Chapter 2 – Cooking Up Trouble
Djoser's House of Noodles
Preface - This story takes place following Book 3 of the Lamentations and Magic series, Harvest of Ancient Sorrows. Thus, it contains spoilers. This is the first chapter in a novella about Djoser, the assassin, thief, and mercenary who played a supporting, yet significant role in all three books of the series. This is the story about a wind singing babiakhom and his quest to give up his dark ways to pursue his true passion. Noodles.
As it reached sunset, Djoser flew eastward toward the setting moon, Shu, which created a large lunar shadow at the center of the setting star, An. Through the smoky glass of the welven goggles, forced on him by the afternoon glare, the phenomenon looked like a milk-white pupil inside a glowing iris. He knew that if he looked over his shoulder, he’d see Aaru’s second moon, Mata, rising in the west. Having all three heavenly bodies lined up along the planet’s equator gave sunset on this first day of the Khonsu its Triplets name.
Bastet purred from inside the pouch attached to Djoser’s chest. The contented rhythmic hum reverberated through Djoser’s torso and never failed to ease his worries, but, tired and running low on song-making reserves, worry crept in when he first saw the small river town of Kahun.
He had hoped to stay at his favorite tavern, Placid Waters, but river boats, moored bow to stern, packed the city’s river docks, and the town’s normally empty streets swarmed with throngs of people. On final approach, he realized it was the Yuhi army, making their way toward the coast and the fleet that would ferry them home.
Unable to reach another settlement tonight, Djoser decided to try his luck at Placid Waters anyway and angled into a slight dive that followed the curve of the river.
Easy to spot, the three-story tavern sat on the riverbank and hosted two impressive docks that jutted fifty yards into the half-mile-wide river. The docks didn’t have a single berth free.
He reached toward the tavern with his long-distance speaking song and asked for the proprietor.
The tavern’s wind singer relayed his words to someone in charge. A man asked. “May I help you?”
“Do you have any rooms available?”
“I’m afraid we are full tonight.”
Djoser didn’t want to sleep under the stars and thought quick on his wings. “Are your guests all from Yuhi?”
“Obviously. Why do you ask?”
The tavern was closing fast. Djoser needed to get permission to land. “I am a chef whose specialty happens to be food from Maanu Alu. If I were to cook a meal for your most esteemed guests, would you be able to find myself and my cat a pallet on the floor somewhere?”
There was a long pause. “If they don’t like it, you don’t get a bed.”
“Deal.” Djoser grinned but kept his mouth closed tight—no need to eat a bug.
“Come on in. Someone will meet you on top and escort you to the kitchen.”
“Thank you.”
Djoser broke his dive, letting his legs drop and opened his arms wider to capture as much air as possible. He floated to the landing platform on the tavern’s roof to be greeted by a young woman who was rushing up the short set of stairs.
“I’m Flora. My parents are the owners. Follow me.”
Djoser shifted Bastet’s weight in his pouch.
The cat popped his head out and mewed. “Is it time to eat?”
The girl yelped and took a step back. “That’s a big cat.”
“He’s trained. He won’t be a bother.”
The girl gathered herself and nodded. “Come on.” She moved toward a covered door in the corner that looked like an outhouse. Djoser glanced to the other side of the roof. A long bar and a half dozen wicker tables filled the space. On every seat sat a Nipponese or dwarven soldier. The girl didn’t wait for him to take it all in, opened the door, and disappeared down a set of stairs. Djoser floated down the first flight until he caught up, then kept pace with his legs.
The top floor was completely closed in with rooms along the walls and in the middle. At the second landing, he glimpsed an open balcony that had a view of the commons room below. The thrum from the large crowd buzzed his sensitive ears, and he adjusted his listening song as they continued down to account for the volume.
Upon reaching the bottom, they emerged from the stairwell next to a small empty stage and started fighting their way across the tavern floor. Two bars sat in the far corners of the room, while long tables with bench seating formed rows at the center. With so many patrons, it didn’t look like a gnat could squeeze his ass onto one of those seats.
Dodging servers and standing patrons, the girl led him toward big swinging doors set into the back wall between the corner bars. The girl squirmed through the mass of boisterous soldiers like a fish swimming upstream. She’d move left and then right, her instincts allowing her never to stop her forward progress while several beers sloshed on Djoser, and he caught several elbows while fighting to keep up. Bastet hissed and kicked inside his sling when he took one of the blows.
