by Heidi Lang
Lailu tried to ignore the way Eirad emphasized the word priceless. If this didn’t work, she wasn’t sure what would. “I am a master chef,” she began.
Gwendyl gave a small snort. “You? You’re just a child!”
“Gwendyl,” Fahr said warningly, and the elf woman was immediately silent. “Continue.”
Lailu’s face flushed, but she forced herself to say, “So I propose a negotiation based on . . . food.” It sounded silly coming out like that.
“Food?” Eirad arched one thin blond brow, making Lailu feel even sillier.
“Y-yes.”
“What kind of food?” Fahr asked.
Lailu hesitated. “Dragon cuisine.”
Gwendyl dropped her quill on the floor.
“Are you serious?” Eirad asked eagerly.
“A chef never jokes about food,” Lailu said.
“So I’ve heard.” Fahr watched her carefully. “A moment, if you please.” The two male elves moved their heads together, speaking rapidly in a liquid, flowing language that Lailu could almost, but not quite, understand. She waited, trying not to fidget.
“Really?” Eirad sat back, the beads woven into his long blond braids clacking against one another. “But that’s . . .”
Fahr narrowed his eyes.
Eirad smoothed out his features, his face a blank mask as he turned back to Lailu. “Here is what we propose. We will come to your restaurant in two days’ time for a dragon cuisine feast. There will be . . .” Eirad thought for a moment. “Twenty of us.”
Lailu’s heart stuttered. That would practically fill her small restaurant. And two days to hunt down a dragon and prepare it? Assuming Master Slipshod even agreed to take her. “A week,” she said, surprising herself.
Eirad blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I need at least a week to prepare a decent meal. I mean, Master Slipshod and I still have to hunt the thing, not to mention all the other ingredients we’ll need to track down.”
Eirad shook his head. “These are the terms: two days.”
“This is high-quality cuisine we’ll be making! We’ll need time to prepare it.”
“Three days,” Fahr interjected, and Eirad’s jaw dropped. “It’s high-quality cuisine,” Fahr said mildly, mimicking Lailu’s words. “I think three days is reasonable.”
“You really think so?” Eirad asked. “Three days seems like a long time.”
“It is dragon, Eirad.”
Sighing, the blond elf turned back to Lailu. “Three days, and we’ll be showing up for dinner on the third day, mind.” He narrowed his eyes as if waiting for her to argue, but Lailu knew a lost battle when she saw one.
“Of course.” She tried not to think of everything that could go wrong. Like what she’d do if Master Slipshod decided she really wasn’t ready, and refused to help her. She remembered that Ryon had said to make sure everything was very definitively stated. Clearing her throat, she added, “Just to clarify, our current deal is that I will cook dragon cuisine for twenty of your people in three days’ time, and in return you will consider Hannah’s debt paid in full.”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” Eirad was smiling again, never a good sign, and Lailu mentally reviewed her statement.
“And since Hannah’s debt will be considered paid in full, that means you’ll leave her alone. No future threats. No revenge,” Lailu added.
Eirad’s smile faltered a little. “You are taking all the fun out of this job,” he grumbled. He glanced at Fahr, who nodded. “Fine. We accept. Although she did steal from us, and it’s a priceless heirloom. And really, I feel we are setting a dangerous precedent by not taking at least one limb as a warning to future thieves—”
“Eirad,” Fahr said.
“—but those terms are accepted,” Eirad finished reluctantly.
Bracing herself, Lailu went forward with the rest of her plan. “I have another, uh, term.”
“Term?” Eirad smirked, and Lailu felt her face go red.
“Yes.” Here was the real gamble, the one even Master Slipshod wouldn’t take. She was gambling not only on her cooking skills, but also on everything she’d heard about the elves, about how they were incapable of lying, and about the things they were willing to take as payment. “I bet you . . . double or nothing.”
“What do you mean by that, child?” Fahr asked.
