A Dash of Dragon

by Heidi Lang

  “Shouldn’t you be heading back to school?” Lailu asked. “I mean, don’t you have to be back before Madame Poof—”

  “Pompadour,” Hannah corrected.

  “—realizes you’re gone?” Lailu finished.

  Hannah waved her hands. “It’s not important.”

  Lailu frowned. How could it not be important?

  Hannah laughed. “Don’t look so worried! I actually don’t have class this morning.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. In fact,” Hannah said, climbing to her feet, “I can even help you with that.” She picked up a tray, filling it with bowls and following Lailu back into the dining room.

  Lailu took Vahn’s food over to him personally while Hannah delivered the rest of the hot pots to their new customers. “Thanks, Lina.” Vahn absently took a bite, then blinked, focusing on the food. “Wow! That’s really good.”

  Lailu couldn’t remember having a better day. “Thanks!” She watched him eat her cooking while across the restaurant Master Slipshod gave her a disapproving look before disappearing back into the kitchen. Lailu ignored him. She deserved this break. After all, she’d cooked up the hot pot all on her own. A quick glance around showed Vahn wasn’t the only one who seemed to love it either.

  And then Vahn put his empty bowl down and stood up.

  “Y-you’re not leaving, are you?”

  Vahn chuckled. “Don’t worry, kiddo, I’ll be sticking around the city for a while. Got myself a quest.”

  Lailu’s eyes widened. “You did? This is your first one, right?”

  He nodded, his eyes sparkling. “My first chance to really prove myself.” Like chefs, heroes typically took four years to complete their academy training, although Lailu managed to complete hers in only three. But where chefs apprenticed for up to two years, heroes stayed on as apprentices for at least four.

  After Vahn completed his training at the Heroes Academy, he’d been apprenticed to the legendary Rhivanna, the most fearsome hero of Savoria. Lailu knew Vahn would end up being even more famous, though. After all, he had completed his training before his fourteenth birthday, just like Lailu, and he’d already finished his apprenticeship before his eighteenth. He was amazing.

  “What kind of quest?” she asked eagerly. “I heard rumors that there’s been a mountain dragon attack—”

  He put a finger to his lips. “I can’t talk about a current mission; it’s part of the Hero Code of Ethics.” He leaned in and whispered, “But it’s not the dragon.”

  “Oh.” Lailu felt strangely disappointed.

  Vahn laughed. “It’s bigger than a dragon,” he reassured her. “I never thought I’d be doing a job for this particular group, but a hero goes where he’s needed.”

  “Can you tell me about it when it’s finished?”

  Vahn grinned. “Tell you what: you cook me something nice, and I’ll drop by to tell you all about it. All right?”

  “It’s a date,” Lailu said, the words bursting out before she could stop them. She immediately flushed, but Vahn didn’t seem to notice.

  “That’s my girl.”

  He called her his girl. Lailu couldn’t help the goofy smile that crept across her face. And then Hannah walked by, and Vahn’s eyes stuck to her like dried rice to a bowl.

  “Hannah,” he called, raising one hand in greeting.

  Oh sure, Lailu thought darkly as Hannah walked over. Naturally he remembered her name.

  “It’s been a while.” Vahn looked Hannah up and down approvingly while she preened under his gaze like some kind of exotic bird.

  “Hello, Vahn.” She tossed her head, that obnoxious emerald comb of hers catching the light.

  “I swear, you grow prettier every time I see you.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips.

  Hannah blushed, then caught sight of Lailu’s ugly look and quickly pulled her hand back. “Oh, er, uh,” she began.

  “I’m going to check on my other customers.” Lailu stalked away, and when she glanced back, Vahn had already gone.

  The next few hours passed with increasing busyness as more customers trickled inside, and Lailu forgot all about Vahn. To her surprise and gratitude, Hannah also continued to help, seating people, talking and laughing with the women, and flirting politely with the men. She was a natural. “No wonder that school took her in,” Lailu whispered. She had always wondered how Hannah, with her eccentricities and silly, absentminded attitude, had gotten into an elite boarding school on Gilded Island. Now she understood, and she felt proud of her friend.

