Arcane Exfil

The drawing room was clearly designed for receiving nobility, a stage set centuries ago for formal interactions, and maintained here in Celdorne. But that established purpose didn’t make it feel any less like conducting business inside a high-end furniture showroom for Cole. Everything: the fancy-ass leather, the whole vibe of the place: conveyed an expectation of old-money elegance completely at odds with a functional personnel assessment. Hell, this entire room looked like it’d be cordoned off with velvet ropes at the Smithsonian. Just the simple action of laying his ass on his own furniture would probably be enough to make some curator weep.

Reservations like this never came to Miles, apparently. He had plopped down on one of the seats, hanging a leg over an armrest with enough irreverence to earn a frown from Elina. “Like eating MREs off of fine china,” he’d said.

It was surreal to think about, but that was the new normal they’d have to get used to. Same went for the role reversal itself: being the one asking the questions instead of fielding them. Usually, interviews were bureaucratic hurdles jumped under the charming ambiance of fluorescent lights in soul-crushing offices. And his own experience picking people involved vetting operators where a bad fit didn’t just mean awkward team lunches; it meant potentially getting people killed.

Now? He was basically just hiring maids. Necessary work, no doubt, especially given their operational tempo and general cluelessness about local customs. But applying the same critical assessment developed for choosing fire team members to picking household staff was just something he’d never expected to do.

And first up was their heavy-hitter, Tenna Guinnosa. Her file was impeccable, exactly why she topped the list. “Would we even need the full hour?” he wondered aloud.

“Well, reckon we don’t got much choice,” Miles said, shrugging. “That chef lady ain’t gettin’ here ‘til ten, so we’re gonna have to use that time somehow.”

Elina glanced over. “A tour, perchance?”

Cole nodded. “Guess so. Wouldn’t hurt to show her around her new workplace.” He sighed. “Gonna have to get used to a lot of things.”

Miles stretched out on his chair, crossing his legs at the ankle. “I do declare,” he announced, affecting what had to be the worst attempt at a Victorian accent Cole had ever heard, “we must ensure our potential housekeeper understands the dignified nature of our most distinguished household.” He pantomimed holding a teacup with his pinky extended.

"Your butchery of proper elocution wounds me deeply, Sir Miles,” Elina replied, rolling her eyes with a smile. “Were my childhood tutors to hear such an attempt, they’d surely demand the return of their fees.”

“What, this ain’t how y’all talk?” Miles grinned. “Thought I was doin’ pretty good.”

“About as good as your attempt at a burger yesterday,” Ethan said, earning a laugh from everyone.

“Now that ain’t fair. Them patties were... experimental. Nobody told me that stuff wasn’t salt!”

“Well, I do have to give it to you,” Mack admitted. “The ketchup was pretty decent. It ain’t Heinz, but I guess it’s a good enough reference for an actual chef.”

Three knocks on the door put a pause to their banter. Cole rose from his seat. “Looks like she’s already here.”

Cole reached the door first, straightening his clothes slightly before opening it. Punctuality already earned a point in her favor.

The sight that greeted him upon opening the door was pretty much what the file suggested. Tenna Guinnosa stood there, looking like an actress who’d shown up to audition in some Sherlock Holmes movie: graying hair precisely pinned above sharp, intelligent features. Everything about her signaled quiet competence and an expectation of absolute order. She gave the obligatory title and curtsy. “Sir Cole. Mrs. Tenna Guinnosa, at your service.”

“Mrs. Guinnosa. Come in.” He stepped aside, holding the door open. “Thanks for coming.”

He shook her hand and led her back toward the drawing room where the others were waiting. They’d spent maybe ten minutes collectively going over her file, but only as a formality.

Cole leaned forward, deciding to cut through the preamble. “Mrs. Guinnosa, our situation isn’t standard. We’ve got this place,” he gestured vaguely at the expensive backdrop, “but running it effectively isn’t our primary skillset. So let’s forget the specific job ads for a moment. We understand the title comes with certain... obligations. Don’t wanna carry them out, of course, but there’s only so many excuses we can throw out to dodge that. What will you need to maintain the uh… the residence, and how will that change in case we have to y’know, throw up some soiree or something?”

She didn’t hesitate, even though she made a show of considering it for a moment. “For a residence of this standing, Sir Cole, the customary arrangement would require, at minimum, two chamber maids for the maintenance of the living quarters and personal attendance, and a footman for general service and presentation. Such would suffice for daily requirements.”

