Stop Leaving Bodies in the Kitchen

Stop Leaving Bodies in the Kitchen

“Son of a-” Kestrel announced his arrival to the kitchen with a loud thud.

Silkfoot echoed it moments later as he tried to stand and smacked his head against the interior of the cupboard into which he’d been leaning. He grunted, rubbed the sore spot on the side of his scalp and carefully extracted his head from the area beneath the sink. Deep cabinets made for excellent storage, but apparently they could be a tad dangerous.

He danced across the room until he stood over his fallen first mate, offering the larger man a hand to stand. “Are you all right?”

Kestrel groaned. He accepted the hand but didn’t tug on Silkfoot’s arm on his way up. Probably for the better; Silkfoot would only have ended up on top of him. Not that it would have been a bad position to end up in. “Fine. You?”

Silkfoot waved a hand in dismissal. “Now that we’ve all got concussions, what are you doing in here?”

“I think a better question is what is that doing in here?” He pointed to the pair of legs he had tripped over. The legs were, of course, attached to the torso of a man wearing a splotchy black and grey suit. The head which belonged to the body was twisted somewhat strangely on its neck and the vague green shade of its skin may have suggested something far more macabre than reality.

“Oh…” Silkfoot chuckled. “Sorry. He’ll only be there for a minute.”

“But why is he there in the first place?” Kestrel pressed as he stepped over the body, moving with more delicacy than a man his size had any right to. He paused and took a closer look at the twisted lips and protruding tongue. “He isn’t-?”

“Dead?”

Kestrel nodded.

Silkfoot shook his head. “Of course not! I just needed a few things to mix the antidote. Those sleeping potions always take effect more suddenly than you imagine.” Although maybe it was time to find a new apothecary.

Muttering under his breath, Kestrel pulled several pots from the rack above the stove and settled them in place. “Couldn’t you leave the unconscious bodies somewhere else while you’re rooting through the cabinets?”

“It was on the way,” Silkfoot scoffed. His new partner in crime had been living with him for several years now and he had never taken issue with Silkfoot’s methods before. “Besides, it’s not like he’s in the way of anything…”

“He’s in my way.” Kestrel didn’t even pause to glance over his shoulder.

Lips twisted with consternation, Silkfoot crossed his arms in front of his chest. “What are you doing in here anyway?”

That got his first mate’s attention. He turned slowly, storm clouds forming on his dark face. “Cooking breakfast. You know, that thing that kitchens are used for?”

“Goodness, is it that time already?” Silkfoot glanced at his wrist before he realized he wasn’t wearing a watch. It took a moment to locate the clock – he was never sure where it was in any given house, but there were usually one or two in the kitchen. “Ahh…” he murmured when he finally found one, though it was the thin line of light through the kitchen curtains that actually indicated the switch of days. “Well then, I’ll just move this party down to the basement.”

He grabbed the legs from the floor and began to heave, dragging the unconscious business man toward the entry arch.

“You have got to stop leaving bodies in the kitchen,” Kestrel’s voice chased him.

Pausing in his labor, Silkfoot allowed the legs to fall back to the floor. “You act as though I’ve got some kind of secret stash!”

“Don’t play innocent with me, Captain. Last week I found Emild stowed between the island and the sink when I came in to wash the dinner dishes.”

“Well don’t look at me, darling. I didn’t put her there. She had quite a lot to drink. I imagine she passed out all on her own.”

“Three days before that I came home with groceries to find a man slumped against the refrigerator.”

“Okay. I’ll admit it. With that one, I panicked. I needed to use a pot to knock him out and I hadn’t had a chance to move him yet.”

Kestrel glowered. “Which pot?”

Silkfoot flicked his wrist toward the rack. “The long thin one.”

“This one?” Kestrel snatched a cast iron skillet from the wrack and leveled it at his captain accusingly.

“No, no. I was trying not knock him out not damage his brain. The flimsy one.”

Some of Kestrel’s anger seemed to evaporate as he returned the cast iron skillet to its place of honor on the rack. Silkfoot bent to retrieve the legs from the floor, but it seemed they weren’t finished yet.

“Last month in Ormpol you left a ‘sleeping guest’ in the kitchen while you ‘ran out to get something.’ And a few weeks before that in Tinusk-“

“All right, all right!” Silkfoot waved his free arm in surrender. “I get your point. You want the kitchen for food and eating rather than potions and work. I’ll try to be a little less haphazard.”

“Thanks for understanding, Captain.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Silkfoot muttered as he struggled to drag the unwieldy unconscious body out of the room. “Not sure what you’re moaning about. It’s not like any of them were dead.”

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