If Djoser hadn’t regulated the sound, he might have been overwhelmed by the hundreds of individual conversations taking place all at once. Instead, he tweaked his song to translate and then filter every word through a search for his name and the terms wind singer or babiakhom. If anyone spotted him, he wanted a heads-up. Most wind singers never refined their songs to this level, but in his previous profession he’d used this skill to help him uncover valuable secrets as well as keep him alive.
Unlike the bar on the roof, there were no private tables here. On previous stays, Djoser had enjoyed spending his evenings drinking with strangers from near and far. More than once, he’d gone to bed having made new friends. Except for that one night. That night, he’d rather forget along with the lifelong enemy he’d made. He wasn’t worried that he’d see that asshole tonight. That coward would have run a thousand miles away at the first news of the reaper horde.
Flora pushed open one of the two doors and waved him inside. The heat hit him first. Then the smells of baking bread, roasting meat, simmering stews, and frying foods assaulted Djoser’s nose, but in a good way. Djoser loved being inside a working kitchen.
Flames licked at the bottom of cast iron cauldrons, while fat sizzled as it dropped into the flames from haunches of roasting lamb or carcasses of fowl like zehorg and duck. All of the cooking took place inside four open hearths along the back wall. Cooks stood next to the hearths, stirring stews, turning meats, or frying different foods like potatoes or breaded cheese curds. Bakers pulled large loaves of bread from ovens that lined the other wall, while prep chefs prepared ingredients on worktables at the center of the space.
His eyes moved toward the tables covered with flour where bakers prepped and kneaded dough. He’d need one of those.
An aproned man stepped in front of him and placed his hands on his hips. “I’m Hori, the owner and head cook. So, you’re the Maanu Alu cook who will delight my guests?”
Djoser nodded. “The very one. Hori, nice to meet you. I would love to swap recipes, but since it is already dinner time, I need to get to work.”
Hori nodded. “What do you need?”
Djoser pointed to one of the baker’s tables. “A prep table, one of the hearths, and someone to fetch ingredients and to help prep.”
“Flora will assist you.” The owner patted the young girl’s shoulder. “She’s a pretty good cook herself.”
The girl grinned at the praise and nodded.
“Wonderful. Is there someplace I can put my things?” Djoser lifted Bastet’s harness.
The owner pointed to a large set of double doors on the last wall. “Our larder is over there. The last row of shelving is empty. You and your cat can bed down back there.”
“Great. I’ll get him settled.” Djoser scratched at one of Bastet’s ears. “Then I’ll get started.”
“I’ll leave you to it, but I will taste everything before serving.”
“Flora will come get you when we are ready. How many am I cooking for?”
“Hmm. The Shogun, the King of the dwarves, that ambassador fellow, and the Princess. Four, but double just in case.”
“Right, give me forty-five minutes.” Djoser dismissed himself with a nod and moved to the larder.
It was a huge space with almost a dozen shelves filled with fresh and dry goods. He noted several needed ingredients as he moved to the last row. A menu began taking shape in his mind. In the farthest corner, he laid out his regular camp setup—a thick blanket for a bed with the emergency umbrella at one end for his pillow.
Djoser unhooked the cat carrier and pointed to the blanket. “Wait here. DO NOT touch any of the food.” He put Bastet down.
The caracal turned around, sat down, and hissed. “No fun. Come back. I need to go outside.”
It had been a while since their last nature break during their flight, but Djoser knew the big cat could wait. “I’ll be back. Don’t move from the blanket.”
Bastet sauntered to the pack with the umbrella, hopped up, and then stretched out like a sphinx. “No fun. Stay here.” Then he closed his eyes, dismissing his human.
Djoser shook his head, pulled his rolled-up knives from his bag, and grabbed an arm full of ingredients as he made his way back to the kitchen. He found Flora cleaning off half of a regular prep table, which sat next to their bakers’ table.
“Good job,” he said as he laid out the ingredients. “Now, do you have any garum?”
Flora replied, “The Remulan fish sauce?”
“Yes, we will need it, walnuts, honey, wine vinegar, date syrup, eggplant, and olive oil. Bring those, and I’ll have another list.” Djoser held up his hands. “Where do you wash?”
