"And if I say no, or the food's not up to snuff, what, you'll put a bullet through my head like you did the Captain?"
By the cold stare she's giving me, I suspect that tall traitor wouldn't hesitate to shoot me. "Forcing an artist to work is no way to get quality art. No, you'll prepare this feast willingly."
I scoff. "These devils are going to send titans to trample the rest of the world if they aren't stopped. You think I'll be willing to use my talents for the people who would crush my family to death? And don't you have family back home? You're really going to let them die like that?" One of the guards flanking her looks angered by my words, while the other shows no reaction.
Her expression relaxes to something more neutral as she replies, "I do have family back home. Do you know what happens when you back someone into a corner and don't finish them off immediately? They come out swinging." Her creepy stare intensifies as she continues, "Paradis is in a corner, Niccolo, the generals' reckless invasion plans will lead directly to the rumbling we fear. But there is a faction in the military with a different plan. A plan with a better chance of your family and mine not getting trampled to death."
She makes a decent point about the risk of what we were sent to this damned island for, but what else can we do? Seizing the founding titan is the only way to prevent its dreadful power from destroying us all. "So your plan is what, we beg the island devils to pretty please not slaughter us all?"
Seems she doesn't like sarcasm one bit. For just a moment, her face is filled with murderous fury and she glares down at me like she's about to take a swing, then she appears calm again. "I'm only a representative. His plan is more complex than that," her face practically glows when she refers to whoever he is, then goes back to normal as she continues, "and the people of this island are more reasonable than what we were all taught as children. Your new smoking pal filed a written request this morning to supply Marleyan prisoners with cigarettes, and you still think they're all devils?"
"One good Eldian." I hold up a finger for emphasis. "Whoever runs this damn island still has the power to kill the world."
"One good Eldian," she throws back at me, "when they taught us that there was no such thing on this island. What else did those Marleyan textbooks lie about?"
"So they exaggerated. Doesn't change the power this island holds over the world."
"So why didn't they use that power to retaliate seven years ago, when the Warrior Unit attacked and killed a quarter of the population? Or five years later when they tried to finish the job?" She must be exaggerating the body count, but still I have no response. Why didn't they counterattack? All I know about that operation is that the Warriors lost two of the nine, including Marley's greatest weapon. "Why are you and your squad even still alive?" she continues. "None of you have any vital knowledge or any skills that we can't carry out the plan without. Even what I'm asking you to do is only something that would be nice to have, not something vital."
She pauses a moment before she continues, "Although giving some of their officers a taste of what would be destroyed could make them less likely to support that destruction. And one of those officers, Commander Hange, will have that request for cigarettes on her desk tomorrow. You have nothing to lose here, but if you feed her well, you may earn better treatment for your squad."
As much as I hate the traitor, I have to admit she makes good points. And I saw last night that everyone in my squad is running low on smokes. "I doubt they can properly appreciate what my skills can create. What do I have to work with?" I ask.
At least she doesn't gloat or smirk at me for giving in. She simply answers, "Fish. They've never had seafood before."
"That's it?" I scoff again. "Any military cook can slap down a plate full of fish if that's what you want. If you want to use my skills fully to impress them, I'll at least need the ingredients for sides, preferably enough for multiple courses. And what sorts of tools and spices are available to cook with?"
"Good, you still have some pride in your art. I'll get some lists and find you this afternoon so we can plan tomorrow's menu." She then turns and leaves with one of the guards without another word. Damn rude, but at least that weird traitor left as soon as she got what she came for. The remaining guard still looks angry, and I think he's about to chew me out, but he leads us to breakfast instead. Flavorless, overcooked porridge, but at least it's hot and filling. All things considered, it's nice to be eating instead of being eaten, which I had been sure would've happened to me by now.
"You really gonna cook for devils, Sarge?" Klaus asks, his distaste for the idea plain on his face.
"May as well, got nothing else going on," I reply, shrugging. "And maybe they'll give us better chow if they like it, or at least let me cook for us so it's made right."
"What if they try to eat you instead, Sergeant?" My youngest subordinate Enzo usually is the first to worry, but he's probably not the only one thinking what he just said.
"I may be a little rusty, but I don't think I'll fuck up cooking that badly," I joke.
"I mean, what if they throw you to a titan when they're done?"
"Sun's up," I point out. "Why aren't we all being eaten right now?"
"They're supposed to be everywhere out here," Lucille remarks, "and we haven't seen or heard a single titan."
"The devils don't seem a bit worried about them, either," Diego adds. "I thought they were just being stupid or crazy, being this far from the wall. Maybe they're not."
Klaus nods. "Invasion just got a lot easier if the whole island's clear like this. Shame we don't have any way to get word to the other ships."
"Yeah." I glance up at a small group of devils flying past and my squad follows my gaze. For every guard down on the ground with us, it seems there's at least two in the trees. They're making it very clear that we won't leave the edge of this forest unless they want us to. "It's up to the other ships to figure it out and report back. Maybe we'll get out of this alive after all."
"Quit griping, our guests are here," my mostly worthless self-proclaimed assistant informs me.
"Then make yourself useful for once and pour them some wine," I tell the overly tall freak. Aside from carrying a few plates to the table and setting them in the wrong place, all she's done so far is watch me work my ass off. And if that wasn't bad enough for my mood, I can see where the other two ships sit at anchor, with devils on their decks. "Damn devils better appreciate this…"
All I've had to eat the past few days were the bland rations that Samuel told me were standard for their military. Having to smell the feast I've prepared after that is borderline torturous, but at least I'm not as rusty as I thought I'd be. Only burned myself a few times and everything smells correct. Shame I don't have the same calluses I used to, the old head chef I trained under would laugh his ass off if he could see me flinching away from a hot pan like it was my first day in a kitchen.
