New Beginning 171

Dehl picked up the glasses and plunked them into the lukewarm water of the wash barrel. Have to add a bit of hot soon, he reflected, and began rinsing the earthenware, absently rubbing his thumb and finger around the rim to remove the lip grease. Damn foul stuff those Zahorians smeared on themselves to stop lips cracking in the cold; it smelled like bile and his local customers complained that it made the ale sour if they tasted it on the mugs.

Of course, he reflected, the townsfolk always complained that his home brew was sour. But, as he was more fond of money than he disliked washing the mugs, Dehl kept them clean enough to satisfy that lot.

He eyed the line of boots upended on a spindly rack beside the fire. They gave the place an odor Dehl would have preferred to forgo, but the traderfolk insisted, and wouldn't go where they couldn't take proper care of their gear and their feet, as they put it.

Dehl put the last of the glasses on the drying rack and moved over to the stove to check on the stew. Perhaps more pepper. The Zahorians always insisted on this margwarbler meat; rich in fat to keep them warm on the tundra, but a stink like rotting flesh when it’s cooking. And the effect it has on their digestion: flatulence that could melt your eyeball right off its stalk. No wonder they say, If you want to find a Zahorian, just follow your noses.

“Is that stew ready yet?” Dehl spun around and sent a cloud of Olian pepper billowing into the air. A violent sneeze ejected great gobs of vile-smelling phlegm over the counter and into the stewpot. "Get those boots polished before my men come to!" the Zahorian ordered.

Polishing Zahorian boots and clipping their yellowed toenails wasn't what Dehl went to culinary school for, but it was a lot better than his last three jobs, and it would do until he could get off this stinking planet. Plus, all that sour ale made a good salad dressing.


Opening: Writtenwyrdd.....Continuation: ril, Kate Thornton