Flora pointed. “The two buckets beside the first hearth. That first pot has warm water. There is soap and hand towels there as well. The basket is for your used towels. I’ll go get this first batch of things.” She headed toward the larder.
Newsletter Readers Pick Up The Story Here
Djoser washed the dirt from his face, and then his hands. He returned with several extra towels and got to work on the noodles. He didn’t have time for somen, so he used a simple wheat noodle recipe with flour, salt, and water. In a few minutes, he formed and kneaded four balls of dough, then left them to rise. All the while he worked, he kept Flora busy fetching and then prepping ingredients.
In a large kettle, half-filled with water, he dropped river fish bones, one leek, some ginger, garum, and garum-flavored crushed fava beans, then stirred. After covering the pot, he placed it over the fire in the closest hearth. Then he went to work cleaning several large Nehes-Baru. A river fish, given their name based upon their bronzed spiky backs.
He used his hocho-to, a regular Yuhi cooking blade, to slice small bite-sized morsels of fish to add to the broth after he strained it. With the rest of the fillets, he skewered and lightly brushed them with garum and set them aside. His internal clock kept ticking as he raced to finish all the dishes on time, without forgetting any of the steps in the correct order.
Djoser washed his hands and scrubbed his knife, then mixed up a date/garum pepper glaze, before quartering and slicing the breasts of four duck carcasses. After washing his hands and equipment again, he used a shallow cast-iron pot to sear the duck, then added water and covered the meat to braise.
Check the broth, he thought while he was still in front of the hearth. He used a ladle to pour some broth into a spoon, blew on it, then slurped up the still-hot liquid.
Too salty, he winced.
“How is it?” Flora asked.
“Add a tankard of water, and—” Needs more tartness, he thought as he went over the ingredients available to him. “Add two spoons of wine vinegar.”
“Yes, sir.” Flora rushed to the pot with the needed ingredients.
“When you’re done, boil a pot of water. Add two spoons of olive oil and one of salt.”
She nodded, and Djoser moved back to the baker’s prep table, added a layer of flour, and rolled out a ball of dough into a log, then began stretching, twisting, and folding. Stretching, twisting, and folding.
Flora’s eyes grew big. “What are you doing?”
Djoser chuckled. “I’m making noodles.” He added more flour to the table and slapped the dough into it as he began again. “If I have time tonight, I will show you the technique.”
Flora asked, “How are there so many strands?”
“It is all in the placement of your fingers as you fold and stretch.” When the noodles were thin but not too thin, Djoser used his hocho-toto to slice off the doughy blob at one end, then cut the thin dough into foot-long noodles. “Flora, put the fish on the grill and keep an eye on it. Turn them in five minutes.”
“On it.”
Djoser raced his internal clock and whipped out another seven servings of noodles. Washed his hands again and then used a thin cloth to strain the broth into another bowl. He discarded the fishbones and root vegetables, then added the broth, thin slices of eggplant, some mustard greens, and his cubed fish back into the pot, then covered it.
Then he boiled four servings of his noodles. Two servings, he warm rinsed and set aside to go into the hot broth. The other two, he cold-rinsed and set aside for the walnut glaze, which he immediately started by crushing walnuts in a mortar and mixing the oily pieces with garum, vinegar, date syrup, ginger, and black pepper. He tasted the mixture and added a touch more syrup.
Flora said, “The grilled fish are ready.”
“Alright. Plate for five, as you do; brush both sides with a slight coat of that garum and vinegar glaze.” He pointed to the bowl.
“Yes, sir.”
Djoser then poured equal parts of the walnut sauce into the cold noodles, mixed, and served the sauced noodles on five plates. In five bowls, he added warm noodles and served a ladle of the fish stew into one.
Last, he removed the braised duck, checked its tenderness, then served it on five plates and poured his date-garum-pepper glaze over the top.
“Flora, go get your father to come taste the dishes.” Stepping back, Djoser took in his four dishes. It lacked lightness and color.
There wasn’t much time left, and his eyes roved over the prep tables, landing on the sliced green onions, cucumbers, and several kinds of greens. He garnished the cold noodles with cucumbers and onions, then quickly sliced another eggplant and, using his leftover garum-vinegar glaze, sautéed it with greens and onions. After a taste, he created five small side bowls of sautéed vegetables.
