Things all began to go wrong for Gerta, during that long, exhausting night in the cavernous kitchens below Hellespoint Castle, when she leaned in close and murmured a question to Goeffrey Lamoureux, quintessential Chef de Cuisine, which enraged him and caught him off guard so terribly that he smacked his gnarly, much-abused hand (Goeff had been a chef for many years), and which was covered in flour, right down across Gerta’s chubby, rosy cheek, the flour making a ghost of her face; she looked askance at him, but then recognized that she loved him.
