The answer was very. No, it was outrageously hard. They had no real idea what to do beyond pressing the curds. How do you press curds? No idea. They needed to drain the liquid though, so they tried a few things before Chef decided fuck it and got them another sack. He just walked through town for a short while before finding someone that admitted to having one. The original owner put up very little fight, buckling quickly to the demands of their goblin lord.

The sack worked well, allowing the liquid to fall out while catching the solid curds. The whole process was pretty messy, so they did that part outside. Chef suspected that the liquids would go bad over the next few days, but he didn’t live here. That would be someone else’s problem.

He was half right. Cheese making took days to figure out which was plenty of time for whey and milk to sour in the sun. It was enough time for lots of things to go bad, actually. Chef ended up even needing to do another thistle run though that was mostly his fault. He’d gathered hundreds of flowers the first time, but only a few dozen were actual thistle. This time he grabbed enough for a lifetime, finding clusters easily now that he knew what to look for.

The first day was admittedly a little painful yet illuminating. He learned a lot and made many mistakes. The second day was fine, but he remained in denial. It wasn’t until the third day that Chef had to accept the truth.

This is fun.

It wasn’t just the cooking that he liked. Experimenting with someone who knew what they were doing was incredible. He’d honestly never had this much fun! So much so that he would actually feel sad when the sun began to set, signaling his time to leave the village.

Part of what made it fun was the lack of their overseer. Without the small taskmaster there to peer over his shoulder and leave him second guessing his every move, Chef could relax and just cook. And those were two of his most favorite hobbies!

But there was no denying the value that this particular human brought to the mix. The father was ruthless in a way that only goblins were. That much had been made clear when he had to explain what honey was to the kiln maker despite having prepared plenty of it for his initial teachings. The father had evidently declined to give her any despite demanding the amount for the cost. Brilliant. Just like a goblin. It actually made Chef a little proud.

But, unlike goblins, the father had standards. The man insisted that whatever they made, no matter how good, it could be better. And then they made something better. Together. Things he never could have made alone.

What am I supposed to do with this cursed knowledge?!

It felt wrong. He was supposed to hate these things. Years of life had brought him to kill many humans in roadside ambushes. That’s just what goblins do.

But now he actually liked a human. Chef woke up in a cold sweat that night, realizing he’d actually be sad to see the man dead. How could this be possible? How could he have let this happen?

That whole next day, was spent in a bit of a funk. He showed up for their cooking and experimentation, but the whole caring for another living being thing had him all kinds of fucked up. It wasn’t supposed to be this way!

Eventually, their combined efforts bore fruit, or cheese in this case. The curds had been an interesting flavor and worth using on their own, but both of the cooks were sure they could do better. After days of work, they proved themselves correct.

The secret had been salt. That’s it. Well, they did a bit more than that to get it to really work, but really the cheese needed to be pressed into a more compact form and salted. The resulting white chunk was a little smelly and a lot delicious.

As he savored the flavor and texture of the stuff, Chef found himself watching the satisfaction and joy on the father’s face. The man had to have a bite just to see if they had finally succeeded, but that was all. It wasn’t like he gave the man cheese because he li-li-liked him or something. Stupid.

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The next words spoken were like a spell, destroying his desperate attempts to cling to goblin normalcy.

“What if we smoked this with some meats?”

“Yeeeeesssss!”

The word left his mouth like a hiss, excitement overflowing from his tiny goblin body.

This man had to be protected. No matter the cost. A food visionary like this needed to be nurtured and supplied. Together, they could conquer cuisine itself! First cheese, then the world!

Well, first he had to feed the townspeople actually. But then they’d continue their mission of culinary conquest. They set up by the well, and started cooking. Together. Odd as it was, he’d never really had the chance to work in a group before. Goblins tended to have shit taste, quite literally in some cases. But while the father had a certain ruthlessness and cunning common in goblins, he wasn’t as dumb or obnoxious as one.

The rest of the townspeople, however, never seemed to change. Every day that he went into or out of the cook’s house, he saw someone sweating nervously. They always calmed down eventually, usually after he made their daily food batch, but it annoyed him all the same. Even now, while he was trying to enjoy casual conversation with the man, some nameless nobody was looking between them with a face twisted up in fear.

Enough was enough. He’d asked people questions before, and it worked out just fine. The man and Chef had become close over the past week. They’d worked, sweat, and laughed together. The goblin even gave him some of his hard-won cheese!

The father had never let him down thus far, not even once. Everything that he had asked for from the townspeople in general had been given to him, and he had long suspected that the man before him was a big part of that. If anyone knew what was going on and was willing to tell him, it was Therace. The simplest way to get an answer was to just ask the question.

“Why are they so scared?”

Days of constant interaction and actually listening for once had improved Chef’s human-speak dramatically. But despite his improving vocabulary and diction, the father seemed to become uncomfortable at the question. Now the man was sweating too! They’d finished cooking some time ago and few people were still waiting for their serving. As soon as they heard the question though, they all casually wandered away. With empty bowls in their hands.

“What is going on here?”

“They are just doing as you have demanded, Sir Chef.”

The knee jerk response might as well have been a confession. The man was all smiles and joy so long as the goblin focused on cooking and ignored everything else. Now that he was prying into whatever it was they’ve been up to, it quickly transitioned to lies and deflection. They had plotted against him once, and that had left him cold towards these people. But even still, he’d never harmed them. Not a single one of them, excluding the shiny attacking one.

Then he realized it. The greatest thinking mind this town had to offer had disappeared without a trace. Chef had been so busy enjoying having the father to himself that he failed to consider the ramifications of Mirri leaving.

Are they moving against me again? What horrors has the small one schemed up against me? Is he sending another glowing blade man? Will there be an army this time?

Chef was closer to the truth than he could know, minus who was responsible. Even still, he couldn’t simply accept that he’d been betrayed. Not after finally coming to like someone. Not now that he finally had someone he could cook with, could discover brand new foods with.

“Then why are you sweating?”

And yet, he couldn’t just ignore the signs, not with how plentiful they were.

“Sweat is a sign of hard work, Sir Chef. We work hard for you and soon we’ll have plenty of flour for you too. Just think of all the things we could make with it! All the recipes I’ve heard of but could never try!”

A pathetic excuse that anyone should be able to see through, but Chef simply nodded. He didn’t want to believe that they were moving against him. If he did, he’d have to kill them. That much he’d learned from years in the tribe. Once a group rose up against the leader, they had to be put down or risk a full rebellion.

Was that what he was? A leader? No, never. He was a chef and never a chief. Chiefs get killed because of the power they wield, and he’d never let that be him. He’d just sit back and cook, living his life to the fullest.

So this couldn’t be an uprising because he wasn’t in charge. He didn’t have to kill then because this wasn’t an uprising. This couldn’t be a betrayal because he never expected anything in the first place.

Chef resolved himself once more, ignoring the signs that told him otherwise. They were still building the mill even now. He’d have all the flour he could ever want soon just so long as he didn’t do anything rash. There was no problem here whatsoever.

But, an insidious voice spoke up inside his mind nonetheless. It wouldn’t hurt to have a bit stronger poison on hand. Just in case.