With his hands on his hips, he appraised his work again and found it complete.
“You’re ready then?” Hori stepped in front of the table with all the plates and bowls. “Where do I start?”
“With the fish stewed noodles.” Djoser pointed to the steaming bowl.
Hori dipped a spoon into the broth and brought up a chunk of fish, eggplant, and broth. He sniffed it, blew on the contents, then took it all in. “Mm. Interesting.” He tried to pick up some noodles with his spoon, and they flopped off.
After a second try, Djoser handed him a fork. “Use this. Twirl the noodles.”
It took three more attempts for Flora’s father to get the hang of it, but when he did, he shoveled a large pile of noodles into his mouth. Some fell back into the bowl as he bit into the long strands, and he bent his head over the bowl. As he chewed, he looked up, his eyes going wide. Cheeks full, he mumbled. “This is amazing.”
After handing the fork to his daughter, Hori stepped to the next dish. His reactions vacillated from awe to a curled nose at the foreign taste. Flora came along behind, giving consistently pleasant reviews.
“Alright, let’s serve. Flora, take our guest chef to the private dining room, and I’ll have the dishes sent up the trolley.”
Djoser followed Flora to a door next to the larder that led to another staircase. Thank Shai we don’t have to go back through the tavern, as they moved up to the second floor and went into the hallway with the balcony. They made their way to a set of double doors guarded by four fierce samurai.
One of the guards smiled at Flora and held up his hand. “Who is this?”
“He is a guest chef who has prepared a Maanu Allu-inspired meal for the Shogun and his guests. The food should be arriving, and we need to direct the serving.”
The man looked Djoser up and down before meeting his eyes. “No weapons.” He pointed to a small table.
Djoser nodded and moved to the table. The process of disarming reminded him too much of his dealings with the emperor, but he complied. His two wrist blades and his side blade went on the table. He sent his listening song out, seeking the conversation on the other side of the doors, but found only silence.
The guards opened the doors, and he stepped into a large banquet room where four guests sat around a central table, with two barmaids serving them, while eight more guards stood with their backs against the walls. Sixteen eyes stayed glued on him with hands resting on the hilts of katanas. Djoser took it all in like he did every dangerous situation. One of the guards must be a human wind singer because the silence popped as he entered the other singer’s sphere of silence.
A dwarf with a silver, braided beard, who must be the king of the Sygnafylki, laughed and slapped the back of a middle-aged Yuhi man who Djoser took to be the shogun. The man winced from the force of the strike and shook his head. A young girl who had been in discussion with another Yuhi man stopped speaking and straightened her back as she caught sight of him. Her eyes narrowed, and her face grew stern.
The hair on the back of Djoser’s neck rose in warning. Why is she looking at me like that? She looked familiar, but he couldn’t place where he knew her.
Flora stepped in front of the table and bowed. “Shogun, King, and guests. We have a guest chef who prepared your meal today.” She held a hand toward him. “This is Chef Djoser.”
Djoser stepped forward and bowed low. When he rose, he said in Nipponese, “Shōgun Sadayuki-sama, soshite Itora-ō, honjitsu wa otsukae dekiru koto, taihen kōei ni zonjimasu.” Then he switched back to Aaruan. “The meal that I prepared today is called A Borrowed Taste of Home. It is five Maanu Allu inspired dishes which I prepared using local ingredients to simulate the umami flavors of your homelands.”
The shogun said, “I am intrigued to see what you have made us.”
The girl stood and pointed. “That babiakhom is dangerous. Guards, seize him.”
It happened so fast that Djoser didn’t have time to react. Strong hands gripped each of his arms, and a blade was at his neck before he could even move.
The samurai with the blade at his throat looked to the shogun and asked, “Should I kill him?”
“Please don’t,” Djoser squeaked out.
Flora yelped and stepped away from him.
The shogun stood. “Princess Masako, please explain what is going on.”
Her eyes stopped shooting daggers at him as she turned to the shogun. “Grandfather, this wind singer works for the Remulan emperor.” He glanced back at Djoser. “I saw him speaking to the emperor several times while I was a captive.”