Lailu took a deep breath. “I won’t just cook dragon cuisine for you. I will cook the best dragon cuisine any of you have ever tasted. In exchange, you will take care of my debt to Mr. Boss so I am free of him. And of course you’ll still consider Hannah’s debt paid and seek no further revenge against her.” Eirad’s eyes narrowed dangerously and Lailu hurried on, “And if I fail, then . . . then . . .” She gulped. “Then I’ll forfeit the last ten years of my life to you.”
As soon as the words left Lailu’s mouth she wanted to swallow them back up again. Ten years. Gone. Vanished before she even had the chance to live them. Still, if this worked, she and Slipshod would be free of Mr. Boss forever. And if it didn’t work, then her life would be much shorter anyway. She just hoped it wouldn’t hurt, having the elves take her last decade from her.
“No no, little chef,” Eirad said. “I gave you a chance to agree to a years trade, and you didn’t take it. That is no longer an option for you. Instead, I would prefer to go with our standard deal.” He stared unblinkingly at Lailu. “If you fail to cook us the best dragon cuisine we’ve ever tasted, then we start taking body parts from your friend. And once she’s run out of useful limbs to donate, we’ll begin taking them from you, until we feel satisfied that we’ve received payment in full.”
Lailu’s mouth went dry. Apparently body parts were becoming the currency of choice in her life these days. It almost made her question her line of work.
Fahr spoke up. “Don’t be silly, Eirad. Just think how nice it would be to have our own personal chef cook for us every day.” His blue-gray eyes narrowed on Lailu’s face, and there was no laughter in them as he said softly, “Because we wouldn’t just take your last ten years. No. You said double or nothing. We would take the rest of your life.”
“O-of my life?”
“Oh, yes. There is no point in using up the years from a talented chef like yourself. You would be much more useful as our pet.” He leaned forward. “Once we own a person, we own them forever. And we elves have ways of ensuring you’ll live a long, long time. After all, longevity is in our blood.” He smiled at her like they were sharing some sort of joke and not talking about lifelong slavery.
“But that’s not giving me nothing . . . that’s taking away what little I have,” she protested, realizing that bargaining with elves was trickier than even Ryon had warned her about.
“We all have different definitions of nothing.”
I think I’d prefer donating body parts, Lailu thought miserably, her pulse beating painfully at the side of her neck. This whole negotiation was running away from her.
Eirad seemed to be enjoying Lailu’s misery, his whole face shining. “I take back my earlier complaint, Fahr. I approve of these terms.”
“Do you accept these terms?” Fahr asked Lailu.
Lailu thought they seemed very unfair. Slavery forever? Still, this whole double or nothing bet had been her idea. And besides, what was slavery to the elves compared to slavery to Mr. Boss? It was all the same, really. “I accept your terms,” she whispered, her stomach lurching.
“Then we’ll see you in three days, little chef. Now come along and I’ll show you out.” Eirad stood.
“I can find the door on my own.” Lailu didn’t want to stay next to Eirad any longer than necessary. She got the impression he did the limb removal.
24
GONE FOR GOOD
Lights shone through the windows of Mystic Cooking. Lailu was surprised, since the sun hadn’t even risen. Was Master Slipshod awake already? Excitement fluttered through her. Maybe . . . maybe he was preparing for their dragon hunt.
H
er hands shaking, Lailu pushed open the door, then staggered back as Hannah flew at her.
“Thank the gods you’re back,” Hannah gasped.
“Why? What’s wrong?” Lailu gently pried Hannah’s arms off her.
Hannah’s lips trembled. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “But . . . your mentor left.” She took a deep breath. “He’s gone.”
“Gone? What do you mean, gone?”
“I mean, he packed up all his stuff, grabbed some metal box from the cellar, and ran. I heard him rummaging in his room. Woke me up, and when I asked him what he was doing . . .”
“Yes?” Lailu prompted. Her chest felt tight, little spots of light flashing in front of her eyes.
“He said he was running, and that he wasn’t coming back.” Hannah looked away.
Lailu staggered into a chair and hung her head between her knees. Master Slipshod had told her she might finally be ready for dragons. And to just leave after that? “No, no, he wouldn’t.”
Hannah crouched in front of her, smoothing a hand down Lailu’s tangled pigtails. “He’s been abandoning you every time things get tough. It’s what he does. He screws up, and then he runs.”
