"A kitchen?" Griselda laughed a bit. "What do I need a kitchen for?" she leaned away from him, cackling.
Benedictus was quite unsure of how to tell her his feelings about food prepared by magic. Instead he waited for her to finish. When her laughter showed no signs of stopping, he decided that being pleasant led to a dead end.
"All the food I've eaten has been… subpar. Where I come from, the things we eat and drink don't just smell good, they taste good."
"Oh really?" she took a breath. "In our wonderful kingdom, it's the meat that tastes the best. These bitter, sour, treats make for a quick breakfast. Ensuring that the King's people can get to work. Then, a curt lunch raises morale. It's a long dinner that uplifts the spirits!"
"I haven't eaten anything good since I was 'summoned' here," Benedict said pointedly. He pushed his plate and cup away, continuing. "I can clean as well as cook. Less time away from you work and—"
"I don't care about cooking. I care about science," Griselda cut in. "What can you offer me that a Warlock can't?"
Benedictus frowned. He held his tongue, ignoring her provocations. He leaned back in his chair, pawing at her question. What he could offer her? His answer needed to pique her interest, goad her ego, sting her pride, then strike her ignorance. Benedictus watched Griselda of Grenade. Her silhouette of that of a predatory snake; waiting was her favorite game. Her infinite patience gave her an oppressive edge. Birds tweeted. Wings fluttered. The green rustled. Insects buzzed all around them. Their noises reaching a gradual crescendo.
"I am an Alchemist," he finally said.
"Really? You?" his words caught Griselda off guard. Her eyes twinkled in vain interest, "What kind of Alchemist are you?"
"I am a Baker. I turn ingredients into food."
She made a face. "I do the same thing!"
"I do it better."
A simple statement. A challenge. Something Griselda wasn't used to. She grinned wide, smelling blood.
"Fine," another pair of wings buzzed along somewhere. "We'll spend a week eating my food. Then yours. How does that sound?"
"Am I allowed to prepare?"
Griselda nodded, "Of course. I'll show you the Kitchen and the Pantry, but you'll have to gather the ingredients yourself…"
Benedictus ignored her ominous tone. He's had worse bosses, instead he waiting for her to finish her tea. Together the walked the garden path, returning to the entrance hall. Griselda took a right, her heels stopping on the tile. She stood between an angular archway to an extravagant dining room. The table was decorated with a crème tablecloth. Like the table, it stretched from one end to the other.
"Dinner will be served there tonight," she said. "Normally I don't like leaving my study, but it would go against my ways to be so rude to an honored guest."
She continued, not waiting for an answer. Her steps were surprisingly long. So long that Benedictus kept falling behind. Distracted by the hem of her dress. It seemed to glide in smooth exact motions.
Ahead of them was the Breakfast Room. She took another right, and they passed through a set of double doors. Sunlight trickled in from the skylight. It was a tiny room, full of neat dusty shelves. The air was stagnant.
"This is the Pantry. I have my own pantry in my study; I haven't touched this one."
"It's dirty."
"Then let us all hope that your cleaning abilities do really exist."
The pair left the Pantry. Griselda continuing her gliding pace. This area of the house had no natural light. She flipped a switch, there was a pause, followed by the familiar click-click of an electrical circuit. Suddenly the hallway flooded with a bright white light. Benedictus was stunned for a few moments. Surprisingly Griselda stopped at the next set of doors, waiting for him. They were a set of lite doors. Panes of crystal glass had been inserted into the door's upper halves. The inside was well lit. Benedictus assumed the hallway switch controlled the entire area's lights.
"The Kitchen."