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Betty looked out over the vast camp surrounding a squat round tower. She counted roughly fifty tents, each big enough for a few soldiers, as well as two large pavilions. One of them was clearly the command tent, festooned as it was with flapping, slate-blue pennants. The other was a long rectangle, likely the chow tent. She could see steel-clad knights eating in the area around it.

The tower was a peculiar sight. It stood three stories tall, with an entrance on the second floor. A crenelated stonework ring circumnavigated its waist. Four flights of stairs led down to the trampled grass in each cardinal direction around the structure. It shimmered like a mirage in the desert, a phenomenon that couldn't be explained by the warm day alone. Betty guessed the effect must be magical in nature.

Dozens of soldiers were stationed around and on top of the fat flat spire. The camp was spread around it. There was no question that structure was the reason this army was here. It sat on a low hill in the middle of an open plain.

As Betty crossed the field toward the camp, she was grateful the sergeant and the three warriors he had assigned to guard her had left her utterly alone on the trek here. This gave her time to develop a story she could use to explain the oddity she was. Thankfully, Atti had given her the perfect basis from which to start.

As the squad navigated through the tents towards the camp's heart, Betty couldn't help but notice the numerous odd looks she received from the renegade soldiers. Their hostile curiosity felt like a tangible itch in the middle of her back, as if, at any moment, one of the armed men or women might strike her down.

The sergeant’s unit stopped in front of a slightly larger tent, though nothing as expansive as either of the pavilions. The man named Marsh clapped his hands in a staggered rhythm of three claps, which elicited a command of “Come” from within the tent. Only the squad leader motioned for Betty to follow as he passed through the canvas flap. Inside was a simple area with two bunks, two trunks, and a table. A woman in slightly more ornate armor than the sergeant was staring at them, leaning on the table covered with notes and a large map.

“Why are you bringing me a gobbie, Marsh?” the harsh-voiced officer asked.

“She’s an odd one, Captain Spaggins. Talks like she’s from the lady’s parlor, and it looks like she killed Kirby and his dog solo. Also, she got too much level for a normal gob, especially since she just got a cooking class. I thought you’d want to question this one, rather than just tossing her in the gobbie pen.”

“Thought right, Sergent. Dismissed. Send another squad to cover my tent. We’ll talk about Kirby after I figure this gobbie out.”

Marsh backed out of the tent more quickly than Betty had seen him move yet so far. She was left meeting the eyes of the hard-faced women across the table. ‘Well, here goes,’ she thought.

“Good to meet you, Captain. I must say …”

“Button your lip, gobbie. You have a lot of explaining to do? Like how you killed one of my scouts and how a gob crafter reached mid-levels.”

“That’s quite simple. I’m not a goblin. Well, I am now, but I wasn’t always one. I was once a princess in a far-off land. It is somewhere across a large sea, but my curse will not allow me to remember the kingdom’s name or that of my father, the king. Sadly, even my own name has been stripped away by the witch. I remember the events that led to my cursing, but nothing of the names of who or where I was. No way for me to get back there to free myself of this terrible twisted hex.”

“A witch, huh? Well, Marsh was right. You don’t talk like a gob. You’ve got two minutes. Explain.”

Betty took a deep breath and launched into the story she had prepared on the walk from the farmhouse. “It began with the passing of my dear mother, the queen of .. of .. oh damn, still nothing. I keep hoping it will come back to me.” The armored woman rolled her hand through the air to get Betty going with the story. Maybe she shouldn’t overdo her theatrics too much.

“After the year had passed and it was time for my father to remarry, he decided to hold a contest for his new queen. He had lost his one love, and so only wanted someone who could further the true gift my mother had passed on to me, the art of cooking. All the eligible nobility were called, and if one could produce a dish finer than mine, she would be queen.”

Betty took a breath while daintily fanning her face with her hand.

“One woman was the clear favorite. Her dishes were masterpieces, but my mother was a savant in the kitchen, and I was her best student. When our courses were laid side by side, mine were chosen by all. Well, that was when her guise fell away, and the witch laid her wrathful vengeance upon me. I was twisted into this green body, stripped of all names, and hurled across the waters to where no one would ever know me and so be able to break the curse by calling me by my true name.

“I wandered your land for a while, unsure what to do with myself. I was a goblin in body and a princess in spirit. Where could I go, as neither race be safe for me? And then your men found me at that abandoned farmstead, where I had thought to hide while I figured out what to do with myself.”

The captain drummed her fingers against the table, staring at Betty. Her eyes were drills, searching for any sign of a lie. Yet the whole tale was so fanciful that it seemed to either be all horse manure or too ridiculous to be anything but the truth.

“Alright then. I have a test for you. It just so happens I have a princess of my own here. Two, actually, and a prince to boot. The brats won’t eat. I can’t have that. The heirs have got to stay healthy, or it’s my hide. I was debating putting a funnel in their mouths and filling their guts that way, but we’re gonna find out if you are full cow pucks or not. You make me a meal that they eat, and we’ll talk. Otherwise, you lose yer head for killing one of my scouts. Got it.”

