Dragon Stew I
Sep. 2nd, 2007 07:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrGuests have been much fun, and I will squee about my lufflies properly later <3
For now I was a bad hostess and finished up a story I should have completed a long time ago ^^;;
This is for the wonderful and marvelous![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nikerymksherea, because I wanted to write something to cheer her up. It's past due, but hey.
I asked what she wanted, and she tossed a fairytale summary at me that she'd been planning to rewrite but said I could take a crack at instead. The original was Dragon Stew, and I do not have a proper link for it since I'm not 100% positive where she first read it.
Much love to those who read and helped me fix. I less than three you! ^_^
In two parts, b/c god forbid it stick to the word limit.
Making Dragon Stew
"So you're the one who beat up my cook?"
"Yes, Majesty," Huey said, keeping back 'and I was happy to do it' only with great effort. Even he was not stupid enough to smart off to the King.
Annoyance was plain on the round King's face. "You sound not the slightest bit sorry. I suppose I should expect that from an ungrateful little peasant."
Huey barely kept back a snort of derision. He was many things, but little was not one of them. If he wasn't the tallest person in the room, he was very close to it. His mother had promised he would fill out one day, that he would not always be simply arms and legs, that he would become a truly impressive sight.
Unfortunately, he was still tall and skinny and awkward. Perhaps fortunately, his mother hadn't lived long enough to know that.
"So, peasant, what do you plan to do to compensate me for my cook?"
Huey frowned. He'd been fairly certain this was the part where he got tossed in the dungeons until someone felt like cutting his head off. Everyone knew the King's passion for food.
He'd known before he swung the first punch that he likely wouldn't live to gloat about it very long. But the bastard cook was such a bastard, taunting the women and children like that, rubbing it in their faces that they were not good enough, and that on top of—
So what if he was going to get beheaded. If he saw the bastard again before he died, he'd beat him soundly enough to earn three beheadings.
A soft chuckle of amusement broke into his thoughts, and Huey shot a look at the source of it.
The King's Advisor. Everyone recognized him – he went riding in the fields and hills every morning and evening, white-blonde hair whipping out behind him in a long braid, cloak snapping and rippling. His eyes were pale blue, bright with mirth as he regarded Huey.
"Let him fix the stew, if that's what you're upset about," the Advisor said.
"No one can fix the stew but my cook," the King replied peevishly.
The Advisor clucked. "Let him try; certainly so many days in the kitchens would prove more gruesome a punishment than simply throwing him in the stocks. Why did you beat the cook anyway, lad?"
It took Huey a moment to realize that smooth, almost lyrical-sounding voice was directed at him, startling him into speaking before he thought his words out. "He deserved it."
That earned him an angry glare from the King. "We take great care to feed the commoners, peasant. My cook sees the excess is taken down every single day and given to those in need. Why would such a hardworking and generous person require such a brutal beating?"
Huey bit back angry words, knowing they were useless. It would always be his word against the cook's, and as he'd beaten the bastard up – who would believe him? "I guess I just felt like it."
"Fine, peasant," the King snapped. "Twenty lashes for the injuries you did my cook, and then you will make the dragon stew I require for my birthday celebration. Should you fail to make it as well as my cook you will be put to death."
Well that wasn't fair. Then again, if his mother was here, Huey didn't doubt she'd come up with a punishment worse than death.
Suddenly he really missed her, more than ever. The pain was sharp, making it hard to draw breath. He hadn't felt this lonely since the day he'd buried her, the weeks after…two years now, and she may as well have died yesterday.
Biting back a curse, he forced himself to remain still and calm.
"Well, peasant, what say you?"
"As you command, Majesty. Your word is law, and I shall obey."
The King snorted. "If you were one to obey, you would not have beaten my cook half to death."
If they hadn't stopped him, Huey thought sourly, he could have beaten the bastard three quarters to death.
"Guards!" the King roared. "Take him out back for his lashings."
Barely repressing a shudder as it suddenly struck him just what he was in for, Huey restrained an urge to flee and let the guards drag him away.
*~*~*
Every movement was an agony. His backside burned from shoulders to ass, and he really wanted nothing more than to go to bed and not move for a week. Ideally a month, but he didn't want to be too greedy.
The kitchen fell silent as he entered, dozens of pairs of eyes staring at him.
Huey barely kept back a cringe. He wanted his little bakery down in the village, tucked in the corner where it was in no one's way but welcome to any who wanted fresh bread or to drop off their pies for cooking.
This…he didn't belong here. Not a bit.
Then the laughter started – quietly at first, a faint giggle from one of the scullery maids…then it just grew worse, until Huey realized he'd hunched his shoulders in a futile effort to hide himself.
Straightening them, biting back a cry of pain, he strode into the kitchen and approached the woman who seemed to be in charge – they always had a look about them. "Sorry to intrude," he said.
The woman, with a large build that spoke of hard work rather than laziness, quirked a brow, looking him up and down. "Fine mess you're in, boy. What nonsense were you pulling?"
"Private nonsense," Huey snapped. "What am I supposed to do?"
Shrugging, the woman went back to work on the bread she'd been kneading. "Don't ask me, lad. We can show you where he made the stuff, where he keeps the ingredients, but damned if any of us knew how he made it."
Huey sighed. "Then could I trouble you to show me?"
"Aye," the woman replied, and jerked her head at one of the boys by the spits. "Get on, then. Show him where to go." She fumbled in her apron for a moment and pulled out a key, slapping it into Huey's hand. "That'll get you inside. See you give the key to no one else, lad."
"Yes, ma'am," Huey muttered, then followed as the boy motioned to him before bolting from the main kitchen.
Huey was led down a short path to what proved to be a small kitchen, completely separate from the rest of the castle, butting right up against the wall.
"This is where he made the dragon stew," the boy said in a confidential tone. "Said no one else could see, because that would scare the dragon off."
The dragon. Right. As if a dragon would come anywhere near a castle, let alone to help cook. He'd never heard of anything more stupid.
Yet the cook had been making the dragon stew for the past two decades.
Mouth tight with anger and pain, Huey unlocked the door and stepped inside.
The smell of dried herbs and spices washed over him, sharp and pungent. Mingled with it was the lingering scent of smoke, of stewed meat and vegetables. The entire room was saturated with the smell of dragon stew.
It was the herbs which made his chest ache, so vivid a reminder of his mother. He reached out delicately to touch them, breathing in the familiar scents. When mother had passed away, he'd closed up their bakery, unable to stay there without her. Instead, he'd packed up, closed up, and left the only place he'd ever called home to start fresh somewhere else.
His own little bakery wasn't much, but it was more than enough, and he wished he were there now, making treats for the summer festival, instead of being stuck here because he'd been unable to resist beating the shit out of the arrogant, selfish bastard who'd—
Snarling, Huey cut the thought off and strode to the massive table in the middle of the room.
Lying in the center was a worn, scratched and faded box. Once, Huey knew, it had been decorated with white and blue flowers, done with painstaking care. All but gone now, only chips of paint here and there.
He took off the lid and looked at the litter of papers inside. That he knew how to read and write was something for which he'd always been grateful. They'd never had much, him and his mother, but she'd given him all she possibly could.
Gingerly he rifled through the cards, smiling sadly, eyes stinging maybe just a little bit, as he read the recipes for so many things his mother had made, all the different things she'd taught him to make.
His hand froze as he pulled out the recipe that had become the bane of his existence.
Hells, who was he kidding – it had always been the bane of his existence.
Pulling up an old stool, distantly amazed the dumb ass cook had been willing to work in such humble surroundings, Huey read over the notorious recipe.
The ingredients alone made it damn near impossible. Goblin, wyrm, pixie, magic toad…such ingredients would cost a small fortune. That wasn't including the seasonings, though most of those were currently hanging in bundles over his head. So the bastard wasn't completely stupid, if he knew many of these herbs would have to dry for an extended length of time to gain the right potency for dragon stew.
His mother had never made it when he was old enough to remember. He knew she'd made it when he was still a baby…but shortly after that…
Unfortunately, that meant he had no idea what the secret to it was. Only two people knew, and of those two one was dead and the other he'd beaten half to death. He looked down at the recipe again, hoping for some clue, but there was only the same nonsensical phrase written in his great-great-great grandmother's faded handwriting.
Cook with dragon fire
Where in the hells was he supposed to find a dragon? Forget it, that wasn't even possible. Obviously it was a code, something to keep people from stealing the recipe – but unfortunately his mother, in her heartbreak, had not told the secret to her son.
So now here he was, not really sorry he'd committed atrocious violence, but not in a real hurry to die either.
Really, it wasn't fair. The bastard cook was still alive; the King would live if he didn't get his soup just once – so why was he going to be executed?
Oh, right. Peasant. Expendable and all that.
Disgusted, thwarted, Huey dropped the recipe on the table.
