Chương 23: The Second Knife

Tovan's first cut was slower than mine would have been. He placed the knife against the thicker end of the collar, pressed lightly, and changed the angle before cutting. The blade followed a pale line of fat until it reached the band of tissue running through the center. He stopped there.

"This is the part you want separated," he said. The inner strip carried the densest mana in the cut. It gathered close to the connective tissue in a heavy current, much like the energy around a monster-boar shoulder joint.

"I can feel more pressure there," I said. Tovan leaned closer without placing his hands near the blade.

"Does it follow the grain?"

"Mostly. It turns near the narrow end." He shifted the collar and studied the direction of the fibers.

"I'd turn the knife here, then. Cutting straight through will leave part of the strip attached." He made the next cut. The blade curved around the tissue. The inner section came away cleanly, with little meat left behind. I touched the exposed surface. The current had remained intact.

"You didn't cut through the strongest part."

"I was trying not to cut through the fat."

"They appear to be in the same place." Tovan glanced at the strip.

"That would explain why it stays tender." He placed the knife beside the board rather than keeping it in his hand. The movement was careful. Every tool returned to an open space instead of joining the growing collection near my right elbow. The preparation table had become smaller since he entered the kitchen. Tovan took up more room than Nessa, Amon, or either of my parents. His shoulders nearly reached both sides of the passage when he turned.

The apron strings remained tied at his hip because they could not meet behind him. Still, he did not crowd me. When I reached for the onions, he moved the bowl toward my hand. When I set down the inner strip, he shifted the sour plums farther from the board before any juice reached the raw meat. He had worked in kitchens before. That should have been obvious. I filled the steaming pan with less water than usual and placed a low rack inside.

Tovan spread the onions beneath the collar, building a shallow layer between the meat and the metal.

"Thinner near the center," he said.

"Why?"

"That section needs more heat. The thicker onions will hold it farther from the steam." I adjusted them. The arrangement looked uneven. It was also sensible. I placed the collar over the onions and covered the pan. The heating plate brightened beneath it. Water began moving softly against the bottom. Mana loosened from the meat as the first steam reached it. The heavier current remained close to the center line. Smaller threads passed into the softening fat and moved downward. The onions caught some of them.

The rest gathered in the moisture beneath the lid. Tovan watched the pan.

"What is it doing?"

"The fat is carrying most of the current. Some is moving into the onions."

"So they're useful."

"They were already useful."

"You looked doubtful earlier."

"I was considering what the steam would take."

"Is it taking much?" I rested two fingers against the pan's handle.

"Less than I expected." Tovan opened his notebook. He wrote while standing, the page balanced against the edge of the table.

"What did you record?" I asked.

"Onions beneath the collar."

"That is incomplete."

"I was there for the rest."

"Notes should still make sense later." He added another line. I watched the current inside the pan. The heat pulled more mana from the meat, though the center remained tight. I increased the plate slightly. Tovan looked up from the notebook.

"The outside is already changing."

"The inner strip has not softened."

"It will take time."

"I can increase the heat."

"You can. I'm not sure it will help." His voice held no challenge. He touched the lid with two fingers, then pulled them away from the hot metal.

"The steam is strong enough," he continued.

"More heat will tighten the outside before the middle loosens." I checked the current again. The mana near the surface had begun scattering through the moisture more quickly. The stronger heat was drawing it outward without changing the dense center. I lowered the plate. The movement slowed.

"That is better," I said. Tovan wrote another line.

"You can include the mana this time."

"I was going to write that the outside stopped tightening."

"That also happened." The dining-room door opened. Boots crossed the floor. Several voices followed, along with the scrape of chairs. Nessa appeared at the service opening.

"Five from the western gate," she said.

"They want dinner."

"The late bell has already rung."

"They know."

"Then they know the kitchen closes after the late bell."

"They also know Tomas." That explained part of the problem. Tomas appeared behind her with rain on his shoulders and one hand raised in greeting.

"The south patrol returned," he said.

"They haven't eaten since morning."

"The cupboards still have rice parcels."

"There are three parcels."

"And five people."

"That is the difficulty." I looked through the opening. Four travelers stood near the entrance with packs at their feet. Their coats carried road dust beneath a new layer of rain. One woman held her left arm close to her side. Another man had removed one boot and was pouring water onto the floor. Nessa looked at the puddle. He put the boot back on.

"We have stew," I said.

"Enough for four portions."

"There are five of them," Tomas replied.

"I counted."

"We could divide it."

"That would produce five small portions."

"They'll also take bread." Nessa looked at me. The collar still needed time. The fried-rice plate had been cleaned. Most of the prepared rice had gone into the cupboards. I opened the cold cabinet. Three eggs. A bowl of cooked root vegetables. Half a tray of rice. A small container of sliced monster boar meant for tomorrow's breakfast. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work. Enough for food. Not the food I had planned.

