Welcome to Chef Tramma’s

[Jim Roberts]

[Feb 6 early evening – The Godcarvers]

> “Cor blimey,” Mithi sighed in relief. “Wasn’t I s’pose ta say, ‘e’s
> roight behin’ me, isn’t ‘e?’ when I shot off me big mouth?”
>
> “That only happens in trite comedy,” Tramma agreed with just as big an
> exhalation indicating her sense of reprieve. “Which, of course, says
> alla time in *my* messed up life. I am not sure if we dodged a fatal
> shot, or just got the most effective and wordless dressing down of our
> lives. Shells, I got out-comedied twice in five minutes, but my heart
>is pounding too hard to laugh at myself like I deserve. How does he DO
> that?”

Soon afterwards, the word went out to the various leaders among The
Kenobi Expedition that a fine dinner was about to be served in their
honour, and that their presence was respectfully requested. Those who
agreed to show up were either surprised or amused, based on their
inclination, to see the hulking figure of Stern, standing stiffly in
front of a velvet rope barrier. What was surprising or amusing was that
he was dressed in an elegant tuxedo, the huge black and white garment
obviously custom tailored to hold his massive frame.

In his hands was a sheet of paper with lots of simplistic drawings on
it, and as the guests arrived, he glanced down at it, and then up again.
Those adept at reading human expression could observe what none had ever
expected to see in the hulking weretiger’s eyes. Nervousness, possibly
even amounting to fear. Not of the guests; properly inspired, he could
wipe the floor with most or all of them. No, what he was suffering from
was stage fright.

Nearby, however, was the Forest People Medicine Woman Jenny, who gave
the huge weretiger a reassuring smile. Stern blushed, nodded, and turned
his attention back to the sheet in his hands. Reading from what was
supposed to be a guest list, but clearly was a cleverly drawn up record
of his lines, he began to recite stiffly, “Welcome. To Chef Tramma’s.
All. Are invited. In. To enjoy an evening. Of fine dining. Undo rope and
wave guests in.”

He then blushed even further at his obvious mistake and did as his stage
direction required, waving everyone in. Everyone being the entire
Waterworks Away Team, with the curious exception of Tramma, who was
currently nowhere to be seen. As well as a number of “extra” members,
like Gilbert, his wife Jenny, Bartras, and Alaelia. And of course, a
curious Sister Erin, who glanced in bemusement at a neatly penned
invitation in her hand.

“Your friend is up to something,” Jeyshann muttered to Lomi.

The tall scout nodded. “Tramma is ALWAYS up to something,” she agreed.
“I’ve long suspected her dreams are schemes.”

Sister Erin wandered in, fresh from going over a minor issue she had
noticed with the Abbot about a series of reports involving 3 riders
passing along the trails through tribal hunting grounds while they
steadily rode toward the settlements. In the end they had decided it was
nothing which needed immediate action, especially since one of the
latest memos in the series was from the Vowsisters of the Keerytes
telling them that the mysterious travellers were family members of one
of the Sisters bound for Symbala for a surprise visit.

Erin had been glad to get the business out of the way, for both clergy
had an invitation for a nice dinner that had come in just before they
sat down for their discussion. “I had a feeling that scamp was behind
all this,” Sister Erin mused, clearly more amused than put out. “And fer
some reason, my invitation advised me to bring me calendar and planning
book. How on earth did she get such fancy invitations done?”

A quiet corner of the camp had been set aside for what was clearly a
reception for whatever culinary event “Chef Tramma” had in mind. Camp
chairs, reinforced with pillows, stacks of cushions, and a handful of
the locals’ backrests had been arranged in a pleasant conversation circle.

Dotted about the circle were the three Pussycats, as well as Wizard
Mithralia. All four were dressed in matching waitress uniforms that were
not at all bawdy, but did tastefully remind one and all of how each lady
underneath was shaped. A few of those present might have realized the
costumes were heavily based on that worn by a maid in Yeltanar in
households where the man of the house tended to hire beautiful young
women much like their current ‘wait staff’, and thereby hung many a
romantic, salacious, or bawdy tale in that and many other lands.

“Your drink orders, please?” Waitress Josie asked as primly as she could
manage, almost managing a correct curtsey. Like a lot of those in
showbiz, the sassy redheaded Flying Tiger and Pussycat bandleader was a
quick study, and more than willing to show off what she had learned. The
available selection was, of course, limited to just what was on hand,
but there was a modest variety, clearly showing where some of Tramma’s
shopping had taken her and Mithi earlier that afternoon.

And once the orders were placed and received, and the guests comfortably
settled, the Femme Maestro of the evening put in her appearance. Tramma
was dressed as the consummate chef, dressed head to toe in white,
including, of course, the magical toque or “chef’s hat” recovered as
part of the Waterworks Loot. She had a slotted turner or spatula held
absently in one hand.