“Well, I have to admit that is a terrifying thought, but honestly, it’s a better chance than I expected to have. I accept gladly, Captain. Shall I head to your commissary now?”

“Under guard, but yes. Dismissed.” The stern woman bellowed a string of orders to the guards outside, and when Betty exited the tent, four soldiers formed a square around her. They led her to the long mess tent, where she was given a station to work. The other cooks threw her curious glances, but otherwise, she was left on her own.

Betty looked over the ingredients she had on hand. There were plenty of eggs, flour, dried meats, oil, and herbs. Thankful there was well. The guards would not answer many questions, but they did mention the princess as young, around seven years old. Bety decides to cook something for the children’s age and not station since the fine food of the aristocracy could be hit or miss with an unknown palette. An elevated pasta might hit on both fronts. Betty had never made these items from scratch before, but she now had the memories and cooking prowess of one of this world’s greatest chefs.

She started the sauces first, knowing they needed a few hours to build up their flavors. This was the step she knew best, and while Betty let the spirit of Hehku Blazegut guide her seasoning, the basics of dealing with the tomatoes and pumpkin were old hat to her.

After spending an hour gathering all the items she’d need while the sauce bubbled away, she started on the ricotta next. Milk, cream, and salt went into a pot first and were brought to a low boil. She would have liked lemon juice to curdle the mixture, but she had to settle for vinegar. A memory came to her, and her hand reached into a pocket on her left hip, drawing forth some pink crystals that, when added to the vinegar, replaced the zest she was missing. She pulled the pot off the heat. While waiting for the curds to rise, Betty began her pasta.

She had tried to make lasagna noodles at home in the past, and even with a borrowed pasta maker, it had been a terrible fiasco. This time, her hands knew just what to do. She placed the flour in a mound and made a well for the egg, oil, and salt. After a few minutes of whisking, she was folding the dough like a professional.

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She moved with such a surety of purpose that she was starting to garner a crowd of kitchen workers. She grabbed some hard sausages. After rehydrating them with cold water, she lightly simmered them in a buttery herb mixture. The smells in the tent were tantalizing, far from the assembly line aromas of cauldron-style meals. Rolling out her dough made her nervous until she started, and between the titan’s guidance and her insane might, it was done before she realized it.

She made sure to push the air out of each pillow of filled pasta. When the ravioli was cooked, she grabbed three plates and a bowl. Each plate received a portion of half a dozen filled squares, one with a buttery sage sauce, the other she drizzled with pumpkin and just a hint of pepper. These were for children, after all. She placed the remainder of the ravioli in the bowl, ladled on a classic tomato sauce, and garnished with hard shredded cheese.

She knew preparing just one food three ways was a gamble, but she preferred a simple, enticing comfort meal over an intimidating feast.

“It’s ready. May I take it to the hungry little lady?” she asked the guards. The quartet of soldiers initially led her back to the captain’s tent, and together, they all set off for the tower. Betty bore the plates on a tray under a hefty wooden salad bowl as a dome. As she walked, she pretended to struggle with the weight, not wanting to give away any advantages.

“Hope you made good use of the last couple hours, gobbie,” Captain Spaggins scoffed. “You're gonna be even shorter in a minute if not.”

They passed through several checkpoints, each with its own password. Even though they whispered these code phrases, their voices were clear as a bell to her long ears. Betty had no idea if she would be able to do anything with them, but she memorized the phrases anyway.

As they stepped into the tower, Betty, everyone suddenly looked vastly different. They were still towering soldiers, but their features and apparel went from hard-bitten, iron-clad warriors to a myriad of faces and styles: ladies in dresses, wise men in robes, shepherds or anglers with crooks or fishing rods instead of heavy spears. Young became old. Blonde became dark.

Betty changed as well, but one thing that stayed the same was her skin tone and elongated features. She may have looked like a completely different goblin, but remained a goblin. This must be why they needed other children to hide the heirs. Adults looked like adults, and races didn’t change, but illusionary magic would make it impossible for a gathering of children to identify who was who.

Bety was led into a small room with a table, and a minute later, three children were brought forward by guards who looked nothing like guards.

“Why is there a goblin here, traitor?” the middle child demanded in a voice that belonged to someone much older.

“She’s just working. Nothing you need to concern yerself with Highness. Now it’s time for Tamara to eat. Show her what you got, gobbie.”

As much as Betty wanted to object to her tone toward the children and herself, she knew she had no leverage here. She simply placed the tray down and flipped off the bowl. Betty could not help but smile in pride as the room filled with the most savory aromas. All three children instinctively stepped forward, drawn by hunger and the lure of her meal.

“Grazu’s gut. That smells good,” one of the guards behind her muttered.

The three looked between each other as if trying to affirm their collective resolves. As the smells continued to grow, Betty knew she had won. Sure enough, each child picked one of the dishes and dug in. They traded them back and forth. The first to go was the butter-sage dish, and the last was the bowl, mainly because it was by far the largest portion.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” the captain exclaimed in the voice of a young boy while looking like an elderly crone. “Looks like you get to keep your head.” The wizen-looking woman turned to the guards behind Betty and added. “Find a spot to park her. I think the General will want to meet this one.”

