Emberly soupwell's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Emberly Soupwell's tail knocked over the salt crock before she'd served the first bowl. She was a red dragon, tall enough to duck under her own rafters, and she ran a soup kitchen because no one else fed the dragons who wandered into town. The crock rolled across the flagstones. A young drake caught it in his claws and set it back on the counter without a word. Emberly nodded thanks and stirred the pot. The stove roared behind her, its little carved dragon grinning down from the chimney. A pot of stew bubbled on top, thick with carrots and barley. Dragons filled the long dark-wood tables in her hall, waiting. A jar on the counter clinked when a copper dropped in. She didn't look to see who paid. She'd stopped tracking months ago. She lifted two bowls and turned toward the tables. Her tail swept behind her, low along the floor. It caught a stool leg. The stool tipped. A bowl of hot broth tilted off the end of a bench and splashed across the flagstones, missing a hatchling's foot by a hand's width. The hatchling squeaked and jumped back. Emberly froze. The broth steamed on the stones. If the tail had swung a foot wider, she'd have scalded a child in her own kitchen. "Sorry," she said. She refilled the bowl. She always refilled the bowl. But refilling wouldn't fix a burn. She set the ladle down and looked at the room. Benches crammed close. Narrow aisles. Pots stacked in a heap by the back wall where she'd shoved them that morning, her tail curled around the pile as she dug for a lid. Every path through the kitchen was a trap her own body would spring. "Move the tables," she said. The dragons blinked at her. "Stand up. Push them to the walls. Leave me a lane down the middle." They stood. Claws scraped wood. In a minute the long tables lined the sides of the hall and a clear path ran from stove to far door. Emberly walked it once, tail dragging behind her. Nothing tipped. Nothing caught. She walked it again with two full bowls. The tail followed straight, like a rope pulled taut. She set the bowls down in front of the hatchling and its mother. No spill. The hatchling sniffed the broth and started eating. Emberly kept serving. Bowl after bowl, down the lane and back. Her shoulders eased. The stew held out. The jar clinked twice more. But when she looked at the pushed-back tables, dragons sat elbow to elbow, wings folded tight against their neighbors. A grown drake had no room to lift his spoon. Two more waited by the door, saw the crush, and left without eating. Emberly watched them go. She'd made a safe kitchen. She'd made a hall too small to hold the people she meant to feed.