Free The Cook by Harry Kressing

twice a week—they would eat there every night if they were invited! They think Brogg is killing them with his food. And they’re right. If I cooked for them I could put years on their lives. And I could make Daphne Vale thin—I will make Daphne Vale thin, very thin, because she shall only eat my food from now on. Brogg is out!
    “Let me tell you this,” Conrad concluded, raising his hand in the air and clenching his fist; “Brogg can’t boil water! And if he asks who said so, tell him I said so: Brogg can’t boil water!”
    There were many loud cheers, and someone proposed a toast to Conrad. Then all the men began talking among themselves, discussing what Conrad had just said.
    Paul was sitting at Conrad’s table. He was on more familiar terms with Conrad than anyone else in Cobb, and when Conrad sat down he was looking very unhappy; he whispered that Brogg was sure to hear what Conrad had just said about him.
    “I mean for him to,” Conrad laughed.
    Paul shook his head. “Brogg is vicious,” he muttered. “He’s big and he’s vicious.”
    “I know; everyone is afraid of him.—Tell me more, Paul, tell me more . . .”

16
    Rud Brogg was a huge bulky man, strong as a bull and, especially when he was drinking, far meaner. He inspired fear in all the other domestics and work people.
    He usually came into Cobb on Wednesday night, and more often than not he would get into a fight, or bully someone into cowering submission. He was not liked. When he talked, everyone listened. His coarse jokes were always laughed at.
    Conrad rarely came into town on Wednesday, and so the two of them had never laid eyes on each other.
    As happens in the world of domestics, word spread quickly of the scene Monday night at the Shepard’s Inn, and reached Brogg’s ear, and when Brogg dropped in at the White Door for his accustomed drinks, he was obviously in a violent temper. Men who drifted over to Shepard’s from the White Door reported what Brogg was saying.
    Conrad sat at his table in the corner and drank by himself.
    It was cold that night. He had arrived late and the few customers there were surprised to see him. Nell was too, and she hastened to build up the fire. But that did little good and Conrad kept his heavy black coat wrapped around him.
    Nell told him what Brogg was saying: “He is raving, they tell me. He says he is going to bone you like a chicken. He says he will cut you up like a side of beef. He says he will butcher you like a hog . . .”
    Conrad sneered. “Don’t you wish he would, Nell?”
    Nell quickly denied the accusation.
    “Sure you do, Nell. You don’t like being my slave, even if it is good for business.”
    Again Nell objected, trying to look offended.
    “You’d better deny it,” Conrad told her coldly, “otherwise I’ll start going to another tavern and you’ll begin starving to death again.—Charlie!” he called to one of the men at the bar. “Come over here!—Nell, bring us two beers, quick!”
    When Charlie, a balding, stoop-shouldered man, sat down, Conrad asked him to confirm what Nell had reported. Charlie looked nervous. He didn’t want to get involved in the feud between Conrad and Brogg, but he admitted that every word Nell had said was true. “Brogg is after you, Conrad.”
    Conrad laughed. “Good for him!”
    “You shouldn’t be laughing, Conrad,” Charlie muttered, shaking his head. “Brogg is a very good knife fighter. I’ve seen him . . .”
    “Most cooks are,” Conrad shrugged. “After all, they have knives in their hands much of the day.”
    Conrad finished his beer and stood up.
    “I’m going over to the White Door,” he announced. “Anyone care to join me?”
    Conrad strode over to the White Door. The three dogs romped ahead of him. Several paces to the rear four or five men, frightened and excited, followed.
    Inside, Brogg was sitting at a large oak table. He was alone.
    As Conrad entered he heard himself being vilified loudly. Brogg was talking to