  “Well,” Hannah said when they were both back in the kitchen, Mystic Cooking closed for the day in preparation for Mr. Boss, “I’ve got to go now, but do you mind if I crash here again tonight? I’ve got the day off tomorrow, so we can hang out and I can help again.”

  Lailu frowned. “Is it really that bad?”

  “Oh, you know.” Hannah twirled a lock of her hair, and Lailu noticed she’d switched to an ugly silver comb in the shape of a butterfly. “I’m just letting things cool down a little.”

  Lailu had to wonder just what kind of trouble Hannah was having with her classmates, but knew she’d tell her on her own time. “Sure. We’d love to have your help again tomorrow.”

  Hannah yipped, throwing her arms around Lailu. “It will be like old times!” Lailu squirmed, and Hannah let her go. “Sorry, I know you don’t like to be hugged.”

  “I . . . well. Personal space is very important.” Lailu’s mom had always given hugs way too freely, and Lailu had decided long ago that she didn’t believe in such insincere displays of affection.

  Giggling, Hannah sashayed across the restaurant, pausing at the door to wave before slipping out into the afternoon.

  Lailu went back to work, scooping out the juices from the marinated meat to use in a light gravy as Master Slipshod brought in the last of the dirty dishes from the dining room. “See, Pigtails? I told you. Customers.”

  “You said it.” Lailu grinned.

  “I notice the princess finally left.” He piled the dishes in the corner.

  Lailu frowned. She knew he was referring to Hannah, who had once made the mistake of questioning whether Slipshod was really the best choice for Lailu in front of Slipshod himself. He’d never quite forgiven her for that. “She doesn’t act like a princess.”

  “She sure tries to dress like one.” Slipshod snorted. “That haircomb of hers is probably worth more than most people earn in a year.”

  “Really?”

  “All those gaudy emeralds? Definitely.”

  “They’re probably fake.” Hannah didn’t have much money, after all. “And you could be a little nicer. She did really help us today.”

  “Yeah, I suppose,” he said grudgingly. “But cutting class to do it . . .”

  “She had the morning off.”

  “Did she?” Master Slipshod looked unconvinced. “I don’t remember Chef Academy ever giving a student a whole morning off.”

  “Well, her school is probably different.”

  “If you say so. I still say that girl’s a whole lot of trouble, but if she wants to work here for free, I suppose even I can’t complain.”

  Lailu shook her head, but that was probably the best she’d get.

  “And speaking of not complaining,” Master Slipshod cleared his throat. “I notice someone went hunting last night. Without me.”

  Lailu’s ears burned and her body went icy. “Er,” she tried.

  “Er. That’s what I thought.” Slipshod’s eyebrows drew close together. “Reckless, Pigtails. Very reckless.”

  “S-sorry.”

  “You won’t do it again?”

  “I won’t do it again . . . as long as you come back when you say you’re coming back.”

  He glared at her, then sniffed and went back to the dishes.

  When it was obvious his lecture was over and he wasn’t about to toss her in the street, Lailu relaxed and began stacking the leftovers off to the side. She couldn’t feel too bad
. It had been a successful hunt, after all. Well, more or less. She paused as the paper she’d cleared off Vahn’s table earlier caught her eye. Leaning forward, she studied the picture of Greg.

  It was obvious he came from money. LaSilvian’s Kitchen was at least twice the size of Mystic Cooking, and even though the picture was in black and white, she could tell by all the different shades that his exterior was decorated with class. But what really caught her attention was how the picture did not look like some sort of painting. Oh no. The details of his annoyingly curly mop of hair and dimples were too perfect.

  If Greg could get his picture in this paper thing to bring in the crowds, maybe she could do the same. She pushed the paper back farther on her counter, stashing the idea away for later, then stopped as another tiny article in the corner caught her eye.

  Middle- and Lower-Class Businesses Feeling the Elves’ Pressure

  The elves are cracking down on their businesses, and an anonymous speculator has stated they believe that in spite of this pressure, this notorious gang doesn’t have as much power as they once . . .

  (see page five for continuation of article)

  Lailu frowned, but before she could flip the page she heard the bell chime, followed by the tapping of a cane. Mr. Boss had arrived.

