Now Ash understood. They were not vacuous in and of themselves – well, not really. They were a system without a sun, a world suddenly without a centre.
“I am sorry to hear that.” Ash did not cloak her words but made sure each saw her look them full in the face. “I can see without asking that she was a good woman.”
“Thank you. Yes, she was. We… I shouldn’t say this but, really, we miss her.”
Ash nodded. “That makes sense. Good women are in short supply these days.”
Chapter Seven
Repopulating the earth
The next morning came too soon, but even so, Ash was awake before the bells. Somewhere after what she had learned in the ladies” rooms, she’d decided to take a walk and see the castle.
If she was going to live here for the next twenty days, she may as well learn her way around the place, she reasoned to herself, pulling restlessly at her sleeves in the chill. She was no longer used to the feel of anything but homespun on her skin, and the former queen’s silks did nothing to fend off the morning chill. Still, it was a lovely dress – a sprightly, spicy green with lattice-like patterns all the way down the sleeves, ornamented with a tiny, embroidered sun where each strand criss-crossed the other.
The castle was, in its own way, lovely too, she had to admit. In the early light the stony walls looked more austere than forbidding. The clean simplicity of it, peppered with picture windows and courtyards between the labyrinthine rooms, was more to her taste than the frilly loveliness of the palace. This seemed a place where real people worked and lived and died and after her heady brushes with Throne Rooms, cabinets and solars, she decided she liked these deserted ground floor rooms instead.
With a rush of elation, Ash realised that she knew vaguely where she was – not far from the bailey they had first ridden through just three days ago, although it felt like longer. As she rounded the corner, she decided that on a purely intellectual level, she could come to at least appreciate this castle for the next three weeks, if not to actively like it. A cerebral appreciation, nothing more.
And then, her heart followed.
Without warning, she turned a corner, walked through a nondescript arch and stepped into the most beautiful kitchen she had ever seen. Freshly scrubbed flagstones gave way to whitewashed walls with gracefully arched windows that looked more like a chapel than a place for servants. The sturdy oak preparation tables were like the one at home, but oh, so much longer! And topped with real white marble, gleaming spotlessly like snow. To Ash, they were a white wonderland. It was what she had not even known she was hoping a kitchen could someday be.
How Old Merta would have loved to have seen this… Ash was ashamed to find tears threatening to fall. She took in the sights of dried herbs cheerfully hanging from ceiling beams, of fine wooden shelves, of doorways leading off to pantries, the buttery and boiler rooms… There were even jugs of fine porcelain standing companionably, at least ten in a row, on one work bench. A few years ago, she would have given anything to work in a place like this.
And then, walking further in to where the fires and hearths were, she stopped cold.
It was as though she had summoned her dead friend with her mind. There, with her back to Ash, stood the stout and smocked silhouette of Old Merta – her former boss and former cook, the mother she’d always had until the night she’d died alone on the cold, stone floor while Ash had been out dancing with royalty. And yet here she was, it was the exact image of her, bossing lesser ranked kitchen maids around just as Old Merta would. As she scolded and pointed to various fires, Ash noticed flour on her forearms and, in spite of herself, an involuntary moan escaped her mouth.
The woman turned. It was not Old Merta, of course not, but the woman’s appearance was close enough. The same keen eyes, deep-set within the same honest-looking face, ruddy from a life spent near hearth fires and hands calloused with good, hard work.
“Who are you then?”
“Forgive me I uh… I am Ash.”
“Who?”
“She’s the new munitions expert – sent for by the prince himself, and a woman too. Good day, Miss.”
It was Tarah, coming through the nearest archway with a tray of pastries for brushing. She showed no sign of shame from the previous morning but held Ash’s gaze steadily with her blue eyes. “What are you doing in the kitchens then, Miss?”
“I came upon them by accident, I’ve been trying to learn my way around the castle.”
Tarah nodded. “We all have. Every new moon some new bleeding castle or palace or what have you, no one can seem to explain the difference to me, and then just as you’re getting used to things and now it’s back to the first sodden castle-palace thing. Makes planning your day awful tricky.”
“I can imagine. I was a cook’s assistant once, you know.”
“You were?” The red head cocked to one side in a carrior-like way. On Tarah, it looked cute. “The rumours going around seem to think you a lady from one of the Southern country estates.”
“I left that life behind a long time ago, to become a cook’s assistant.”
“Hmm, well I decided when I was five that I wanted to be a lady, an” I even gave myself a last name like the nobles all had. “Tarah Sonne of House Sonne’, I called meself, and my father beat me black an” blue. Just because you want to be something else don’t change what you were born,” sniffed Tarah the servant, looking Ash up and down in that same impish way she had.
Ash’s cheeks burned. Softly, like far-off thunder, the Old Merta lookalike grumbled and tutted. “For shame Tarah – whatever she was born, she was just trying t’make conversation. I’m Mater, by the way.”
Ash smiled at how similar the name sounded. “Well met, Mater.”
Tarah cocked her head to the side, frowning slightly at the look Ash was no doubt giving her head cook and superior. “Have you seen the new herberie, Miss?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“I’m going that way myself, I can take you.”