He could improvise a great deal, his mother had taught him how to get around a kitchen…but he could not improvise when he did not know what was missing. Whatever was really meant by 'cook with dragon fire' he doubted it was something he could just skip or fake.
Which meant by the end of the week he'd be dead and that stupid bastard cook would be well and truly free of his dirty little secret.
The thieving, backstabbing bastard.
Huey wasn't generally inclined to violence, but to see that smug bastard bragging about his talent like that…after all the pain his mother had endured…
It was too much to take.
Now he was going to wind up very dead unless he figured out how to 'cook with dragon fire' real damned fast.
Hopeless.
Sliding off the stool, he strode out of the tiny kitchen and back toward the castle.
Inside, the noise once again died down as he entered.
"Give up already, eh?" asked a scullery maid, though her smile was friendly rather than taunting. "No one knows how he does it, just that the King raves and raves about it – and that it can only be made once a year, though the King protests that."
Huey smiled faintly. "Can't be helped, the preparation time for most of the ingredients is months, and they're not all available at the same time. The herbs especially can be tricky, never mind curing the goblin meat, smoking the pixies…extremely time consuming."
Several people paused in their work, gawking at him. "How…how do you know so much?"
"I…read the recipe," Huey said. "I've also worked with some of the ingredients before, though not often. I prefer bread and all, really. Soup and stew was more my mother's thing."
One of the women kneading bread paused and wiped her hands. "Know a bit about baking, do you?"
Huey shrugged. "My mother's family has always been cooks and bakers. I own a little bakery in the village…I doubt I'll see it again, but I own it."
A few of the cooks looked at him with a bit more respect.
"Well…" said one of the women, giving him a considering look, "come and help with dinner, then. At least you can do something while you figure out that dratted stew. Idle hands never did a body good, eh?"
Huey smiled, agreeing whole-heartedly. "If I'd been busy working at the time, maybe I wouldn't be in this mess."
The woman smiled approvingly, a few others clucking in agreement, before they dragged him to work on breads and pies and all manner of other things.
By the end of the night, messy and sweaty and exhausted, Huey had almost managed to forget he was going to be dead in a few days.
He finished cleaning off a table, throwing the rag toward the buckets being hauled in and out by a few of the spit-turning boys.
From the doorway, the Steward gave a deep, attention-getting cough.
The kitchen fell suddenly silent.
"His Lordship would like to speak with whoever made the peach dumplings this evening."
Huey felt sick as several heads swiveled his way. He winced. "That would be me."
The Steward regarded him with faint amusement. "Can't help but cause upheaval, can you lad?"
"I don't usually cause this much trouble," Huey muttered, then quickly cleaned himself up as best he could before following the Steward out of the kitchen, through the castle to the banquet hall.
He looked at the floor as whispers and exclamations immediately rose up.
A familiar chuckle, soft and rippling, cut through all the noise. "Well, well. Our new cook is already making a place for himself, even without the dragon stew."
Huey dared to look up, blinking at the King's Advisor.
Before, he'd been some distance from the man, and more worried about the lashes that even now throbbed and burned on his back. Now he was much closer, and realized suddenly that the King's Advisor was younger than he'd first thought. Still some years older than himself, but not as many as he would have imagined.
He was also handsome, so very elegant looking, skin unfashionably tan for a noble, hair loose rather than braided…and the color of it, somewhere between new fallen snow and fine-spun gold.
"Just acquainting myself with the kitchens," Huey finally managed, not quite able to meet those pale blue eyes all of a sudden. "The stew can't be made for a couple more days yet; the goblin isn't quite ready, nor are the pickled wyrm eggs."
Not that he'd checked, but he assumed if the stupid bastard cook had been doing this for as long as he had, then he more or less knew what he was doing. Which meant those ingredients wouldn't be ready until the day after tomorrow, if the stew was to be presented four days hence. That was day one and two, leaving three for the preparing, four to cook it.
Assuming he could figure out what dragon fire meant. Perhaps some sort of wood? A combination of woods? Specially treated woods?
Hells, he was really in trouble.
"You certainly seem to have acquainted yourself well," said the King's Advisor. "The peach dumplings were the best I've ever had. I suspect you also had a hand in several other improvements I noticed this evening. Do tell me what you helped make. I suspect I already know."
Nodding, feeling suddenly nervous, Huey rattled off what he'd done.
"Impressive," the King muttered begrudgingly. "It would be a shame to kill you, so let us hope you do not mess up my dragon stew."
Huey refrained from pointing out that the King could simply choose not to kill him – barely.
Another soft chuckle, the amused twist to well-shaped lips, made Huey suspect that his thoughts were not as private as he would prefer they'd be. "You obviously are a fine cook…ah, and here I realize we never learned your name. Do by all means give it."
"Huey."
"Then, Master Huey, you obviously are a fine cook. I do not doubt you will make a fine dragon stew. For now, I can see you are quite tired. Go find your bed, and good luck with your cooking."
"Thank you," Huey said, ignoring the buzz of conversation that sprang up as he departed.
Back in the kitchen, he was attacked by what seemed to be every last servant in the castle, smothered by the baking women and scullery maids. He answered the clamor of questions as best he could, trying to figure out exactly why anyone cared and seemed relieved it had gone well.
"I guess you'll be needing a bed, at that," said the woman who ruled the kitchen – Huey had wondered where she'd been most of the night, but on the few occasions he'd seen her pop in, she'd scarcely paid him a look.
Odd, to say the least. Why did no one seem mad he was here? That he'd beaten up the stupid cook in charge of all this?
Eventually, they were all hustled back to work, scrubbing, cleaning, preparing for the next day.
The kitchen had emptied of all but the most senior staff and Huey when the Steward appeared again. He was smiling faintly, clutching what Huey realized was a book, as he sat down at the table where they were all gathered and helped himself to the tea someone had brewed.
"For you," he said, handing the book to Huey. "I don't know what you did to impress Lord Cassarah so much, but he seems bound and determined to help you." He chuckled, all his sternness fading away as he pulled off his fancy layers and relaxed over tea. "Not that any of us would mind, really. You've done more work today than that oaf you trounced does in a single year, outside his stupid stew."
Huey blinked. "Umm…" He sipped his tea.
The servants all laughed, and began to discuss where he could sleep.
He let the debate wash over him, finally allowing his misery and exhaustion to catch hold. Four days left to live, unless he could figure out what in the hells 'cook with dragon fire' meant.
Sick of his thoughts, he glanced down at the book given to him by Lord Cassarah…the King's Advisor, he supposed. He blinked at the title, forgetting he was holding a hot cup of tea 'til it splashed over the rim onto his hand.
On Dragons
What…
Setting down his tea, terrified at the idea of spilling anything on the book, Huey made certain his hands were clean and then opened it.
A scrap of vellum slipped out, and he nearly fell off his stool stooping to catch it.
Should you need assistance in catching a dragon. Somehow I doubt it, but one never knows. ~C
Suddenly, Huey wished that he had not decided to administer a sound beating to the bastard cook.
Why…why was the King's Advisor doing this?
Snapping the book shut, he hastily stood up, chugging down the last of his tea. "I think I'll go read a bit more, see if I can learn anything more about the recipe. I can just sleep there, save everyone the trouble of shuffling. Thank you for everything. Goodnight."
Bolting as fast as his burning back would permit, he fled to the small kitchen that was the key to his life or death.
Shivering in the cool night air, he quickly set to work building up a healthy fire in the hearth, then brewed up a fresh pot of tea.
He was tired. So very, very tired. His back screamed in pain, and he wanted nothing more than to crawl into the small cot he could see in the corner and not wake for a very long time.
Instead, he poured tea into a chipped cup and settled at his work table, flipping the book open randomly.
It is common knowledge that dragons are strangely fascinated by those objects which shine or sparkle, most often precious metals and jewels, though they have been known to favor other objects and materials. In the days when dragon hunting was common, knights often wore shining armor to coax dragons out of hiding.
Even in present day, when dragons are so scarce, if it is suspected one is about the surest way to capture it is to lay something bright and colorful where the dragon might spy it. No dragon can resist the lure.
If jewels and precious metals are not available, colorful glass or highly polished metal will suffice, though they do not work quite as well. Occasionally bright colored fabrics or even polished river stones have been known to work. Anything bright or shining, something out of the ordinary for a wild beast, will almost always work.
Should such objects not be readily available, there is some slight possibility of drawing it out with food, but this tends not to work as well as simply setting out something that shines or sparkles.
That was not in the slightest bit helpful.
He seriously doubted any dragons were hanging around the castle, especially if they'd been used all these years for cooking. Ha!
Why did everyone think the only answer to this was a dragon? Goblin Ale wasn't made with goblin, fairy cake wasn't made with fairies, why was everyone so bloody certain dragon stew required a dragon?
