There was one other thing Aliya loved about the stories of the saints’ lives—they were written on weighty parchment scrolls. She could easily use the reverse side to practice writing. She knew that it would be a while before she was ready to go out into the world, and she wanted to copy down what she already knew about medicine before she began forgetting things.
She didn’t want to start writing yet—there was a lot of other more pressing work to do—but she made note of where the scrolls were. She would rather have a good text on pharmacology than the life of Saint Ridalina. Her new world had saintly fools on every corner, but it would be a long while before they discovered anticholinergics.
She would write out all the muscles and nerves and make a detailed drawing of the human skeleton. Anatomy alone will take up so much paper. Aliya sighed. We know so much, and yet so little.
She also knew—and could probably copy out from memory—all of the classic novels, from Gogol to Dostoyevsky, but there was no paper for her to do it on. She would have given anything for a piece of paper—even toilet paper or maybe some leaves. Aliya was grateful for her profession as never before. All those lawyers, economists, and sales managers do well for themselves in our world, but how would they like it here, where half the people can’t even read? More than half! I bet ninety percent of them sign their name with an X. Fights are decided by who has the heavier fist or the sharper knife. They probably think that double-entry bookkeeping means that your estate Comptroller is a thief.
Now that she thought about it, her estate Comptroller probably was a thief.
Aliya continued studying the castle at night. She stayed inside for practical reasons. I don’t want to run into a guard dog in the yard. She needed to lose some weight, but getting bitten by the castle guard dog was not how she planned to do it.
In her nocturnal walks through the castle, she decided that all the servants were on the take. Everything was too old and run-down. True, there was little reason for Lily to use large sections of the castle—she never had guests, so she only used six of the many rooms—but according to Martha’s stories…
I’ll deal with the crooked servants later.
***
Food was another problem. Aliya wasn’t just hungry, she wanted to eat everything in sight. Her new body had lost weight during its illness and demanded food. During her illness, she had been given chicken broth, red wine and something like toast, which wasn’t bad at all. Once she got out of bed, however, the food seemed to Aliya like something Ivan the Terrible might have had on his table: roasted hare’s kidneys, head of pike with garlic and other modest dishes. On her first day out of bed, her breakfast was brought in on a tray. She counted at least ten eggs that had been hardboiled, chopped and mixed with what looked like wine. There were two types of porridge: oatmeal with mushrooms and wheat porridge with berries. Off to the side, lay a piece of ham that looked like it weighed at least a pound, and a piece of cheese the same size. There was a large loaf of wheat bread, accompanied by at least a half-pound each of butter, honey and jam, all in dishes the size of large plates. She was expected to wash all of this down with beer, wine or cider.
Her stomach grumbled happily. Aliya grumbled not so happily. “What is all of this?”
“Your breakfast, My Lady.”
There’s no way I can eat all of this! Or can I? In her previous life, Aliya would have needed a week to plow through the food on the table, and she would have shared with friends. She wrinkled her nose at the eggs in wine, but her stomach was raring and ready to go.
She felt nauseous just looking at the unsalted sheep’s milk cheese, but her hand reached out with a spoon to scoop out a chunk of it.
The drinks on the table made her teeth clench shut, but her fingers held onto the pitcher of wine. What if I’m an alcoholic in this life? That’s the last thing I need.
Aliya pushed away everything but the two dishes of porridge. “Martha, I only want porridge for breakfast from now on. Nothing else.”
“But Lily, you’ll starve like that.”
“It’s not up for discussion.”
It was obvious Martha heard the steel in Aliya’s voice. She nodded in assent.
Aliya did the same at lunch. Of the twelve dishes offered to her, she kept just two. Soup and a meat of some kind. Nothing heavy and nothing fried. She was just as strict at dinner. She instructed the cook to serve her only vegetables—any kind of vegetable—but no meat, cheese or bread. Wine was off the table, but they could leave the cider
I’ll teach you to make fruit juice and wash the pots before you use them, but until then, I’ll stick to cider. The alcohol kills bacteria, so there’s less chance of dying of dysentery. Based on what she knew of healers in her new world, Aliya suspected that there was no treatment for something like dysentery.
***
She was fed up with her forced isolation but prevented by irrational fear from going outside. She argued with herself and called herself a coward, but nothing helped. She was afraid that as soon as she left the castle grounds, she’d be recognized for what she was: a woman from another world. The people would cry, “Seize the witch!” or something just as bad. So, she put off going outside. I can study this world perfectly well using books. Then reality crash-landed on her.
Martha scratched timidly at the door, slipped into the room and announced, “Lily, dear, Doctor Craybey is here to see you.”
