Inside the Outrider’s Den, Viktor and Arelos were greeted by the sight and sounds of a bustling tavern preparing for a busy morning. The clatter of pans and muted conversations filled the air, mingling with the tantalizing aroma of breakfast being prepared. The fire crackled warmly in the hearth, casting a welcoming glow that made the rustic wooden beams and heavy furnishings seem all the cozier.
As Viktor took in the scene, Arelos caught sight of a woman striding purposefully through the flow of people. She moved with an authority that spoke of leadership amid the chaos, directing her staff with quick gestures and the occasional bark of command. Her presence commanded attention, and it was clear she was the orchestrator of the Outrider’s Den.
Nodding towards Viktor, Arelos gestured subtly in the woman's direction. “There she is,” he murmured, his voice barely rising above the tavern's din. “That’s Bryna Emberly, the owner. If you want work, she’s the one to talk to.” He paused, a thoughtful look passing over his face. “You did well back at the market. Want to take the lead here?”
Viktor glanced at Bryna, an older woman with a firm, no-nonsense air, tempered by a quiet kindness in how she carried herself. He hesitated, then nodded. “Alright,” he said, turning to Arelos. “Any advice?”
Arelos shrugged, glancing at Viktor with a hint of bemusement. “I usually just tell her what I can do and hope for the best,” he admitted.
Viktor chuckled softly, appreciating Arelos’ candidness. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do,” he said, focusing on mustering the charm that had served them well earlier, hoping it would prove just as effective within the tavern’s lively walls.
With a deep breath, Viktor approached Bryna, his stride confident yet respectful. “Good morning, ma’am,” he greeted warmly, his voice carrying over the background noise. “Beautiful establishment you’ve got here. Could use an extra pair of hands?” Viktor offered a smile, one designed to be both earnest and charming.
Bryna paused in her brisk movements, casting an appraising eye over him. Her skepticism melted away under Viktor's open sincerity as she allowed a small chuckle to escape. “Quite the charmer, aren’t you?” she acknowledged with a brisk shake of her head before glancing at Arelos standing nearby.
The recognition in Bryna's eyes was instant, a hint of familiarity softening her gaze. “Arelos, isn’t it?” she asked, recognition evident in her tone. “I remember the last couple of times you were here. You did good, solid work.”
Arelos nodded in confirmation, the praise accepted with quiet dignity. “Thank you, ma’am,” he replied, his voice steady and respectful.
Turning her attention back to Viktor, Bryna crossed her arms over her apron-clad chest, clearly weighing the prospect of employing both boys. “We’re packed today, and we’ve not got enough hands in the kitchen,” she declared, her tone matter-of-fact. “How do you feel about peeling vegetables, cleaning the stations, and whatever else needs doing back there?”
Viktor’s enthusiasm sparked, recognizing the potential for both immediate sustenance and a chance to earn. He glanced to Arelos, seeking his agreement, and was met with an insistent nod encouraging him to seize the opportunity.
Turning back to Bryna, Viktor plastered a broad, sincere smile on his face. “We’re up for the challenge,” he replied, gratitude coloring his tone. “Thank you for giving us the chance, ma’am.”
Bryna narrowed her eyes slightly, a wry smile playing on her lips. “Good,” she acknowledged, her approval lined with the promise of a rewarding morning. “Finish the work, and I’ll make sure you both get a plate from today’s menu. I’ll even throw in a copper each.”
The offer finalized amidst the warmth and confidence blossoming within Viktor. He met Arelos’ gaze with a shared sense of accomplishment, a silent acknowledgment of yet another small victory in their continued journey.
“Come on, then,” Bryna instructed, ushering them towards the kitchen with an authoritative air. “Let’s see how you handle a morning rush.”
----------------------------------------
Bryna handed off the boys to the chef in charge of the kitchen. He introduced himself curtly, his demeanor embodying practiced efficiency, revealing a man who had no time to waste. Viktor had an amusing thought that this chef might well get along with Arelos, given their shared disposition towards pragmatism and speed.
"Name’s Soros," the chef barked as he hurried past, gesturing for the boys to follow him into the heart of the bustling kitchen. Aromas of sizzling bacon and spicy herbs mingled in the warm air, an olfactory delight that had Viktor’s stomach rumbling anew.
