Chương 24: Two Kitchens

The three trial shifts passed without anything catching fire. That was not the only measure of success, though it remained a useful one. Tovan arrived after the tenth bell each evening, changed out of his butcher's coat, washed, and took his place at the second end of the preparation table. He handled the collar dish, ordinary meat orders, and most of the stock work. I kept the mana dishes and the main heating plates. By the third evening, we had stopped reaching for the same knife.

Dinner revenue rose by ninety-two kamera across the trial. Nessa subtracted the extra ingredients, fuel, and Tovan's wages while I cleaned the stove.

"Thirty-one kamera remained," she said. Tovan looked up from the wash basin.

"Across all three evenings?"

"After every added expense."

"That's better than I expected."

"It would have been higher if Joe hadn't served the first collar special at the old price."

"I had not calculated the final portion size."

"You had three opportunities."

"The cut changed during cooking." Nessa turned the ledger around. The numbers were clear. Tovan's presence had not merely paid for itself. We had earned more, closed earlier, and thrown away less meat. The following morning, I went to Rook's. I usually sent an order slip with Nessa or waited for Tovan to make the delivery. Walking there took less than half an hour, but an hour away from the restaurant had always become several unfinished tasks by the time I returned.

That morning, the lunch stock was already cooling. The vegetables had been washed after closing. The hungry cupboards were full. I still checked everything twice before leaving. Rook's was busy when I arrived. Two guild porters waited near the counter beside a covered cart. The sharp smell of curing salt hung in the air, mixed with sawdust and fresh meat. Tovan stood at the rear cutting table with another orc.

The resemblance was clear around the eyes and jaw, though the other man was shorter and carried more weight through the middle. He wore a smokehouse apron over an old brown shirt. One sleeve had been patched at the elbow. A monster-boar shoulder rested between them. Tovan pointed toward a dark gland beneath the upper joint.

"Leave more space around that."

"I can see it."

"You cut toward it."

"I stopped."

"Stopping is easier when the knife isn't already beside it." The other orc lowered the blade.

"You said this morning that I was cutting too wide."

"That was a different gland."

"They look the same."

"They smell different." The man stared at him. Tovan waited. After a moment, the man leaned closer to the shoulder and took a careful breath. His face changed.

"That is unpleasant."

"It gets worse if you cut it." Darin stood at the nearby scale with both arms folded.

"He learned that part quickly," he said. Tovan noticed me and set down his knife.

"You came here."

"I need to discuss your schedule."

"I was going to come after midday."

"I had time." Tovan looked past me, as though the missing work might be waiting outside the door.

"Is the restaurant closed?"

"It is between services."

"That hasn't stopped you from working before."

"It has not stopped today either." The other orc wiped his hands and approached.

"This is my older brother," Tovan said.

"He works at the north smokehouse." His brother held out one broad hand. I shook it.

"Tovan says you own the restaurant," he said.

"I do."

"He also says people eat there."

"They do that regularly." His brother glanced at Tovan.

"That is already an improvement." Tovan did not appear offended.

"He came because I cannot keep working full shifts here and arrive at The Second Spark every evening," he explained.

"The smokehouse can spare him for several mornings."

"After the winter orders are finished," his brother added.

"Until then, they can spare me twice a week." Darin left the scale and joined us.

"I do not need Tovan replaced for ordinary cuts," he said.

"I need someone here when guild deliveries arrive. Half the creatures they bring through that door have something poisonous where an ordinary animal keeps its fat."

"I would continue handling those," Tovan said.

"You would continue arriving when they arrive."

"If I have notice."

"Monster boars do not send notice."

"The guild does." Darin rubbed one hand over his beard.

"They send a boy after the cart is already moving." Tovan's brother returned to the cutting table. He stayed close enough to listen. I looked toward the shoulder. Most of the difficult separation had already been done.

"How much time do the guild deliveries require?"

"Usually half a day," Tovan said.

"A full day when they bring several creatures."

"And ordinary work?"

"Mornings, most days." He had already considered the answer. His notebook sat open near the scale, divided into two columns. Rook's occupied one side. The Second Spark occupied the other. Several hours overlapped.

"You cannot work both schedules," I said.

"I know."

"You wrote them anyway."

"I wanted to see where the problem was."

"The problem is in the middle of the page."

"I noticed that too." Darin reached across the counter and tapped two marked mornings.

"His brother takes these. Tovan keeps three mornings here and every guild delivery he can reasonably attend. You get him for three evenings and one afternoon."

"One afternoon?" I asked.

"For now," Tovan said.

"Once he can handle monster shoulder and marsh elk, I can give you another." His brother looked over.

"I heard that."

"You were meant to." The arrangement was slower than hiring Tovan outright. It was also safer. Rook's would not lose its most experienced monster butcher in a week. Tovan would keep steady work while learning our kitchen. His brother would have time to learn instead of being placed alone behind the counter.

"What does your family think?" I asked. Tovan glanced at his brother.

"Our mother asked whether the restaurant feeds me." This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

"You work around food."

"My brother told her that."

