Chapter 46: Cooking

After Jared agreed to my request, the tense atmosphere between us eased. But the day was already fading, and we still had much to do before the true darkness fell. We filled our two buckets at the water tower. This time, I insisted on carrying one myself, my small hands straining against the weight. It was time I started pulling my own weight, however little there was of it.

Afterward, we visited a butcher's stall and bought a few greasy sausages, along with some potatoes and carrots from a greengrocer. At my insistence, we also purchased some bruised, reduced-price apples from a fruit vendor. "A balanced diet is essential for good health," I told Jared, my voice taking on the strange, confident tone of someone reciting forgotten lore. "If you fall sick, we're both done for." He readily accepted my "whispered" advice, perhaps because of my earlier mood, or perhaps because the weight of a few gold coins had made him feel uncharacteristically reckless. After the provisions, I bought a few seasonings. I was shocked to find that spices here were more expensive than the food itself. A small packet of coarse salt and a knob of butter cost us nearly all of the coppers Jared had just lifted in the bathhouse.

I did the math in my head. One gold coin was worth roughly one hundred silver pieces, and one silver was worth one hundred coppers. That meant one gold coin was worth ten thousand coppers. Jared had stolen twenty gold coins from the factory owner, plus a handful of silver. We had a fortune of over two hundred thousand coppers. To the poor of this city, it was an unimaginable sum, enough to live comfortably for a long time. There was no need to be overly frugal. But the money wouldn't last forever. We had to be careful, at least until we found a stable, legitimate source of income.

By the time we descended back into the familiar squalor of the waterway, the great red moon was beginning to stain the twilight sky, a bloody smear against the fiery sunset. People were hurrying to their hovels, and the sounds of tired laughter and the smell of meagre dinners cooking over smoking fires drifted through the damp air. We pulled our hoods low, having smeared a bit of mud on our new cloaks to make them look less conspicuous, and slipped back into the underworld, two more shadows among many. Bartholomew, the sewer king, stopped us at the entrance to our section of the tunnel, his hulking form blocking the path. 

"There was a rich merchant murdered in the factory district today," he said, his voice a low grumble. "Keep your heads down for a few days, you two. There's blood in the water, and the peelers are sniffing around. I've told the others to do the same."

"We will, Guv'nor. Thanks for the warning," Jared replied. I was surprised. The brutish gang leader was actually looking out for us. Perhaps he wasn't so bad after all—or perhaps he was just protecting his investment.

"I'll cook tonight," I announced once we were back in our dismal alcove. "You can rest." If Jared was to be the breadwinner, the hunter, then I would have to take on the domestic duties. It was a small contribution, but it was something.

"You know how to cook, Parula?" Jared asked, his eyes wide with surprise. In all their years together, he had never seen me—or any of the orphans, for that matter—do anything more complicated than toast a stolen piece of bread over a fire.

 "Not really," I admitted. "But I can manage the basics." I set the pot on the brazier. The embers from last night were still warm, and with a bit of newspaper and a few wood scraps, I soon had a small fire going. I melted the butter in the pot, sprinkled in some salt, and had Jared chop the carrots, potatoes, and sausages with the ornate dagger. I had to admit, the knife was useful. It was sharp enough to peel the vegetables with ease and slice them into neat cubes. When I tossed everything into the pot, the sizzling sound and the rich aroma that filled our small hovel were magnificent. With no proper utensils, I used a clean stick to stir the concoction. The fat from the sausages rendered out, mingling with the sweet, earthy smell of the roasting potatoes. It was an intoxicating scent, a smell of home and comfort that we had never known.

"Wow, Parula, you really can cook!" Jared exclaimed, his eyes wide with wonder, mesmerized, as if I were performing some strange and wonderful alchemy. "It smells amazing!" He had never smelled anything so delicious in his life.

But I didn't reply. A horrifying, familiar sensation was creeping over me. The rich, savory aroma filled our small hovel, and as it drilled into my senses, I felt something stir deep inside me—the gnawing, ravenous beast. It awoke with a furious lurch. My control slipped. The world narrowed to the sizzling pot and the overwhelming, monstrous hunger. My hand, no longer my own, shot out. It plunged directly into the sizzling pot. “Hiss! It’s hot!”