Page 9

T he counters were done in dark wood, the cupboards painted forest green. Skylights allowed lots of natural light, highlighting the polished central counter loaded with freshly baked bread and a ham that was about to go into the iron stove.

A thick chunk of tree served as a butcher block at the end of the counter. Copper pots hung from a rack suspended over the counter, in easy reach.

The walls dripped with leafy green plants, lending a forest air. It was the coziest kitchen she had ever seen, and while it didn't inspire the desire to take up cooking, she could see herself hanging out and snacking .

It was just as well. The kitchen's owner was possessive, and he wouldn't have been pleased to have her mucking about in his kitchen.

Chef Gog was a monstrously huge goblin, at least seven foot tall and bulky.

He had an ugly scar across his nose and cheek and walked with a limp.

Black tattoos covered his arms, and his black hair stood up on his scalp like a frightened quillbeast. Bone earrings circled his ears, all the way around the rim.

Not only did he have a deep voice, he asked about her food preferences as if he were conducting an interrogation.

His daughter, Bena, perched on a stool taking notes. She was petite, had wire rim glasses perched on her nose and looked about twelve. She was a cute little thing, with neatly braided hair and a serious air. She probably took after her mother.

“Anything going to make you sick? There's a general’s wife who throws up quail eggs.” He said it with deep disapproval, as if food allergies were the most ridiculous thing.

Julep blinked. “Not that I've ever encountered. I'm hardly ever sick.”

He grunted in approval. “You like meat? Organs?”

She grimaced. “I'm not a fan of liver or kidney. I don't care what you do, kidneys always taste like pee. Everything else, yes. I like fish, birds, everything.”

His grunt was thoughtful this time. “Vegetables? We mostly cook tubers here, not much on leafy greens.”

“Sounds good to me.” Julep considered greens something to eat in the springtime when nothing else was available. They were variety, but not something she went out of her way for. She'd always preferred more substantial vegetables, preferably covered in butter or gravy.

She was rewarded at the end with a tray of freshly baked mini pies.

The delicate confections had golden crusts and were filled with mushrooms or caramelized onion.

Long, flaky crackers came with two kinds of dip.

She liked the cheese dip right away, but had to think about the brown one. She finally decided it was okay.

“It's duck liver,” he told her, amused.

She stared at him and then the dip. “I wouldn't go out of my way to eat it, but it's not awful. That's saying a lot for liver.”

His deep laugh vibrated the table. “She'll do,” he told Artur, who'd been silently enjoying a cup of coffee.

“So glad you approve,” Artur said dryly.

He waited until they were out of ear shot before remarking, “He seems to like you. That's helpful.”

She looked at him curiously. “Most people don't care what their cook thinks?”

He grunted. “Fools! You should care if you don't want to be poisoned. I can count on him for that, but if he didn't like you, you'd be served liver and eyeballs every night. He can be temperamental.”

“You have a strange household.”

He shrugged. “It's Goblin run.”

She looked up at the curved wooden staircase that went to the upper bedrooms. The central pillar was carved with a bird of war, and its wing arched around the banister. Stained glass windows made colored light play over the room. “I could get used to that.”

??

She relaxed with a book before dinner. Fortunately, she read Goblin, because that was the only language available. Artur had a small library, mostly full of business and other boring books, but it did have a couple of fascinating herbals and recent newspapers.

He had her belongings brought in from the cart. She was pleased to have her own things, few though they were. She didn't need the pots and pans of course, but her personal stash of herbs, medicine and cosmetics were welcome.

Her favorite socks were there, and she had a half finished pair in her bag. Knitting always soothed her. There was very little a clean, dry pair of socks couldn't help, and they were excellent trade items.

She decided she was going to play wait and see for the next couple of weeks.

She was comfortable, with plenty of food and a very nice shelter. She had money and could not fault Artur’s behavior. She would be a fool to leave.

If things changed, she would adapt as she always did. There was no sense getting excited about it now.

Snuggling into her feather pillows, she went back to reading about the wonders of medicinal mushrooms.