Len and Keris wasted no time talking to each other now that their work was done for the day. They might have reached something of an accord for the time being when it came to the busywork of running the city, but they weren't gonna be friends anytime soon, nor were they likely to be drinking buddy coworkers. It was enough that they had the shared respect required for basic cooperation, and Len wasn't interested in pressing things beyond that. Still, it was impressive what could be done when two properly motivated individuals set their minds to a task. They'd covered nearly half of the stack that had been steadily growing over the days when she'd tried to handle things on her own. It was a small victory, but she savored it all the same.

She wanted nothing more than to retreat to her private quarters and collapse into the bed, but she had one more meeting in store for the day. It was a touch less ominous than the one she'd had with Keris but she didn't fully relish it, either. Taylor, the dressmaker/assassin, had requested an audience to hammer out the details of her role in things. It wasn't that she didn't deserve it, it was just an awkward thing to get into. She wanted nothing more than to retreat back to a simple life tending to fabric and dealing with the occasional unruly customer and Len... couldn't allow that. The main problem was that Taylor was too good at the other half of her skillset. Not that Len desperately needed to kill THAT many people, but a skilled sneak thief who was also an expert with the blade? That was worth its weight in gold.

She'd agreed to the meeting for the discussion because she had a good idea what Taylor was gonna ask her for and Len wasn't the sort of coward to deny people the chance to plead their case. She'd had too many managers who'd found all sorts of excuses not to even meet with her to be that kind of prick herself but it didn't really change anything. Taylor was going to come out of this meeting disappointed and Len didn't much care for the taste that left in her mouth. Being a leader was a pain in the ass.

Balar's House Sled was an impressive work, one of the few she'd known to actually have space dedicated to serious cooking, as opposed to a tiny cookfire. She supposed that it was just a part of his rank but it was still impressive. She wasn't sure how many others had something of similar size, but given what she'd seen of a lot of the others that made up the upper class of this society, she'd gotten the impression that most of them relied on the services of the eateries located elsewhere in town. It was an odd arrangement but she didn't judge. Nor did she care, thanks to having access to one of the few sleds that did have one. The best part? No Cookie to get in her way.

She smirked fondly. One of the first things she'd learned at Grenus' Hovel was that the kitchen belonged to Cookie. He'd been somewhere between paranoid and outright hostile at any suggestion that she take part in the cooking duties. Granted, a decent part of that was probably fear of losing his position and having to do some other menial task around the place, but it had been strangely endearing to her. His level of pride in his work was something else. Still, he didn't exactly have a wealth of spices or supplies at his disposal and she'd been generally underwhelmed by most of his meals. It hadn't been his fault, but she was still grateful to be rid of that particular hassle for the moment.

Balar's pantry, in comparison, was most impressive. The fact that he was a trader had been leveraged into a vast assortment of spices and plenty of fresh produce that would otherwise have been a foreign concept in a city without an herbimancer. Len's goal at the moment was She'd never been the best cook in the world, but pancakes had been a staple at her house. None of that pre-made mix nonsense for her. Scratch-made every time. The only ingredient she hadn't been able to get her hands on was baking powder. Sodium Bicarbinate wasn't a thing folks in these parts were terribly familiar with. She'd have to figure that out eventually but for now she was going to have to make do with buttermilk and heavily whisked eggs. It wasn't a perfect solution but it was enough for the moment.

Thirty minutes later, she was happily setting down two stacks of reasonably fluffy pancakes that were infinitely more appealing than the paperwork, just in time for Taylor to arrive. The assassin cocked an eyebrow at the plate in front of her, but accepted it graciously. She did not, however, take a bite. Instead, she looked evenly at Len and waited. Len sighed and acknowledged the unasked question.

"Fine, I guess I can put supper on hold a bit longer," this wasn't actually a huge sacrifice. What cook alive doesn't sample their works while preparing? "I know why you wanted this meeting."

"I should hope so, I didn't make any secret of it."

"It's not going to happen yet."

"What do you-" Len held up a hand to forestall any further complaints.

"Look, you know what we're facing. You know what I need. You can't possibly think that as we're getting ready to face any number of imminent threats that I'm going to let a warrior of your caliber just walk away?"

"We had a deal."