  7

  MASTER SLIPSHOD DISAGREES

  Best not to keep him waiting,” Master Slipshod whispered. He squeezed Lailu’s shoulder, then slipped past the curtain. As Lailu followed him, she could still feel the reassuring weight of his hand. She lifted her chin. They would be just fine.

  Mr. Boss wore a sharp black suit with tails, a silvery cravat, and his favorite ruby pin, yet despite his polished attire, he looked exhausted, the wrinkles slowly gathering around his pinched-in face as he leaned heavily on his cane.

  “Welcome to Mystic Cooking, Victor. Please sit wherever you would like.” Master Slipshod gave an awkward half bow, then hovered nearby as Mr. Boss’s people sat themselves at one of the larger tables.

  Lailu kept a close eye on the Butcher as he sat to the right of Mr. Boss. She could still remember the feeling of helplessness, the way she’d been unable to stop him from destroying her shrine. Shuddering, she studied the rest of Mr. Boss’s people. There weren’t nearly as many as last time, only about a half dozen.

  Ryon caught her eye as he pulled out his chair. He winked, and Lailu, scowling, looked away. Winking always made her uncomfortable. In her opinion, you couldn’t trust a man who could close one eye at a time.

  She glanced at the man to the left of Ryon. He resembled a drowned rat with his scrawny face, sharp nose, and rodentlike hands, the yellowed nails tapered to points. She didn’t recognize him at all, but Slipshod did.

  “Brennon, old boy! What are you doing here?” Master Slipshod clapped the rat man on the shoulder.

  “Oh, Brennon’s just been doing some work for me,” Mr. Boss said with a sly smile.

  Brennon shrugged, not quite meeting Slipshod’s eyes as he sat.

  “Is this everyone?” Lailu demanded.

  Master Slipshod shot her a worried look, but she was too angry to care. They shut down their restaurant for him and just six of his people?

  “Patience, my dear. There will be others joining us shortly.” Mr. Boss leaned forward in his chair. “But we’ll take some of your kraken calamari fettuccine while we’re waiting.”

  Lailu shook her head. “We’re all out.”

  “You’re out?” His colorless eyes narrowed, taking in Lailu’s disheveled appearance. “Ah. Customers today, I see.”

  “Oh yes. Paying customers.”

  “When are you going to make more fettuccine?” he asked Master Slipshod.

  “Unfortunately, not for a while.” At Mr. Boss’s frown, he explained, “Kraken was this week’s special, and the fettuccine was just for our opening day. The next special will feature something else.”

  “So what are you cooking next time?” the Butcher demanded. “It better not be something stupid, like fire-breathing chickens.”

  Lailu took a step back as if she’d been slapped. Did he know? She took a deep breath, her heart still pounding in her ears. “N-no. No chicken.”

  “Dragon?” Mr. Boss asked softly.

  Lailu bit her lip. She wanted to hunt dragon more than anything, wanted to learn the secrets of creating a full-course feast from the dragon cuisine expert himself, but Master Slipshod kept putting her off.

  Mr. Boss leaned forward, his hand tightening on the end of his cane. “I heard that dragon cuisine has longevity properties.”

  “It has what?” the Butcher asked.

  “It helps you live longer,” Ryon explained.

  “Well,” Master Slipshod began hesitantly, “it can help improve your health. For a bit. But the effects only last as long as it takes the food to digest.”

  Mr. Boss’s eyes gleamed. “And isn’t your specialty dragon cuisine?”

  “It is,” Slipshod admitted reluctantly.

  “And,” Mr. Boss added, “isn’t there a dragon that’s been harassing people on the outskirts of the city?”

  “So I’ve heard.” Slipshod shifted uncomfortably.

  “Well then, doesn’t that make it your duty as a master chef to take care of it?” Mr. Boss’s smile was all sharp teeth and menace, and Slipshod looked away, his lips pressed together. “So . . . dragon next time.”

  Master Slipshod straightened, pulling his shoulders back until he towered at his full and considerable height. “No.”

  Mr. Boss’s mouth opened in surprise. “No?” he managed to say, his face darkening. “No?”

