now we’re cooking for Ghol, who doesn’t know what he likes. Oorol was pretty good—he managed to entertain Ghol for the better part of a year.”
Annaïg tried to do the calculations in her head; from various conversations, she reckoned the Umbrielian year at just over half a year on Tamriel.
“That’s not very long,” she said.
“It’s not. Hurry, now, we’ve got to subdue his staff, find out what they know, and have an acceptable dinner for him.”
“How did she—what did she kill him with?”
“We call it her filet knife, but no one really knows. You can’t see it, can you? And at times it seems longer than others. We’re not quite sure how long it can get. Now come along, unless you have more useless questions to slow us down and speed us toward the sump.”
“I do have a question. I don’t think it’s useless.”
“What?” the chef snapped impatiently.
“When you say we have to subdue his staff—”
“We’ll see. It might mean a fight. Have a knife in your hand, but hold it discreetly.”
Slyr’s previous staff had consisted of six cooks. Their new staff had eight—Annaïg and Slyr made ten.
In this case, “subduing” them simply meant calming them down and getting them to work, which Slyr managed with a minimum of slapping around, so they were soon discussing thelord’s tastes, or at least what little seemed consistent about them. To make things even more fun, it turned out he was having another of the lords—one who used another kitchen entirely—over for dinner, and about him, they knew nothing.
“What was the last thing he liked?” Slyr asked Minn, who had been Oorol’s second.
“A broth suspire made from some sort of beast the taskers brought,” Minn said. “There was an herb, too.”
“Ah. From outside.”
“Can you describe them?” Annaïg asked. “The beast and the herb?”
“I can show them to you,” Minn replied. They walked over to the cutting counter.
“That’s a hedgehog,” Annaïg said. “The plant”—she crushed the pale green leaves between her fingers and smelled them—“eucalyptus.”
“But we used both again today, and you saw the result.”
“You reason from that that he’s tired of these things?” Slyr asked. “Were they prepared in the same way?”
“Not at all. We toasted the bones to reveal the marrow and infused all with a vapor of the—ah—youcliptus?”
“That doesn’t sound good at all,” Annaïg said.
Slyr rolled her eyes. “Quickly now, I don’t need to say this again, so get it the first time. Some in Umbriel—us, the slaves, the laborers and tenders, farmers and harvesters, fishers and such—we eat things of gross substance. Meat, grain, vegetable matter. The greatest lords of this city dine only on infusions and distillations of spirituous substance. But between us and them there are the lower lords and ladies who still require matter to consume, but also have some degree of
liquor spiritualis
infused in their diet. But because they desire the highest status—which most will never achieve—they pretend to it, preferring to dine mostly on vapors, scents, gases. Of course, they must consume some amountof substance. They like broths, marrows, gelatins—” She sighed. “Enough. I will explain more later. For now we have to make something.” She turned to Minn. “What else can you tell me of his tastes?”
In the end they made a dish of three things: a foam of the roe of an Umbrielian fish, delicate crystals like spherical snowflakes made of sugar and twelve other ingredients that would sublimate on touching the tongue, and a cold, thin broth of sixteen herbs—including the eucalyptus—which had the aroma of each ingredient but tasted like nothing at all.
The servers took it away, leaving Slyr wringing her hands.
With good cause, because as they were all turning in for the night, Qijne found Annaïg and Slyr.
“It bored him,” she said. “Again, he’s bored. Make it right, will
Annaïg tried to do the calculations in her head; from various conversations, she reckoned the Umbrielian year at just over half a year on Tamriel.
“That’s not very long,” she said.
“It’s not. Hurry, now, we’ve got to subdue his staff, find out what they know, and have an acceptable dinner for him.”
“How did she—what did she kill him with?”
“We call it her filet knife, but no one really knows. You can’t see it, can you? And at times it seems longer than others. We’re not quite sure how long it can get. Now come along, unless you have more useless questions to slow us down and speed us toward the sump.”
“I do have a question. I don’t think it’s useless.”
“What?” the chef snapped impatiently.
“When you say we have to subdue his staff—”
“We’ll see. It might mean a fight. Have a knife in your hand, but hold it discreetly.”
Slyr’s previous staff had consisted of six cooks. Their new staff had eight—Annaïg and Slyr made ten.
In this case, “subduing” them simply meant calming them down and getting them to work, which Slyr managed with a minimum of slapping around, so they were soon discussing thelord’s tastes, or at least what little seemed consistent about them. To make things even more fun, it turned out he was having another of the lords—one who used another kitchen entirely—over for dinner, and about him, they knew nothing.
“What was the last thing he liked?” Slyr asked Minn, who had been Oorol’s second.
“A broth suspire made from some sort of beast the taskers brought,” Minn said. “There was an herb, too.”
“Ah. From outside.”
“Can you describe them?” Annaïg asked. “The beast and the herb?”
“I can show them to you,” Minn replied. They walked over to the cutting counter.
“That’s a hedgehog,” Annaïg said. “The plant”—she crushed the pale green leaves between her fingers and smelled them—“eucalyptus.”
“But we used both again today, and you saw the result.”
“You reason from that that he’s tired of these things?” Slyr asked. “Were they prepared in the same way?”
“Not at all. We toasted the bones to reveal the marrow and infused all with a vapor of the—ah—youcliptus?”
“That doesn’t sound good at all,” Annaïg said.
Slyr rolled her eyes. “Quickly now, I don’t need to say this again, so get it the first time. Some in Umbriel—us, the slaves, the laborers and tenders, farmers and harvesters, fishers and such—we eat things of gross substance. Meat, grain, vegetable matter. The greatest lords of this city dine only on infusions and distillations of spirituous substance. But between us and them there are the lower lords and ladies who still require matter to consume, but also have some degree of
liquor spiritualis
infused in their diet. But because they desire the highest status—which most will never achieve—they pretend to it, preferring to dine mostly on vapors, scents, gases. Of course, they must consume some amountof substance. They like broths, marrows, gelatins—” She sighed. “Enough. I will explain more later. For now we have to make something.” She turned to Minn. “What else can you tell me of his tastes?”
In the end they made a dish of three things: a foam of the roe of an Umbrielian fish, delicate crystals like spherical snowflakes made of sugar and twelve other ingredients that would sublimate on touching the tongue, and a cold, thin broth of sixteen herbs—including the eucalyptus—which had the aroma of each ingredient but tasted like nothing at all.
The servers took it away, leaving Slyr wringing her hands.
With good cause, because as they were all turning in for the night, Qijne found Annaïg and Slyr.
“It bored him,” she said. “Again, he’s bored. Make it right, will
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