It was not really an offer, or a question. It was a line drawn in the sand: this is our place, you do not belong here, for all your girlish dreams of rolling pastry in a ballgown. But then why take her to the herberie? What made her belong there more than any other kitchen-related place?
She soon saw why. The “herberie” was an internal courtyard that had been covered with the same Pathfinder glass stuff, but here the stonework had been pulled up and was laid aside in a higgledy-piggledy heap. The floor was instead dirt and straw littered with various pots and pigs” troughs. In the middle of it all, a familiar thatch of dark hair was just visible.
“Ash!”
Rize looked an absolute sight, in an olive-green ensemble of plain but fine wool that he clearly thought plain enough to be a “work outfit’, for it was splattered chest to boots with mud. There was even a matching mud splotch roughly the shape and size of Germania on one cheek. There were others there too, barely visible in the background and no doubt labourers tasked with tending the strange new ground, but still… The duke’s words came to her again: you never know who’s watching inside a castle.
“Your Highness.”
“Oh please, Ash, enough of that - no one cares. What is interesting is this, don’t you think? I conceptualised it myself – with a little help, of course. All the older bailey and motte castles used to have an outside herberie bedded in straw and a bit of topsoil. It would last them all through winter and then, in spring, even strawberries would sprout! Can you imagine having a strawberry again?”
“I can. A bit too vividly for my own comfort. So, you spend your mornings in here?”
“When I don’t have to pay penance in some war council meeting. Really Ash, this could be hugely significant. A herberie can provide topical medicines, ingredients for things like poultices for the poor, feeding servants and even a healthy soil environment for us to try and graft into the soil outside the palace walls. The repopulating of the earth could come from this very patch!�
��
It was hard not to smile when he looked so excited. Still, his words sent shivers down her spine. Repopulating the Earth… that was the story from her mother’s book of one man and his family after a cataclysmic flood. Or was it the one about the man and woman in a garden?
“Can I give you a tour? Or do you need to be getting back? I could escort you.”
With a start, Ash realised Tarah had at some point left, vanishing quietly the way all good servants are expected to do.
“An escort would be lovely. I thank you, your Highness.”
Rize beamed as he stepped out of the muck and onto the flagstones to stand next to her. Ash smiled tightly, trying not to think uncharitable thoughts. He was very nice, really, he was… But he wouldn’t think twice about tracking his mud all the way though the castle as he “escorted” her for someone else to clean up. As they began walking, she tried not to picture the brown trail behind them.
“I’m sorry, I get rather excited about this, and I know it’s not everyone’s idea of fun. Lorin – the Duke – he just about throttles me when I talk of my “green parlour pets’, as he calls them.”
He must have misunderstood her silence. Without thinking, Ash placed her hand on his forearm as their steps fell more in line. “I think it’s wonderful what you’re doing. I have absolutely no experience with what princes should spend their mornings doing, but from where I am, “repopulating the Earth” sounds like a worthy use of time.”
“Good day, your Highness.”
Who knew what Derrick was doing all the way out here. Other than staring daggers at them, that is.
“Well met Derrick! How are you finding the castle?”
“I am being hosted most adequately, your Highness. And you Ash? How are you being hosted?”
In spite of the innocence of the moment, she felt a blush creep up her neck as she pulled her arm away from Rize, making a show of smoothing down her skirts.
“Most adequately, yes,” she managed. Good grief – she’d never heard Derrick use the word “adequate” in her life, and he was staring daggers down on her as well.
Just when Ash couldn’t bear it any longer and was about to shout at him, Derrick suddenly forced his face into the rictus of a smile and turned to the prince. “Well, I won’t keep you both – I had the thought that I should learn my way around this new castle this morning. As you can see, I’m still reeling a bit, so I’ll continue with my walking.” He made a bow that managed to be both ostentatious and insulting. “Your Highness. Ash.”
And with a stunted, tight bow, he was off.
“Nice man, Derrick. I really like him,” said Rize, beginning to walk again. Of course he hadn’t noticed anything.
“Yes. We’ve known each other our whole lives. He’s a good man,” Ash was surprised by the sudden constricting of her throat, the tears so close they were almost blinding. “When I was a child my mother changed – one died, and she was replaced by another one. My father changed. I changed. I was no longer the lady I was, if I ever was, and that had little to do with whether I was in a kitchen or not. And then the whole world changed because the ground and birds changed. The only one who didn’t change, the only thing that never changed, was Derrick.”
“I wish I had something that had never changed. The state of my inheritance changes daily, my father more and more like a senile bear in a trap, and as for mothers – well, mine changed about as often as your nobility status.”
Ash laughed in spite of herself. “Oh dear. Well, what can you do?”
“Just carry on, I suppose. And try and choose the ways we change. That’s the only thing I can think of.” He shrugged. “Not much use, is it?”
They were almost at her door now. With no one around, she took a step in front and turned to face him. “I think you’re useful, Rize,” she said, and watched the spark light in his eyes.
“That means a lot. Well, my lady, well met and I shall see you anon?”
“I’ve told you I’m no lady.”
“To me you’re a lady. In the best way possible. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my green parlour pets are waiting.”