He shut the book with a snap, wondering suddenly if the King's Advisor was just having a laugh at his expense. Certainly he seemed to chuckle whenever Huey was in the room.
Sipping his tea, Huey pondered simply scaling the wall and having done with it. Bakers were always in demand, he'd never lack for a job if he went somewhere else…
Except if he was going to run, then he was taking his mother's recipes with him – and he didn't doubt for a second that while the King might not care about him, he would be livid that his precious cook's marvelous recipes had been taken.
Heaving another sigh, Huey picked up his tea and strode back outside, suddenly in need of the brisk night air.
I want to eat you up.
Huey jumped, giving a startled cry, dropping his tea as he searched in vain for a voice that seemed to be everywhere and nowhere. "Who's there?"
Soft laughter, rich and deep, echoed through his mind.
He heard the scrape of something on the stone wall, the roof of his kitchen, and jerked his head up. Gasped.
"You—it can't—" He stumbled back as the dragon leapt neatly down from the wall and stalked toward him. His foot caught on something and he crashed to the ground, gulping for breath, wishing his feet would work so he could run because that was a dragon and obviously he'd lost his mind because there was no way a dragon had just been speaking to him.
More of that rich laughter echoed in his head. You are not crazy, my pretty little human.
Huey scowled. Yes, he was. Because a dragon was not talking and it most definitely had not just called him pretty.
He crashed abruptly into something hard, looking up to realize he'd somehow twisted enough to back up against the wall.
The dragon drew closer, and Huey waited in misery, knowing there was no escape. He drew a breath as it got close enough for him to smell it – sort of like smoke, but with a sharper edge that could only belong to a predator. It was so close that even in the dark he could see its eyes were some pale color, almost like silver.
It moved ever so slightly closer – then licked him.
Yes came a decisive tone. You are good.
"G-good?" Huey repeated, reaching up a trembling hand to wipe his face off. "Why in the hells am I talking to a dragon?"
Because when someone speaks to you, it is polite to respond, the dragon said matter-of-factly.
"Or someone put something in my tea," Huey retorted.
The dragon settled down in the grass, tongue flicking as he yawned. Nonsense.
Huey refused to believe this was happening.
He'd seen pictures of dragons before, the stuffed red dragon in the port city the one time he'd visited.
This dragon was nothing like the pictures or that sad looking hunting trophy.
It's scales…there was no other way to say it; they looked like moonlight, almost seemed to glisten and glow beneath the half-moon high above them. Its eyes were just as fine, pale as he'd noted before. In form it was like what he knew of dragons, about the length of three horses, thin and sinuous, narrow jaws filled with sharp teeth, long, wicked-looking claws jutting from the short legs. Like a serpent with legs, but large enough, clever enough, to be a thousand times more dangerous than a mere snake.
"What do you want?" Huey asked. "Why can you talk?"
Practice makes perfect, the dragon said, and there was no missing the smugness in its voice. All creatures can talk, in their own way. The trick was learning the human way. Not so hard.
The dragon was arrogant. Somehow, that didn't surprise him in the slightest. "So what do you want with me?"
I want you, the dragon said.
Huey blinked. "Me? What?" Someone had definitely slipped something into his tea.
You need my help, do you not, little cook? The dragon drew close enough to lick him again, quick and sly, and settled back down on the grass almost before Huey realized he was once again covered in dragon drool.
"The stew? How could you know about that? What in the hells is going on here!"
If he'd known beating up that bastard cook would cause this much trouble…
Well, he still would likely have done it, but he might have made an effort at running away.
I know a great deal, the dragon replied. Do you want to make a bargain?
"A bargain?" Huey asked.
Yes. You do know what a bargain is, don't you?
"Oh, shut up," Huey snapped. "I know what a bargain is, you damned dragon!"
The dragon's laughter rippled through his mind, and it rose up to slink towards him again, nudging and pushing until it curled around him. A bargain then, my pretty cook. I will spend one day helping you make your stew. In return, you must spend one night with me. Have we a deal?
"Like I have a choice?" Huey asked.
His back was killing him. He would like very much to pass out. He was being mauled by a dragon, and if he didn't agree to spend one night with it in four days he would be dead.
Who would have thought 'cook with dragon fire' actually meant cook with dragon fire.
There is always a choice, the dragon said, tongue flicking out to briefly lick one cheek.
"No, there isn't," Huey said with a sigh. "Fine, dragon. A day for a night. You have a bargain."
Excellent the dragon said, and with a last swipe of his cheek, seemed to glide over the grass and up the wall. It was gone as suddenly as it had come.
Huey wondered if the kitchen had anything stronger than tea.
*~*~*~*
He spent most of the next day going between preparing the dragon stew ingredients and helping the kitchen staff. Why they actually seemed to need his help, he couldn’t begin to understand, but every last person expressed nothing but gratitude with every little thing he did.
It was fun being in the midst of so much noise and chatter and bustle. His favorite days at the bakery were always when he had to rush about getting things done; he and his mother had never been very good at idleness in the end.
Bread, pies, porridge, pudding, tea, chocolate, coffee, tarts – all made with finer ingredients than he could ever afford. The spices alone made him turn positively green. He did the very best he could, but his best fell pathetically short of all that he was finding here.
On the bright side, being around so many fellow bakers and cooks he was fast picking up new tricks and recipes. If he could manage to keep his head, his bakery would thrive more than ever.
Except—
No point in thinking about it. Life was what it was, and all you could do was make the best of it. His mother had said that over and over again.
He hummed softly as he put the finishing touches on a tray of cream tarts, beckoning for one of the footmen to take it away. Wiping his hands, he looked around for anything of pressing urgency. Seeing nothing, he set his rag aside and strode from the kitchen and out to his small one.
Briskly he checked through everything, ensuring all ingredients were as they should be at this stage.
Unfortunately, everything was perfectly on schedule. The stupid cook was all too good at the recipe he'd stolen. Bastard. Huey balled his hands into fists to still the angry trembling. There was nothing he could do; look at what his actions had gotten him so far.
Still, if he saw the bastard again right now he would finish beating him to death. Or close enough he could never again break the hearts of a woman and child for the sake of stupid recipes.
Desperate for a distraction, he shoved away the recipe and his notes and pulled forward the book on dragons, once more flipping it open at random.
Dragons are fiercely possessive creatures. Once they claim something, it joins their collection of 'treasure' and they do not part with treasure. A dragon's hoard is its life, and it will fight to the death to protect it.
Do not steal lightly from a dragon, as it will never give up attempting to reclaim its stolen possession.
The author highly advises against ever proceeding with the following. If a dragon is a menace, best to kill it. Enslaving a dragon is a fool's ambition.
Enslaving a Dragon:
To enslave a dragon, one must steal from its hoard an object of especially precious value and hide it away where the dragon cannot in any way sense its location. Often this requires various components (Appendix F) and close observation as the dragon will never give up searching.
Having obtained and properly hidden the item, one can order the dragon to do his bidding in exchange for the return of the item. The dragon, in this situation, has no choice but to obey as killing the thief would lose the object forever and that the dragon could not endure.
Be aware this is an extremely dangerous endeavor, however. Should the dragon be pushed too far or too long, he will resort to violence upon others until his stolen treasure is returned. Dragons are, by nature, peaceful creatures. They are dangerous only in matters of their territorial, possessive natures. Killing them is oft times easier than attempting to cope with their thieving and brutally possessive natures.
It is the author's highly advised opinion that should a dragon appear in the area, it is best to kill it or drive it out. Do not attempt to enslave it. This cannot be reiterated enough.
Now that was interesting. Was it actually possible to enslave a dragon?
Huey grimaced at the thought, calling up the poor stuffed creatures he'd seen – and the strange, impertinent dragon who could talk since when could dragons talk with the over eager tongue with whom he'd struck a bargain.
Ignoring the fact he had no idea where the dragon kept his hoard, it hadn't even been necessary to do such a thing. The dragon had bargained with him. Possibly it had—
Hey, did the stupid cook enslave the dragon? But then why would the dragon be helping Huey? Surely that stupid cook would have told the dragon not to… except several maids had quite cheerfully reported to him the man could still barely leave his bed. Less cheerfully and more tartly they had stated likely the lazy oaf would stay there as long as possible.
And why hadn't anyone ever told him dragons could talk? Learn to talk. Whatever.
Frowning, Huey flipped the book back to the beginning, running his finger down the table of contents, looking for anything that might involve dragons and talking – and licking. He really didn't want to be licked anymore.
Nothing seemed to provide answers, and reading a passage in the introduction that described dragons as large, dumb beasts only annoyed him further. He wasn't crazy; he'd unfortunately made certain of that.
He could always ask the bastard cook, he supposed, but he'd much rather nail his tongue to the ceiling.
Snapping the book shut, he set it aside and stood to make tea. He wished he could go help make dinner, but while everyone else was cooking and eating, he would need to begin laying the foundations of the dragon stew. Tomorrow the hard stuff started; tonight he had only to cut, slice, smoke, and otherwise prepare everything.
