Chapter 203 - 201: Kitchen Theif.

Chapter 203: Chapter 201: Kitchen Theif.

Tensions can run high in the cities when folk get cooped up and caged in by the snow, and smaller towns across the kingdom will be faced with wild creatures and bandits that the cold months turn desperate and bold.

Envoys from across the kingdom will be making their way to the city to request military support from their king, and rumor has it that the reason Drogger likes to spend the leadup to winter whipping all his men into shape is so that they survive until spring.

​Those who aren’t out on assignment are still expected to attend training.

They have to keep their wits and their skills sharp, just in case, and it’s clear that Drogger hopes that without the dawn wakeup there’ll be no excuses for not making it on time.

​It’s no use.

​Khobi is late anyway.

...

Being able to wake when he wants and eat when he feels like it is a refreshing change of pace.

It’s been a nice but exhausting routine; the rude awakening before the sun even rises followed by the mad dash to the training grounds on an empty stomach.

Slightly less than empty, if Binny’s being generous. Khobi is usually starving by the time they break for food, so being able to start the day with a full belly makes for a nice change.

​It has the rest of the soldiers in good spirits, too.

​Montrel isn’t even at breakfast yet when Khobi finds his way to the mess hall, but a couple of the soldiers recognise him well enough to call out to him and make space so he can join them.

Despite the overcast morning the mood is almost chipper , and they all seem a lot more relaxed than Khobi’s used to seeing them.

​It’s amazing what not having to wake up at the crack of dawn does for morale. Guiltless free time seems in low supply and they seem determined to make the most of it.

One of them is headed into the city markets with his wife.

Another is planning to read a story with his daughter before her classes so she can work on her letters.

A couple of the younger ones are going to give their horses a run while the weather holds, and even ask Khobi if he wants to join them before remembering who he is, and that they aren’t meant to be asking.

​"Uh, maybe next time," is what he tells them, so they don’t feel too bad for forgetting.

They apologise, a little awkwardly, and while he doesn’t really mind –he’s never really ridden a horse anyway –it does make him think that it must be nice to be able to make plans like that.

​Their stew this morning is hot and hearty, and full of thick chunks of meat, and the soldiers are quick to comment on how good the food has gotten lately.

It fills Khobi with no small sense of pride, because it really has, and he makes a note to pass it on to the servants, even though he’s sure there are a bunch loitering around nearby.

He eats his fair share –maybe slightly more, if he’s being perfectly honest –and it’s definitely delicious but still not nearly enough, so when the soldiers all break to head about their day he makes a beeline for the kitchens.

It’ll give him something to do until training starts, and the kitchens have gotten quite used to him.

​A couple of the servants welcome him as he enters, forced to stoop under the low arched entryway, and he greets them by name.

The kitchens are packed at this time of morning, and he does his best to not get in the way as the various servants duck and weave around him carrying all manner of food, drink, and cooking utensils.

They know what he’s here for, and he quickly finds himself corralled towards a length of empty benching off to one side.

A couple ask if they can help with anything, but he waves them away; he knows where everything is by now, and he doesn’t want to hold them up.

The meat’s gotten him in the mood for filled bread, so that’s what he sets about making. He’s gotten pretty quick at it, too, so it isn’t long before the smell of tender curried meat and sweet bread starts wafting up from his corner of the kitchen, mingling in with all the other tasty smells.

The meat’s the easy part; he goes more by smell than by any particular measured recipe, the way his uncle’s cook used to –it’s stuffing the dough that takes the most time, and he’s learned the hard way that if he’s too impatient and tries while the meat’s too hot he’ll burn himself.

​A handful of the young, servant kids peek up over the bench to watch him as he deftly fills and wraps them, one by one, hoping that if they wait long enough and with big enough eyes he’ll let them have one.

Their parents scold them for bothering him when they’re meant to be washing potatoes, but Khobi wordlessly makes a few smaller ones, and covertly sets them aside.

That gets them all giggling, and he hurriedly presses a finger to his lips to shush them so that their parents don’t scold him .

​That makes them giggle even more.

​He bakes those first, and makes sure they aren’t too hot when he leaves them deliberately unattended, and the kids wait until his back is turned before swarming in and then scattering, thinking they’ve snuck them out from under his nose.

​He remembers doing the same thing at their age, and wonders with an element of suspicion, if the old cook pretended in the same way.

​It’s hot work; kneading, stuffing, and hovering by the hearth, and he’s well and truly worked up quite a sweat by the time he’s done.

One of the small kids, perhaps as an apology for ’stealing’ from him, brings him a tall mug of water.

It’s so big she has to carry it with both hands, and she almost spills it everywhere trying to lift it over her head to put it on the bench.

​