Chapter 41: Kitchen Management (Cooking/Leadership Class)

    Arthur woke to the tinny chime of a card anchor alarm.

    Groaning, he rolled over. Through bleary eyes, he saw a small light pulsing by his bed. His new alarm stone.

    Horatio groaned from the next cot over. “I hate you.”

    Arthur kind of hated himself, too.

    He reached over and pressed one finger against the stone. It silenced immediately and Arthur had to fight the urge to close his eye and fall asleep.

    From the deep, rhythmic breathing on the other side of the room, Horatio had already done it.

    Arthur spared a moment to be intensely jealous of his roommate. But only a moment.

    A half-open book slid away as he sat up. He had stayed up last night reading one of the math books Freyja had loaned him. It went into more complicated aspects of geometry than was normally taught in class as well as a basic introduction to calculus.

    It had made as much sense as trying to learn a new language.

    However, Arthur knew that all he had to do was keep working at it. Once he puzzled out the basics, his skill would kick in at level 3, giving him a boost to start on the rest.

    For now, he didn’t have time to think about math. He had a much more difficult task ahead of him.

    Arthur reached for the new long-sleeved shirt he had folded on top of the storage chest. Starched white with thick, durable fabric, it was on par with hive-quality clothing. A chef’s jacket.

    He put it on and fastened the odd buttons on the side. The well-made fabric gave the illusion of broad shoulders... or perhaps he was growing at last. His birthday wasn’t too far away.

    Arthur threw on a clean pair of pants and shuffled off to the bathroom. Only the bare hint of dawn cracked through the window.

    Another benefit of waking up so early was that the bathroom was mostly free.

    When Arthur made his way down to the orphanage kitchen, he was unsurprised to see it in a state of minor chaos. Upon hiring him as a morning kitchen manager, Freyja had warned him the kids had gone through the last few months without regular adult supervision. Her assistants had filled in to keep an eye on things, and none had been enthusiastic.

    That explained why they were served bland oatmeal in the morning, every morning. Arthur had figured that was just how things were done.

    As he walked in, he saw three of the kids in an intense squabble. No one had cleaned the deep pot they used for oatmeal. Now the food had practically calcified on the bottom overnight.

    The bickering stopped as Arthur stepped in.

    He stood only a little taller than the tallest of them, but the fact he was older and his white chef’s shirt spoke volumes.

    “Who’re you?” one of the girls demanded.

    “I’m Arthur and I’m the new morning kitchen manager.” He looked around at them all, counting nine kids in total. There were supposed to be ten. But just as he opened his mouth to ask where one had gone, a sleepy-eyed boy scurried in to join with the rest.

    “All right,” Arthur said. “Tell me what you normally do in the morning. Who preps—“

    Immediately, most of the kids began to speak over one another. The voices blended into nonsense. That developed into another squabble with one calling another a liar.

    The tallest boy reached for a handful of flour as if to throw it.

    “That’s enough,” Arthur said. “You, flour-thrower. What’s your name?”

    “Neddy,” the boy said.

    “Neddy, you’re in charge of cleaning the oatmeal pot.”

    Neddy looked like he was considering throwing the flour at Arthur. “That’s not fair! No one filled up the wash buckets from the well yesterday, either. I can’t do everything.”

    “You and you.” Arthur pointed to the next tallest two, a boy and a girl. “Fetch water from the well. Neddy, loosen what you can and as soon as the first bucket of water comes, pour it into the pot and set it on the stove to boil. That should get the worst of the gunk off the bottom. Hurry up. The faster we get this done, the sooner we can eat our own breakfast.”

    For the second time in a week, he was led to Freyja’s office. True to her organizational skills, the papers he needed were already set out on a second, smaller desk, ready for Arthur to pick up and work.

    Freyja took a seat on her own and pulled out an hourglass filled with sand.

    “You will have two hours to complete the test. Do you have any questions?”

    “No, ma’am.”

    She turned it. “Then begin.”

    This was the exam Arthur was required to take to be graduated from classes early. The test he had been anxious about for the last few days since Freyja had first told him about it.

    He turned over the papers to look at the first question and nearly sighed in relief.

    It was a basic multiplication question. He could have simply written the answer down but spared a moment to show his work.

    Then he started on the next question.

    Forty-five minutes later, Arthur finished a required written paragraph detailing what he planned for the next five years of his life. He concocted a tale of using his talents to help the hive and city with such a flourish he was surprised he didn’t earn another level in Acting.

    Freyja looked up as he set his quill down.

    “Do you have a question?”

    “I’m done.”

    She looked at the hourglass. “Are you certain you don’t want to take any time to double-check your answers?”

    Arthur hesitated, but all of the questions had been so easy that it would be a waste of time.

    “I’m sure.”

    Freyja held out her hand for the papers. Then, to his surprise, she started looking them over on the spot.

    Suddenly Arthur wasn’t so certain of his answers.

    He stood in awkward silence as she checked a few of his numbers and made a few remarks.

    “You pass,” she declared, after what felt like an age. “With an almost perfect score.”

    “Almost?”

    She tapped one line of his paragraphed answer. “You used the word ‘can’t’ when ‘cannot’ is more acceptable. This is formal writing, Arthur. Not a letter to a friend.

    Arthur huffed and opened his mouth to complain. But Freyja continued.

    “I thought you weren’t interested in attention from the Scholarly Guilds?”

    That made him pause. Then after a moment, he nodded. Perhaps achieving a perfect score wouldn’t be for the best.

    The important thing was that he passed.

    A slow grin spread over his face. He wouldn’t have to go to mandatory classes again. Now, any additional learning would be the subjects he wanted to pursue, like the math books.

    Freyja smiled back at him. “You never gave me an answer of what you planned to do now you’re at liberty from classes. Will you work for Barlow full-time?”

    Arthur shook his head. Barlow wouldn’t be happy, but he’d still help out for the evening shift. “I want to see what else there is for me.”

    After all, cooking was just one set of skills. There may be other masters looking for a part-time apprentice.

    He wanted to see what life was like in the hive, and what skills he could earn there.