"She asked again," his brother said.

"She wants a direct answer."

"I eat during long shifts."

"You should tell her yourself. She thinks I am changing the subject." Tovan looked at me.

"The meals are part of the arrangement?"

"They can be."

"They should be," Darin said.

"He forgets to eat when he has a notebook open."

"That has not happened often." His brother gave me a tired look.

"It happens often." I added meals to the arrangement. Darin read the proposed schedule twice. He changed one evening because it followed Rook's busiest delivery morning. Tovan moved another shift so his brother would not train alone. No one treated his move as a departure. It was a division. Before I left, Tovan's brother returned to the monster-boar shoulder. His next cut left a clean space around the gland. Tovan inspected it.

"That will work." His brother relaxed slightly. Then Tovan pointed toward the joint.

"You are still leaving too much meat on the bone." The relaxation ended. I returned to The Second Spark with the completed schedule folded inside my coat. Nessa read it behind the counter.

"Three evenings and one afternoon," she said.

"A second afternoon after his brother is trained."

"Yes."

"Guild deliveries take priority with notice."

"Reasonable notice."

"Darin's idea of reasonable notice?"

"We did not define that." She placed the paper on the counter.

"Then we will." Tovan arrived after midday. His brother came with him, carrying the shoulder order beneath one arm. He looked around the dining room before passing the parcel across the counter. The Long Table had been larger, according to Tovan, but The Second Spark had become crowded in its own way. The repaired tables no longer matched. The runic wall carried soft music beneath the sound of cups and chairs. Two customers waited near the hungry cupboards while Nessa replaced the morning trays.

Tovan's brother watched one of them collect a rice parcel and close the cupboard.

"That wall serves food?"

"The cupboard does," I said.

"The wall controls the temperature and payment marks." He studied the runes.

"Tovan said you built half the restaurant yourself."

"I repaired more than half."

"That sounds like him." Tovan removed his coat.

"I did not build my stove."

"You moved it three times," his brother said.

"The smoke reached the dining room."

"It reached the dining room after the third move."

"That was a chimney problem." His brother looked at me again.

"You may need patience."

"He works well." Tovan stopped tying his apron. For a moment, he said nothing. Then he pulled the knot tight at his side. His brother left for the smokehouse after making Tovan promise to visit their mother before the end of the week. Nessa brought out the ledger. She did not make a ceremony of hiring him. She confirmed his hourly wage, wrote down the agreed schedule, added meals for longer shifts, and set a review at the end of the month. If either business needed to change a shift, the other received notice.

Tovan read every line.

"I can still help Darin when larger deliveries arrive," he said.

"It is written there," Nessa replied.

"And the second afternoon begins after my brother can work alone."

"That is also written there." He kept reading. Nessa waited. At last, he signed his name beneath mine. She took the trial schedule from the wall and replaced it with the new one. Tovan stood beside her while she wrote his regular hours in ink. His name no longer had the word trial beside it. He looked at it for a little longer than necessary. Then someone placed an order, and he went to work. Three days later, I finished everything before the afternoon bell. I checked the lunch stock. It had already been stored.

I checked the heating plates. Tovan had cleaned them after the morning preparation. The boar bones for stock had been split, roasted, and placed in the deep pot. Vegetables waited in covered bowls. The collar portions had been marked for the evening. Even the knife near the right side of the preparation table had been sharpened. I picked it up and examined the edge. Tovan looked over from the stove.

"Is there something wrong with it?"

"The angle is different."

"I use a wider edge for that knife."

"It will hold longer."

"That was the intention." I returned it to the table. Nessa passed the kitchen with a stack of clean cups.

"You have checked the same shelf three times."

"The first time I checked the containers."

"And the second time?"

"The shelf." She continued toward the dining room. I remained in the kitchen. There were tasks I could create. The rear door needed another layer of sealant before winter. Two menu tablets had shallow scratches. One hungry cupboard made a louder chime than the other. None required attention that afternoon. Tovan was preparing the ordinary dinner dishes. Nessa had already arranged the room. Lunch service had ended without leaving a pile of work behind it. The restaurant had become quiet before I was tired.

I opened my notebook. Several unfinished ideas waited between pages of expenses and repair notes. Most had been written during busy services and abandoned before they became useful. A portable meal appeared on three separate pages. The guild orders used waxed parcels. The hungry cupboards held rice, bread, and food that could survive waiting without losing too much texture. None of our mana dishes kept their effect well after cooling. I had tried. Fried rice lost most of its pattern within an hour.

Stew held longer, but it required a sealed bowl and careful reheating. The collar dish was unsuitable for travel unless someone wanted sour plum sauce inside their coat. I turned to a clean page.

"What are you making?" Tovan asked.

"I have not decided."

"You brought out flour."

"That narrows the possibilities." He looked at the bowls I had placed beside it.

"You also brought out meat."

"It narrows them further." Tovan went back to the stock. I mixed a firm dough and left it covered. The filling used collar trim, onion, root mash, and enough thick stock to bind it together. I kept the portions small. The cooking itself was simple. The mana was more difficult. Open food released part of its current with steam. A sealed layer might hold it, though the second heating could also break the pattern apart. I made six small pies. The first two leaked. Tovan saw the split crusts when he passed behind me.

