“Oh, poor big man, to be so badly treated by Luntigré” she commiserated. “Here, I will give you sweetbark as well, so you will not cry.” She handed a stick to Hemmett, leaning so close that she could kiss him – but didn’t. A moment later everyone had a stick and were much amused by Hemmett’s protest that they weren’t nearly so beautiful as he and didn’t deserve any presents.
“Are you married, Luntigré?” he asked, lowering his eyelids at her.
“The daughters of Chetigré do not marry!” she proclaimed, nibbling on a sweetbark stick of her own. “We are free women, proud and strong. We love where we like!”
“Do you like what you see?” Hemmett asked, his voice low and husky.
“Maybe I do.”
His devastating seduction was quashed as Borsen prodded him in the backside with his walking stick, making him squeak and jump into the air before wheeling around to take a swing at Borsen’s head. Borsen jumped away so fast that Hemmett missed by a mile and started laughing.
“We’re starving, Fathead,” Borsen taunted.
“The children are dragging me away from you, Luntigré,” Hemmett sighed.
She only laughed and turned to another customer.
A short walk brought them to a brilliant red and orange restaurant, the source of the scents that had teased their appetites as they walked along.
“Oh, let’s try it!” Katrin cried. She was immediately seconded by Varnia, who was mad for anything having to do with cooking. The three young men were already bustling them inside.
They found themselves in a room bursting with color – reds, oranges, greens, blues, yellows everywhere. Flower boxes were in every window, overflowing with purples and pinks. Brilliant swaths of cloth hung on the walls. It should have been a clashing mess. It wasn’t. It invited you to look, to sit, to eat and drink.
“And who is here to eat with me?” a woman’s voice said off to their right.
The five young people turned.
This is majesty, Katrin thought, trying to take in all that was Chetigré. She was large and strong, heroic in build. Not as dark as Luntigré, she had a proud bearing tempered with hospitality. She could rival Tharak Karak, Highest Chieftain of the Thrun for presence. She would also put Katrin’s mother, the perpetually drunken Queen of Mordania, to shame.
Her clothing was as colorful as her restaurant, covering the spectrum of yellow from butter to tawny. It complemented her dusky skin perfectly.
But of most interest to Katrin and Varnia, Chetigré’s hair was cut very short.
Both young women had been fascinated to find that most Samorsan women cut their hair. Though Surelia was even warmer near the coast and far more humid, making long hair most uncomfortable, Surelian women coped by wearing a variety of tied up and pinned styles with their hair high on the tops of their heads. In Samorsa the society was much more free, with women owning their own property and businesses, even holding important positions in government. Chin length hair was the norm, with some of the more daring ladies sporting closely cropped styles.
If Chetigré’s hair was any shorter, she would be bald. Katrin shivered a bit, imagining it, while Varnia reflected on how it would be very practical and comfortable in a hot kitchen.
“Madame, we were told by Luntigré that you are the best cook in Samorsa,” Hemmett said with a bow.
“Luntigré is a foolish child, because Chetigré is the best cook on Eirdon,” the big woman laughed. She curtseyed to them and they responded. Katrin saw the woman look at her closely as she rose, recognition kindling in her eyes.
Hemmett introduced them all by their aliases and Chetigré ushered them to a table with a view of the busy street.
“Now, I heard something about seven spices?” Hemmett said suggestively.
“That is my famous Seven Spice Soup,” Chetigré nodded. “It is made from chicken, cream and seven spices. I’ve had grown men cry in appreciation when they try it. Will you have it all around? Then you may decide on the rest of your meal.”
As their hostess went toward her kitchen, Katrin leaned close to Hemmett’s ear.
“She might know who I am,” she whispered.
He nodded. “I noticed. We’ll watch.”
The soup came and “The Knot” sniffed in appreciative anticipation. When Chetigré returned to the kitchen, Borsen swiftly exchanged portions with Katrin, his habit when they ate at a restaurant. He ate a spoonful.