Cook with dragon fire…did that mean all of it, or only at the end? Because many of the ingredients had to simmer for long periods of time, well before the main ingredients were all added. It would probably suffice to have only the one night…
And that was the bargain, after all, so the point was moot. Likely he could use simple wood fire for the bulk of the early simmering.
Nodding to himself, Huey set to work gathering up what he would need to begin. Selecting a knife from the rack against the far wall, he opened a barrel and pulled out several pickled elf-roots. Pale green, slender, faintly sweet, they reached their full potential in flavor when pickled.
Humming softly, he swiftly cut them into tiny pieces and dumped the lot into a large bowl. Next he reached over his head and selected several cuttings from the various herb bundles, roughly chopping them before tossing them in with the elf-root.
Leaving it all to sit, he grabbed a bucket to fetch water from the well, laboriously going back and forth, sloshing water over his pants and shirt, swearing softly, until the massive cauldron in which everything would cook was half full. It was set outside, just in front of the little kitchen, as moving it from the inside to out later would be impossible.
It was a wonder to him the King could eat the entire thing – dragon stew was meant to feed many. His opinion of the King was not much higher than that of the bastard cook.
Sighing, he retrieved the bowl and dumped in the elf-root and herbs, fetching a long wooden spoon to stir it in. That done, he fetched several jars of powdered herbs and spices, tasting each before adding them to the cauldron, stirring each one thoroughly in before adding the next.
That done, he let it be and moved to begin chopping other things, his humming sliding seamlessly from one song to the next, a habit picked up from his mother. Thinking of her brought a sharp pang, but he was here in a castle cooking with her long lost recipes and that had to count for something didn't it?
When he stopped for a break, he realized night had fallen. Yawning, he tidied up a bit and set a kettle to boiling for tea, setting out the chipped cup he was beginning to think of as his own.
Now that he'd stopped, every ache and pain was presenting itself – especially his back. It had been killing him every second of the day, but he did not have the time to give in to it. The lashing at least had only broken skin in a few places, and those were only shallow wounds.
Still, life wasn't very fun at the moment.
He moved to the door to let in some fresh air – and yelped at the giant white figure standing in front of it. "You!"
Me, the dragon said cheerfully, and before Huey could blink he found himself thoroughly licked.
"I really wish you would stop covering me in slobber."
You are tasty. Having fun, pretty cook?
"No," Huey said.
You are lying, the dragon said, still sounding cheerful.
Huey ignored him. "What are you doing here? Our bargain is for the day after tomorrow.
I decided I would be willing to help you today and tomorrow as well, so long as you are willing to bargain.
"Three days for three nights?" Huey asked warily.
The dragon rumbled, the sound low and deep, and Huey wondered for a moment if he was talking to a dragon or a giant, scaly cat. Lovely as that sounds, the work I will be doing two days hence is not nearly so difficult as what I will do tonight and tomorrow. So, no, the trade would not be fair. If you talk to me and answer my questions while I heat your first night's work, I will consider the trade fair.
"What would you do if it wasn't fair?" Huey, curious.
He was more curious about the reasons he was so willing to do what a dragon told him, but as obeying might help save his head, perhaps that wasn't so much a mystery.
The dragon growled briefly. I would extract full payment, one way or another.
"That doesn't sound reassuring."
The dragon said nothing.
Huey went inside to fetch his tea and a bit of bread for the dinner he realized now he'd never eaten, standing uncertainly once back outside.
Sit. Eat. Drink. Talk to me. The dragon settled down and opened it's mouth, and Huey almost jumped out of his skin at the flames that poured so easily from its mouth – deep orange gold, similar but not quite like the cooking fires he saw every single day.
Shrugging, Huey obeyed, wolfing down his bread before settling down with a groan of pain against the small building and sipping his tea. "What do you want me to talk about?"
Tell me about your family, perhaps?
Huey smiled sadly and stared into his tea. "My family, huh? My mother comes from a long line of cooks and bakers. She used to tell me that once upon a time our ancestors were the greatest cooks to the greatest king in the greatest kingdom in the world. Certainly she made the best soups and pies and bread I've ever tasted in my life. I try to be as good as her, but I've got a long way to go. My mother was pretty, hard-working, loyal…" And broken-hearted. So broken-hearted that even as a little boy he had understood there would never be a way to repair the damage.
What of your father? the dragon prodded, gentle curiosity filling his voice.
"My father?" Huey echoed. He laughed bitterly and took a deep swallow of tea. "My father can rot, for all I care."
You do not care for your father?
"Care?" Even to his own ears, his angry laughter sounded far too close to hysterical. "Care?" he repeated. "I care more about rotted vegetables than my father." Shut up, he told himself, shut up right now.
But the words wouldn't stop coming, somehow encouraged by the dragon's silence. "What is there to care about? You want a story?" His hand trembled, tea spilling, and he swallowed it down before it went to waste. "Once upon a time there was a handsome traveler who stopped in a small village at the edge of the kingdom. This handsome traveler claimed to be a cook looking to improve his skills. He met the village baker, a beautiful young miss, and the two fell quickly in love. A year after meeting, they were married, and little less than a year later they gave birth to a son."
His eyes stung but Huey ignored it. "For six years the little family lived together in their humble cottage behind their bakery, spending the days cooking and laughing and in great happiness.
"Until one day the little boy, now six, woke up early because of a strange sound. Crawling from bed he found his mother sobbing at the kitchen table. When he could not make her stop crying, the scared boy ran for his father – but could not find him anywhere. Nor could he find any of his father's belongings. Neither his old brown cloak nor his heavy black boots, not a stitch of his clothing or his old pipe. His father was gone and his mother was crying. Later that day the boy learned his father had run off in the night with his mother's treasured box of recipes."
Huey looked up at the stars, wondering absently why they were so blurry. "So the boy and his mother managed the bakery alone and tried not to think about his traitorous father, who had only wanted the secret recipes so carefully guarded by his mother. The boy grew up, and when his mother died he finally left the village he'd always called home and moved closer to the royal city.
"There he opened a bakery of his own, working in peace and relative happiness until one day he saw the royal baker, who in addition to being cruel and cold to the villagers, looked hauntingly familiar to the boy who had never forgotten his father's face. It was fatter, meaner, no longer handsome…but it was his father.
"Yet though the boy recognized his father, the royal cook did not recognize the son he had abandoned. Though they had the same green eyes and the same brown hair, the same nose and smile. Even when the boy was beating him, calling him a thief and traitor, the bastard cook did not know his own son."
It was the dragon's low growl that finally broke the spell of misery which he'd woven about himself, and Huey flushed with humiliation to realize how much he'd given away, all that he'd said. How stupid—"Sorry," he muttered.
The dragon abandoned the cauldron and Huey abruptly found himself wrapped up in moonlight scales, a surprising amount of heat, and rather than a tongue, only the dragon's muzzle nudged gently at his cheek. He rather thought his back should be screaming in pain, but he felt little more than a twinge. Pretty cook, all mine. He'll not hurt you anymore.
"I shouldn't have opened my big mouth," Huey muttered. "It doesn't matter anymore."
Another growl. It matters. It always matters. One such as he does not deserve a son like you and so he will never have you. He took one treasure from me, but you I will not let him have.
Huey nodded – then the words struck him. "Took one treasure? Do you mean you're enslaved? Like it said to do in my book? You really have to listen to him just because he took something?"
Not something.. The dragon's voice was thin, unhappy. Without even thinking about it, Huey reached up to touch – not really sure what to do, but the dragon seemed to…settle…when he touched its face, gently stroking the eye ridges and long snout. Treasure. He took a treasure. I have had it a very long time and it was a gift, and that means it's mine and not his and I want it back. If I do not do what he says, he will make certain it is lost forever.
"What did he take?" Huey asked, and wondered that even in the midst of his own unhappiness, the dragon's, and the sheer bizarreness of the situation – he could find it cute how childish the dragon sounded about this 'treasure' of his.
Still, it obviously was a great source of pain and gods knew most would consider his mother's old recipe box to be nothing but junk.
The dragon nuzzled him, making a low rumbling sound. It is a ring. Large, made from silver, set with a beautiful blue diamond. It used to belong to a Queen; she gave it to me when I saved her from some bandits. From her I started learning how to speak the human language.
"He's very good at stealing," Huey said in disgust. "How did he know where to find you?"
That…is complicated. Slowly the dragon unwound itself from around him. I will tell you later, but perhaps not right now. Let us work on your neglected stew, and you can tell me about your life in the village while I cook.
Huey nodded, feeling bemused. "All right."