Just three more hires? Not bad; Cole had expected a lot more.

“Should you find occasion to entertain,” she continued, “the household would require at least four more service staff for a modest gathering, alongside supplementary kitchen assistance.”

“And you could assemble the three extra staff… how quickly?” Ethan asked.

“I should be prepared to present suitable candidates for your lordship’s consideration within a month. Should there be ample availability, a week,” she answered confidently.

“A week is pretty fast,” Cole noted. “I assume you’re getting them from the OTAC registry, but how do you know if they’re a good fit beyond that?”

“One learns to look beyond the presented letters, Sir Cole,” Tenna replied. “I make discreet inquiries about a candidate’s character and reliability through trusted channels. In conversation, you watch for honesty in the eyes, quickness of mind, and a steady nerve. A servant’s history of steadfast loyalty speaks more persuasively than the most eloquent testimonial. Moreover, there exists a particular quality in the bearing of those who comprehend that discretion ranks foremost among the virtues of service. Three decades in diplomatic households has afforded one the ability to discern those for whom silence is as natural as breath.”

“So, kinda what we did to find you, except you're not operating on guesswork,” Mack said.

The woman nodded.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

Her responses here were really all they needed to confirm her as a hire. All that was left was to assess how she felt.

Elina leaned forward in her seat. “You are, I trust, aware that the Heroes fall somewhat outside conventional hierarchies. Does that concern you: or mayhaps even intrigue you?"

The words sparked a confident smile. “I should consider it a matter of concern only insofar as it might obscure the proper execution of household duties, Lady Elina. As to the question of interest…” She gave the barest hint of a shrug. “Frankly, almost anything presents a more appealing challenge than navigating the endless protocols and wounded pride of most diplomatic envoys. Managing practicalities: even the eccentricities of Heroes, I should say: holds far more interest.”

Cole glanced at the others, who all gave nods. “Fair enough.”

They covered the remaining operational details: schedules, reporting, contingencies. Her answers remained solid and logical; she didn’t need micromanagement, and Cole could respect that.

“Last point,” Cole said. “When can you start?”

“I stand prepared to assume my duties forthwith, should your lordship so desire.”

Cole nodded. “Alright. We’ll contact you through OTAC soon. Thanks for your time.”

He walked her to the door, but when he pulled it open, he found another woman already waiting outside: Lisara Embreau. Much like King Armonde, half-elven features gave her an almost ageless quality. But her hands told the real story, sporting callouses only a career cook might have.

“Mrs. Guinnosa! And Sir Cole!” She greeted them, “I am Lisara Embreau, head cook to the late Viscount Halven, though I trust Mrs. Guinnosa can speak to my service better than I might do myself.”

Tenna gave her a nod. “Miss Embreau speaks true,” she said, turning to Cole. “His Lordship did often say the diplomats were far easier after she had the handling of the meals.” She turned back to Lisara. “I’ve just discussed how I might maintain a household befitting Sir Cole’s station.”

“Ah,” Lisara tilted her head back, “then it seems I’ve arrived at a perfect time: for surely even the finest household would be found wanting without proper attention to its culinary arrangements.”

Tenna smiled and offered a curtsy to Cole. “I shall leave you to your interview, then.”

After she left, Cole led Lisara to the drawing room and went through introductions. Unlike Tenna’s calculating once-over, the cook didn’t bother hiding her interest in the place. “A fine residence,” she commented. “I should be most interested to see the kitchen arrangements. Though perhaps they remain largely untested thus far?”

Cole caught Miles trying not to laugh. “Uh… yeah, you could say that.”

Lisara picked up on Miles’ reaction. “Oh? I take it Sir Miles has made some attempts at culinary art?”

“Well…” Miles scratched the back of his head. “I wouldn’t exactly call it art, per se.”

“Yeah, more like experiments,” Mack snorted.

“See, I prefer… ‘works in progress.’ Been tryna whip up some dishes from back home. Burgers, specifically. Meat between bread with toppings: simple enough, but I ain’t well-versed with the ingredients here.”

Lisara glanced at Cole. “A practical exam, then?”

“Yeah, if you’re down for the challenge,” he confirmed. “Figured it’d do us better than a formal interview. Best way to know if someone can cook is to watch ‘em cook, right?”

She gave a soft chuckle. “I should hope it be a reprieve from navigating the palates of nobility, though I admit: if it can best Sir Miles, then perhaps I should remain humble. Very well,” she nodded. “I accept this challenge.”