The kitchen was a whirlwind of movement, dominated by the rhythmic beat of work as cooks, servers, and dishwashers performed their well-rehearsed ballet. Soros, a tall, wiry man with sharp eyes and an air of command, operated like the conductor of this culinary orchestra, guiding his staff with quick, precise motions.
Pointing to a large wooden basin near the door, Soros instructed briskly, "Wash up there, once you’re ready." His swift hands demonstrated the motion, showing each boy how to scrub away the grime from their hands with practical ease.
Once they were clean, Soros ushered them over to a station which was overshadowed by a huge barrel filled to the brim with carrots and potatoes—ingredients piled high and teetering slightly, waiting to be peeled.
"You’ll be working the vegetables," Soros declared, “Be quick, but don’t be wasteful.” His voice was sharp yet carried an undertone of teacherly assurance.
He seized a knife and with a deft motion, peeled a potato in a smooth, spiraling cut, the skin falling away in long strips. "That’s how it’s done," he concluded, tossing the skins deftly into a large refuse bucket. Then, fixing them with a stern glance, he added, "This is what you'll be doing for the next..." Soros eyed the pile with a keen assessment, "Hour or two, I reckon."
His instructions rolled out methodically, clarifying the rhythm of their task. "Bring the peeled vegetables over to the man you see there," Soros gestured toward another worker stationed near a large chopping board, glancing between knife and potato with a determined intensity.
"He’s going back and forth at the moment, wasting time trying to juggle both tasks. You keep him supplied, so he can focus on cutting," Soros emphasized, the edge of urgency threading through his instructions.
Arelos nodded sharply, understanding the protocol, while Viktor considered the logistics—the need to maintain a seamless flow of work, both swift and methodical, a challenge that intrigued rather than daunted him.
"Before you start peeling," Soros enjoined, pointing now to Arelos, "You, lad, run out back and fetch two new buckets of water from the well." Soros gestured to a distant corner of the kitchen where the empty buckets were stationed, a vital component of their culinary assembly line.
Dropping into action, Arelos flashed Viktor a quick look—an unspoken agreement to handle their roles independently yet cooperatively. Without another word needed, Arelos darted towards the exit, determination in his speed as he moved to accomplish Soros’ command.
Viktor turned back to the towering heap of vegetables, knife poised in his hand. He could sense the hum of focused energy from the kitchen staff, the charged atmosphere boosting his resolve to integrate seamlessly into the fabric of their teamwork.
Settling into a rhythm, Viktor recalled Soros' technique, slicing carefully along the curvature of each potato, the peel rolling away to reveal smooth flesh beneath. The process required an attentive balance that grew with each repetitive motion, gradually embedding itself deep into his muscle memory.
He glanced periodically at the cutting station, observing how the cook deftly handled blades, slicing each peeled potato into uniform sections before sliding them into separate bowls. Each action formed part of a larger mosaic, one that required precision and coordination.
As Viktor peeled, vivid images meandered through his mind—a cascade of childhood recollections, his mother teaching him how to prepare vegetables with laughter that brightened the task like a beam of sunlight through rain-laden clouds. That lesson had interwoven joy with rigor, blending instinct with skill, aspects Viktor appreciated critically now, amidst the syncopated soundtrack of the kitchen.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
----------------------------------------
Arelos returned from the well with two buckets sloshing gently as he walked, placing them near the station Viktor had claimed. He glanced at Viktor's progress, then picked up a knife with the familiarity of an old friend. His hands moved with a confidence that surprised Viktor, especially given how meticulously precise he was being.
"You’re pretty fast," Viktor remarked, attempting to inject his voice with casual observational flair while continuing to peel at his own methodical pace.
Arelos offered a quick nod of acknowledgment, his attention consumed by his own task. The sharp blade danced smoothly over the potato, each cut crisp and intentional. "Done this before," he replied, focusing on the spiraling peel curling perfectly around his fingers. "You pick it up after you've done it a bunch of times."
Viktor suppressed a smile at the sight, half intrigued by the mastery displayed before him. Arelos handled the knife with the ease of a seasoned cook, slicing through the vegetables with an efficiency that kept him ahead of the emerging pile, leaving Viktor to trail slightly behind.
Before long, Viktor noticed the subtle shifts in Arelos' technique—a deft adjustment here, a quicker flick of the wrist there—incremental changes that seemingly improved each cut. It held Viktor's attention rapt, drawing him into the rhythm like a spectator at a riveting performance.