“Eat!” he pronounced, immediately scooping another spoonful into his mouth, nodding to Hemmett.
As they did, cries of approbation went up.
“It’s marvelous!” Willem said, barely taking time to breathe between swallows.
“Oh Varnia, what do you think the spices are?” Katrin exclaimed.
Varnia paused.
“Comina for certain,” she appraised. “Possibly sweetbark? The rest – oh, don’t make me keep talking!” She went back to her soup while Katrin and Hemmett giggled and nudged each other as they ate.
“Now then, what do you think?” Chetigré invited as she came back to the table. “No-one is dead? You see, Chetigré would never poison anyone with her food. If I wish to kill someone, I would use a gun.”
“I have to take care,” Hemmett said simply.
“I know. I know who you are by your eyes, Your Highness. They are your father’s color, but your mother’s shape and kindness. I will not tell a soul. I keep many secrets.”
“You knew them?” Katrin asked in wonder.
“Indeed. Many years ago now and sometime I will speak to you about them, but for now, it is time to eat! Tell me how you like my Seven Spice Soup!”
“It’s superb,” Borsen said, speaking for the first time since he’d started eating. “I would like a second bowl.”
“There are many more dishes to come,” Chetigré warned him.
“I will do justice to them all, but I want another bowl of your magnificent soup,” Borsen answered, giving her his most brilliant smile.
“And you shall have one for that smile, pretty man.”
“Madame, what are the spices?” Varnia asked, wiping her mouth.
“Chetigré is my name,” the big woman smiled. “The spices are comina, sweetbark, orangeweed, bay, gentle herb, tymus and a bare touch of Samorsan hot pepper. Cooked with chicken in broth, cream, onions, garlic, salt and pepper.”
“But salt and pepper are nine spices!” Varnia protested.
“Pah!” Chetigré put her fists on her hips and tossed her head. “Salt and pepper – they are a given! You like cooking?”
“Yes, very much,” Varnia answered.
“I have a cooking school, where I teach those who wish to become great cooks,” Chetigré told them. “Perhaps you would like to come and learn some tricks?”
“Yes!” Katrin and Varnia spoke simultaneously, looking at each other in delight.
“I see myself gaining twenty pounds,” Hemmett laughed. “But I’m willing to take the risk to keep you young ladies safe.”
“We will feed him until he’s very fat,” Chetigré laughed. “And now, for the rest of your meal – give me your orders, please.”
***
Dear Valdema,
I hope this finds you and Mr. Ordstrom well. Everyone here is fine, except for Kaymar, who actually managed to raise a blister on his lip eating the hot peppers the Samorsans grow. He felt very sorry for himself for some days.
I wanted to let you know that I have a chance to go to a cooking school run by a famous cook known as Chetigré. I have had her food several times and I think it would be a great thing to be taught by her. I would be so glad to bring you some of her recipes and show you her cooking methods. Katrin will be going too.
I hope you think this is a good idea. Please let me know.
Your friend,
Varnia
Dear Varnia,
Silly girl, of course you must go to this school. I hope you didn’t think I would believe you were going to take over. You need to learn all th
e skills you can and I have heard of this Chetigré. She is famous all over the world. I would be proud to have her recipes coming out of the kitchen here.
Everyone here is well. Miss Glad has gone to Samorsa and been gone for some time. You will likely see her there. Ask to see her school. She thinks you might be interested in some of her classes.
Ordstrom had a bad spell with his back a while ago, but a warmed sack of bran on it worked it out. One of Tomar’s little ones had aching fever a month or so back but is right back to being a wild thing now.
Take care of yourself and keep your eyes open for every opportunity.
Love,
Valdema
Saronilla, Samorsa
21
We Remember
M
enders’ eyebrows went up eloquently. “Chetigré! I had no idea she was in Saronilla. The last time I ate at her restaurant, she was in Parita,” he said.
“Do you know her?” Katrin asked excitedly.
