John Nevir walked up to the table, muttering to himself.
“You put us on red alert?” he asked me. I smiled and tried not to cringe.
“Yes,” I said. “A moose was about to ram us.”
“Oh. I thought we were about to die.”
“I… am sorry to hear that,” I said carefully.
“We are out of celery now,” he told me.
He thought he was going to die so he used all the celery? I wondered. “Pity,” I said out loud.
“And I mixed up the salt and the sugar. I’ve straightened it out, though.”
Goody. “How nice.”
“I wouldn’t recommend you try the tea,” he continued. “But I changed the bread to dessert. So you won’t have anything to eat the soup with.”
“I’m sure it’ll be just fine,” I told him, trying to be reassuring.
“I’ll go get it for you now.” He walked away.
“We need a new cook,” Batnter decided.
“No, we are not getting a new cook,” I said.
“If we ask for another cook we’d be stuck with someone that makes horrible food,” I said. “At least this guy is a good cook. Mental problems or no mental problems.”
Nevir walked out with bowls of soup. He put one in front of me. There was a lot of celery in it. I dared taste it.
It was really good.