Once he was walking away, Ash allowed herself to smile a full smile at him, this strange prince. Their conversation had warmed her, but soon her thoughts turned to Derrick and the look on his face. It sent an icy feeling through her.
Ah well. She turned to go inside, but as she did, she looked down. There was a trail of dirt all the way to her door.
Chapter Eight
Remember Gelanne
Vanita peered at the orange brightness beneath the bubbling water. The pumpkin was almost done, most likely, although she was still not very good at guessing. She suppressed a smile as she remembered that first day, spending hours hacking at what was left of that enormous orange beast, probably looking for all the world like a drunk woodcutter in a dress. She did not know which way the world was going from here, but if ladies would need skills dismembering giant pumpkins with an axe – well, she was learning.
“Mmm?”
“Mother!” She had almost dropped the spoon in fright as she whirled around, splashing hot water on the floor near the frayed hem of her mother’s skirts. For a single moment, that familiar old expression of annoyance and disdain flashed across the lined features, before the woman’s face clouded over and she looked at Vanita blankly again.
Still… A wild hope as bright as the pumpkin welled in Vanita’s heart. She was still not talking and still did not seem to recognise her… but Mother was walking. She seemed hungry. She had come down the stairs on her own. That was certainly progress. Vanita dished the measly orange pulp and set it down in the space between them.
When they were both done, her mother looked up at her, still slouching.
“Was that good? Hmm, alright, I’ll take that as a yes. Before we go up, I’d like to show you something Mother.”
There was still plenty of plaster, dust and fine rubble on the floors that weren’t the oft-used thoroughfares, and Vanita led her mother carefully over them now, back into the fateful “carrior room” where they had watched Ash, Derrick and the duke, ride off into the blue without them.
“Sit here, Mother, on the chaise lounge, yes. Now, look.”
Vanita had started just yesterday. The ceiling beams and other bits of wood she could lift, she had propped up against the gaping holes in the front of the house, to keep out the worst of the nights” cold.
“It’s not finished yet, but I hope to finish today with the wood across were the front wall was. When I get stronger I will be able to move some of the fallen stone in place to secure it and take some cloth from somewhere to stitch up a second barrier, for insulation. What do you think?”
She listened without looking for the “hmm’, but it didn’t come. Vanita turned to face her mother and found she was slowly nodding, a careful moving up and down of her grey head.
“Mother?”
There was no comprehension there yet, but the older woman’s face turned towards her voice, and her eyes were shining with something being kindled deep within. Vanita turned the fire in her own remaining eye towards her mother’s and felt herself growing warm.
When the birdlike bony shoulders sagged a little, she placed her hands gently there and helped her mother stand. “That’s more than enough for one day. Let’s get us both back into bed.”
***
Later, rough hands woke her. She knew, somehow, that she was still asleep, but rough hands woke her all the same.
In her dream, they were everywhere – hands rougher than sandpaper, than cut glass. One set of hands tried to push her down even as Vanita’s mind fought to break the surface of consciousness. “Remember Gelanne” she wanted to say, but her mouth wouldn’t work. Who was Gelanne?
Finally, she broke free, and her eyes snapped open as she sat up, her chest heaving up and down with supressed coughs. The dream didn’t fade, even as she wheezed and fought to draw breath. Her heart careened wildly in her chest, smashing into eac
h and every rib, it seemed. Finally, at last, she caught it with her thoughts and stilled it. Slowly, her breathing returned to normal.
What a way to wake up - she felt like a hollowed-out shell. At least she hadn’t woken Mother during all the fuss. Quietly, she slipped from the bed and went downstairs.
As she did, the ghost of the dream descended with her. Those rough hands, they seemed to have gone through her skin and into her bones, infiltrating the very essence of her with naked cruelty. In a moment, the illusion that she could defend herself shattered as she watched. As though it were real life, so realistic was the shattering before her eyes of any idea that she could defend herself. It had been horrible and also bizarre. Why was this coming up now? And who on earth was Gelanne?
Every night, some or other dream, often similar to that one. What was the matter with her? It was clearly supressed stress and emotion from the experience of being held by those mobsters, almost killed, and feeling the numb, cold shock as though from underwater as Tansy was murdered right next to her. And then the bird – oh! She had never seen a carrior close up before, she had not known how terrible, how alienly inhuman, they were.
Anyone would have stress, and she would be very understanding if it were anyone else. But she had the semblance of a household to run, her mother to protect. Nightmares and trauma were luxuries from when Ash was still here.
As she arrived at the kitchen table, she woodenly reached for the day’s dishes. In a flash before her vision, she saw the blue bowl scutter to the table’s edge and fall, breaking. It knocked her concentration off and, sure enough, there went the bowl, shattering into at least ten pieces.
Vanita gritted her teeth against a scream of frustration. This bloody eye! They had almost no crockery left because of it, and now look… Vanita had actually really liked that bowl. It had been the only blue one and, for her, seeing the orange of the pumpkin in the blue of the bowl had filled something else she was hungry for besides food, although she did not know how to put it into words. It wasn’t -
Ashes Slowly Fall Page 7