"That's impressive," Viktor commented, admiring how his companion's skill had quickly outpaced his own efforts. "Looks like you’re making a game of it."
Arelos paused, tilting his head as if considering the idea, then offered Viktor a brief grin, a rare gesture from the usually poised boy. "Sort of," he admitted. "Keeps things interesting, you know? Makes dull work less dull. Besides, improving something’s better than letting it become a slog."
Viktor nodded, assimilating the insight with an unspoken understanding of the pragmatism it carried—in Arelos' world, every task became an opportunity to refine and hone his practical ingenuity.
The boys continued peeling and conquering—their vegetable mountain dwindling rapidly. They worked cooperatively, alternating turns carrying the peeled potatoes to the cutting board. The cook at the station acknowledged each delivery with a perfunctory nod, his gaze never straying far from the rhythmic thrum of the chopping board.
Under the combined scrutiny and praise of Soros, who periodically assessed their progress with subtle nods of approval, Viktor felt a surge of satisfaction. Especially when they’d catch glimpses of Soros' appreciative eye or the hints of gratitude folded within a quick, acknowledging smile.
The kitchen’s hum became a background beacon as the task progressed, lulled by a mixture of enjoyment and mastery that burnished their efforts with tangible satisfaction. Whenever Viktor caught himself lagging, Arelos’ continued proficiency stood as a reminder and a challenge—a testament to the latent joy in refining skill for skill’s sake.
In no time, they completed their task, the final pile carried over to the cutting station. The cook there offered a more substantial nod when the last delivery was set before him—a small mark of camaraderie shared silently between workers who understood the seamless poetry of efficient teamwork.
----------------------------------------
As Viktor wiped his hands on his trousers, Soros, their conductor in this culinary symphony, approached them, eyeing their completed task with an approving gaze. His sharp eyes glinted with satisfaction, giving away his rare but genuine smile of approval to both boys.
"Not bad for newcomers," he admitted, folding his arms and tapping a finger thoughtfully against his elbow. "You both did a fine job, especially you—a quick hand at peeling and slicing. You’ve got the makings of a good kitchen helper there. And you," Soros’ eyes turned to Viktor, sizing him up before acknowledging, "You’ve got the knack—you learn fast."
Warmth spread through Viktor’s chest at the compliment, an acknowledgment of the hard work he had invested. "Thank you, sir," Viktor replied with a grateful nod, a thread of familiar yet encouraging pride weaving through his words.
Soros gestured broadly, encompassing the bustling kitchen before them. "The first servings are headed out to the patrons as we speak," he informed them, the satisfaction of a well-run kitchen clear in his voice. "But now we’ve got some stations that need tidying. Finish cleaning up over there," he gestured toward several areas that lay cluttered post-preparation, "and when you’re done, come find me."
Soros began to move away, but spared a backward glance, his firm yet kind voice cutting through the kitchen noise. "I’ll have two steaming plates waiting for you once you’re done—earned, of course," he added with a knowing glint in his eye, as if he recognized the latent hunger that still edged their youthful enthusiasm.
Arelos and Viktor exchanged a look, their shared sense of accomplishment palpable in the fleeting nods they shared. With renewed energy, they set to work, their movements immediate and synchronized as they approached the cluttered stations. Through their combined efforts, cleaning became an extension of their earlier task—a rhythm they fell into easily, fueled by the knowledge of the meal awaiting them.
While they worked, Viktor took the briefest of opportunities to engage Arelos in conversation—an effort both to pass the time and nurture the camaraderie that had begun to grow between them. "You didn’t talk much about how you ended up here,” Viktor said, his voice soft, yet pitched to carry over the ambient noise.
Arelos paused to look at Viktor, considering the inquiry. "Life took me here," he said simply, resuming his scrubbing, the words carrying a weight of acceptance that danced precariously between indifference and resilience.
Viktor studied Arelos for a moment, noting the deliberate finality in his tone. Deciding not to push further, he nodded slightly and turned his attention back to the mess before him. The clatter of pots and scrape of utensils filled the silence between them, and Viktor focused on his task, letting the rhythm of cleaning occupy his thoughts instead of the unanswered questions lingering in the ai
Soon enough, their task was completed—the stations restored to their orderly state, their hunger unabating but soon to be relieved.