For now I was a bad hostess and finished up a story I should have completed a long time ago ^^;;
This is for the wonderful and marvelous
nikerymksherea, because I wanted to write something to cheer her up. It's past due, but hey.I asked what she wanted, and she tossed a fairytale summary at me that she'd been planning to rewrite but said I could take a crack at instead. The original was Dragon Stew, and I do not have a proper link for it since I'm not 100% positive where she first read it.
Much love to those who read and helped me fix. I less than three you! ^_^
In two parts, b/c god forbid it stick to the word limit.
"So you're the one who beat up my cook?"
"Yes, Majesty," Huey said, keeping back 'and I was happy to do it' only with great effort. Even he was not stupid enough to smart off to the King.
Annoyance was plain on the round King's face. "You sound not the slightest bit sorry. I suppose I should expect that from an ungrateful little peasant."
Huey barely kept back a snort of derision. He was many things, but little was not one of them. If he wasn't the tallest person in the room, he was very close to it. His mother had promised he would fill out one day, that he would not always be simply arms and legs, that he would become a truly impressive sight.
Unfortunately, he was still tall and skinny and awkward. Perhaps fortunately, his mother hadn't lived long enough to know that.
"So, peasant, what do you plan to do to compensate me for my cook?"
Huey frowned. He'd been fairly certain this was the part where he got tossed in the dungeons until someone felt like cutting his head off. Everyone knew the King's passion for food.
He'd known before he swung the first punch that he likely wouldn't live to gloat about it very long. But the bastard cook was such a bastard, taunting the women and children like that, rubbing it in their faces that they were not good enough, and that on top of—
So what if he was going to get beheaded. If he saw the bastard again before he died, he'd beat him soundly enough to earn three beheadings.
A soft chuckle of amusement broke into his thoughts, and Huey shot a look at the source of it.
The King's Advisor. Everyone recognized him – he went riding in the fields and hills every morning and evening, white-blonde hair whipping out behind him in a long braid, cloak snapping and rippling. His eyes were pale blue, bright with mirth as he regarded Huey.
"Let him fix the stew, if that's what you're upset about," the Advisor said.
"No one can fix the stew but my cook," the King replied peevishly.
The Advisor clucked. "Let him try; certainly so many days in the kitchens would prove more gruesome a punishment than simply throwing him in the stocks. Why did you beat the cook anyway, lad?"
It took Huey a moment to realize that smooth, almost lyrical-sounding voice was directed at him, startling him into speaking before he thought his words out. "He deserved it."
That earned him an angry glare from the King. "We take great care to feed the commoners, peasant. My cook sees the excess is taken down every single day and given to those in need. Why would such a hardworking and generous person require such a brutal beating?"
Huey bit back angry words, knowing they were useless. It would always be his word against the cook's, and as he'd beaten the bastard up – who would believe him? "I guess I just felt like it."
"Fine, peasant," the King snapped. "Twenty lashes for the injuries you did my cook, and then you will make the dragon stew I require for my birthday celebration. Should you fail to make it as well as my cook you will be put to death."
Well that wasn't fair. Then again, if his mother was here, Huey didn't doubt she'd come up with a punishment worse than death.
Suddenly he really missed her, more than ever. The pain was sharp, making it hard to draw breath. He hadn't felt this lonely since the day he'd buried her, the weeks after…two years now, and she may as well have died yesterday.
Biting back a curse, he forced himself to remain still and calm.
"Well, peasant, what say you?"
"As you command, Majesty. Your word is law, and I shall obey."
The King snorted. "If you were one to obey, you would not have beaten my cook half to death."
If they hadn't stopped him, Huey thought sourly, he could have beaten the bastard three quarters to death.
"Guards!" the King roared. "Take him out back for his lashings."
Barely repressing a shudder as it suddenly struck him just what he was in for, Huey restrained an urge to flee and let the guards drag him away.
Every movement was an agony. His backside burned from shoulders to ass, and he really wanted nothing more than to go to bed and not move for a week. Ideally a month, but he didn't want to be too greedy.
The kitchen fell silent as he entered, dozens of pairs of eyes staring at him.
Huey barely kept back a cringe. He wanted his little bakery down in the village, tucked in the corner where it was in no one's way but welcome to any who wanted fresh bread or to drop off their pies for cooking.
This…he didn't belong here. Not a bit.
Then the laughter started – quietly at first, a faint giggle from one of the scullery maids…then it just grew worse, until Huey realized he'd hunched his shoulders in a futile effort to hide himself.
Straightening them, biting back a cry of pain, he strode into the kitchen and approached the woman who seemed to be in charge – they always had a look about them. "Sorry to intrude," he said.
The woman, with a large build that spoke of hard work rather than laziness, quirked a brow, looking him up and down. "Fine mess you're in, boy. What nonsense were you pulling?"
"Private nonsense," Huey snapped. "What am I supposed to do?"
Shrugging, the woman went back to work on the bread she'd been kneading. "Don't ask me, lad. We can show you where he made the stuff, where he keeps the ingredients, but damned if any of us knew how he made it."
Huey sighed. "Then could I trouble you to show me?"
"Aye," the woman replied, and jerked her head at one of the boys by the spits. "Get on, then. Show him where to go." She fumbled in her apron for a moment and pulled out a key, slapping it into Huey's hand. "That'll get you inside. See you give the key to no one else, lad."
"Yes, ma'am," Huey muttered, then followed as the boy motioned to him before bolting from the main kitchen.
Huey was led down a short path to what proved to be a small kitchen, completely separate from the rest of the castle, butting right up against the wall.
"This is where he made the dragon stew," the boy said in a confidential tone. "Said no one else could see, because that would scare the dragon off."
The dragon. Right. As if a dragon would come anywhere near a castle, let alone to help cook. He'd never heard of anything more stupid.
Yet the cook had been making the dragon stew for the past two decades.
Mouth tight with anger and pain, Huey unlocked the door and stepped inside.
The smell of dried herbs and spices washed over him, sharp and pungent. Mingled with it was the lingering scent of smoke, of stewed meat and vegetables. The entire room was saturated with the smell of dragon stew.
It was the herbs which made his chest ache, so vivid a reminder of his mother. He reached out delicately to touch them, breathing in the familiar scents. When mother had passed away, he'd closed up their bakery, unable to stay there without her. Instead, he'd packed up, closed up, and left the only place he'd ever called home to start fresh somewhere else.
His own little bakery wasn't much, but it was more than enough, and he wished he were there now, making treats for the summer festival, instead of being stuck here because he'd been unable to resist beating the shit out of the arrogant, selfish bastard who'd—
Snarling, Huey cut the thought off and strode to the massive table in the middle of the room.
Lying in the center was a worn, scratched and faded box. Once, Huey knew, it had been decorated with white and blue flowers, done with painstaking care. All but gone now, only chips of paint here and there.
He took off the lid and looked at the litter of papers inside. That he knew how to read and write was something for which he'd always been grateful. They'd never had much, him and his mother, but she'd given him all she possibly could.
Gingerly he rifled through the cards, smiling sadly, eyes stinging maybe just a little bit, as he read the recipes for so many things his mother had made, all the different things she'd taught him to make.
His hand froze as he pulled out the recipe that had become the bane of his existence.
Hells, who was he kidding – it had always been the bane of his existence.
Pulling up an old stool, distantly amazed the dumb ass cook had been willing to work in such humble surroundings, Huey read over the notorious recipe.
The ingredients alone made it damn near impossible. Goblin, wyrm, pixie, magic toad…such ingredients would cost a small fortune. That wasn't including the seasonings, though most of those were currently hanging in bundles over his head. So the bastard wasn't completely stupid, if he knew many of these herbs would have to dry for an extended length of time to gain the right potency for dragon stew.
His mother had never made it when he was old enough to remember. He knew she'd made it when he was still a baby…but shortly after that…
Unfortunately, that meant he had no idea what the secret to it was. Only two people knew, and of those two one was dead and the other he'd beaten half to death. He looked down at the recipe again, hoping for some clue, but there was only the same nonsensical phrase written in his great-great-great grandmother's faded handwriting.
Cook with dragon fire
Where in the hells was he supposed to find a dragon? Forget it, that wasn't even possible. Obviously it was a code, something to keep people from stealing the recipe – but unfortunately his mother, in her heartbreak, had not told the secret to her son.
So now here he was, not really sorry he'd committed atrocious violence, but not in a real hurry to die either.
Really, it wasn't fair. The bastard cook was still alive; the King would live if he didn't get his soup just once – so why was he going to be executed?
Oh, right. Peasant. Expendable and all that.
Disgusted, thwarted, Huey dropped the recipe on the table.
He could improvise a great deal, his mother had taught him how to get around a kitchen…but he could not improvise when he did not know what was missing. Whatever was really meant by 'cook with dragon fire' he doubted it was something he could just skip or fake.
Which meant by the end of the week he'd be dead and that stupid bastard cook would be well and truly free of his dirty little secret.
The thieving, backstabbing bastard.