“Everyone in Special Services did. We traveled a lot, you know, little princess,” he smiled. “So you and Varnia want to go to the cooking school?”
“Can we?”
“I will need to take a look at it and you would have to be escorted.”
“Hemmett has volunteered and is looking forward to gaining some weight,” Katrin smiled.
“I’m sure we can manage,” Menders smiled. “So you want a break from universities?”
“I didn’t really think about that. The chance to do cooking with someone like Chetigré is something I don’t want to pass up. It would be a change and I could go to the classes with Varnia. Since she doesn’t want to go to university, it’s something we can do together. She really wants to go.”
“I have no objection.” Menders sat back in his chair on the balcony and looked out over the city of Saronilla. “This journey isn’t about acquiring a university education. You should try anything you feel interested in, Katrin, particularly here. You can study anywhere, but there are things to see and do in other countries that are unique.”
Katrin smiled and poured herself another glass of lemonade. She was glad for a break from art study. She loved it, but things were becoming repetitive. She could draw and paint on her own.
“Menders, Chetigré recognized me,” she said abruptly, the issue that had hung in front of her all day coming to the fore.
“Yes, Hemmett and Willem told me,” he answered calmly.
“She says she knew who I was because my eyes look like my mother’s. She knew my mother – and my father.” She watched him closely.
Katrin knew Menders despised her mother. He considered the Queen to have abandoned her younger daughter. There was never a letter or birthday gift from her. Katrin had only seen her once, when she was commanded to Court at the age of eleven.
She had been presented to a heavy woman wearing the armored, jewel encrusted red dress that was the official garment of Mordanian queens, along with false, pointed teeth and a hideous red wig. The Queen questioned Katrin closely about her studies, said she resembled her father and then dismissed her from the Throne Room.
For this reason, Katrin felt no affection toward her mother. When she was younger, she often felt resentful, but once she saw the spiritless, weary woman, the resentment fled. Sometimes she felt sorry they didn’t know one another, but life was full and busy and she had plenty of family around her.
Menders was silent. He was often very deliberate before speaking.
“It would stand to reason,” he finally replied. “Your mother did tour the Middle Continent when she was a young woman, before Morghenna the Terrible became ill and she had to return to Court. It is entirely possible they went to Chetigré’s during that tour. I’m quite sure your father was with her. He had been assigned to the Palace at the time she embarked and would have been in her entourage.”
“May I speak with Chetigré about them?” Katrin asked tentatively.
Menders blinked and looked directly at her.
“Of course,” he replied gently. “I have nothing against you knowing about your parents. I don’t care for your mother because she has remained distant from you. But I don’t know her. I’ve met her twice – the night you were born and the time she ordered you to Court. I only spoke to her the second time and that was only to answer her questions.
“You should talk to Kaymar,” he continued. “He knows her well. He’s one of her protected Courtiers. She arranged his release from Special Services. He seems to like her quite a bit, though he regrets her inability to stop drinking. He’d be glad to tell you about her.”
“I will,” Katrin smiled.
***
“I care a great deal about your mother,” Kaymar said bluntly. “She isn’t evil, Katrin. She’s suffered a great deal at the hands of others and it damaged her terribly, but she is not a bad person. Unfortunately, she was weakened by the abuse. She drinks far too much and I don’t think anything could change that at this point.”
“Was it Madame Holz who abused her?” Katrin asked, finally voicing a question that had haunted her for years. She knew about the short tenure of Madame Holz at The Shadows, where she had been sent to begin the toughening regimen on Katrin when she was only six months old.
Kaymar nodded. “Holz and other nurses, governesses. You can’t begin to imagine what toughening does to most people, Katrin. It isn’t just the physical punishment – it’s the squelching of everything. It degrades the person’s spirit to the point where they have no self will.