Miles led the way to the kitchen, where his collection of ingredients sat arranged on the counter: ground meat from a local livestock that approximated beef, various spices and herbs in small containers, freshly baked buns, and several small bowls containing reddish substances.

“Behold: my tragic attempts at ketchup,” Miles said, gesturing toward the bowls. “Sauce from back home. Sweet, tangy, made from tomatoes, vinegar, sugar, salt, all that. Took me a hell of a time tryna get the damn thing to taste right.”

Lisara approached the counter, surveying the ingredients. “Might I inquire as to the nature of this ‘burger’? I should like to understand its essential character before attempting its preparation.”

After a brief explanation of what constituted a burger, Lisara sized up the challenge. Cole’s experiences had taught him to recognize true professionals across any discipline; usually, it came down to a mastery of fundamentals and outright confidence, even in the face of new challenges. Lisara had this in spades.

Even as she tested Miles’ ketchup attempts, that slight eyebrow raise and smirk told Cole everything. She had it all figured out, even before she started.

Lisara began by seasoning the meat: kaelen beef, if he recalled the name correctly. It didn’t look any different to how he’d handle his own patties, but watching her work, he could tell she actually understood what she was doing. When Miles mentioned the need for fat content, she immediately added just the right amount of tallow without measuring, the way Mack might know exactly how much morphine to administer without checking the dosage twice.

While the shaped patties rested, Lisara tried her hand at the ketchup. Rather than trying to salvage any of Miles’ versions, she started fresh, combining the tomato variants Miles had prepared with vinegar, sugar, and a series of spices Cole didn’t recognize. She let the mixture simmer while she cooked the meat, occasionally stirring, tasting, and adjusting with small additions from the spice jars. When it reached the right consistency, she cooled it to room temperature with simple ice magic.

The burgers smelled exactly like backyard grill food: the distinctive aroma of Fourth of July cookouts. When Lisara presented them, perfectly assembled with her freshly made sauce, Cole’s stomach began to override his brain. He’d have never guessed the first person to truly channel the essence of American cookery in this world would be a half-elven local. Though, that claim needed taste confirmation first; smell was just half the battle.

Miles took the first bite. His eyes widened, followed by that expression of pure culinary ecstasy: half-closed eyes, a slight nod, complete attention on what was happening in his mouth, and a moan that’d normally be reserved for orgasms.

Ethan went next, his first bite tentative. His second bite, though? Unequivocally decisive. “Yeah, wow. If I didn’t know better, I’d think we were at some gastropub in like, Virginia. Mmm. That sauce is banger.”

Cole tried his. The first bite hit him with a burst of unexpected flavor. The meat yielded perfectly under his teeth: none of the mystery gristle or cartilage surprises that came with industrial-processed ground beef back home. One advantage of a pre-industrial world: when meat got ground, it wasn’t in some massive facility processing thousands of carcasses daily with questionable quality control. This was just good kaelen meat, properly butchered, with nothing hidden in the mix.

And whatever she’d done with the seasonings, combined with that perfect sauce: it activated something primal in his brain. For a single, perfect moment, he wasn’t in some fantasy world; he was back home at some summer barbecue, complete with the background sensation of ice-cold beer and the distant sound of someone’s shitty portable speaker playing country music.

“Damn,” was all he could manage at first. After another bite, he found his words. “This is actually good, period. And that sauce: yeah, that’s better than normal ketchup.”

Mack nodded in agreement. “Hell, this might well be the finest non-wagyu burger I’ve ever had.”

Even Elina, who had never seen a burger in her entire life, had to attest to Lisara’s culinary expertise. She said nothing, but her reaction alone was well worth a thousand words.

Cole was just about ready to get into a culinary review when someone rang the doorbell. He glanced down at his watch: that must be Darin, right on time. “Shit.” He turned to Lisara. “Sorry for going a bit overboard.”

The cook raised an eyebrow, but caught the meaning well enough. “Oh, you needn’t concern yourself. It was truly a pleasure to handle this challenge.”

Mack frowned. “Damn, wish we coulda spent more time on this.” He glanced at the remaining burgers, then back toward the hallway, grinning as an idea took shape. “Wait a sec, this might work out perfectly.”

“What are you thinking?” Cole asked.

“Darin’s got a commerce background, right?” Mack nodded toward the plates of food. “Let’s see what he can do with those merchant skills.”