I held my hands up. “This kitchen says otherwise.”
He looked around, as if seeing the kitchen for the first time.
“It may not be Blue Jewel, but it is the kitchen of a chef who takes pride in his work. You can come with me and triumph against impossible odds or you can reject the challenge of the gods and stay here. Would you rather be a hero or a martyr? What will it be?”
The Quillonian surveyed my kitchen. I wasn’t familiar enough with Quillonian faces to identify his expression with one hundred percent accuracy, but if I had to guess, it would fall somewhere between shock, disgust, and despair.
The Quillonian heaved a deep sigh. “You expect me to cook here?”
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes for a long moment. “Pantry?” he asked, his eyes still closed.
“Through here.” I pointed at the door in the wall.
He opened his eyes, glanced at the doorway through which we came and which showed the wall to be about six inches wide, and stared at the door. “Is this a joke?”
“No.”
His clawed hand closed over the handle and he resolutely flung it open. A five hundred square foot space stretched in front of him, its nine foot high walls lined with metal shelves supporting an assortments of pots, pans, dishes, and cooking utensils. Dry goods waited like soldiers on parade, each in a clear plastic container with a label. An industrial size chest freezer sat against the wall next to two refrigerators.
The Quillonian closed the door, marched back to the doorway, examined the wall, came back, and opened the door again. He stared at the pantry for a long moment, shut the door quickly, and jerked it open. The pantry was still there. Magic was a wonderful thing.
The Quillonian carefully extended his left leg and put his foot onto the floor of the pantry as if expecting it to grow teeth and gulp him down. Contrary to his expectations, the floor remained solid.
“Well?” I asked.
“It will suffice,” he said. “Who shall I expect to serve this morning?”
“Me and Caldenia. Possibly the Arbiter and his party as well. He mentioned three people.”
“Caldenia?” His spikes stood up. “Caldenia ka ret Magren? Letere Olivione?”
“Yes. Will that be a problem?”
“I have never had the pleasure to serve her, but I certainly know of her. She’s one of the most renowned gastronomes in the Galaxy. Her palate is the definition of refinement.”
I wondered what he would say if he knew the owner of this refined palate frequently indulged in binging on Mello Yello and Funyuns. “The inn will help you. If you need something, ask for it.” I raised my voice. “I need a two liter pot, please.”
The correct pot slid to the front of the middle shelf.
“I’ll need a gastronomical coagulator, please,” the Quillonian said.
Nothing moved. The Quillonian glanced at me. “Nothing’s happening.”
“We don’t have one.” The only coagulator I knew about was used in surgeries.
“You expect me to serve vampires and Caldenia without a coagulator?”
“Yes.”
“Immersion circulator?”
“No.”
“A spherification device?”
“I don’t even know what that is.”
“It’s a device that creates spheres by submerging drops of a liquid in a solution such as calcium chloride, causing the drops to form a solid skin over the liquid center. They pop in your mouth under the pressure of your teeth.”
I shook my head.
“Do you at least possess an electromagnetic scale?”
“No.”
He shook his hands. “Well, what do you have?”
“Pots, pans, knives, bowls, measuring cups, and silverware. Also some baking pans and molds.”
The Quillonian rocked back and stared at the ceiling. “The gods are mocking me.”
Not again. “It’s a challenge.”
He flexed his arms, his elbows bent, his clawed arms pointing to the sky. “Very well. Like a primitive savage, who sets out to tame the wilderness armed with nothing but a knife and his indomitable will, I will persevere. I will wrestle victory from the greedy jaws of defeat. I shall rise like a bird of prey upon the current of the wind, my talons raised for the kill, and I shall strike true.”
Oh wow. I hope the inn filmed that.
“When do you normally have your morning meal?”
The clock told me it was four in the morning. “In about three hours.”
“Breakfast shall be served in three hours.” He hung his head. “You may call me Orro. Good day.”
“Good day, chef.”
I left the kitchen and went up the stairway. I was so tired, if I didn’t get some sleep, I’d start to hallucinate.
Caldenia emerged from her side of the stairs. “Dina, there you are.”
“Yes, Your Grace?”
A metal pot banged in the kitchen.
Caldenia frowned. “Wait, if you are here, who is in the kitchen?”
“Daniel Boone, cooking with his talons.”
“I love your sense of humor. Who is it really?”