That’s where I saw her. The confident, straight-backed princess in front of him seemed nothing like the little captive girl huddled in one corner of the Remulan emperor’s pavilion. Instinct told him he was as close to death as he had been during the last battle, and he raced to speak. “Not anymore. Shogun. Princess. I don’t work for him anymore.”
The princess jabbed a finger toward him. “Are you here to spy? Or are you trying to poison us?”
“I’m a chef, I promise. Please let me explain.”
“Masako, take a seat. I will handle this.” The shogun moved around the table to stand before him. “You have one minute, explain.” He waved his hand and the blade moved a few inches from his neck.
“Thank you, Shogun. I was more of an indentured servant. I had been hired for another task, but when the reapers showed up, the emperor forced me to work as a wind singer scout for his army.” Djoser could not read the shogun as the man’s face never changed. “Maybe you heard about the magical dwarven horn that was blown during the last battle. The one that slowed down the reapers.”
The dwarf grunted. “The narwhal horn. They used it?”
Djoser nodded. “Well, that was me. I was the one that flew it around the battlefield. It was a suicide mission, but somehow, I survived. I asked the emperor to release me from my contract, and he did. He even rewarded me for my help.”
“That does not explain why you are here,” the princess’s words came out harsh.
Djoser thought his minute was close to up and spoke fast, “I just wanted a place to stay tonight, so I promised to cook for a bed. I was heading home to Pastruus to open a restaurant. It’s one of the reasons the emperor released me; he thought it was funny.”
The shogun tilted his head. “What was funny about it?”
“Noodles. I’m opening a noodle shop.”
The shogun didn’t laugh. Didn’t even smile.
Even more desperate, Djoser spouted words that he was sure would see him dead before he could stop them. “Try my noodles. Kill me if you don’t think them worthy.” He gulped. Why on Aaru did he say that? How stupid could he be?
The dwarven king bellowed with laughter. “This is the most entertaining meal of the trip. Come on, Sadayuki, take him up on his boast. If you don’t like his noodles, I can wet my blade.”
The princess asked, “What if he poisoned the food?”
Flora, who had been cowering, raised her hand. “My father and tasted each of the dishes he prepared. We are fine.”
The shogun ordered, “Hiroshi, check the food.”
Another samurai stepped from the wall and moved to the table where the barmaids had laid the food. He waved his hand over each plate and bowl. “There is nothing harmful.”
Of course, the Shogun would have a life singer in his personal guard. Probably, more than one, Djoser thought. Poison was never the choice of weapon when killing someone with easy access to a life singer. Of course, he’d used it to murder someone a few times, but when he did, he ensured the target stayed isolated.
“Serve the first dish. It better be good.” The shogun grinned. “Your life depends on it.”
Djoser knew his food was excellent, but still there was the off chance. He put all doubts aside as he added the warm noodles to the fish stew bowls. The die was cast. Either he was a chef worth owning his own restaurant, or he wasn’t. He and Flora placed the bowls in front of the four guests.
When Djoser served the young girl, he said, “Princess, this is fish stew with noodles. I used local ingredients to get as close as possible to Maanu Allu’s flavors. Enjoy.”
He backed up and watched as the dwarf dove into his bowl using chopsticks to slurp up a good portion of noodles. As he chewed, a grin split his beard. “This is excellent. Close to home but not the same. Good in its own way.” He stopped chewing and swallowed. “The noodles are excellent. Where did you learn your craft?”
Djoser bowed. The giant weight that had been crushing him disappeared from his chest. “Thank you. I spent six months learning at the feet of monks at Joten-ji Temple.”
“Impressive,” said the shogun.
He nodded to Flora, and they served the second bowl of cold noodles.
By the time they served the grilled fish, Djoser was confident he’d proven himself, but he wanted to hear it said out loud. The shogun had a happy look on his face as he bit into the fillet.
Djoser bowed to the table again and asked, “Shogun, do I get to keep my head?”
The man’s face became hard, and he turned to the young girl. “Masako, what do you think?”
The others stopped everything and took in the scene as if holding their breath.
The girl held up a piece of fish with her chopsticks and her face relaxed. “You have proven that you are an excellent chef, but I think it best that our paths never cross again.”
Djoser licked his lips. “I can guarantee it, your highness. You won’t ever see me again, unless you find yourself in Enis P. Then make sure to come eat at Djoser’s House of Noodles.”