Every eye in that crowd ran across me from head to toe before arriving at the same destination.
Anger.
The cook spoke first. "Boy. What do you think you're doing?"
His gaze slid past me toward the carriage behind. He spotted my team stepping out. Noticed the crest on the carriage door. Adjusted his tone just enough to pass for polite.
"So you're an adventurer? Or maybe just some tourist." He brushed the flour from his apron like the gesture somehow gave him authority. "Either way I should inform you politely that you have no business in our affairs. You don't know what we people face every single day."
I looked at his fist. Still caught in my grip. My fingers wrapped around his knuckles like I was inspecting the work of an artist.
"Oh yes. What you all face every single day." I nodded with the sincerity of a man truly moved. "But before we get into all of that, can you teach me something first? Pretty please?"
His face scrunched. "Teach you what?"
"Your technique."
