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The woman squared her small shoulders. “Your Highness. Very well. Your Highness, I demand you get the Bearkin out of my kitchen.”
She raised her arm and waved her wooden spoon like a scepter. “Either the bear goes or I do.”
Clearly, my royal blood would only take me so far in settling this dispute.
Hawl growled in the back of their throat. “Considering there are mice in your kitchen and cockroaches in your larder, I hardly think the prince should see your threat as anything but a gift.”
Vemak Bear-Killer made a tortured, gasping sound. “Mice! Cockroaches! In my kitchen? How dare you!”
“There are mice on many ships,” I said soothingly to the cook.
“Not in my kitchen! The disrespect! The audacity! Why I ought to...” She took a step forward, waving the wooden spoon threateningly.
Hawl let out a snarl that sent most of the crew members on deck scurrying farther back. “Stand back, mortal. I dare you to slap me with that pitiful wooden instrument. It will be the last thing you ever do in your miserable life.”
Hawl lunged forward before I could stop them, jaw snapping.
The woman shrieked and took a step backwards—right into Ulpheas’s arms. The courtier was, surprisingly, the only one who had remained nearby.
Hawl made a noise I suspected was a laugh. Beside me, Gawain had been overcome by a fit of coughing.
The finely dressed courtier looked surprised for a moment, then gently eased the little cook upright. After not very covertly dusting off the front of his doublet, Ulpheas looked over at me. “If I may...”
“Yes?
“I believe I have a solution that may satisfy both parties.”
“Please offer it,” I said, secretly filled with relief.
“Well, Mistress...” He paused to cough delicately. “Mistress Bear-Killer”—Hawl let out another growl, but Ulpheas pressed onwards—“was obviously assigned to cook for the galleon and has been doing a wonderful job of it,” Ulpheas said with the smoothness of a practiced courtier.
Vemak nodded her appreciation. Hawl snorted in derision.
“Hardly edible,” the Bearkin muttered.
I was inclined to agree somewhat. But the crew had not complained. I did hope Hawl was wrong about the cockroaches.
“Hawl is accustomed to cooking for the prince back in the palace, however,” Ulpheas went on. “Therefore, why not allow them to continue doing so if it is their wish, and permit them to use the kitchen facilities that are attached to the prince’s cabin quarters?”
I clapped my hands. “An excellent idea. I’d forgotten those were there.”
“They are... rather small,” Hawl complained. “I would have to hunch. But they might suffice, I suppose.”
Now it was Vemak’s turn to snort. “Perhaps a creature of your size ought not to be cooking at all if you can’t fit in a decent-sized kitchen.”
“I fit in the ship’s kitchen just fine,” Hawl growled. “Perhaps we should swap. You’re abnormally small even by mortal standards.”
Vemak huffed. “If you are proposing I prepare meals for the entire crew in the prince’s small—”
“No, not at all, not at all,” I interjected. “I believe Ulpheas has the right idea. We’ll make this work. Won’t we Hawl?” I shot a pointed look at the Ursidaur.
Slowly, the Bearkin nodded. “And as for the absurd surname which this woman wears like a badge of honor on her apron, mocking me before the entire crew? What of that insult?”
I glanced at the cook. Her eyes were steely. Nevertheless...
“I must admit, I believe Hawl is correct, Mistress Bear-Killer. If the surname is your family’s, you have every right to it. Offensive though it may be,” I pointed out. The cook’s eyes narrowed still more. “However, the apron must go. Hawl is an honored and valued member of this crew, and I would not want the other crew members to get the wrong idea.” I paused. “Furthermore, I would ask you to keep in mind that the bear which tragically took your leg was unlikely an Ursidaur...”
At least, I certainly hoped it hadn’t been.