As they stepped back to admire their work, Soros returned, appearing as if summoned by the gleaming surfaces and neatly arranged dishes. His inspection was swift, his nod of approval an unspoken commendation that filled Viktor with pride.
"Good," Soros acknowledged, his voice resonating with generous approval. "Follow me."
Eager not to dally, Viktor and Arelos followed Soros to a quieter corner at the rear of the kitchen, where a small table awaited them. On it rested two steaming plates, the aroma rising in enticing swirls and heralding the promise of a meal hard-earned.
Soros gestured for them to sit. "You’ve more than earned this," he informed them with satisfied regard. "Get it while it’s warm."
Viktor and Arelos hardly needed further encouragement. They fell to with gusto, savoring the rich flavors and satisfying textures of the hearty breakfast. As they ate, Arelos turned to Viktor, a rare softness smoothing his usually calculating demeanor.
"You did good," Arelos conceded, dispensing his approval like a gift, small, yet with genuine warmth that Viktor found both reaffirming and welcoming.
----------------------------------------
Viktor leaned against the worn wooden table, a rare feeling of contentment settling over him. The steaming breakfast had been a blessing, easing his hunger and leaving him grounded in the moment. Arelos sat across from him, his hands resting idly on the table as he gazed absently at the room.
The din of the kitchen had faded to a gentle hum as the workers busied themselves with preparations for the day ahead. A calm settled between Viktor and Arelos as they lingered over the remains of their meal, neither needing to rush nor eager to move from their cozy spot.
After a while, Bryna reappeared, cutting through the tranquil silence with warm authority. Her presence demanded acknowledgment, and Viktor straightened instinctively as she approached.
With a wry smile and a glint of appreciation in her eyes, she dropped a copper coin into each of their hands, the metal cool and heavy against their palms. "I spoke with Soros," she began, her voice carrying notes of pride subtly intertwined with her inherent firmness. "He spoke well of your efforts."
Viktor felt a swell of pride at the praise, and Arelos acknowledged the compliment with a subtle nod of gratitude.
Noting their reactions, Bryna continued, "We've got a crowd expected later for supper. Come back, and I'll ensure you get the same deal. Sounds good?"
The offer was rich with promise, and Viktor exchanged a glance with Arelos, finding mutual agreement in his companion’s eyes. "Sounds more than good," Viktor answered, the eagerness to return showing through his tone.
Bryna's eyes sparkled with understanding as she fixed each of them with a steady gaze. "Don't disappoint me, boys," she warned, nodding sagely. "I'll be counting on your hands later." Her words, steeped in expectation but softened by a well-placed smile, resonated with the commitment she demanded.
With that, she disappeared into the depths of the kitchen, leaving Viktor and Arelos to bask in the afterglow of their success.
Arelos leaned back, a rare smile stretching across his features as he regarded Viktor with newfound approval. "I didn't want to say anything before in case you'd blow it," he confessed, his tone carrying an edge of disbelief, "but a copper plus a meal is a really good deal. Usually, it's either one or the other."
Viktor chuckled softly at Arelos' candid admission, the validation sweetening the already satisfying experience. "Thanks for the heads up," Viktor responded, appreciatively pocketing the copper. "I guess we did a pretty good job."
Arelos tilted his head slightly, his tone casual but carrying an edge of pragmatism. "If I were you, I'd hold onto that copper," he said, slipping his own into his pocket. "Never know when things might get tight, and you'll be glad to have it."
The recommendation, rooted in an instinct for survival, struck a chord with Viktor. "I’ll take your advice," Viktor agreed, nodding solemnly. The coin remained tucked away, a future promise to himself.
Time stretched before them, a vast expanse of possibilities now unfolding in the calm before the evening rush.
"What now?" Viktor mused aloud, pondering how best to spend the hours until they would wander back to the tavern.
Arelos leaned forward, his dark eyes reflecting a quiet inquisitiveness. "I don't know. We've got plenty of time before we're expected back," he noted, considering the many options available to them in the waking city.
Inspiration flickered in Viktor's gaze as he leaned slightly closer. "How about we get started on those lessons?"
Arelos seemed to consider the suggestion, his gaze searching Viktor's for sincerity. He nodded after a moment, an openness gleaming in his eyes, touched by a trace of excitement. "Yeah," he agreed, "Let's do that."
The idea settled between them with promising potential. Viktor felt a sense of anticipation for the chance to share knowledge, finding purpose beyond immediate survival.