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Tea with Lithmîrë is finalized; the Artichoke merchant is sent for . . .
‘I’ve been stared at by Elves more bristly than you, Master Lithmîrë,’ said Cook staring back up at the tall fellow. She really didn’t like folk looking down on her, especially with the ‘look’. She was not that short for a Hobbit. Just right in fact, in her opinion. And being short did not mean she could be easily pushed about.
Cook chuckled to herself, recalling how Mistress Piosenniel had tried to ‘manage’ her as she gazed down from her height. ‘Just say what you need and I’ll accommodate as I can. No need to get your hackles up. Tea out of doors will be fine. Perhaps we can just step round in and hour or so to the little bower out near where the groundskeeper’s cottage is.’ She oriented herself and pointed in the direction she meant. ‘It’s a nice private place where two gardeners can talk without fear of turning the others about them to stone from the boring details of plant and dirt. I happen to know that the groundskeeper and his wife will both be gone for the afternoon.’
She led him over to the pump in the Inn’s back yard. ‘Now, if you will, just give the handle a few up-and-downs and I can get my hands washed.’ She did the same for him, worming out of him with her small chitchat what sort of sweets he might like with his tea.
Cook came round to the front door of the Inn, looking for one of the young fellows she’d set to tending the flowers in the front gardens. He wasn’t there, but he’d done a most excellent job so far with the weeding and the pinching back. His tools, she noted, were neatly lined up by where he’d left off. She nodded approvingly. ‘Gone into the Inn for a bite,’ she thought to herself.
Aman was there as she crossed the Common Room. The dear girl had maneuvered her aside to avoid one of the youngsters that was haring back toward the schoolroom. She tossed the young woman a few short comments, her eyes twinkling as she did so. As she hurried on to the kitchen, she could see the vaguely perplexed look on the Innkeeper’s face. ‘Keep her on her toes!’ she chuckled.
Ginger came up to her, just as Vinca was tying on her apron. The story of Artifondo and his artichokes was relayed. ‘Hmmm,’ said Cook, thinking how long it had been since she’d had a nice, plump artichoke to eat. All steamed up nicely; the leaves dipped in melted butter. ‘Have him come to the back door of the kitchen with a few of his ‘chokes. I’ll look them over and see if I want some, or not.’
She stepped into the pantry, looking for the dried plums she had stashed in the back. Out came the plums, sugar, flour, and the big crock of butter. ‘Plum tarts for dessert tonight,’ she announced to Buttercup, who was washing the dishes. ‘Can you mix up the icing to drizzle over them when they’ve cooled?’
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