“Welcome to my humble establishment!” she greeted all of her guests.
“Please make yourself comfortable. And while we are all awaiting my
creations to gain their final excellent form, may I suggest that
everyone discuss some essential business NOW, as a fine repast like
tonight’s ought not to be spoiled by business. And you DO have much to
discuss.”

She blessed everyone with a broad dimpling smile, and retreated
backstage while her helpers rotated between helping in the kitchen, and
remaining on hand for any new drink orders.

“I think what the scamp has in mind,” Sister Erin chuckled, “is that we
have a LOT of decisions to make on how we proceed for the next few days.
Quite right she is, too, that we get that sorted before tucking into a
fine meal. Talkin’ business over dinner is not formally a sin, but I’m
one priestess thinkin’ maybe it should be.”

For the benefit of Gilbert, Jenny, and Bartras, Sister Erin then read
from her extensive notes from her debriefing of the Abbot on his return
from the Waterworks. Soon, everyone was in fully in the picture with the
revelations by the kobold matriarch known as ‘Mother’, and the proposal
to provide the Upwinder Refugees a new home by eliminating the Green
Death kobold tribe infesting the Forest People region near The Briarpatch.

Finfin had a suggestion. “We could,” he began, “try this unofficially,
before kicking up a fuss. Bring that kobold scout, Beekin, out to the
Briar Patch to begin his own scouting to confirm that the Green Death
habitat would be suitable for his people. I could then talk to a local,
Siaye, who is a foster daughter of the local chief, and see if she has
any suggestions on how to unofficially and deniably broach the subject
with him.”

For once, however, Gilbert was not inclined to stick to unofficial
means. “I’m afraid I can’t agree with you, there, Captain,” the Flying
Tiger Streak Leader objected. “Not about bringing that scout Beekin out;
that only makes good sense, and if the whole thing isn’t going to work
from the kobolds’ point of view, the sooner we know that, the better.”

Finfin nodded. “But there is an element you do not believe would work?”

“It’s reaching out unofficially to Chief Caenry,” Gilbert explained.
“Now, he is a WONDERFUL guy, and if all Forest People chiefs were like
him, that’d be a great way to go about it.”

His wife, Jenny, sadly observed, “But they are not all like dear Caenry.”

Gilbert sighed. “No. No they are not. There are some who would resent
and oppose you even declaring that water was wet, if you didn’t do it
through the PROPER channels. And a back room deal with Caenry would be
exactly the thing to get their backs up.” His face darkened as he
observed neutrally, “there are definitely a few of that sort right up in
that area, I can warn you from bitter experience.”

Bartras nodded. “It is much the same among the Plains People,” he agreed
sadly. “What would work best is a formal request from Great Medicine Man
Kenobi, not to any one chief, but to the entire Forest People’s Chief’s
Council, asking for them to ask their Medicine Lodge for guidance, and
if the Spirits are willing – which it sounds like they should be – to
find a way to help everyone by making this happen. It would be
reflecting the Will of the Spirits, assuming that is so, the Upwinder
kobolds, the Stone House people by extension, and most importantly, the
Forest People by replacing the menace of the Green Death with peaceful
and productive neighbours.”

“The problem with any appeal to the Chief’s Council is they usually only
meet at Midsummer’s,” Gilbert nodded. “So this has to be done
officially, either directly from the Great Medicine Man himself, or from
someone of nearly similarly high rank.”

Bartras gave a wide grin. “Bartras has just the man in mind. Great Chief
Erik the Red.”

“He certainly has enough juice,” Gilbert noted approvingly. “Even
better, one of the most influential and well-informed Streak Leads we
have handles his area. You sell Great Chief Erik the Red and Streak
Leader Sulifan on this idea, and your chances of selling the Chiefs on
it go up quite a bit. The Medicine Lodges and Bardic Circles are
essential, too, but Jenny can give you better advice there.”

“Depending on the will of the Spirits, it could be relatively simple. A
good start, similarly, would be if say Great Medicine Man Kenobi were
able to convince my mentor ‘Grandma’ Rayga,” Jenny suggested in her
quiet but crisp tone. “You would be well on your way to getting the
support of the Medicine Council.”

“I just wish we knew somebody with that kinda juice with the Bardic
Circle,” Gilbert lamented. “Not just for their influence, they usually
have a lot better idea than just about anyone else among the Forest
People which Chiefs are brooding to stick a knife in the back of which
other Chief this week. That could be kinda handy to know for a frankly
controversial and a bit daft scheme like deliberately moving a probably
quite powerful kobold tribe into our area.”

“Bartras wonders whether the Flying Tigers might help us sell this ‘daft
scheme’,” the big barbarian rumbled curiously?

“Officially, there’s no chance, because we have no role in decisions at
that level,” Gilbert chuckled. “Unofficially? You have me at least
listening, and Sully will at least hear you out. The others, who knows,
and it will take a couple of weeks to get the word around and find out.
Another reason I wish we had some way to convince the Bardic Circle to
lend a hand, but the Tribal Bards tend to be scattered around every bit
as much as the Streak Leads.”