“Your mother has tried, but a corrupt Council got into power and took control of things after your grandmother, Morghenna the Terrible, had a stroke. She had no ability to speak or rule – but she was a living Queen. By the time she finally died and your mother was crowned, the Council was entrenched. She would have had to give orders to have them removed by any means possible, which would have meant a killing spree, essentially.
“She couldn’t make the decision to do that. By then she had been drinking heavily for some years. She retreats somewhere within herself. Nothing can hurt her there. Nothing reaches her.”
Katrin settled against the back of the park bench and thought about that.
She had never thought of her mother as a victim. When she had thought of her, it was to wonder why she made no contact. Kaymar’s words were making her think of other possibilities.
“What does she think of Aidelia?” Katrin asked, feeling an inward shudder at the memory of her older sister. Aidelia was mad, refusing to bathe or allow her hair to be washed. Katrin had encountered Aidelia when she was at the Palace. Aidelia tried to scratch Katrin with her jagged, black to the quick fingernails, hissing that she would kill her.
“She’s despairing about her at this point. She’s tried for years to find some doctor or medicine that would help Aidelia. Once in a great while, Aidelia begins to make some sense and doesn’t seem so hopelessly mad – but it never lasts.”
Katrin shuddered inwardly. She could feel sorry that her sister was mad but the memory of her clawing and threatening ran deep.
“Does my mother ever ask about me?” she asked, her voice very soft.
“Yes.”
They were silent for some time. Kaymar finally took out one of his cigars and lit it.
“Why do you think she doesn’t see me?” She’d finally voiced the question that had plagued her all of her life.
Kaymar didn’t answer at first. He took several puffs on the cigar and then turned to look at her. His blue eyes, so like her own, were very stern and kind.
“Perhaps it’s because she wants to protect you from all the things that make her like she is,” he answered.
***
It was break time at Chetigré’s cooking school. Hemmett was, as usual, the center of attention as various of the students plied him with their products of the morning session. He’d taken to running long distances and exercising like a demon, as the threatened weight gain had started to become a reality.
Ch
etigré was an excellent but strict instructor. She didn’t allow a lot of chatter or clowning in her classes, but breaks were completely unrestricted. Students could eat as much as they wanted, talk uninhibitedly, flirt and socialize.
Katrin, Varnia and Eiren were glad to sit down and observe Hemmett’s antics from a distance. The morning session had been absorbing but demanding. Some time off their feet would be most welcome. Eiren gave her right arm a rub – a well-beaten meringue had been part of the morning’s work.
“I should learn to beat egg whites with my left arm as well – it would give the right one a rest,” she smiled.
“I wish Cook could be here,” Katrin said, rising and going behind Eiren, gently massaging her arm with a technique Doctor Franz had taught her when she went with him on calls.
“She might lecture Chetigré a bit,” Varnia responded, a twinkle in her eyes.
“Chetigré would never permit that,” Eiren laughed.
“Indeed she would not!” Chetigré declared, approaching them. “I would have to quell her as I did that wicked Kaymar.”
All three of them laughed quietly. Kaymar had, unexpectedly, decided to join the cooking class. He’d immediately taken Chetigré’s measure and knew that she was very fond of men. He’d taken complete advantage of that. He’d clowned, teased, put his fingers in bowls and licked them, laughed when he was scolded and was finally driven from the room with an enormous whisk the size of Cook’s Particular Spoon. Now, when he guarded Katrin on Hemmett’s days off, Chetigré threatened to tie him to his chair to keep him away from the cooking tables. When he told her he wouldn’t be able to protect everyone if bound, she informed him that she could do very well protecting everyone herself.
Katrin didn’t doubt it. Chetigré was taller than Katrin, who was closer to six feet tall than she was to five. Chetigré also wielded a wicked knife after decades of cooking.
“Miss Emila, I’d like you to take a cup of tea with me,” Chetigré invited, gesturing toward her parlor, adjacent to the large classroom. “If your mama and friend don’t mind me taking you away from them.”
Love and Sacrifice: Book Two of the Prophecy Series Page 21