"Too much filling."

"The seams were weak."

"There was also too much filling." I removed some from the next pair. They held. The mana inside remained faint but stable, folded through the meat and root mash. The crust slowed its escape more effectively than waxed wrapping ever had. I ate half of one after it cooled. Warmth spread through my hands and forearms. The effect was mild. I had not done enough heavy work that day to judge it properly. Tovan had. He had spent the morning at Rook's helping his brother through a large order.

A red line crossed one palm where the knife handle had rubbed. When he lifted the stock pot, he changed his grip halfway to the stove. I placed a pie on the corner of his station.

"This is an experiment," I said. He looked at the pie.

"Thank you for saying that before I ate it."

"I intended to explain."

"You usually explain while people are chewing."

"That is when they begin reporting useful information." He wiped his hands and broke the pie open. Steam rose from the center. The crust had browned evenly. The filling remained in place instead of falling onto the table. Tovan smelled it before taking a bite. He chewed for a while.

"The root is too soft."

"That is not the effect."

"You asked me to test the food."

"I asked you to test what it does."

"You should still know about the root." I wrote it down. He finished half the pie and returned to the stock. At first, nothing changed. Tovan moved between the stove and preparation table. He lifted the pot again, stirred it, and reached for a knife. His hand stopped above the handle.

"What happened?" I asked.

"I'm checking." He opened and closed his fingers. The red mark remained. His old knuckle scars had not changed. He pressed his thumb into the center of his palm.

"My hand feels lighter."

"That is imprecise."

"I know." He picked up the knife and cut a root into several thin pieces. The first leaned slightly. The next four were nearly the same width. Tovan looked at them.

"This morning, my grip started dragging after the second order," he said.

"The handle felt heavier each time I turned it."

"And now?"

"The weight is still there. My fingers aren't fighting it." I watched the mana settle through his arms. The effect did not create strength. It eased the strain left by repeated use and helped tired muscles recover while he continued working.

"Does it hide pain?" I asked. Tovan touched the red mark.

"That still stings."

"What about the shoulder?" He rolled it once.

"Less tight. It hasn't gone away."

"That is preferable."

"To the shoulder?"

"To an effect that removes pain without repairing the cause." Tovan considered that.

"You were worried after I ate it."

"I was monitoring the result."

"That sounds similar." I gave him the remaining half. He ate it without further concern. Nessa entered carrying the empty afternoon tray.

"What did he eat?"

"A filled pie."

"What does it do?"

"We are still testing." She looked at Tovan.

"My hands are less tired," he said.

"The filling needs more texture." Nessa set down the tray and took one of the finished pies.

"That one is also an experiment," I told her.

"I heard you the first time." She broke off a small piece rather than eating the whole thing. The effect would have little value for her after an ordinary afternoon, but she could judge the rest. She chewed, then looked at the remaining pies.

"How much do they cost?"

"I have not calculated that yet."

"You made six."

"Four survived."

"Then calculate four." The cost was low. Collar trim was cheaper than the slices used for dinner. Root mash and onions added little. The dough required time, though it could be prepared in batches. Nessa read my figures.

"If we sell them for four kamera, they earn less than fried rice."

"They also require less work during service."

"They can go in the hungry cupboards."

"That was the intention." Tovan rested both hands on the preparation table.

"Porters will buy them."

"Guild workers too," Nessa said.

"Anyone leaving before breakfast."

"The effect lasts longer than the fried rice," I said.

"It is also weaker."

"They do not need to know which dish wins," Nessa replied.

"They need breakfast." She adjusted the figures. Tovan looked at the last pie.

"What are you calling them?"

"I had not reached that part."

"Filled collar parcel," Nessa read from my notebook.

"That is accurate."

"It sounds like butcher paperwork," Tovan said.

"It describes the contents."

"So does 'meat in bread.'" Nessa closed the notebook before I could add it.

"Road pies," she said.

"Four kamera. We will make twelve tomorrow."

"We should test how long the effect remains."

"Then we will keep one."

"That leaves eleven."

"We will make thirteen." The matter appeared settled. The next morning, thirteen road pies went into the left hungry cupboard before the first bell. One remained in the kitchen with the time written beside it. A pair of porters bought the first three. A courier took another two after Nessa explained that they could be eaten cold. Four went to guards changing shifts. By midday, the cupboard was empty. One porter returned and asked whether more would be available the next morning.

Nessa told him there would be sixteen. She entered the sales in the ledger. After ingredients and the added fuel, twenty-one kamera remained. The amount was modest. The method mattered more. Tovan's work had cleared an afternoon. That afternoon became a new item, a new line in the ledger, and sixteen orders waiting for the next morning. I added another note beneath the recipe. Useful effect: eases strain from repeated physical work. Below that, I wrote: Prepare larger batch.

There was still more work than the restaurant could finish in a day. For the first time, I had enough room to choose some of it.