Huey wasn't generally inclined to violence, but to see that smug bastard bragging about his talent like that…after all the pain his mother had endured…
It was too much to take.
Now he was going to wind up very dead unless he figured out how to 'cook with dragon fire' real damned fast.
Hopeless.
Sliding off the stool, he strode out of the tiny kitchen and back toward the castle.
Inside, the noise once again died down as he entered.
"Give up already, eh?" asked a scullery maid, though her smile was friendly rather than taunting. "No one knows how he does it, just that the King raves and raves about it – and that it can only be made once a year, though the King protests that."
Huey smiled faintly. "Can't be helped, the preparation time for most of the ingredients is months, and they're not all available at the same time. The herbs especially can be tricky, never mind curing the goblin meat, smoking the pixies…extremely time consuming."
Several people paused in their work, gawking at him. "How…how do you know so much?"
"I…read the recipe," Huey said. "I've also worked with some of the ingredients before, though not often. I prefer bread and all, really. Soup and stew was more my mother's thing."
One of the women kneading bread paused and wiped her hands. "Know a bit about baking, do you?"
Huey shrugged. "My mother's family has always been cooks and bakers. I own a little bakery in the village…I doubt I'll see it again, but I own it."
A few of the cooks looked at him with a bit more respect.
"Well…" said one of the women, giving him a considering look, "come and help with dinner, then. At least you can do something while you figure out that dratted stew. Idle hands never did a body good, eh?"
Huey smiled, agreeing whole-heartedly. "If I'd been busy working at the time, maybe I wouldn't be in this mess."
The woman smiled approvingly, a few others clucking in agreement, before they dragged him to work on breads and pies and all manner of other things.
By the end of the night, messy and sweaty and exhausted, Huey had almost managed to forget he was going to be dead in a few days.
He finished cleaning off a table, throwing the rag toward the buckets being hauled in and out by a few of the spit-turning boys.
From the doorway, the Steward gave a deep, attention-getting cough.
The kitchen fell suddenly silent.
"His Lordship would like to speak with whoever made the peach dumplings this evening."
Huey felt sick as several heads swiveled his way. He winced. "That would be me."
The Steward regarded him with faint amusement. "Can't help but cause upheaval, can you lad?"
"I don't usually cause this much trouble," Huey muttered, then quickly cleaned himself up as best he could before following the Steward out of the kitchen, through the castle to the banquet hall.
He looked at the floor as whispers and exclamations immediately rose up.
A familiar chuckle, soft and rippling, cut through all the noise. "Well, well. Our new cook is already making a place for himself, even without the dragon stew."
Huey dared to look up, blinking at the King's Advisor.
Before, he'd been some distance from the man, and more worried about the lashes that even now throbbed and burned on his back. Now he was much closer, and realized suddenly that the King's Advisor was younger than he'd first thought. Still some years older than himself, but not as many as he would have imagined.
He was also handsome, so very elegant looking, skin unfashionably tan for a noble, hair loose rather than braided…and the color of it, somewhere between new fallen snow and fine-spun gold.
"Just acquainting myself with the kitchens," Huey finally managed, not quite able to meet those pale blue eyes all of a sudden. "The stew can't be made for a couple more days yet; the goblin isn't quite ready, nor are the pickled wyrm eggs."
Not that he'd checked, but he assumed if the stupid bastard cook had been doing this for as long as he had, then he more or less knew what he was doing. Which meant those ingredients wouldn't be ready until the day after tomorrow, if the stew was to be presented four days hence. That was day one and two, leaving three for the preparing, four to cook it.
Assuming he could figure out what dragon fire meant. Perhaps some sort of wood? A combination of woods? Specially treated woods?
Hells, he was really in trouble.
"You certainly seem to have acquainted yourself well," said the King's Advisor. "The peach dumplings were the best I've ever had. I suspect you also had a hand in several other improvements I noticed this evening. Do tell me what you helped make. I suspect I already know."
Nodding, feeling suddenly nervous, Huey rattled off what he'd done.
"Impressive," the King muttered begrudgingly. "It would be a shame to kill you, so let us hope you do not mess up my dragon stew."
Huey refrained from pointing out that the King could simply choose not to kill him – barely.
Another soft chuckle, the amused twist to well-shaped lips, made Huey suspect that his thoughts were not as private as he would prefer they'd be. "You obviously are a fine cook…ah, and here I realize we never learned your name. Do by all means give it."
"Huey."
"Then, Master Huey, you obviously are a fine cook. I do not doubt you will make a fine dragon stew. For now, I can see you are quite tired. Go find your bed, and good luck with your cooking."
"Thank you," Huey said, ignoring the buzz of conversation that sprang up as he departed.
Back in the kitchen, he was attacked by what seemed to be every last servant in the castle, smothered by the baking women and scullery maids. He answered the clamor of questions as best he could, trying to figure out exactly why anyone cared and seemed relieved it had gone well.
"I guess you'll be needing a bed, at that," said the woman who ruled the kitchen – Huey had wondered where she'd been most of the night, but on the few occasions he'd seen her pop in, she'd scarcely paid him a look.
Odd, to say the least. Why did no one seem mad he was here? That he'd beaten up the stupid cook in charge of all this?
Eventually, they were all hustled back to work, scrubbing, cleaning, preparing for the next day.
The kitchen had emptied of all but the most senior staff and Huey when the Steward appeared again. He was smiling faintly, clutching what Huey realized was a book, as he sat down at the table where they were all gathered and helped himself to the tea someone had brewed.
"For you," he said, handing the book to Huey. "I don't know what you did to impress Lord Cassarah so much, but he seems bound and determined to help you." He chuckled, all his sternness fading away as he pulled off his fancy layers and relaxed over tea. "Not that any of us would mind, really. You've done more work today than that oaf you trounced does in a single year, outside his stupid stew."
Huey blinked. "Umm…" He sipped his tea.
The servants all laughed, and began to discuss where he could sleep.
He let the debate wash over him, finally allowing his misery and exhaustion to catch hold. Four days left to live, unless he could figure out what in the hells 'cook with dragon fire' meant.
Sick of his thoughts, he glanced down at the book given to him by Lord Cassarah…the King's Advisor, he supposed. He blinked at the title, forgetting he was holding a hot cup of tea 'til it splashed over the rim onto his hand.
On Dragons
What…
Setting down his tea, terrified at the idea of spilling anything on the book, Huey made certain his hands were clean and then opened it.
A scrap of vellum slipped out, and he nearly fell off his stool stooping to catch it.
Should you need assistance in catching a dragon. Somehow I doubt it, but one never knows. ~C
Suddenly, Huey wished that he had not decided to administer a sound beating to the bastard cook.
Why…why was the King's Advisor doing this?
Snapping the book shut, he hastily stood up, chugging down the last of his tea. "I think I'll go read a bit more, see if I can learn anything more about the recipe. I can just sleep there, save everyone the trouble of shuffling. Thank you for everything. Goodnight."
Bolting as fast as his burning back would permit, he fled to the small kitchen that was the key to his life or death.
Shivering in the cool night air, he quickly set to work building up a healthy fire in the hearth, then brewed up a fresh pot of tea.
He was tired. So very, very tired. His back screamed in pain, and he wanted nothing more than to crawl into the small cot he could see in the corner and not wake for a very long time.
Instead, he poured tea into a chipped cup and settled at his work table, flipping the book open randomly.
It is common knowledge that dragons are strangely fascinated by those objects which shine or sparkle, most often precious metals and jewels, though they have been known to favor other objects and materials. In the days when dragon hunting was common, knights often wore shining armor to coax dragons out of hiding.
Even in present day, when dragons are so scarce, if it is suspected one is about the surest way to capture it is to lay something bright and colorful where the dragon might spy it. No dragon can resist the lure.
If jewels and precious metals are not available, colorful glass or highly polished metal will suffice, though they do not work quite as well. Occasionally bright colored fabrics or even polished river stones have been known to work. Anything bright or shining, something out of the ordinary for a wild beast, will almost always work.
Should such objects not be readily available, there is some slight possibility of drawing it out with food, but this tends not to work as well as simply setting out something that shines or sparkles.
That was not in the slightest bit helpful.
He seriously doubted any dragons were hanging around the castle, especially if they'd been used all these years for cooking. Ha!
Why did everyone think the only answer to this was a dragon? Goblin Ale wasn't made with goblin, fairy cake wasn't made with fairies, why was everyone so bloody certain dragon stew required a dragon?
He shut the book with a snap, wondering suddenly if the King's Advisor was just having a laugh at his expense. Certainly he seemed to chuckle whenever Huey was in the room.
Sipping his tea, Huey pondered simply scaling the wall and having done with it. Bakers were always in demand, he'd never lack for a job if he went somewhere else…
Except if he was going to run, then he was taking his mother's recipes with him – and he didn't doubt for a second that while the King might not care about him, he would be livid that his precious cook's marvelous recipes had been taken.