When I turned, Tovan had stepped away from the preparation table. He had untied the apron and folded it once over his arm.

"You can finish this tomorrow," he said.

"The collar is already cooking."

"I can leave you to it." I looked at the dining room again. Nessa was bringing the travelers water. Tomas had begun moving two tables together without being asked. He put one back when Nessa pointed at it. I could prepare the meal alone. It would take longer. The collar would need attention while I handled the stew and rice. The woman with the sore arm looked ready to sleep at the table. Tovan placed the folded apron beside his notebook.

"Stay," I said. His hand stopped.

"I can handle the collar," he said.

"That is why I asked." Nessa returned to the opening.

"Is he working?"

"For the next order." She looked from me to Tovan. Tovan waited.

"If his food is being sold, his time is being paid," she said.

"I intended to pay him."

"You had not discussed it."

"I am discussing it now." Nessa looked at Tovan.

"Are you willing to work until this order is finished?"

"I am."

"Then write down when you started." He glanced toward the dining room clock.

"I started cutting before they arrived."

"That was still work."

"I came to show Joe the collar."

"You used your own knowledge and prepared food in his kitchen." Tovan considered that. Then he opened his notebook and wrote down the time. Nessa returned to the tables. I tied the apron around Tovan's waist again. He looked down at my hands.

"You could have given it to me."

"The knot was already at the correct length."

"It was tied at my side."

"That is where it remains." I moved to the stove. The root stew went onto the smaller heating plate. I added stock to stretch it, then adjusted the seasoning. Tovan checked the collar before I asked. He lifted the lid away from his face and pressed the back of a spoon against the thickest section.

"It needs longer."

"How much?"

"A few minutes. Then it should rest."

"The center is still holding most of the mana."

"The center is still holding most of the meat together too." I prepared the rice. The remaining boar slices were too little for five full portions. I cut them thinner, browned them in fat, and added the vegetables. The rice followed. The travelers had asked for dinner, not an experiment. I kept the mana pattern simple. Heat moved through the fat. The boar's current weakened as it spread, though the rice held enough to produce a mild recovery effect. Beside me, Tovan removed the collar from the steaming pan.

I looked over.

"It has not loosened completely."

"I know."

"You said it needed longer."

"It had longer."

"Not enough." He placed the collar onto a clean board. Steam rose from the surface. The outer fibers had softened. The thick center still resisted when he pressed it.

"Give it a moment," he said.

"The heat is already falling."

"It is still moving through the middle."

"So is the mana."

"Then we can wait for both." I wanted to return the collar to the pan. The current near the center remained dense. The outer mana had settled into the rendered fat and onions, but the pattern was unfinished. Tovan covered the meat loosely with a clean cloth. Then he moved away from it. I finished the rice. Nessa collected two bowls of stew and three plates of fried rice. Bread filled the remaining space on her tray.

"One more portion," she said.

"The rice will be ready."

"That is what you said before bringing me three."

"The pan has limited space."

"So does the dining room. They still fit." She carried the food out. Tovan cleaned the steaming rack while the collar rested. He did not watch me for instructions. He emptied the water into a container rather than the wash basin, keeping the onions and cooking liquid together. Then he wiped the pan and returned it to the shelf. I checked the collar again. The center line had begun to loosen. The change was small. Heat had continued moving inward after the meat left the pan.

The dense current followed more slowly, settling along the fat rather than escaping with the steam. I pressed the handle of the knife against the meat. It gave beneath the pressure. Tovan noticed.

"Ready?"

"Closer." He removed the cloth and cut through the thickest section. The blade passed cleanly. He looked at the surface. I touched it. The current had spread through the center without breaking apart.

"Resting changed the pattern," I said.

"It usually changes the meat."

"I knew that."

"You were going to put it back in the steam."

"The center was undercooked."

"It finished."

"That is what I am observing." Tovan's mouth moved slightly. He did not answer. I wrote one line in my notebook. Rest before second heat. When I looked up, Tovan had already begun slicing the collar across the grain. Each piece was thick enough to remain tender and thin enough to brown quickly.

"The final plate is free," I said.

"I need the onions first." I brought over the container. The onions had softened in the meat's fat and cooking liquid. Their mana was weak on its own, though they held much of what had left the collar. Tovan drained them.

"Keep that," I said.

"I wasn't throwing it away." He set the liquid beside the stove. I heated the wider pan. Tovan added the onions first. They hissed as the remaining water struck the metal. When the edges began to brown, he moved them aside and placed the collar slices against the hotter center. The kitchen filled with the smell of rendered fat and sweet onion.

"Plum now?" I asked.

"Wait until the first side takes color."

"The acid will help the current move through the meat."

"It will also stop the browning." That was true. We waited. The collar darkened along one edge. Tovan turned each piece before adding the crushed sour plum. The pan changed immediately. Steam rose. The plum loosened the browned fat from the surface and drew it into the onions. Mana moved with it, spreading through the sauce before settling back against the meat. I placed one hand on the pan's handle and guided the current. The pattern formed more slowly than fried rice. The collar's mana remained heavy.

