Page 22 of Tusks, Tails & Teacakes
Thirteen
Lira sweptthe back of her hand across her forehead. It had taken two hard days—and two nights of collapsing into bed across from an equally exhausted and snoring Sass—but she had finally whipped the kitchen into shape, polishing all the pots and pans until they shone and scouring the surfaces until the distinctive aroma of citrus overtook the former smell of rot and mold. Even the soot-encrusted oven had been buffed clean, and Lira had the callouses on her hands to show for it.
Now it was time for the hard part. The kitchen was clean enough for her to start cooking. It had been a long time since she’d done more than warm food over a campfire. Her hands were more accustomed tolockpicks than measuring cups at this point. Not only that, but how much did she actually remember of her gran’s recipes?
Lira closed her eyes, summoning visions of her gran's kitchen. The sticky dough beneath her fingers, the heft of the rolling pin, the flour drifting in the air like dust motes. If she concentrated hard enough, she could smell the yeast, the sugar, the aromatic spices that always tickled her nose.
She squeezed her eyes tight as she tried to remember the spidery script of her gran’s recipes in the big leather book. She could recall the words on the yellowed parchment but couldn’t remember the exact measurements.
The book. She needed the book.
“Well, you don’t have it,” she muttered, opening her eyes and reaching for the flour. “So, let's see how much you remember.”
She slid a heavy earthenware bowl in front of her and scooped several cups of fine-milled flour into it. She eyeballed it and nodded. That looked right. Then she hacked off a chunk of the cool butter. After a pause, she reached for the two daggers she’d decided to keep tucked into her waistband after Rygor’s unexpected appearance and cut the butter into the flour.
“See? You’re better at this than those dull old knives,” she whispered with a disdainful look at the nicked and warped knives she’d washed earlier.
A soft chittering sound in response made her spin around. There, perched on the open windowsill, sat a sleek, white stoat. It sat on its hind legs with dainty paws folded in front of its cylindrical body. His ears were rounded and pale pink on the insides, and his nose with a coal smudge on the white fur.
Lira stifled the urge to scream as she pressed a hand to her racing heart. She loved animals, she just wasn’t used to them wandering into her kitchen.
His face had soft gray markings around the eyes that made it appear he was wearing a tiny mask, and the creature regarded her with whatLira could have sworn was curiosity. Was he tame? He certainly didn’t behave like a wild animal.
“Hello there.” She held out a hand for him to sniff.
The fellow twitched his whiskers at her, his ink-drop eyes wide as they darted to the table and her bowl. He scampered to her, sniffed her hand, peered at the dough, and let out a gentle squeak. At least she seemed to have passed his test, although he seemed unusually curious about what was in the bowl.
“Come to critique my baking skills, have you?"
He made another series of sounds, which she could have sworn were an answer. She could have shooed him away, but she didn’t mind the company. Besides, he appeared less hostile than Sass had when they’d first met, and that wasn’t going so badly.
The stoat tilted his head, watching intently as Lira continued to mix ingredients. When she hesitated over adding more water to the dough, the creature made what she could have sworn was a disapproving sound in his throat.
Lira laughed as her hand hovered over the bowl. "Oh, so you're the expert, are you? Fine, we'll do it your way. But if this crust turns out to have the consistency of a crumpet, you'll have to answer to our patrons." She paused, remembering the tavern's sorry state and trickle of customers. "Well, to Sass and Durn, at least."
The creature rubbed his tiny white paws together in response, not at all bothered by Lira’s empty threats. As if she could blame a dodgy crust on a woodland animal anyway.
As she worked, Lira found herself relaxing. The familiar motions of mixing and rolling out dough were soothing. She found the stoat—who was as close to tame as she’d ever seen a woodland creature— to be a reassuring presence.
“Is it because you’re a rogue too?” She asked him, pointing to the pattern on his face that made a gray mask. “Is that why I don’t mind having you here? Are we kindred spirits?”
It was more likely that she wasn’t used to baking alone, and the creature’s watchful gaze and occasional chittering helped distract herfrom the reminder that her gran wasn’t there. She’d known baking alone would feel wrong and being in the kitchen would be when she missed her gran the most.
“But I’m not alone, am I?” she asked the creature. “I’ve got you.”
He made a high, trilling sound as Lira chopped the meat and vegetables for the savory pie filling, which she took as wholehearted agreement.
Soon, there were several bubbling pots on the stove and the joint of beef was roasting in the oven. The rich scent of braised meat and caramelized onions mingled with the sharp, piney notes of rosemary. The aromas saturated the air and made the tavern’s kitchen start to feel homey and inviting.
Lira dipped a spoon into one of the simmering fillings, blowing on it gently before tasting. Savory meat, perfectly seasoned, with just a hint of sweetness from the carrots and onions prompted Lira to close her eyes and sigh, relishing the flavors. It wasn't quite her gran's meat pie, but it was close enough for now.
She carefully spooned the mixture into the individual pie crusts and slid the pan into the oven, flinching as the heat blasted her in the face. That was the second batch in the oven, and the first pan of pies looked like they only needed a couple more minutes.
As she straightened, the swinging kitchen doors flung open. Sass strode in, holding her broom with tendrils of brown hair loose from her braid dangling over her forehead. Her brow was beaded with sweat, and her sleeves were shoved up past her elbows.
The stoat unfurled tiny wings that were as white as his fur and flew up to perch on one of the hanging copper pots. Once again, Lira suppressed the urge to yelp in surprise. Clearly, this was no normal stoat.
Sass’s gaze swept across the room, landing on the winged creature, who was nibbling contentedly on a spare bit of raw pastry crust. "What in Grognick’s beard is that?"