Turning to see the officers and senior scouts I'd been told I would be serving, I'm shocked at how young they are. Most look around my age, when I was expecting them to be at least twenty years older. All are wearing civilian clothes as well, instead of the expected uniforms.
The cyclops is at the head of the small procession to the beach, with that small, angry man at her side. She looks excited, while he glares at the feast I've prepared as if it was shouting insults at him. Such strange people, these island devils. Close on their heels, a trio of young devils chatters excitedly among themselves. I recognize the long faced man who took me to the camp by horseback on my first night among them, with a brown haired woman and a man with very close-cropped hair. A melancholy looking man and woman follows a few paces behind, accompanied by a blond man who stares curiously at the feast I've laid out.
Damn devils are staring at the table like they aren't sure the tremendous feast I've labored over is even food. Damn ungrateful devils. I start to grumble about how they can go hungry if they'd rather and… Damn. Oh, damn. Damn, I, I've never seen anything like this, this pure display of joy, wonder, radiance... Oh, damn. I used to mock people who would talk about their heart skipping a beat, but I just felt it. And then she calls my name and it feels like my heart stopped. Calls me a genius and my knees feel like jelly. Oh, damn…
Damn it, she's going to choke if she doesn't slow down. Her comrades apparently don't care, they're all eating with gusto now. I try to be subtle at first, reminding her of manners and saying there's more food coming, but she's lost in angelic ecstasy, with a far-away look in her beautiful brown eyes and tears rolling down her cheeks as an oyster slides past her lips. I'm practically begging her not to choke herself and the man with the extremely short haircut is saying this is normal for her, for Sasha, what a gorgeous name, he's saying she won't choke when her eyes focus on me and she comes out of her ecstatic state. "Oh, Mr. Niccolo, is that for me?" she asks, gesturing at the plate I hold.
"Yes, yes it is," I reply holding the plate out. She takes hold of the plate and I keep a tight grip on it as I look her in the eyes and continue, "But please, Miss Sasha, slow down. There's plenty more I'm going to cook for you, and you need to save room for dessert."
Her eyes widen a bit and she smiles. "And what are you making us for dessert?"
I smile back and reply, "That's a surprise."
"Oh, come on!" Seems she really wants to know.
"Nope. You'll have to wait and see," I tease as I finally release the plate. "If you have room left, that is."
"Well that's silly, I always have room for dessert," she promises as a crab leg disintegrates between her slender fingers. She takes her first taste of crab meat and I find myself stunned again. I could happily stand and watch all day, except that would be creepy and I do have a lot more cooking left. And so I regretfully return to the impromptu kitchen I've set up and get back to work.
I keep the dishes coming and occasionally catch her watching curiously as I work. Somehow, I don't find the attention and the occasional glimpses I catch of her joy distracting, rather, I find it inspiring and I focus intently on my art, soon losing track of how long I've been cooking.
Eventually, the ingredients run low. The sauce for the dessert is cooking down nicely as I plate up the last of the meat, shrimp served in a sauce of clarified butter and some local herbs that aren't quite what I asked for, but are near enough in flavor.
After I return from serving it, I pull out the flat, shallow dessert bowls and the stack of thin crêpes I prepared earlier. I quickly place a pair on each plate, folded around a spoon of the fruit I'd diced earlier. I then take one of the bowls in my right hand and, holding my arm out at an angle, very carefully stack all but one of the rest up my arm, each slightly overlapping the one below it. After taking the last one in my left hand, I make my way with great care to the table, where conversation halts at my approach. Guess they've never seen anyone serve dishes like this before.
"Is this dessert?" Sasha asks eagerly.
"Almost," I reply as I set the first bowl down in front of her. "Just wait for the sauce."
"Almost? I don't know how much more waiting I can take," she declares with a grin.
"It'll be worth the wait," I promise while setting down the rest of the bowls, "trust me." She nods as I head back to get the sauce. I really should be using cognac, but the strong rum from the ship will do in a pinch, so I uncap the bottle and pour a generous amount into the sauce pan.
"Shots on dessert? Nice!" I hear one of the men comment as I lift the pan and turn back to the table. It's too bad there weren't any long matches available. I strike a regular one when I reach the table and carefully touch it to the sauce, producing an impressive fireball and properly surprised expressions around the table. And shit, I almost got stabbed. Didn't even see the short guy pull that knife, but I definitely notice the glare he shoots me before he slips it away. Maybe I should've done the flambé a little further from the table. The guards standing around don't look very happy with me either but everyone else around the table stares raptly at the blue flames rising from the pan.
Using a steel ladle, I carefully spoon flaming sauce into each of the bowls, starting with Sasha's. "Now," I instruct, "as soon as the sauce burns down, you can eat." I then turn to take the pan back to the kitchen.
"You didn't say you were going to set off a bomb," my alleged assistant accuses me.
"I told you I was going to flambé crêpes. And I burned my damn thumb doing it because you couldn't get the right fucking matches," I fire back, holding up the singed digit.
"Well, you certainly impressed them." She then turns to one of the guards and instructs, "You can take him back to camp now." Damm, I was hoping to get to see more. I cast a glance over my shoulder as I follow the guard and see Sasha waving. I send a wave and a smile back before continuing after the guard. I never expected to meet an angel on the island of devils, and it seems I made a good impression. Not that it does me any good as a prisoner, but it's nice to imagine how things might be if my circumstances were different.
