The Willowsbrook Chronicles - Chapter 26: Gauntlet thrown down!
Gunther followed Kyra and Captain William Jordan down the steps of the large frigate. “Now what exactly is this problem you’re having?” The big innkeeper ventured, feeling a little cramped.
They made their way to a door. The lamp light shined down, allowing all to see the sign on a nearby wall that read, ‘Galley’. “Is there some problem with the food?”
The female spellcaster made a disgusted face. “All right,” The big man answered, smirking. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“More so than you realize Goodman WIllowsbrook.” William Jordan added.
The Innkeeper took one step towards the door…and immediately took two steps back. His face wrinkled as he waved a hand in the air. “Gah,” he squawked.
“What a stench! Who’s been burning food in here?”
Kyra turned towards Gunther, her own face wrinkling. “This is only the tip of the spear Gunther Willowsbrook.”
The big man raised an eyebrow. “Go on,” he stated.
“It would be best," Jordan added. "If we showed you the full extent of the problem.”
The three entered the galley of the ship. The room itself had its fair share of cooking devices essential to a large frigate.
What stood out was the rather slender, almost half-starved man who was trying to clean the place up. The man turned with a start at the noise. Gunther noted the bruises on the face. “Ooh pardonez-moi capitaine,” the man answered in a respectful tone. “I had no idea we had a guest on board.”
Gunther’s mind started to put the pieces of the puzzle together. "Your accent,” he ventured. "You’re from the duchy of Elegance if I’m not mistaken.”
The man nodded, “Oui, I am born of the duchy Monsieur…” the man ventured leaving the sentence unfinished.
The big man picked up the cue, and extended a hand. “Gunther WIllowsbrook, owner and proprietor of the Friendly Hands Inn.”
The man thought for a moment. “You are the one they brought on board a while ago, the one who attacked Terrel?”
Gunther chuckled and rubbed the back of his head.
“My apologies for that. Some old enemies of mine cast a Slow Fury spell on me. Master Healer Marshan helped dispel it, and Terrel and I have settled our feud.”
The man looked upwards and muttered, “Louez les dieux pour de etites faveurs.”
“Come again?” Gunther asked.
“He means praise the Gods for small favors,” the Captain of the Sea Hawk translated.
The man nodded, then added. “Pardon my lack of manners. Gordon Lestant at your service.”
“Gordon,” Kyra ventured. “Where is François?”
Gunther noted the nervous look come over the man. “He um…he said he had some work to do and wanted me to clean up here.”
Something isn’t right here? The big innkeeper thought to himself. There’s more going on here on this ship than meets the eye.
“You could help us. Do you have any more of François’s Rice porridge?” The captain asked.
That caught Gunther’s interest. “Rice porridge? But that’s the kind of stuff you give someone who’s recovering from a bout of sickness.”
William chuckled. “And this is part of our problem Gunther Willowsbrook.”
The Elegance cook nodded. “Oui, oui I can get it for you if you wish.”
Kyra put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Please do so.” Then she flushed in embarrassment. “Tis not exactly the food itself as it’s more the preparation.”
“I’m not getting any answers,” The Inn owner growled in frustration.
He watched as Gordon went and got a wooden bowl and ladle. The Elegance man put some food from a bubbling cauldron in the bowl.
The big man noted that the oven had glowing red…crystals in it. The Innkeeper gazed on the Captain and ship's wizard, perplexed. The woman answered.
“Those are fire crystals, a magical crystal that heats up via incantation. We uncovered a Shandalo library some time ago. From the books, we learned the means of creating and using them.”
Gunther raised an eyebrow. “You may have to have Quigsley take a look, he’s always into books.”
The half-elf woman raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?” she asked in a fashion that spoke of keen interest.
The Captain rolled his eyes and explained. "These heat crystals don’t set the ship on fire, which means we can actually cook hot food."
By this time, Gordon had finished filling the bowl with porridge.
He brought it over to Gunther, as the offensive smell that assailed the big man's nose grew stronger. He took an offered spoon and began to tap at the mushy watery porridge.
Gunther’s face wrinkled in disgust. Already he wasn’t liking the look of this porridge.
Then he dug in and scooped some of the watery muck out of the bowl. He opened his mouth and inserted it. His mouth uncovered some of the most foul-tasting rice porridge he ever had in his life!
He immediately withdrew the spoon and spat out the horrid substance. “What the Hells?!” he shouted in outrage. “Who cooked this pig’s swill!”
Gordon looked terrified? The big burly innkeeper may have been livid, but he was also paying attention to his surroundings. “Please Monsieur Willowsbrook, I’m sorry if the porridge is not to your tastes…”
Gunther gave him a glare that stopped Gordon Lestant cold. “I once worked with a cook from Subarashiki. He knew more about proper ways to prepare every type of rice dish there was…including rice porridge!”
Gunther paced around hands waving as he continued his rant. “The rice was way overcooked, and it’s clear there was too much water used in the preparation. This stuff tastes like soft mud and tar!”
William Jordan and Kyra stared in wry amusement. “Peace Gordon, peace,” the Captain of the Sea Hawk assured. “Before you say anything, this is not the Slow Fury spell. Tis simple professional outrage.”
“You’d better bloody believe it,” The big innkeeper added. “Whoever made this garbage has no sense of how to cook!”
Kyra nodded. “This I can understand. Now Gordon if you would kindly fetch the rest of the Honey Cake.”
