Daniel Vance was standing at his sink, washing out the last of his dishes, when he heard a knock on his front door. His brow furrowed as he stared at it. He put his plate in the draining rack, wiped his hands casually on the towel, then again on his pants, and walked over to open the door.

The sun had set, but there was still some light in the sky. Between that and the dull glow of the lamp outside his door, he was able to make out the figure on his muddy stoop.

What he made of the figure, he wasn’t sure. It was the strangest stranger that Vance had ever laid eyes on. An old, oversized suit coat stretched over the large hump on the figure’s right shoulder, but otherwise hung straight off his stooped frame, making it impossible to tell what his chest or stomach looked like. His hair was receding and made up of patches that were all different colors, textures, and densities, all cut to the same short length. He stood slightly tilted to one side, and looked up at Vance through bushy eyebrows with eyes that were two different sizes.

“Excuse me,” the figure said, “but are you Mr. Daniel Vance?”

“I am,” Vance said.

The figure drew himself up as straight as possible (which was not straight at all), then offered him a bow that moved his head, shoulders, and hump. “Good evening.” He reached into the cavity between the front of his suit coat and his chest and pulled out a small piece of cardstock. “My card.” He passed it to Vance.

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On it were two words:

Igor. Chef.

Vance looked up when Igor started talking.

“I’m currently employed by Mr. Jack Noctis, but I’ve taken leave for a short sabbatical. Miss Emerra Cole told me that you make the best gumbo in the world.”

Vance visibly thawed. “You know Miss Cole?”

“I do.”

“And she said that, did she?”

“She did. She insisted on it.”

Vance raised a hand to stroke his massive beard.

Igor went on, “I know it’s an imposition—if not an impertinence—for me to come and introduce myself only to ask for a favor, but I would be honored if you would teach me how to make this gumbo. I would, of course, be willing to buy any and all ingredients we might need for the project.”

Vance eyed Igor without responding.

A second later, Igor added, “And Mr. Conrad Bauer was kind enough to tell me which brand of imported beer is your favorite.” He motioned by tilting his head toward the cardboard box sitting to the side of the open door, next to a brand-new carry-on bag. “I have a case here if you’d like to share it while you consider my proposal.”

The line of Vance’s mustache flattened out. It wasn’t quite a smile, but it was as close as the old man ever got to one. He threw his door wide.

“Bring it inside, Mr. Igor. No, your bag too. Don’t want any of the lost children to adopt it.”

Igor stooped to pick up his bag and the case of beer and limped into the shack.

As Vance shut the door, he said, “I can start your first lesson now. Buying ingredients for gumbo is the last resort. Tell me everything you know about fishing.”

image [https://i.imgur.com/f011ZNa.jpg]

For information about the release of the next book in the series, see below in the post-chapter author notes.