"That I'd let you return to a peaceful life when I was finished with what I needed from you? Absolutely. That doesn't mean that I have that yet. More to the point, I let you pick the man we made an example of for the others. It could have been any of them, but I trusted your judgment and let you have him. That wasn't free."

"If you had the slightest idea what that bastard did to me you wouldn't be holding that against me."

"Oh, I don't, not in the least. Doesn't change things, though. You got your revenge thanks to me and I expect you to honor your debts," she offered Taylor a soft smile. "I'm not looking to make you a personal servant indefinitely. I really will let you have that quiet life you crave, but I need a year from you."

"A year?!?!" Clearly the assassin hadn't expected a service anywhere close to that.

"A year. After the completion of that service you have my word that I'll release all ties to you. No tricks, no knife-twists to get you further under my thumb. I just need that much so that I can get a handle on things here. You're too valuable to let go of right now. Besides," she raised a finger to stop the next complaints Taylor was getting ready to raise. "I took a look at your finances with the shop. You were going under. It wasn't going to be immediate, but you had lost so much business thanks to the constant Banishments that there was no way you were going to be able to keep up with things. It wouldn't have been long at all before you couldn't make ends meet."

"I was managing," Taylor said with a bit too much defensiveness in her tone.

"You were doing the best with what you had but it wasn't enough. At best you had six months. I'm going to be working my ass off to get this city back to what it should be, but there's no way I can do that in just six months. The economy is going to be a wreck for at least the next year. Trust me: you don't want to have the whole of your livelihood tied to dressmaking right as we're probably getting ready to go to war."

Taylor made a 'tsk' sound as she pondered things. Unlike a lot of folks, Taylor actually did a good job of keeping her emotions in check most of the time. Len figured that a decent amount of her attitude of complaint at any given moment was an act. Something calculated to convince people that she was a certain type of person while guarding her true self carefully. It made it damn hard to guess what was really going through her head and made conversations with her so interesting.

"Say I agree to go along with this," Taylor began cautiously. "I'd need solid assurances. We don't have a ton of trust between us right now and you're already going out of your way to make me question if you're good for your word."

"That's not really fair," Len complained.

"I think it's more than fair. My services rendered have already been tremendous. If I hadn't saved your precious traitor's family, he'd have killed you. I could've run without a touch of risk and this place could burn for all I care."

"You didn't want that, you're not that cold-hearted."

"I damn well can be if I have to. The cards just happened to fall in such a way that this was the better option. I took care of the problem and my reward for my troubles? Another year of my life I'm expected to serve you."

"Well, you're not wrong. What do you want?"

"A binding contract, signed by you and Balar guaranteeing me my freedom after this. And enough funds to run my shop for five full years after the completion of the contract. AND," she raised her voice as Len tried to get a word in edgewise "You provide all the financing I need to operate my shop during this year of service. I will be at your disposal whenever you need, but I WILL continue to run it."

"I think I can make that work," Len said wryly. Pulling a contract out from her vest. It had already been signed by Balar and agreed to fund the shop for ten years along with a truly generous monthly stipend for the year of service. "Shall I amend it to the five years you're asking for?"

Len believed the shock on Taylor's face that time.

"Ah, no," the assassin said, rushing to sign her name after reading over the details.

There weren't any hidden traps to discover, just basic agreement to provide services as requested by Len for the duration of the first year of the contract. Len fully intended to get every penny she'd be spending on it but she had no intention of pulling any tricks.

"Will, ah, that be all?" Taylor asked, decidedly mollified now that terms had been agreed upon.

"No it most definitely will not," Len said in a mock-stern display. "You're going to join me for breakfast dinner now.

"What?"

"The pancakes. Wat them."

"Do I have to?" Taylor glanced down at the fluffy things with an expression that wasn't exactly eager.

"Yes, you do. Consider it an official dictate from your employer. I suggest trying them with the syrup."

The syrup in question was a lovely berry blend that she'd cooked up while working on the cakes themselves. She didn't know the name for them, but they were something like raspberries back home but with an odd citrus aftertaste that she wasn't quite used to. Still, nothing a little sugar couldn't fix. Taylor gingerly took a fork to the cakes and did as she was bade. The expression of shock and delight on her face was more than enough to make the whole affair worth it, picky eater or no, there weren't many people Len had met that didn't love pancakes after they'd experienced them.