“No.” Lailu lifted her head. “He’s a great chef.”
“Yes,” Hannah said sadly, “but he’s a terrible mentor.”
She’s so weird, it’s no wonder her mother left her. Lailu closed her eyes. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think. It hurt to remember. “Maybe it really is me,” she whispered.
“It’s not you. Lailu, listen to me.” Hannah shook Lailu’s shoulders until Lailu opened her eyes. “It’s. Not. Your. Fault,” Hannah said firmly.
Lailu wasn’t sure she believed her, but then she remembered something else Hannah had said. A box. She shot up and raced to the kitchen, throwing open the trapdoor and tearing downstairs to look in their safe.
It was just like she’d feared: The box with Elister’s payment was gone, and so was the rest of the money. A wave of nausea washed over Lailu, the room spinning around her like she’d gone up a hill too fast. All that work, and for nothing. He’d taken it all.
Desperately she felt around inside the small iron safe, just in case, but all that remained were a few cobwebs and an old, battered book.
Lailu picked it up. Its brown leather cover was cracked and peeling, but she could still clearly make out the large gold letters emblazoned on the front: Dragon Cuisine: An Account of the Hunting, Preparing, and Cooking of Dragon (including Mountain, Sea, River, and Desert varieties) by Master Sullivan J. Slipshod. First edition.
She traced her mentor’s name, then carefully flipped the book open. Despite her anger, despite his betrayal, despite everything, she couldn’t help the excitement bubbling up in her chest. This was the book. His book. The one he wrote, the one everyone referred to for dragon cuisine. She’d seen a copy of it back in the main Chef Academy library, but this one included all of Slipshod’s original notes scribbled in the margins next to the official recipes.
Turning the brittle pages gently, she flipped back to the beginning, this time spotting the paper he’d stuck behind the front cover, with a note:
Pigtails—
I know you’re determined to see this through, so I won’t insult you by suggesting you run. Just remember to aim for the nape of the dragon’s neck. There’s a nerve bundle there. And yes, I do believe you’re ready.
P.S. I’ve included a map of the best place to ambush the mountain dragon (see back).
P.P.S. Don’t get yourself killed.
Lailu wobbled back into the dining room and sat in a chair, still clutching the book.
“Did he . . .” Hannah hesitated. “Did he take the money?”
Wordlessly, Lailu nodded.
Hannah pursed her lips, and Lailu could tell she was trying desperately not to say “I told you so.” Because she had, right from the start. She’d always thought Master Slipshod was bad news. Lailu just hadn’t been willing to hear it. To Lailu, Master Slipshod was a legend, a great chef who not only taught her favorite teacher at the academy, but was also willing to take her on as his very own apprentice.
“I’m sorry, Hannah.” Lailu sighed. “You’re probably right about the haircomb, too.”
“I know.” Hannah was quiet a moment. “So,” she said at last, “we don’t have any money at all.”
Lailu shook her head miserably.
“What’s the plan, then?”
“Same plan as before, I guess.” Lailu paused. “In exchange for clearing your debt, I’m going to make the elves dragon cuisine.”
“Dragon . . . cuisine?” Hannah went pale. “Really, you have to hunt a dragon? Oh, Lailu, I’m, I’m so, so sorry, I—”
“It’s no big deal.” Lailu tried to sound casual, but her mouth was dryer than fyrian chicken meat.
“No big deal?” Hannah squeaked. “But it’s dragon.”
“Master Slipshod says I’m ready.” A tiny sliver of pride cut through the fear and anger. He left her, but he said she was ready. Maybe she really was. Maybe she didn’t even need him. “He left me his book and a map, so I know where to find one, and how to hunt it, and even more important, the best way to prepare it afterward.”
“A book?” Hannah looked skeptical. “You’re going to do all these things with the help of only a book?”
“I’ll probably want some backup, too,” Lailu decided.
Hannah nodded. “Backup. Yes. Uh . . . can I . . . can I help?” The whites showed all around her eyes and her lips trembled, but Lailu could see by the tilt of her friend’s chin that she meant it. She’d really help her hunt a dragon. Lailu tried not to laugh at the image.
