The Monk and the Banished Prince

Chapter 1

"A culinary school, he tells me! A dog could cook better than you! A culinary school! Do you expect me to believe that?"

"Are you calling me a liar?"

Nico slowed down, frowning, then quickened his steps again—as much as the heavy stack of folded sheets that he was carrying allowed him to. The light at the end of the corridor grew nearer, but he was still unable to see the quarreling men. The high-pitched voice clearly belonged to Felix the cook, but he wasn't sure about the other one.

"A liar, and an idiot!" the second man boomed outside. "You couldn't tell a cucumber from zucchini if your life depended on it!"

"How would you know?"

"Because I've just spent another morning in the privy, thanks to your cookery!"

Nico stepped out of the corridor and into the open court. Surrounded by high stone walls, it was covered with grass, pale and patchy due to the lack of direct sunlight. In the center of it, by the old ivy-covered well, stood Felix, his hands on his hips. He faced Matteo, the latest addition to the monastery. Red-faced, with his hands in fists at his sides, Matteo seemed ready to lash out. A few Brothers watched curiously from the cloisters on the opposite side of the court, showing no desire to intervene.

Nico stepped closer, the heavy pile of sheets feeling like stones in his hands.

"Keep it down, Brothers," he said. "What happened?"

"This!" Matteo pointed at Felix. "How do you people eat his cookery? Why is nobody complaining? Since the day I came here, not one has gone by without a belly ache."

"I've learned from the best culinary masters," said Felix, his chin raised. "I've worked at King Arrius's court, as you well know."

"It was twenty years ago, and there's no proof of that but your word!"

"Father Thaddeus knows."

"Well then, maybe it was your food that put poor Arrius in his grave? Are you trying to poison us, too?"

"How dare you! I cook just fine!" All outraged dignity, Felix turned to Nico, his double chin trembling, his eyes glistening.

"You do cook fine," Nico said. "It just takes some getting used to." He gave Matteo a pacifying look, but the man was too busy glaring at Felix.

"How much getting used to will it take? How long should I suffer until I get used to his swill?"

"Maybe you never will," Felix replied, shrugging. "Some people just have weak stomachs."

"Did you call me weak?"

Nico dropped the sheets and darted forward just as Matteo's fist shot out. He grabbed Matteo's hand a split second before it connected with Felix's nose, and held both of his hands behind his back in a lock. Grunting, Matteo tried to wriggle out of his grip. He was big, but Nico wasn't a child, and he managed to hold on to him and even to pull him slightly away.

"You can't fight here," he puffed into Matteo's ear, and then cried out, "Brothers! Help!"

They were already coming––first the ones who'd been watching, and then a few more, attracted by the noise. With all the hands on him, Matteo quickly ceased fighting, and let out a loud, annoyed grunt.

"Let go of me," he muttered. "Big heroes you are, jumping five on one."

"You can't fight here," Nico repeated, barely hearing himself above the cacophony of everyone speaking at once. "You know the rules."

"What's going on?" said someone else, and everybody went quiet.

Nico released his grip and stepped back, and so did the others.