The cook ran off to the nearby pantry to get it. Gunther snapped. “If this is the problem you have on this ship, then I’d like to have a word with the head cook here…what was his name?”
“François, François Monsolie.” The Sorceress answered.
“Another someone from the province of Elegance.” The Innkeeper muttered. “I’d like to have a word with this character.”
“Please Monsieur Willowsbrook, don’t," Gordon pleaded.
That does it, The Inn owner thought. Now I know something is going on here, and this Gordon Lestant knows what it is.
The assistant cook came back with a wood plate containing a piece of the honey cake. Gunther’s culinary sense immediately went to work. Wait a second, he thought, suspicion rising. This honey cake is different from the porridge.
The big man took a fork and examined the cake. “Hmm, the outer layer of this cake is crispy and perfect.”
Then he cut off a piece and took a bite. He chewed, then swallowed.
“The honey melds with the batter in an exceptional way. Only a master baker of Elegance would know how to create such a superb pastry.”
“Now you see the problem we have.” William Jordan explained.
So Monsolie can create terrible tasting rice porridge. Yet he can create such exquisite honey cake? There's treachery at work here, the Innkeeper surmised.
“Gordon what the Hells is going on in there?” a voice from outside bellowed.
A robust looking man dressed in the white attire of a ship’s cook entered the room. The man had a thick mustache and looked annoyed. “Capitaine, what is going on here?” he growled in annoyance.
Gunther turned his attention to the man who had entered. “François Monsolie, I presume?”
The man rolled his eyes. “Who is this peasant?” he growled his Elegance accent clear.
“My name is Gunther Willowsbrook, owner of the Friendly Hands Inn. You’d best watch who you’re speaking to!”
“Pah,” the man spat.
“Another rank amateur starting out who knows nothing of how to cook. This one I’d say fancies himself some great entrepreneur, to compensate for the fact he’s an uneducated fool!”
Already not liking this person, the big man thought.
“Francois, that’s very rude!” Jordan chided.
“I would agree with the Captain,” Kyra added. “He’s been through a lot. And you of all people should know it takes courage to start up an Inn.”
The innkeeper chose to reassert himself. “So, you’re the head cook for this ship huh? I want a word with you about the quality of food you’re serving!”
The arrogant man rolled his eyes. “Please Monsieur Willowsbrook,” Gordon ventured.
Gunther snapped, “Hold Gordon Lestant. This is something a talentless buffoon such as him needs to hear!”
Monsolie raised an eyebrow. “Pardon, what did you call me, upstart?” the head cook inquired in a threatening tone.
After everything I’ve been through recently, this guy is a New Sun stroll, the big man observed.
“You heard me, you warthog-faced sanctimonious snob! I tried some of your rice porridge. I wouldn’t serve that pig’s swill to even the pigs or sheep if I had any,” the Willowsbrook male taunted.
Monsolie snorted in contempt, “My food that I feed to the crew is the pinnacle of perfection! My honey cakes are proof of that.”
Gunther retorted with a mirthless laugh.
“You must be jesting! I’ve been working at Taverns and Inns since I was 16 years of age! I’ve learned what makes for a good establishment.
“I even once talked with, and trained under, someone from Subarshiki. He was a master of preparing rice dishes. Everything here smells of someone who knows nothing of how to prepare rice!”
Monsolie let out a mirthless laugh of his own. “You actually learned from one of those pathetic fools from that land? How laughable! I am a master cook of Elegance, endorsed by Duke Elian Ronjeanbeau himself.
”I guess his endorsement shows poor taste in those who prepare food.”
And that caused the head cook’s face to flare in rage. The big innkeeper did not fail to notice the pale look that swept over Gordon Lestant’s face as well. The Captain of the Sea Hawk and the Sorceress for their part stayed out of it.
“You sir,” the head of the ship’s culinary staff growled. “Have insulted my skill and my reputation. One more act of insolence from you, and there will be consequences!”
“Says he who doesn’t even know how to cook rice porridge!” The big innkeeper retorted.
That touched the smaller man’s last nerve. He caught the big Innkeeper with a hard slap. “You will know your place!” he snarled.
Whack, a big hammy hand from the Inn owner struck the snobbish cook. The blow sent Monsolie toppling head over heels to the ship’s floor. The welt on Gunther only stung, but he knew, because of his size, the blow to this pompous fool stung more.
The man stumbled to his feet, shaking his head. Gunther noticed the large bruise on his face. “You…you struck me!” the head cook squawked, sounding indignant. “You insolent overgrown Brekkin barbarian!”
“Says the whiny bootlicking pig mouthpiece for a ruler who doesn’t even give a rat’s arse about his people!” The innkeeper responded.
The head cook removed his apron, and threw it at Gunther. “You need a proper lesson in respect, I demand satisfaction!”
The big man picked up the apron. He shoved it into Monsolie, knocking him back on his rear end. The Willowsbrook male glared at the head cook. “I accept your challenge! We will duel in the way we know how, the power of our culinary craft!
“I promise you this Francois Monsolie. Before this duel finishes, I will show you for the fraud you are!”
Gunther stormed out of the galley. “Gordon, get me to my feet and fetch a healing potion!” he heard the nasal voiced chief cook scream.
Deep down, Gunther smiled. Now he was in a situation that he understood. He would show Francois Monsolie who the superior cook was.
Previous: Chapter 25: Confrontation
Next: Chapter 27: Shadows of desperation!
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