the water wasn’t moving so vigorously it popped the dough open. The tortellini started to float almost immediately, but the dough needed at least another minute to cook through.

There wasn’t a way to make a proper sauce, not without tomatoes or cheese or cream. Instead, Char dug out some clean pans and coated them in oil and some of the same spices as were inside the tortellini. He added a large spoonful of starchy pasta water and let it heat slowly. When the tortellini were done, he spooned them into the pans, flipped his wrist so the contents mixed, and started filling outheld plates.

The food vanished far too quickly, but the mix of protein, vegetables, and starch was filling so no one came back for seconds. Char wished he had crostini to offer as a side to offer a balance of texture, but they didn’t have any yeast, flour, eggs, or already cooked fresh bread to toast.

As everyone brought their dirty plates back, Fendle pointedly cleared his throat.

“I have been invited to a meeting of all the merc leaders this afternoon,” he explained, his voice low so it wouldn’t carry past their group. “Finish setting up the camp, and you all know the rest of your roles here.” He waited for everyone to nod and begin to disperse before he turned to Char. “Your role is solely to cook,” he continued in an even softer voice. “As long as you remember that, it doesn’t matter who approaches you or what they ask. Okay?”

“I understand. Is there anything more I should do that would help?”

Fendle shook his head. “No. We’ve set up your tent and the ones assigned kitchen duty will handle cleaning the dishes. You can spend your day however you like until it’s time to start cooking dinner. If you idle away the rest of your time without concern, that will help the illusion that you were hired only to satisfy my vanity.”

Char nodded and grinned. “I can do that.” He paused, then tacked on the worries spinning through his head. “Be safe in that meeting.”

Fendle blinked at him for a brief moment, then grinned. “No need to worry about me. Although I appreciate your concern.” His eyes softened and he dropped a hand on Char’s shoulder, squeezing gently.

He left and Char held in a sigh, not willing to vocalize the strange, shivery feeling the warmth of Fendle’s hand incited.

He didn’t want to dwell on it, so Char went to go figure out where his tent was located. He would focus on getting his personal items situated so he would be prepared for the next fewdays in camp, and maybe that would banish the memory of that far-too-inviting warmth from his mind.

Chapter Four

THE LAKE WASserene and still, a deep blue reflecting the almost cloudless sky. The only ripples on the surface were from the occasional gentle wind gust and the splashes of the handful of people doing something in the shallows off to Char’s left. He walked in the opposite direction, heading away from the encampment, enjoying the quiet punctuated by birdsong and the occasional rustle of something larger in the leaf litter below the trees. He didn’t go too far, though, not willing to get completely out of sight of his group. Fendle was probably correct that if anyone found him suspicious, he could be questioned or simply made to disappear, so he made certain the fire from his kitchen area stayed perfectly visible. Still, the peace helped the next few hours pass quickly, and Char was glad for the respite from riding. He wasn’t looking forward to dinner, though, since he only had the same set of basic, salty ingredients he had been cooking with for days. He wanted a butcher where any kind of fresh meat was available, a dairy for milk, cheese, and butter—he desperately wanted to cook with butter again—a bakery for yeasted bread and flour to make pasta, and a large farmers market with recently picked produce as far as the eye could see. He wasn’t going to get any of that out here; only dried, salted meat of questionable origin, pasta he wouldn’t want toserve to his enemy, and vegetables that were more crumble than substance. Char was tired of it, but he would make do. He only had to remind himself that once they survived this adventure, he had the endless resources of his cousin’s kitchen to look forward to.

Except... Char gasped and dashed closer to the edge of the woods, kneeling down to feather his fingers through the long green strands growing there. Tipped with little white flowers, the stems looked at first glance like overgrown grass. He bent closer, sniffing, and grinned. Sharp and pungent onion flooded his nose.

Char glanced around and his grin grew. This entire stretch of bank between the trees and the water was filled with the long green strands. So much of it that Char could harvest some the entire time they were camped here and not hurt the ecosystem.

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