It resisted being divided evenly between the pieces. Tovan shook the pan. The onions moved through the sauce and settled beneath the meat. The current followed.

"Do that again," I said. He pulled the pan toward him and pushed it forward. The collar shifted without turning over. Sauce coated the lower edges. The mana spread more evenly.

"It moved," I said.

"The sauce?"

"The mana." Tovan repeated the motion. This time, the current reached the farthest slice. I lowered the heat.

"Leave it there."

"How long?"

"Until it settles." Tovan watched the sauce rather than the mana.

"It is almost thick enough." Both happened together. The sauce clung to the onions. The current stopped scattering. I removed the pan. The fifth traveler had finished most of her stew by the time Nessa carried out the collar. We served it in smaller portions over the remaining rice, with the onions and sour-plum sauce divided between them. Tomas looked at the plate.

"I thought there were only three rice parcels."

"This did not come from the cupboards," I said. He reached for a piece of collar. Nessa moved the plate away.

"It belongs to the patrol."

"I brought them here."

"You also ate dinner earlier."

"That was before I helped."

"You moved one table."

"I moved it twice."

"You put it back." The travelers divided the food without involving him. Tovan remained near the service opening. He watched the first person take a bite, then looked away before anyone noticed. The woman with the sore arm ate more slowly. After several minutes, she rolled her shoulder once beneath her coat. The movement was careful. Then easier. The collar's effect was mild. It carried warmth through the body and eased the stiffness left by cold travel.

The pattern lasted longer than the sharper recovery in the fried rice, though it did less at once. The older man at the end of the table used a piece of bread to collect the final onions.

"This needs greens," he said. Tovan looked back. The man continued eating.

"Something sharp beside it," he added.

"The meat's good, though." Nessa glanced toward the kitchen. Tovan nodded once.

"He is right," he said quietly.

"Sour greens?" I asked.

"Or cabbage. Something fresh would work too." I wrote it beneath the resting note. The patrol finished every plate. They paid, thanked Nessa, and carried their wet packs upstairs to a boardinghouse Tomas recommended. Tomas remained until Nessa placed the closing board directly in front of him. He left after taking a piece of bread. The restaurant quieted. Tovan washed the final pan while I checked the collar notes. The dish had produced five small portions in addition to the other food.

The ingredient cost was low because the collar had been part of the butcher's test cut. The preparation time was less useful. Steaming, resting, slicing, and finishing required planning. It would not work as an unannounced late order. It could work as a prepared evening dish. Nessa sat at the counter with the ledger open.

"Tovan," she called. He dried his hands and joined her. She had written the start and end times in the wage column.

"I did not work a full shift," he said.

"No one said you did."

"I came here on my own."

"You stayed when asked." She counted out the coins. Tovan did not take them immediately.

"I was showing Joe a cut."

"Then five hungry people arrived, and you cooked for them."

"I only prepared one dish." Nessa pushed the coins across the counter.

"That is still work." Tovan looked toward me.

"She will continue until you accept them," I said.

"I will," Nessa replied. He took the payment. The coins disappeared carefully into a small inner pocket of his coat. I closed the kitchen notebook.

"Can you return tomorrow evening?" Tovan glanced toward the wall clock.

"I work at Rook's tomorrow."

"What time do you finish?"

"Usually before the tenth bell. Later if a guild delivery comes in."

"Dinner begins at the eleventh." His eyes moved toward the kitchen. The second knife remained beside mine on the clean preparation table.

"What would I be doing?" he asked.

"Cooking." He waited. I considered whether the answer required more detail.

"Three trial evenings," I continued.

"You would prepare meat, help with the evening menu, and test the collar again. You would be paid for every hour."

"I need to speak to Darin."

"You should keep your current work."

"I plan to." Nessa turned a page in the ledger.

"We also need an expected arrival time.

'After the butchery' is not a schedule."

"I can give you one after I speak to him."

"That will work." Tovan looked between us. His hand rested against the pocket holding the coins.

"Three evenings," he said.

"Three," I confirmed. A smile spread slowly across his face. It changed him more than I expected.

"I can do three." He collected his notebook and untied the apron. Instead of handing it to me, he folded it along the counter and placed it beneath the kitchen schedule. Then he picked up his knife. I looked at the empty space beside mine.

"You can leave it here." Tovan paused.

"The knife?"

"You will need it tomorrow."

"I have others."

"This one already has a place." He looked at the preparation table. Then he set the knife down again. Nessa wrote his name into the ledger. I took the kitchen schedule from the wall and added a second line beneath the evening service. Tovan — trial shift, after tenth bell. The restaurant had always been arranged around one cook. Tomorrow, it would begin learning another shape.