Heaving another sigh, Huey picked up his tea and strode back outside, suddenly in need of the brisk night air.
I want to eat you up.
Huey jumped, giving a startled cry, dropping his tea as he searched in vain for a voice that seemed to be everywhere and nowhere. "Who's there?"
Soft laughter, rich and deep, echoed through his mind.
He heard the scrape of something on the stone wall, the roof of his kitchen, and jerked his head up. Gasped.
"You—it can't—" He stumbled back as the dragon leapt neatly down from the wall and stalked toward him. His foot caught on something and he crashed to the ground, gulping for breath, wishing his feet would work so he could run because that was a dragon and obviously he'd lost his mind because there was no way a dragon had just been speaking to him.
More of that rich laughter echoed in his head. You are not crazy, my pretty little human.
Huey scowled. Yes, he was. Because a dragon was not talking and it most definitely had not just called him pretty.
He crashed abruptly into something hard, looking up to realize he'd somehow twisted enough to back up against the wall.
The dragon drew closer, and Huey waited in misery, knowing there was no escape. He drew a breath as it got close enough for him to smell it – sort of like smoke, but with a sharper edge that could only belong to a predator. It was so close that even in the dark he could see its eyes were some pale color, almost like silver.
It moved ever so slightly closer – then licked him.
Yes came a decisive tone. You are good.
"G-good?" Huey repeated, reaching up a trembling hand to wipe his face off. "Why in the hells am I talking to a dragon?"
Because when someone speaks to you, it is polite to respond, the dragon said matter-of-factly.
"Or someone put something in my tea," Huey retorted.
The dragon settled down in the grass, tongue flicking as he yawned. Nonsense.
Huey refused to believe this was happening.
He'd seen pictures of dragons before, the stuffed red dragon in the port city the one time he'd visited.
This dragon was nothing like the pictures or that sad looking hunting trophy.
It's scales…there was no other way to say it; they looked like moonlight, almost seemed to glisten and glow beneath the half-moon high above them. Its eyes were just as fine, pale as he'd noted before. In form it was like what he knew of dragons, about the length of three horses, thin and sinuous, narrow jaws filled with sharp teeth, long, wicked-looking claws jutting from the short legs. Like a serpent with legs, but large enough, clever enough, to be a thousand times more dangerous than a mere snake.
"What do you want?" Huey asked. "Why can you talk?"
Practice makes perfect, the dragon said, and there was no missing the smugness in its voice. All creatures can talk, in their own way. The trick was learning the human way. Not so hard.
The dragon was arrogant. Somehow, that didn't surprise him in the slightest. "So what do you want with me?"
I want you, the dragon said.
Huey blinked. "Me? What?" Someone had definitely slipped something into his tea.
You need my help, do you not, little cook? The dragon drew close enough to lick him again, quick and sly, and settled back down on the grass almost before Huey realized he was once again covered in dragon drool.
"The stew? How could you know about that? What in the hells is going on here!"
If he'd known beating up that bastard cook would cause this much trouble…
Well, he still would likely have done it, but he might have made an effort at running away.
I know a great deal, the dragon replied. Do you want to make a bargain?
"A bargain?" Huey asked.
Yes. You do know what a bargain is, don't you?
"Oh, shut up," Huey snapped. "I know what a bargain is, you damned dragon!"
The dragon's laughter rippled through his mind, and it rose up to slink towards him again, nudging and pushing until it curled around him. A bargain then, my pretty cook. I will spend one day helping you make your stew. In return, you must spend one night with me. Have we a deal?
"Like I have a choice?" Huey asked.
His back was killing him. He would like very much to pass out. He was being mauled by a dragon, and if he didn't agree to spend one night with it in four days he would be dead.
Who would have thought 'cook with dragon fire' actually meant cook with dragon fire.
There is always a choice, the dragon said, tongue flicking out to briefly lick one cheek.
"No, there isn't," Huey said with a sigh. "Fine, dragon. A day for a night. You have a bargain."
Excellent the dragon said, and with a last swipe of his cheek, seemed to glide over the grass and up the wall. It was gone as suddenly as it had come.
Huey wondered if the kitchen had anything stronger than tea.
He spent most of the next day going between preparing the dragon stew ingredients and helping the kitchen staff. Why they actually seemed to need his help, he couldn’t begin to understand, but every last person expressed nothing but gratitude with every little thing he did.
It was fun being in the midst of so much noise and chatter and bustle. His favorite days at the bakery were always when he had to rush about getting things done; he and his mother had never been very good at idleness in the end.
Bread, pies, porridge, pudding, tea, chocolate, coffee, tarts – all made with finer ingredients than he could ever afford. The spices alone made him turn positively green. He did the very best he could, but his best fell pathetically short of all that he was finding here.
On the bright side, being around so many fellow bakers and cooks he was fast picking up new tricks and recipes. If he could manage to keep his head, his bakery would thrive more than ever.
Except—
No point in thinking about it. Life was what it was, and all you could do was make the best of it. His mother had said that over and over again.
He hummed softly as he put the finishing touches on a tray of cream tarts, beckoning for one of the footmen to take it away. Wiping his hands, he looked around for anything of pressing urgency. Seeing nothing, he set his rag aside and strode from the kitchen and out to his small one.
Briskly he checked through everything, ensuring all ingredients were as they should be at this stage.
Unfortunately, everything was perfectly on schedule. The stupid cook was all too good at the recipe he'd stolen. Bastard. Huey balled his hands into fists to still the angry trembling. There was nothing he could do; look at what his actions had gotten him so far.
Still, if he saw the bastard again right now he would finish beating him to death. Or close enough he could never again break the hearts of a woman and child for the sake of stupid recipes.
Desperate for a distraction, he shoved away the recipe and his notes and pulled forward the book on dragons, once more flipping it open at random.
Dragons are fiercely possessive creatures. Once they claim something, it joins their collection of 'treasure' and they do not part with treasure. A dragon's hoard is its life, and it will fight to the death to protect it.
Do not steal lightly from a dragon, as it will never give up attempting to reclaim its stolen possession.
The author highly advises against ever proceeding with the following. If a dragon is a menace, best to kill it. Enslaving a dragon is a fool's ambition.
Enslaving a Dragon:
To enslave a dragon, one must steal from its hoard an object of especially precious value and hide it away where the dragon cannot in any way sense its location. Often this requires various components (Appendix F) and close observation as the dragon will never give up searching.
Having obtained and properly hidden the item, one can order the dragon to do his bidding in exchange for the return of the item. The dragon, in this situation, has no choice but to obey as killing the thief would lose the object forever and that the dragon could not endure.
Be aware this is an extremely dangerous endeavor, however. Should the dragon be pushed too far or too long, he will resort to violence upon others until his stolen treasure is returned. Dragons are, by nature, peaceful creatures. They are dangerous only in matters of their territorial, possessive natures. Killing them is oft times easier than attempting to cope with their thieving and brutally possessive natures.
It is the author's highly advised opinion that should a dragon appear in the area, it is best to kill it or drive it out. Do not attempt to enslave it. This cannot be reiterated enough.
Now that was interesting. Was it actually possible to enslave a dragon?
Huey grimaced at the thought, calling up the poor stuffed creatures he'd seen – and the strange, impertinent dragon who could talk since when could dragons talk with the over eager tongue with whom he'd struck a bargain.
Ignoring the fact he had no idea where the dragon kept his hoard, it hadn't even been necessary to do such a thing. The dragon had bargained with him. Possibly it had—
Hey, did the stupid cook enslave the dragon? But then why would the dragon be helping Huey? Surely that stupid cook would have told the dragon not to… except several maids had quite cheerfully reported to him the man could still barely leave his bed. Less cheerfully and more tartly they had stated likely the lazy oaf would stay there as long as possible.
And why hadn't anyone ever told him dragons could talk? Learn to talk. Whatever.
Frowning, Huey flipped the book back to the beginning, running his finger down the table of contents, looking for anything that might involve dragons and talking – and licking. He really didn't want to be licked anymore.
Nothing seemed to provide answers, and reading a passage in the introduction that described dragons as large, dumb beasts only annoyed him further. He wasn't crazy; he'd unfortunately made certain of that.
He could always ask the bastard cook, he supposed, but he'd much rather nail his tongue to the ceiling.
Snapping the book shut, he set it aside and stood to make tea. He wished he could go help make dinner, but while everyone else was cooking and eating, he would need to begin laying the foundations of the dragon stew. Tomorrow the hard stuff started; tonight he had only to cut, slice, smoke, and otherwise prepare everything.
Cook with dragon fire…did that mean all of it, or only at the end? Because many of the ingredients had to simmer for long periods of time, well before the main ingredients were all added. It would probably suffice to have only the one night…
And that was the bargain, after all, so the point was moot. Likely he could use simple wood fire for the bulk of the early simmering.
