“Now you remember you’re hungry?” Glenn teased, unable to resist.
Bonnie said nothing, only bowed her head in embarrassment.
Glenn rose suddenly and unfastened the cloth sack he had placed on the table. He produced a generous slab of pork, a basket of vegetables, seasonings, cooking oil — even a shallow pan — laying them out one by one. Bonnie’s mouth fell open in astonishment.
“Where’s your kitchen?” Glenn asked the dazed girl.
Bonnie pointed instinctively to a small room, and Glenn shouldered the provisions and walked straight in. Only then did Bonnie seem to wake, and she hurried after him, protesting, “Mr. Glenn, we can’t possibly eat all this — it’s far too precious!”
“You ate plenty the last time you came to my place,” Glenn replied with a half-smile.
“I—” Bonnie flushed with shame and guilt.
“All right. I don’t lack for food. Consider this a small recompense for the trouble you and your family endured.”
He dismissed her objections and set to work. Rolling up his sleeves, he lit a fire and moved about the kitchen with easy competence. Bonnie watched, lips pressed together.
“Here—help me wash these,” Glenn said, indicating the vegetables. “Learn a bit while you’re at it. If you can cook, you’ll always be able to feed your mother and friends. It’s a useful skill for a young lady.”
Bonnie’s eyes shone. She adored Glenn’s cooking; even a little instruction felt like a treasure.
Time passed gently. When Bonnie’s mother returned to the room, a savory aroma greeted her — a handful of homely dishes were already laid upon the table. Bonnie emerged from the kitchen carrying a plate of stir-fried meat and called, “Mother, come taste this! Mr. Glenn has prepared a specialty from his home — you must try it!”
Mrs. Sally stood stunned, unable at first to comprehend the scene before her. Glenn stepped out, wiping his hands on a cloth, and said with a courteous bow, “Ma’am, I hope my borrowing your kitchen caused no trouble.”
“Of course not…” Sally stammered, flustered.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Then please — try my cooking.” Glenn motioned toward the dishes.
Sally accepted a spoonful with trembling hands. At the first bite, the unfamiliar yet exquisite flavor flooded her senses; her eyes widened in surprise. Bonnie, long famished, ate with abandon. Watching them, Glenn allowed himself a small, private pleasure at their delight.
They ate together, chatting at ease. Through casual conversation Glenn learned the household’s story: Sally worked at the cotton mill and kept steady employment; her husband had been beaten to death after offending a passing nobleman, and Sally had raised Bonnie alone. Though life had been hard, Sally’s steady job had spared them the worst.
After the meal, Glenn took his leave. “Stay the night,” Sally urged, worried. “The town hasn’t been calm lately; it’s not safe to travel so late.”
“It’s all right, ma’am. I’ll be careful,” Glenn replied with a wry smile, then stepped out into the ink-dark night.
…
In Lord Channis’s manor, the lord set aside the letter and exhaled barely audibly. “Send for Baber,” he instructed the steward.
“Sir,” the steward bowed and departed. Soon Baber, armored and composed, entered and saluted.
“Bring that peasant called Glenn back to me,” Channis said, his voice cold. “He must learn the price of offending nobility.”
“Understood!” Baber replied and turned to leave.
Channis added, “Do not enter the village of Bayek. If you stir up whatever dwells there, I shall not be responsible for you.”
“I will remember,” Baber said gravely and strode from the room. Lady Sophia watched him go with a curious look.
“You sent for Baber — did your friend reply?” she asked.
“He confirmed that the name means nothing to him. The man appears to be an ordinary peasant,” Channis answered.
“Good. He struck our son — he must be punished,” Sophia rasped, a harsh smile shadowing her lips.
…
At an unremarkable tavern in Dud, a travel-worn middle-aged man pushed open the door and scanned the room. Plain of dress and sullen of face, he might have been overlooked by most. His gaze landed on a striking figure by the window, and he sat directly across from her.
“A grand sorcerer, dressed like this? A commoner?” Murphy remarked disdainfully.
“Enough of your airs. Give me what I asked for, you damned vampire,” the man snapped, his tone blunt and hostile.
“You speak poorly to someone you begged to see,” Murphy replied, folding her hands with cool annoyance. “When you come to make deals, learn respect.”
“Vampires aren’t worthy of respect,” he sneered. “Hurry — give me the item.”
Murphy’s fingers tightened beneath the table; her eyes briefly reddened. “Perhaps this bargain need not proceed,” she said coldly. “Go find someone else.” She rose, prepared to leave.
But the man’s next words stopped her. “You would not wish for your castle to be visited by the grand knights and the great mages, would you?”
“You threaten me?!” Murphy’s pupils flared crimson; the air around her shivered. The other patrons felt a sudden tightness in their chests, an inexplicable constriction, though none knew why.
“Threaten if you must,” the man said, leaning back against the wall, thumb tapping his wooden cup. His gaze was utterly calm, almost dispassionate, and he watched Murphy without emotion.
