B4 – Chapter 25: Local delights and insider information

After setting up the tent, Tristan went inside for a very brief tongue-lashing from Eloise about his slip up on ‘local’ cuisine. “You need to be very careful with what you say,” she chided quietly but harshly. “We want to gather information without giving much.”

Tristan sighed internally but kept a resolute exterior. “Understood. Shall we?” he opened the tent flap and slipped outside with Eloise a step behind. Felicity was proudly seated on his head, making her paw-claw biscuits and sounding quite enthused at the idea of new types of food.

“This is going to be so good!” she muttered. “I can’t wait to eat it! It smells so…tasty!”

“Just don’t grab any yourself,” Tristan whispered.

She made a little whining noise, and her paw-claw biscuits grew in intensity and scratching power. “F-i-n-e.”

Bedivere waved them over and patted a rug that had been set up near the bonfire. “Come, join me!”

Tristan sat cross-legged as all the rest of the people present were sitting that way and he wanted to blend in. He had to loosen his greaves to do so, which caused a slight rattling. Eloise swiftly took her spot and held up a small cup that was hanging from her belt. She leaned forward, handed it to a Demonkin who was wearing an apron made of leather, and the man scooped up the spice-filled broth within the bowl.

Tristan felt something wet hit his forehead, and wiped it away. Saliva? He reached up, and felt Felicity’s tongue lolling out of her mouth. He pinched it slightly, and she yelped before retracting it. “I don’t have a cup,” Tristan stated.

Bedivere cleared his throat and waved at the chef, who brought over a bowl of the simmering, steaming liquid. He handed it to Tristan. “Enjoy, stranger. My travel blend. If you want, we have hardtack – stir it in and it makes a great stew.”

“Sounds good,” Tristan replied as he took an offered spoon. A moment later, the chef returned with a few hard biscuits, and Tristan crumbled them easily before dropping them into the liquid. It quickly thickened, and had a porridge consistency.

Bedivere chuckled. “Strong, eh? Those biscuits are like rocks.”

“I’m a skilled mercenary.” Tristan blew on the soup a bit, and saw Felicity’s tongue shift into a straw that poked down from above his head. She immediately plunged it into the soup and slurped up a huge amount of the liquid, forcing Tristan to quickly drink to hide the rapidly depleting level.

Tristan coughed slightly as he pulled the bowl away and licked his lips. “That’s delicious,” he muttered. “What’s in this?” he asked as the chef made rounds about the bonfire and scooped out more from his held cauldron to several Demonkin holding vessels aloft.

The chef grinned. “Family recipe. You like it?”

Felicity began making choking noises. Tristan immediately panicked, and tried to keep a straight face, but that panic set in as her choking persisted. He spun his crucible, pushed the essence into the belt on his waist, and then tapped her side. The coughing faded, and she gasped. “Oh my Matriarch! That’s so spicy!”

Tristan let out a little sigh of relief, then made eye contact with the chef who was waiting on his response. “I love it,” he said softly. “Reminds me of Gertrude’s cooking.” It was like the rice dish she would make – a soup with the rice boiled in the liquid to soak up all the flavor and make a porridge-type of slurry that she flavored with cardamom and basil. This was far spicier, but he could take the heat thanks to his consumption of fire dragon blood. Compared to that, this is nothing. He was also hit with a pang of sorrow as he remembered the slain house servant. Someone who died to a poison meant for him.

The sorrow must have reflected on his face, as the chef nodded solemnly. “Your lass back home?”

Eloise gave Tristan another glare that said “watch what you say”, but she replied for him. “Yes and no. The fourth in our polycule. She died not too long ago, along with our fourth.”

The chef winced, but nodded. “I am happy to have brought you a good memory.” He rapidly walked away from a now awkward situation.

Bedivere sighed. “Always tough when one you love dies. Condolences. Food brings memories.” He took a sip from his mug. “This spicy blend reminds me of what my grandsire would make. He added far more tinderblight, though. It would almost be too acidic.” He chuckled and cast a sideways glance at Tristan. “How do you like the cuisine, traveler Marius?”

“It is good,” Tristan said as he tried to shake off his sorrow at Gertrude’s death. “The Tousles house has all manner of craftsmen and artisans – I assume culinary artists as well?” Bedivere nodded, and Tristan continued. “What else can you tell me about the Demon House? Or about the Demon Lord in charge? Philippe, correct?”

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