Nodding to himself, Huey set to work gathering up what he would need to begin. Selecting a knife from the rack against the far wall, he opened a barrel and pulled out several pickled elf-roots. Pale green, slender, faintly sweet, they reached their full potential in flavor when pickled.
Humming softly, he swiftly cut them into tiny pieces and dumped the lot into a large bowl. Next he reached over his head and selected several cuttings from the various herb bundles, roughly chopping them before tossing them in with the elf-root.
Leaving it all to sit, he grabbed a bucket to fetch water from the well, laboriously going back and forth, sloshing water over his pants and shirt, swearing softly, until the massive cauldron in which everything would cook was half full. It was set outside, just in front of the little kitchen, as moving it from the inside to out later would be impossible.
It was a wonder to him the King could eat the entire thing – dragon stew was meant to feed many. His opinion of the King was not much higher than that of the bastard cook.
Sighing, he retrieved the bowl and dumped in the elf-root and herbs, fetching a long wooden spoon to stir it in. That done, he fetched several jars of powdered herbs and spices, tasting each before adding them to the cauldron, stirring each one thoroughly in before adding the next.
That done, he let it be and moved to begin chopping other things, his humming sliding seamlessly from one song to the next, a habit picked up from his mother. Thinking of her brought a sharp pang, but he was here in a castle cooking with her long lost recipes and that had to count for something didn't it?
When he stopped for a break, he realized night had fallen. Yawning, he tidied up a bit and set a kettle to boiling for tea, setting out the chipped cup he was beginning to think of as his own.
Now that he'd stopped, every ache and pain was presenting itself – especially his back. It had been killing him every second of the day, but he did not have the time to give in to it. The lashing at least had only broken skin in a few places, and those were only shallow wounds.
Still, life wasn't very fun at the moment.
He moved to the door to let in some fresh air – and yelped at the giant white figure standing in front of it. "You!"
Me, the dragon said cheerfully, and before Huey could blink he found himself thoroughly licked.
"I really wish you would stop covering me in slobber."
You are tasty. Having fun, pretty cook?
"No," Huey said.
You are lying, the dragon said, still sounding cheerful.
Huey ignored him. "What are you doing here? Our bargain is for the day after tomorrow.
I decided I would be willing to help you today and tomorrow as well, so long as you are willing to bargain.
"Three days for three nights?" Huey asked warily.
The dragon rumbled, the sound low and deep, and Huey wondered for a moment if he was talking to a dragon or a giant, scaly cat. Lovely as that sounds, the work I will be doing two days hence is not nearly so difficult as what I will do tonight and tomorrow. So, no, the trade would not be fair. If you talk to me and answer my questions while I heat your first night's work, I will consider the trade fair.
"What would you do if it wasn't fair?" Huey, curious.
He was more curious about the reasons he was so willing to do what a dragon told him, but as obeying might help save his head, perhaps that wasn't so much a mystery.
The dragon growled briefly. I would extract full payment, one way or another.
"That doesn't sound reassuring."
The dragon said nothing.
Huey went inside to fetch his tea and a bit of bread for the dinner he realized now he'd never eaten, standing uncertainly once back outside.
Sit. Eat. Drink. Talk to me. The dragon settled down and opened it's mouth, and Huey almost jumped out of his skin at the flames that poured so easily from its mouth – deep orange gold, similar but not quite like the cooking fires he saw every single day.
Shrugging, Huey obeyed, wolfing down his bread before settling down with a groan of pain against the small building and sipping his tea. "What do you want me to talk about?"
Tell me about your family, perhaps?
Huey smiled sadly and stared into his tea. "My family, huh? My mother comes from a long line of cooks and bakers. She used to tell me that once upon a time our ancestors were the greatest cooks to the greatest king in the greatest kingdom in the world. Certainly she made the best soups and pies and bread I've ever tasted in my life. I try to be as good as her, but I've got a long way to go. My mother was pretty, hard-working, loyal…" And broken-hearted. So broken-hearted that even as a little boy he had understood there would never be a way to repair the damage.
What of your father? the dragon prodded, gentle curiosity filling his voice.
"My father?" Huey echoed. He laughed bitterly and took a deep swallow of tea. "My father can rot, for all I care."
You do not care for your father?
"Care?" Even to his own ears, his angry laughter sounded far too close to hysterical. "Care?" he repeated. "I care more about rotted vegetables than my father." Shut up, he told himself, shut up right now.
But the words wouldn't stop coming, somehow encouraged by the dragon's silence. "What is there to care about? You want a story?" His hand trembled, tea spilling, and he swallowed it down before it went to waste. "Once upon a time there was a handsome traveler who stopped in a small village at the edge of the kingdom. This handsome traveler claimed to be a cook looking to improve his skills. He met the village baker, a beautiful young miss, and the two fell quickly in love. A year after meeting, they were married, and little less than a year later they gave birth to a son."
His eyes stung but Huey ignored it. "For six years the little family lived together in their humble cottage behind their bakery, spending the days cooking and laughing and in great happiness.
"Until one day the little boy, now six, woke up early because of a strange sound. Crawling from bed he found his mother sobbing at the kitchen table. When he could not make her stop crying, the scared boy ran for his father – but could not find him anywhere. Nor could he find any of his father's belongings. Neither his old brown cloak nor his heavy black boots, not a stitch of his clothing or his old pipe. His father was gone and his mother was crying. Later that day the boy learned his father had run off in the night with his mother's treasured box of recipes."
Huey looked up at the stars, wondering absently why they were so blurry. "So the boy and his mother managed the bakery alone and tried not to think about his traitorous father, who had only wanted the secret recipes so carefully guarded by his mother. The boy grew up, and when his mother died he finally left the village he'd always called home and moved closer to the royal city.
"There he opened a bakery of his own, working in peace and relative happiness until one day he saw the royal baker, who in addition to being cruel and cold to the villagers, looked hauntingly familiar to the boy who had never forgotten his father's face. It was fatter, meaner, no longer handsome…but it was his father.
"Yet though the boy recognized his father, the royal cook did not recognize the son he had abandoned. Though they had the same green eyes and the same brown hair, the same nose and smile. Even when the boy was beating him, calling him a thief and traitor, the bastard cook did not know his own son."
It was the dragon's low growl that finally broke the spell of misery which he'd woven about himself, and Huey flushed with humiliation to realize how much he'd given away, all that he'd said. How stupid—"Sorry," he muttered.
The dragon abandoned the cauldron and Huey abruptly found himself wrapped up in moonlight scales, a surprising amount of heat, and rather than a tongue, only the dragon's muzzle nudged gently at his cheek. He rather thought his back should be screaming in pain, but he felt little more than a twinge. Pretty cook, all mine. He'll not hurt you anymore.
"I shouldn't have opened my big mouth," Huey muttered. "It doesn't matter anymore."
Another growl. It matters. It always matters. One such as he does not deserve a son like you and so he will never have you. He took one treasure from me, but you I will not let him have.
Huey nodded – then the words struck him. "Took one treasure? Do you mean you're enslaved? Like it said to do in my book? You really have to listen to him just because he took something?"
Not something.. The dragon's voice was thin, unhappy. Without even thinking about it, Huey reached up to touch – not really sure what to do, but the dragon seemed to…settle…when he touched its face, gently stroking the eye ridges and long snout. Treasure. He took a treasure. I have had it a very long time and it was a gift, and that means it's mine and not his and I want it back. If I do not do what he says, he will make certain it is lost forever.
"What did he take?" Huey asked, and wondered that even in the midst of his own unhappiness, the dragon's, and the sheer bizarreness of the situation – he could find it cute how childish the dragon sounded about this 'treasure' of his.
Still, it obviously was a great source of pain and gods knew most would consider his mother's old recipe box to be nothing but junk.
The dragon nuzzled him, making a low rumbling sound. It is a ring. Large, made from silver, set with a beautiful blue diamond. It used to belong to a Queen; she gave it to me when I saved her from some bandits. From her I started learning how to speak the human language.
"He's very good at stealing," Huey said in disgust. "How did he know where to find you?"
That…is complicated. Slowly the dragon unwound itself from around him. I will tell you later, but perhaps not right now. Let us work on your neglected stew, and you can tell me about your life in the village while I cook.
Huey nodded, feeling bemused. "All right."
no subject
Date: 2007-09-03 12:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-03 12:20 am (UTC)WAKU WAKU AAAHHHHH!!!!! Yes, I will call you this week. Tell me what times are good, cause I'm free anytime after six my time.
no subject
Date: 2007-09-03 03:20 am (UTC)Yay!
original dragon stew
Date: 2007-09-03 04:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-03 02:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-03 07:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-03 09:16 pm (UTC)You know I love this... and I love this line:
'He could always ask the bastard cook, he supposed, but he'd much rather nail his tongue to the ceiling.