Read Online Sweep in Peace (Innkeeper Chronicles Book 2) by Ilona Andrews - Free Book Online
Authors: Ilona Andrews
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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.”
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
“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.”
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
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