Chapter 33

Three days later, the entire staff of the Fenrir gathered around the long kitchen table for breakfast. Christine had laid it out properly — fresh bread still warm from the oven, a pot of thick salted porridge, cold slices of smoked serpent left over from last week’s menu, a wheel of hard cheese scored into wedges, and a pitcher of small beer sweating in the morning cool. The tavern wouldn’t open for another two hours, and the shutters were drawn, the main room beyond the kitchen door dim and silent. This was family time. Business time.

James sat at the head of the table, freshly washed, hair still damp, working through a bowl of porridge with mechanical focus. Subotai slouched to his left, knife in hand, shaving curls off the cheese wheel and eating them off the blade. Jacky sat across from Christine, bodice laced high for once — practically modest by her standards — tearing bread into pieces and dunking them in her porridge. Jan occupied the far end, quiet and composed, a mug of tea cradled between both hands, watching everyone with those calm, assessing eyes that missed nothing. Her daughters, Alice and Freya, flanked her — Alice picking at her food, Freya eating with steady enthusiasm. Suki sat beside James, notebook open, charcoal stick poised, already scribbling something before the meeting had formally begun.

Even Thora and Eria had come. The two women — regulars at the Fenrir’s bar and occasional helpers during busy nights — sat near the middle of the table, looking slightly out of place among the core staff but eager enough to offset the awkwardness. Thora was broad-shouldered, freckled, with hands roughened by years of laundry work. Eria was smaller, darker, quick-eyed, the kind of woman who could carry four tankards in each hand without spilling a drop. They’d both volunteered to help man the booth the moment they’d heard about it, showing up at the back door yesterday afternoon with matching grins demanding to be part of the booth staff.

Christine stood. The chatter died. She had that effect — something about the way she straightened her spine and lifted her chin, the quiet authority she carried without raising her voice. She wiped her hands on her apron and laid both palms flat on the table.

“Right. The tourney. I’ve spent the last two days talking to other merchants in the market, and I can tell you now — they’re jealous. Properly, bitterly jealous.” A flicker of satisfaction crossed her face. “The spot that Captain Kenneth described to James is the best one available. It sits at the mouth of the main avenue leading from the tournament grounds to the knights’ quarters. Every visiting knight and their entourage — squires, grooms, hangers-on, the lot — will have to walk past our booth to reach the other food stalls. We are first in line.”

She let that sink in. Around the table, glances were exchanged. Subotai stopped shaving cheese. Suki’s charcoal paused mid-stroke.

“Apparently,” Christine continued, “the knights are free spenders. They travel light and fast — horses, armour, weapons, squires. They do not bring provisions. Every meal for the duration of the tourney is purchased from the booths and the local taverns. That means breakfast, lunch, dinner, and whatever they shovel into their mouths between bouts. And they’ll walk past us every single time.”

Thora let out a low whistle. Eria nudged her with an elbow, grinning.

“Now,” Christine said, shifting her weight, “James, Jacky, and I have discussed how to handle this, and we’re recommending that Suki and Jan take the lead for tourney preparations.” She nodded toward the two women in turn. “Jan — I’d like you to take the tentative booth design we sketched last night and find a carpenter to build it. Get two bids, minimum. Each builder may have different ideas about construction, materials, layout. We want a proper structure — not some canvas-and-pole disaster that collapses the first time someone bumps into it. Something sturdy, with a serving counter, a cooking station behind it, storage underneath, and enough room for four people to work without elbowing each other.”

Jan nodded once, precise. “I already have two names. Aldous, the one who rebuilt the Fenrir’s back stairs, and a man called Gerrin who works out of the carpentry yard near the south gate. I’ll approach both tomorrow.”

“Good.” Christine turned to Suki. “Suki — you’re running the menu. What we serve, how much we prepare, portion sizes, costs, pricing. James and I discussed boar skewers as the main offering. Quick to cook, easy to eat one-handed, and the smell carries. Serpent stew in bread bowls for the wealthier customers. But I want you to think beyond that. What else could work? What’s portable, what’s profitable, what’s memorable enough that a knight tells his friends about it three towns down the road?”

Suki was already writing. “Spiced nuts,” she said without looking up. “Cheap to make, high margin, and people buy them without thinking. Honeyed almonds if we can source them. I’ll also look into meat pies — they travel well and they’re filling.”

Christine nodded, visibly pleased. “Report back next week with options and costs. Jacky and I will handle staffing once we know how large the booth will be and how many bodies we need.”

“Thora and I can work the serving counter,” Eria offered, sitting forward. “We’re fast and we don’t drop things.”

“Noted.” Christine looked around the table one final time, making sure no one had been overlooked. “Unless anyone has questions, that’s the shape of it. Jan and Suki are running this. The rest of us support where needed.”

Silence. Nods. The scrape of spoons resuming in bowls.

Christine looked at James. “Unless you want to be more involved? We can take the lead and give you occasional updates, or—”

James shook his head, swallowing a mouthful of bread. “No. That’s exactly what I want. You four run with it.” He pushed his bowl aside and leaned back, arms folded across his chest. “I’ve got a lot of loose ends I need wrapped up before the battlemage shows up. I don’t know how intensive his training regime is going to be — could be a few hours a day, could be dawn to dusk. I need everything else squared away before that starts, because once it does, I won’t have time to argue about the price of almonds. Oh, and a couple more things. Don’t assume that the traders will be back in time. Use the local stuff in the planning. And we need to notify Raphtalia that we will need more produce.”