“Thanks for the offer, but I think I need someone with a little more hunting experience.”
Hannah took a deep breath. “I may not have any hunting experience, b-but I can still be helpful. I can help you carry supplies, at least.”
Lailu started to shake her head.
“Please, Lailu! I got us into this mess. I want to help get us out of it.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I can’t just sit here, knowing you’re out there, knowing it’s my fault.”
Lailu grimaced, but clearly there was no talking her friend out of this. “All right, fine. But when I tell you to hide—”
“I’ll be invisible to the world.” Hannah smiled tremulously. “So, now that that’s decided, what next?”
Lailu chewed on her lip. She definitely needed more backup. But who? “LaSilvian’s,” she said finally. Hannah’s eyebrows rose, but as much as it pained Lailu to think it, there was no one else she could really trust on a mission like this. She needed Greg’s help. Again. “We’re going to LaSilvian’s.”
25
AMBUSHED!
The sun spilled across the morning air in golden waves, not a cloud in the sky. Lailu munched on spiced coffee beans, uncomfortably aware of Greg walking just a few steps behind her. She wasn’t sure if it was the excitement of the hunt or the coffee, but her stomach twisted whenever he looked at her. She’d barely spoken to him since he agreed to come along, so the only sounds were their footsteps and . . .
Wheeze, pant, gasp. “Are we,” Hannah huffed, “almost”—huff—“there?”
“Almost, Hannah,” Lailu assured her, checking the map Slipshod had drawn for her. It still hurt to think of him, of how he’d left her. But she was too busy right now to waste energy feeling betrayed, even if they were making excellent time. They’d already passed the base of the mountains. “Another hour, maybe two, and we’ll be at the spot.”
Hannah dropped her bag, staggering to a stop. “Another hour?”
“You could stay here and rest, if you’d like,” Greg said.
Hannah narrowed her eyes. “No,” she said firmly. “I said I’d help, so I’m helping.”
“Then at least let me carry your bag.” Greg reached for it, but Hannah moved surprisingly fast for someone so red-faced and sweaty, snatching it away and slinging it back over her shoulders. Greg’s eyebrows rose. �
��What are you carrying in there?”
“Stuff,” Hannah said, shifting away from him.
“What kind of stuff?” Lailu didn’t want to sound suspicious, but with Hannah’s reputation for re-homing shiny objects, well . . .
“Just things that might help us.” Hannah wasn’t looking at either of them now, and Lailu’s suspicions rose. “Anyhow, Greg, I can see Lailu was wrong about you,” Hannah added hurriedly.
Lailu froze.
“Oh?” Greg asked.
Hannah grinned. “You are actually quite the gentleman.”
“Lailu said I wasn’t a gentleman?”
“I never said that!” Lailu’s face blazed.
“Oh, so you said I was a gentleman?” Greg asked, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
Lailu’s earlier shyness vanished like cream puffs on a market day. Greg was still just Greg, the same annoying, self-satisfied jerk he’d always been. Lailu took a deep breath. “Let’s just keep going.”
The landscape dried out as they climbed higher and higher into the mountains, surrounding themselves with scraggly trees looming over loose piles of rock. Occasionally Lailu would consult Slipshod’s map, but she could tell they were in the right area. This was exactly the sort of place mountain dragons enjoyed, with plenty of towering boulders and craggy cliff edges, and soon Lailu began seeing long gouges in the hard-packed dirt. Talon marks. The distinct half-moon shape was definitely from a dragon.
It was a good thing she was focusing so hard on their task, since Greg and Hannah seemed determined not to pay any attention at all. Instead, Greg was wasting time telling Hannah stories about their experiences at the Chef Academy. Lailu did not fare well in his versions, but she was doing her best to ignore him. It was getting harder and harder, though, especially now that he’d gotten around to the Incident.
“. . . so we walk out, and all around us are these burned patches and charred husks of corn. And get this, even after seeing the size of the chicken hut, Lailu goes, ‘This doesn’t look so bad,’ ” Greg said, doing an awful imitation of Lailu’s higher voice.
