A Tale of Two Castles(33)

Hoping the owner wouldn’t mind, I took the peppermint out of its pouch and put a leaf on my tongue. The mint helped against the onions, but not much.

The onions and I were stationed at the menial end of the table, far from the actual cooking. At the important end, yards and yards away, a baker kneaded dough, her arms floury up to the elbows. Next to her, another baker rolled out pastry. A scullery maid complained that her mortar and pestle were missing, and how could she pound the garlic and thyme without them? Master Jak told her to find a bowl and a spoon and cease griping.

At his own table, the butcher cut apart a lamb. Blood ran down grooves in the table to a pail on the floor. A small spotted dog—not Nesspa—sat at the butcher’s feet, staring ardently upward.

Master Jak and three others stood at the largest of three fireplaces, tending whatever was cooking. I wondered if Master Jak’s companions were the chief second assistant cook and the chief first assistant cook and the exalted cook.

I considered whether Nesspa could be stowed here somewhere. The lower half of the enormous cupboard between the two lesser fireplaces was big enough to hold a sheep. As if a fairy was granting wishes, a kitchen boy opened the double doors to get a frying pan, and I glimpsed shelves crammed with pots and pans. I saw no other likely place to hide a dog.

Sharing my end of the table, a boy—my age more or less, cap strings untied, narrow face, small brown eyes—peeled cucumbers.

He winked at me. “I’m in your debt, young mistress, for taking the onions.”


I was not partial to winkers, but I winked back. “I’m new, young master. I never saw the inside of a castle before today.”

Another wink from him. “A castle’s big so a count or a king can bring his friends in and keep his enemies’ armies out.”

“How clever.” I nodded encouragingly. Tell me something that will lead me to Nesspa or that I can tell Masteress Meenore.

“Thick walls, soldiers within, enough food to last a month. If we die, the rats can eat us for another month.”

Ugh!

He winked yet again. “If grand folk didn’t have enemies, they could live in houses.”

If poor folk had money, they could live in castles. “I never saw an ogre or a dragon before I came to town.”

“How do you like them?” He picked up another cucumber.

I’d minced three onions to his single cucumber. “They’re both big. I saw the ogre turn himself into a monkey. What a sight that was!”

His smile reached his ears. “He’s a fine monkey.”

“Do you think him fine as an ogre, too?”

“His Lordship”—he stressed the title—“pays better wages than any other master, and never a beating or a harsh word.” He winked. “Hardly a word at all. What does that matter?”

“The people of Two Castles seem not to care for him.”

“That den of thieves! None of us comes from there. They won’t work for him, and we wouldn’t work for anyone else.”

If all the servants came from elsewhere, then Master Thiel couldn’t be a groom or any sort of servant. “They say His Lordship’s dog was taken right here in the castle. Who would do such a thing?”

He thrust his head at me, then drew back because of the onions, no doubt. “We wouldn’t!”

He had no more winks or words for me. I nicked my finger and sucked the drop of blood that beaded up. Master Jak would see red if the onions were pink.

The castle bells rang midmorning.

A hand gripped my shoulder. “By thunder, His Lordship wants you to be cupbearer at the feast and pour for him, the king, and the princess.” Master Jak turned me on my stool. “Have you poured before?”

The king! “At home, from pitcher to cup.”

“At home.” He sighed and let my shoulder go. “Pitcher. Cup. By thunder.”

The boy laughed. Master Jak glared at him, and he lowered his head and peeled.

“I have a steady arm.” But I didn’t know how steady it would be, pouring for Greedy Grenny.

“Cellarer Bwat will show you. Ehlodie, those you serve should have what they want before they know they want it. Watch their hands, their shoulders, their faces. Even though you stand behind them, contrive to see.”

How? I would lean over and spill wine on everyone.

“His Lordship requested you. The princess will be forbearing, but if you spill a drop, even a speck of a drop, on the king . . . By thunder, don’t.”

What if I did? A flogging? Prison?

A woman’s voice called, “Master Jak, do you have the suet crock?”

He called back. “There’s another in the cupboard.” He put his hand under my chin and pulled my face toward his. I saw his pores, the veins in his eyes, a drop of sweat sliding down his nose. “If you spoil His Lordship’s day—if you cause him a moment of grief—you will feel the wrath of a chief third assistant cook. Cellarer Bwat will come for you in a minute.” He strode away.

I lifted the half-full bowl of onions onto my lap. With the side of my knife, I scraped chopped onions from the chopping board into the bowl.

Master Jak stood over me again. “I near forgot. After the second remove, before the mansioners perform, His Lordship would like you to recite for his guests.”

“Recite?” I jumped up. “Something? Truly? Oh, Master Jak!” I wiped my tears with my fist. “What should I recite?”