  “Not until we’re better established. Dragon takes a long time to hunt and prepare correctly, and I want to wait until Lailu is ready for it.”

  “I—I’m ready,” Lailu said quickly, unable to help herself. “I can learn—”

  “No, Pigtails, you’re not.”

  Lailu’s heart sank. How could she not be ready? She’d faced krakens and manticores and all sorts of other mystical beasts. Why not dragons, too? She could do it. She knew she could do it.

  “You’re still a little too reckless,” Slipshod added with a meaningful look.

  Lailu winced. Had she ruined her chances at dragon? After one little solo hunt?

  The bell chimed and a striking gentleman with thick salt-and-pepper hair stepped through the doorway. His cold green eyes took in everything, from the decorations of the restaurant to the people at the table, to Slipshod, and finally to Lailu herself. Lailu shivered, glad when the man’s gaze moved back to Mr. Boss. The new arrival looked vaguely familiar and was clearly a man of money. Whereas Mr. Boss’s clothing was flashy and loud, this man wore understated clothing of the finest cut and quality.

  He strutted into the dining room flanked by two large men who were obviously his muscle, but he moved like he was dangerous, like he didn’t need them. Lailu could feel Master Slipshod tense next to her, and her breath caught in her throat.

  “Ah, Elister, my good friend.” Mr. Boss rose to his feet. “Welcome.”

  “Victor,” Elister said curtly. He towered a good foot and a half over Mr. Boss, and as he stared down at the smaller man, Lailu got the impression he was purposely emphasizing that fact. She frowned. As a short person, she hated when people made a big deal out of their height, like it somehow made them better.

  “Please have a seat.” Mr. Boss glanced at the two massive men with Elister, then indicated the empty chairs on the other side of the table. “For you gentlemen.”

  “We sit with Elister.” One of them jerked a thumb over at Elister’s side of the table.

  “I hardly think he’ll be attacked here,” Mr. Boss said smoothly. “Relax, gentlemen. I own this place.”

  “Ahem.” Lailu coughed. Mr. Boss flicked her a glance but didn’t make a correction, and her blood boiled. She looked at Master Slipshod, but he was still staring at Elister, his lips pressed firmly together. Apparently it was up to her to correct Mr. Boss. “Actually—”
/>   “We’re going to need some wine,” Ryon said, talking over her.

  “Wine, yes. Wine.” Master Slipshod seized on the idea. “Lailu, go fetch a few bottles.”

  “Maybe some LaSilvian,” Elister remarked.

  Lailu grimaced. Greg’s uncle owned one of the largest vineyards in the country. She supposed his wine was okay, but with their most recent fight still so clear in her memory, it was all she could do to say politely, “Sorry, we don’t keep LaSilvian wine here.”

  “No LaSilvian? Interesting.” Elister finally seated himself next to Mr. Boss. His two men started forward, but Elister held out his hand, stopping them in their tracks like well-trained dogs. “Victor is quite right, boys. I do not require your presence next to me for this.”

  Boys? Lailu looked at the two men. Neither of them had been boys for a long time, that was for sure.

  “But, Boss—”

  “Please seat yourselves. I assure you I am quite safe.” He smiled darkly, his eyes remaining cool and unamused. He turned those eyes back on Lailu. “Another brand of wine, then?”

  Lailu just stared at him, her joints as rigid as the leftover kraken tentacle. She had finally remembered who he was: Lord Elister the Bloody.

  The king’s executioner.

  8

  ELISTER THE BLOODY

  I’ll make sure she brings us the good stuff.” Ryon looped his arm through Lailu’s and dragged her into the kitchen, pulling the curtain closed. “Lailu.”

  Lailu just stood there, unable to speak.

  “Hey, snap out of it.”

  She was trembling so hard her teeth were knocking together. She couldn’t stop; she just felt so cold, so cold, and Elister the Bloody was sitting there in the dining room. He was probably going to kill them all—

  “Lailu!” Ryon smacked her lightly across the face.

  Lailu blinked, stunned, and then the world snapped back into focus.

  “That’s better. Now where’s your— Ouch! What did you do that for?” he demanded, rubbing his shin.