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An hour later, Betty was sent to the kitchen to cook again, this time for the great general himself. Her options were much broader now that she was preparing a meal for the leader of the army. She had her choice of the finest cuts of meat. She chose a ribeye steak with roasted root vegetables and this world version of gnocchi, which Hehku called ‘piduff.’ This simple sounding meal was just as much a masterpiece as the pasta had been. The steak was seasoned with a spice that could only be found growing on a flying island over western jungles.

Betty didn’t try anything funny with the meal, knowing there had to be safeguards to prevent her from poisoning the man leading this army. A few minutes after the meal was taken away, she was led to the grand pavilion by a squad of soldiers.

Seated at an impressive table was the villain himself, though, to be honest, he could have been the model picture of a heroic warrior, except for one detail: his piercing blue eyes were steeped in cruelty. He had a head of thick, steel-gray hair with facial hair to match. His powerful frame was encased in a suit of golden plate mail. Sweeping off his shoulders was a cape in the same blue-gray hue as the banners adorning the tent.

“This is the best damn steak I’ve ever had, Princess. Whatever else is going on with that implausible tale of yours, you didn’t lie about your skills in the kitchen. You also played it right and didn't try something stupid. I’ve had [Posion Proof] for several levels now. I can’t have some sneaky, craven assassin bump me off before I get my crown.”

The man speared another bit and popped it into his mouth. “Alright, here’s my offer. And I’ll only make it once. You now cook for me and the soon-to-be ex-king’s heirs. In return, you stay out of the gobbie pen, and maybe, just maybe, I'll make you my personal chef when I’m sitting on the throne of Dranadad. Deal.”

The way he said that last word it was clear that a refusal was a death sentence. Betty swallowed and played along. “That is far better than I could have hoped for, General. I am much obliged. Being trapped in the body of a lowly goblin in a human world, one does not expect to be granted favors from one as high as yourself, sir.”

“Damn. You really don’t talk like a gob. I thought the captain was exaggerating. That’s a second check on your side of the column. Maybe you really are some fancy lady cursed to be green.” He dabbed his chin with a pressed napkin before cutting another slice from the ribeye.

“Alright, I’ll have a tent for you by the mess cleared out. You’ll have guards, obviously, but I’m not going to have you and my cook staff bunking together, for either of your sakes. Eggs for breakfast with the dawn, Princess. Now get out of here, and let me enjoy the rest of this steak of yours.”

She was led to her newly assigned tent, which was immediately adjacent to the meals pavilion. She could sense there was an opportunity here, but she could not think of a way to pull it off. One of the aspects of the belt was that the fire titan’s collection of spices never ran out. She had an almost pharmacological array of endless herbs and seasonings on hand, many of which had strange properties when combined. Using the spirit’s knowledge, Betty could think of at least three ways she could poison the army if she could get the right mix of rare ingredients into the army’s cooking cauldrons.

But, there were problems with each of those strategies. The first one, Bitter Jethy and Essense of Wrath Eel, would work too quickly. Only a fraction of the three hundred or so soldiers would eat before the first immediately began showing signs of illness.

The next one, Brewer’s Beast and Wormwart, would be easy to get into everyone, as it would show no symptoms until it was combined with alcohol. She doubted troops under the strict General Galerus drank in the morning. The problem was that she could only seriously weaken the troops with this combination, not kill anyone. They would be debilitated by horrible cramps and likely vomiting. To be effective, Betty would need to know when the king’s forces were attacking to time her sabotage to when it would do some good.

The last would be the hardest. She would have to insert seven ingredients into at least five different meals in a particular order. Two of the spices would require them to be added at specific temperatures. The combination would prove fatal to anyone fully poisoned, but the process would require a small miracle to pull off.

Betty sat on her assigned bunk, trying to think of how she could capitalize on this turn of fate, when the answer literally flew up to her. She saw her tent flap part slightly, and a pretty, purply-black bird, about the size of a robin, poke in its head. On seeing her, it hopped inside the canvas walls and glided up onto her knee. She was even more surprised when it spoke.

“Hi, Granny. It’s Namia,” the creature warbled, yet somehow, the bird’s lovely night song was perfectly understandable to her. “I got my class, [Whisperer]. This is my [Animal Courier] spell. Only you can understand her. We made it to Bucksville. If you’re with General, Wiki, Woof, and I are nearby—wood’s edge. Atti and Burt went to find Uncle Rom. You can reply. Fifty words.”

“You beautiful child,” she whispered. That was three words spent, but the girl deserved them. She could make the Brewer’s Beast plan work. It was safest for her to enact. All it required was timing; thanks to Namia, that was now possible. Every hour, the girl could send one or two messengers, depending on her Magic level, to her and/or to the boys.

Betty used her remaining forty-seven words to quietly spell out her plan, hoping the guards outside her tent could not overhear her whispering. When the night thrust flew away, Betty finally laid down on the cot. Her mind was a whir of thoughts and plans, but she would need to stay in the General’s good graces to pull them off. That meant she had to be up in a few hours to wow him with his breakfast.

If only sleep were not so illusive on this turbulent night.