Slowly drawing the edge of one thumb along the blade, testing the edge of the large kitchen knife Master Sergeant Donchaminar Kammick Nit’Sammish of the Cloven Peaks’ Clan was sorely disappointed. The knife had been someone’s pride a long time ago. Maybe a century ago.
He could see the wavering grind that spoke of an indifferent hand working to sharpen the blade these last several years, meaning the knife that had once been a treasure to some long ago cook now was a random “job knife” here in these expansively large kitchens here in the palace. The handle, Donk could see, had been replaced in the last few years, and it was a very nicely done piece of work.
This knife was too small for his hands. The spine of the knife was still wide, and spoke of a much heavier knife before a thousand indifferent sharpenings by someone who leaned heavily on the base of the blade as it was ground, thinning the thing from a sturdy blade worthy of a chef, to a thin, uneven scrap of sharpish metal barely suited to a scullery boy.
He sighed heavily, and slowly turned from the bread counter that ran thirty paces along one wall where he and Barda inspected the kitchen’s knives as the rest of the kitchen staff cleaned, or prepped for a light lunch for the King and his current set of guests.
When they had arrived the entire palace staff had turned out to greet the new young king in the Great Hall. Myrl had introduced his staff, what little there was, to that of the palace.
When the new king had demanded the kitchen staff to come forward, Donk had almost lost his composure and winced at what he knew was about to happen.
And he had been correct.
Myrl had smiled at the previous Royal Chef, and extended His most Gracious appreciation for the elderly man’s work on behalf of Myrl’s family, and then offered the man a handsome retirement. A small pension, and the King’s own thanks for a lifetime of service.
The man, a wiry human, so old that Donk couldn’t even guess at the man’s age, but his head was without any hair save his white eyebrows, and a fine, snowy stubble. His arms were long, sinewy, and ended in hands made of huge calluses and outsized knuckles that made them look completely disproportionate.
The old man refused the offer of retirement. He was going to let his pride get in the way of living out the rest of his life in relative comfort, and a modicum of leisure. But, as the old man explained to his new king, “Without my work, I would have nothing, Sire. My wife has long ago passed. My daughters and my son have all moved out into the world and found new families for themselves, and they…”
The old man trailed off as he looked at Myrl. Donk could see the tears building in his eyes. Finally he said, “They don’t need me taking up space in their homes. Another mouth to feed, and someone to tell them what they are doing wrong. I won't be that old man to my children.” He then looked back at the large staff of kitchen workers over which he must have ruled for a few decades.
Myrl looked to Donk where he stood in his crisp uniform, with his small staff that had followed him from Jibiril Keep to serve Myrl. And after a moment of reflection, Donk nodded to his king. He would find a place for the man.
“Chef Cobb, this,” and here Myrl gestured to Donk, “is My Head Chef, and trusted man.”
Donk gave the staff credit; very few of them flinched openly at the revelation of the huge orc soldier who would be taking up the Mantle of Royal Chef here in the palace of Ghlow. His pointed ear did hear one soft feminine voice as it began to chant a prayer under its owner’s breath to the Gods of Forests and Seas. It made him smile, if only slightly.
But that had been then, and now he was here in the kitchens, and making the most of a quick and rough inventory as he spoke with the remaining members of the senior staff here in the kitchens. Steen, Felmet, and Bogner were all working on an accounting of the larder that made up the storage rooms below the kitchens.
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This would be a turning point for many of those who had chosen to stay. Most of the staff had never seen an orc in person before. None of them, he was certain, had imagined an orc as the King’s chosen Chef. A few of the staff had left their positions earlier that morning after being introduced to Donk.
And those that were left, now were either set to tasks, or were describing their responsibilities in the palace to their new Head of the Kitchens. Donchaminar turned to face them, the poor, old, abused knife in his huge hands.
A matronly woman, Mistress Mollette, had been detailing to him her breadmaking virtues. She had a little pug nose, and very bright brown eyes shining up at him from beneath a thick head of hair that was an dyed attempt at red that Donk appreciated. Her silvering hair growing out under the mass of red made for a pleasant contrast of colors. She slowly wound down her litany of breads, and smiled up at Donk, her crows’ feet expanding with ferocity.
“Thank you Mistress Mollette. I appreciate your dedication to the arts of baking. Please take your select staff, and see Mister Steen. He is seeing to the staple stores below. Tall man. Very thin. We will need flatbreads for this evening’s meal. Chapa style, if you please.” His basso rumble of a voice rolled through the huge open expanses of the kitchens as he spoke to the delightfully plump little woman.
“Oh, Master Kammick, that sounds lovely. And what kind of bread would you have me serve the palace staff?”
He tilted his head slightly to the left at the question. “The same, Mistress.”
“But, Sir!” The rough voice of the former master of these kitchens, Cobb, protested. The man, and several others of the older senior staff all looked scandalized.
“Mister Cobb, it is the King’s preference that the staff will be eating the same foods that they make for Himself, and his guests. He feels that the best way to ensure consistent high levels of quality in the food at his table is to make sure everyone preparing it will be eating it as well.”
Cobb's wrinkled old face screwed itself up in fear at that idea. “But sir!” Donk thought he was going to hate that phrase in very short order. “That will be expensive!”
“No, Mister Cobb. It will not. King Myrl doesn’t believe in lavish meals outside of special guests and special occasions. We will devise a special staff menu for those days. But, the rest of the meals here at the palace will be simple fare.” With that he raised an eyebrow at the little human man who stood gaping before him. “Feeding the palace good food is our goal, not making the king a veritable banquet for every meal. The King had heard that his late Aunt and… her husband" Donk refused to name the man, “would have this kitchen preparing extravagant meals three times a day. He isn’t interested in that.”
Donk then pointed to a far set of prep tables where chickens were being paid out by Felmet and a young man Donk didn’t recognize. “If you would be so kind, we will be serving spiced chicken in gravy with flat bread and honey roast tubers for dinner tonight. So, take your team, and see to those chickens, if you please, Mister Cobb.”
Cobb looked from Donk to the prep tables being loaded up with cold, dressed yard fowl. The old man then turned to the three men, and one woman standing closest to him, and said in his grating, gravel tinged voice, “You heard the man! Let’s go! Summa, check the ovens. Karl, please bring in the hanging bundles of karri leaves! Let's go! King’s a young man, let's not let him get old waiting!”
Felmet wheeled a cart now empty bird bodies over to Donk, who stood, watching his new, huge staff bustle about the cavernous, oven lined rooms.
“You have all this moving as you’d have it, Sir?” Felmet asked, a slight tremor in his elderly frame.
“I have.”
“You taking on the pudding for tonight?”
“No, Mister Felmet. Please arrange a rice pudding for His Majesty and His guests, if you please.”
“I’ll see to it, Sir.”
As the man bustled off, Donk looked at the knife in his hand, and set out to find the kitchen whetstones. It couldn’t be a proper chef’s knife anymore, but with some care and proper shaping, it would become an excellent trimming knife.
Donk smiled, and got to it.