I could believe it. The implant that let him speak English was clearly high quality.
“We were hosting a gala for the neighboring system. Three thousand beings. I was responsible for all of it. It was going splendidly until my sous chef took a bribe and served one of the princes a poisoned soup. The prince collapsed during the dinner and died.”
“So you didn’t actually poison anyone?” Why did they strip him of his rank, then?
“That is not the point!” The Quillonian threw his hands up. “I have two million taste buds. I can taste a drop of syrup in a pool of water the size of this building. I know thousands of poisons by taste. Had I sampled the dish before it left my kitchen, I would’ve detected the poison within it. But I did not taste it. I tasted the ingredients for freshness, I tasted the soup during the preparation, but Soo had worked with me for ten years and we were serving a banquet to three thousand beings, and I let the soup go. In the moment that the poison’s presence was detected, the entire Galaxy knew that I let a dish go out of my kitchen without tasting it.”
He slumped against the wall, defeated, one hand over his eyes.
“So let me get it straight. They took your Cleaver because you did not taste the soup?”
“Yes. I did it. I let it go. I waved it on.” The Quillonian waved his hand. “Now you know my shame. Two decades of training, a decade of apprenticeship, two decades of being a chef. Accolades I received, dishes I created… I was a rising star and I threw it all away. I hope you enjoyed tormenting me. Door is that way.”
Now it made sense. He was punishing himself. He lived in this hovel above tannery, but his kitchen was still spotless, because as much as he wanted to degrade himself, his professional pride wouldn’t let him dishonor the kitchen.
“I still need a chef,” I told him.
He bared his teeth at me. “Did you not hear? There is no chef here.”
“I’m an innkeeper from Earth. I run a very small inn and I’m hosting a peace summit. I’m desperate for a chef.”
The quills on his back stood straight up. “There. Is. No. Chef. Here.”
I finally remembered what my father told me. It just popped into my head. Shakespeare said, All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances. So, Dina, let them have their monologue.
My future chef was an oversized hysterical hedgehog with a martyr complex. He obviously loved what he did. I had to lure him with work and I had to let him play his part and show him that it was time to let the martyr go. There was a new role to be played, that of an underdog winning the race.
“Three parties to the summit,” I said. “At least six members each, probably more. The Holy Anocracy represented by Clan Krahr and others, with at least one Marshall in attendance. All of them are used to finest cuisine available.” That wasn’t exactly true. Vampires were a predatory species. Their cuisine was sophisticated, but they were perfectly happy to bite through the neck of some random woodland creature, pop it on a stick, and scorch it over the fire.
The Quillonian looked at me. I had his attention.
“The second party to the summit is the Hope Crushing Horde. The Khanum will be present.”
The Quillonian blinked. “Herself?”
“Herself, and with some Under-Khans.”
His eyes widened. He was thinking about it. Maybe…
The Quillonian slumped against the wall and shook his head. “No. Just no. I am not who I once was.”
That’s okay. “Also, the Merchants of Baha-char. They are spoiled with wealth and their palate is very refined.”
“Which clan?”
“The Nuan Cee’s family. In addition to them the Arbiter and his party.”
I could almost feel the calculation in his head. “For how long?”
“I’m not sure,” I said honestly.
“What’s the budget?”
“Ten thousand to start.”
“Earth currency, the dollar?”
“Yes.”
“Impossible!”
“Perhaps for an ordinary cook. But not for a Red Cleaver chef.”
“I am not longer that.” He rolled his eyes to sky. “Somewhere the gods are laughing at me.”
Here is hoping I read him correctly. “It’s not a joke. It’s a challenge.”
His eyes went completely white. He stared at me. Come on, take the bait.
“I can’t.” He closed his eyes and shook. “I just can’t. The shame, it’s too…”
“I understand. You’re right, it is too much for anyone but a true master of his art.”
He whipped around. “Are you implying I am anything less?”
“Are you?”
He sighed. “What happened to your previous chef?”
“Usually I cook. But this is beyond my abilities. I will be very busy trying to keep our esteemed guests from murdering each other.”
“What about the front of the house?” he asked.
“We won’t need it. The inn will serve the dinner following your commands.”
He opened his mouth.
“I came here to find a chef,” I said. “I’m not leaving without one.”
“My spirit is broken.”