"Yes, I do have a criminal record, but that is behind me. My incarceration information is included," Edan tapped the business manager's comp-vid.
"You've worked for Desh's number one for the past four months?"
"Yes. That information is also included and verified with pay records."
"You're Edan Desh. The one who used to win the awards."
"Yes, but my staff had a great deal to do with that," Edan said. "And now my cooking skills are somewhat rusty after five years of being away from the kitchens."
"I understand. I have a spot for an assistant cook. If you want it, you will start in an Eight-Day unless you need longer to give notice."
"No, I will be expected to leave as soon as my notice is given," Edan said. "I will be ready to go to work when you say."
Edan turned in his notice that afternoon. Just as expected, Addah ordered him to gather his things and leave the restaurant. He threatened Edan, too, just as Edan threatened Reah years ago. Vague memories of what the other Edan had done shamed him and gave him nightmares.
Ilvan was weary of going through restaurant kitchens, searching for code violations, all while smelling food cooking on the stove and watching others prepare it. His fingers itched at times to move someone aside and take over. Especially if he found them doing something wrong. A new restaurant was opening and he was interested. His interview was scheduled for the following day. Ilvan had more lift in his step as he walked to work.
"She's torturing us. That's what she's doing," Gavril grumbled, going over records with Dee.
"Focus, child. We have the trials for the Strands tomorrow."
"I know. Do you think anyone will come forward? We've tripled the guard around them."
"Perhaps you should ask your brothers to come. I can't imagine anyone getting past them."
"I hate to do that. It shouldn't be necessary."
"Your choice."
Plovel, if you don't ask how I purloined these records, I will not be obligated to answer, I sent the message on my comp-vid, along with copies of the records I'd filched the night before. Security was much too lax in Grithis. The city was ancient and beautiful, but it was falling to ruin around its citizens. All taxes gathered were lining corrupt officials' pockets—I could see it clearly.
Greed abounded among business owners and commonwealth officials alike. If Neidles became any greedier, he would burst with it, I think. I had to show him the difference between a bad cut of meat and an acceptable one before he slashed my food budget. The farmers and ranchers came in two days per six-day to sell their goods, and I preferred to buy directly from them.
They weren't much better off than the commoners walking the streets, trying to stretch insufficient paychecks to feed their children. And children were still disappearing. Plovel and I were going through record after record, trying to make sense of all of it. Poor research and botched forensics only hampered our investigation.
"Neidles, now is not a good time," I muttered when he appeared in the restaurant, asking yet again about the cost of the meat I'd purchased. "Do you want this restaurant to stay open? Already you charge more than is needful. The customers only return because the food is good."
"Supply and demand," Neidles pointed out. I wanted to shove a copy of the Alliance regulations in front of him, showing that it was illegal there to price gouge. To Neidles, gouging was a high art and one at which he excelled. If I were a true commoner living in Grithis, I would be planning my move to United Bardelus immediately.
"What are your plans for tomorrow?" Neidles ignored my frown.
"I intend to sleep late, then do my laundry. Wash my hair. Off-day is the only day I have to do those things."
"You wouldn't consider coming out with me?" He smiled slyly, pulling at the neck strap of my apron suggestively.
"I am very sorry, but I came to Grithis to get away from my mates. I am not looking to replace them," I snapped, my voice harsher than I'd intended. Neidles jerked his hand away as if he'd been burned.
"I will make you want to go out with me," he huffed and stalked away.
"I'd like to see you try," I muttered.
"If Neidles knew you were here, he'd throw both of us out," I said, offering a sandwich to Plovel. He was poring over his comp-vid while I did the same inside my room. It was past midnight and we were both exhausted.
"Reah, you make the best food," Plovel smiled tiredly. "If I weren't married, I'd ask you out."
"If I didn't have mates, I might consider it," I said. "Besides, we're not right for each other. I enjoy working with you, though."
"Exactly what I was thinking," he grinned. He needed a wife willing to stay at home with his children. Slightly plump, I imagined, and smiling easily. He didn't need a scarred and wounded High Demon mate.
"We're missing something here, I just don't know what it is," I grumbled.
"You're tired. You worked all day. Let's call it a night and start fresh in the morning."
"All right." I nodded. Plovel sneaked away after making sure nobody was watching. It wouldn't do to cause a scene with Neidles.
"Ilvan Desh?" The business manager lifted an eyebrow.
"Yes. I worked at Desh's number two before working as a restaurant inspector here in Targis."
"Ah. It says here your specialty is pastry and desserts?"
"I can make other things as well. These I would qualify as a master in."
"Very well. You start in an Eight-Day. Is that sufficient time to give notice?"
"Yes. It is all that is required by law." Ilvan nodded, rose, took the offered hand and walked out of the restaurant. The building was nearly finished and the sign, proclaiming it Dee's Restaurant was being hung as Ilvan walked out the door.
Lersen Strand still had friends. He'd provided for them in the past, now they were returning the favor. Something was in the works, Lersen knew. Mental messages had been passed to him although they seemed garbled—he couldn't send and could barely receive, though the sending was quite strong. The mindspeech messages had come at the direction of Hendars Klar, an old friend of Lersen's father, when the old man still lived. Lersen imagined that Hendars might withhold assistance if he knew Lersen had arranged his own father's death. Lersen sighed and hunched his shoulders at the thought of his father's murder—there was no need for his involvement in that crime to be revealed unless it benefitted him in some way.
Meanwhile, Hendars had found formidable allies somewhere, and the plan was to send in a team powerful enough to collect Lersen and his cousins before the trials started. At least that's what Lersen understood from distorted mindspeech. Rumor had it that Teeg San Gerxon could understand mindspeech perfectly and could send and receive. Lersen didn't believe it. Teeg San Gerxon wasn't any better than Lersen Strand. Lersen still wanted Campiaa, but he might have to settle for putting his own alliance together. Hendars was on Bardelus as near as he could tell, and the rescue would likely be launched from there. Lersen settled back on the narrow cot inside his cell, impatiently waiting for his rescuers to arrive.