“So what?” Aliya had told her Nanny never to let him near her again, and she had no intention of getting out of bed, but she decided she couldn’t send him away
“He can’t examine you like that! You need to get dressed.”
Aliya stayed right where she was. She was comfortable in bed, and she also had a book hidden under her blanket. She couldn’t get up without exposing her source of knowledge.
“Nanny, when I was sick, did I get dressed for doctor visits?”
“No, my dear.”
“So let him in. He’s already seen it all.”
Unable to argue, Martha went out. Aliya quickly hid the book under her bed. Judging by the quantity of dust, it had been twenty years since anyone even looked under the bed, and it would be another twenty before they peeked under there again. It seemed like a safe hiding place.
She was nervous about talking to the doctor. He couldn’t know much about real medicine, but he wouldn’t be a complete fool, either. This would be harder than talking to Martha, who was so happy to have her favorite little girl back that she ignored the strange things she said and did.
Aliya pulled the piglet-pink blanket up to her chin. The door flew open. Jerk. Didn’t even knock.
Medicus Craybey presented himself to Aliya-Lilian in an outfit of tight brown pants, a carrot-colored tunic, and a short brown cape. His high boots were made of pale blue leather and were filthy, and he had a large bag strung over one shoulder. Aliya concluded that this was the typical male garb for that world. She glanced at the doctor’s long hair. It was pulled back in a ponytail, tied with an orange ribbon and sprinkled liberally with something that looked like powder. Some of the powder had fallen on the man’s shoulders. So much for local fashion.
“Good day, Countess,” he greeted her.
“Good day,” Aliya nodded.
She did not extend her hand to be kissed; he could stay right where he was. She wondered if he would climb up on her bed in those dirty boots to do the exam.
“How do you feel?”
“Fine.” Aliya wanted to send him packing, but she exercised self-control.
“Do you have any pain? Bleeding? Sharp or burning sensations? Has the fever returned?”
“No, it hasn’t.”
Aliya tried to stay calm and keep her replies brief. This was her first test. If the doctor noticed anything strange about her…
But Craybey (Is that his first name or his last name?) gave a broad grin. “I’m very pleased. I knew your body could defeat the illness. I simply followed my teacher’s instructions by letting out the bad b
lood and giving you cleansing treatments. You’ll be fine. I always knew that my teacher was a source of wisdom.”
Aliya’s eyes were opened. Under all the power and show of importance, she saw a kid who was just twenty or twenty-five years old—a loser like many of the guys she went to school with.
“Do you mean your teacher told you to treat miscarriage by letting a woman’s blood and then giving her emetics and enemas?” She spoke quietly to keep from screaming. Her self-control had abandoned her. It was the satisfied smile on the kid’s face that did her in.
“But you’re alive! I did everything correctly. If…”
Poof!
A pillow hit him in the face and landed on the floor. Another pillow followed, but it hit the foot of the bed and exploded, covering the doctor in a cloud of feathers.
“If you come back here, I’ll have them set the dogs on you! Get out, fool!” Aliya had forgotten all about being cautious and keeping a low profile. To hell with it all! I’ll bury this idiot!
By the time Martha came running in, Aliya had regained her calm demeanor.
“Take that away,” she said, pointing at the feather-covered doctor. “Don’t let him in here again.”
Martha didn’t bother arguing. She simply dragged the doctor out of the room. Ten minutes later, two snickering servant girls came in to clean up the feathers.
Aliya gave them a cannibalistic smile. Still riding high on her bad mood, she issued more orders: wash the windows, take down the curtains and the bed canopy and wash them, dust the shelves and under the bed.
The girls followed her orders to the letter. For a while, she sat back and watched them. She decided that the time had come to get up and go outside. Her nanny didn’t see anything too outrageous in her behavior, and the servant girls obeyed her.
But since her heart was still racing from the doctor’s visit and it looked to be about five in the evening, judging by the sun, and she believed mornings were the best time to start important projects (except for Monday morning), Aliya decided to start her new life the next day.
For the moment, she would put the book back and think about where to begin.
***
Anna Wellster went to the mirror. She fixed her hair and checked the folds of her dress where it stretched across her chest.
“Wait a moment, my dear.” Her elderly lady’s maid pinned up a lock of hair and pushed her toward the door. “Your father won’t want to wait.”
Anna shivered, but she wasted no time. She feared and hated her father, and for a good reason. He was Gardwig the Twelfth, his Majesty the King of Wellster. Gardwig had ruled for over a decade and was known for his hot temper, cruelty and shrewd opportunism. He’d been married seven times and had no intention of stopping there. The Holy Throne disapproved of divorce, but they had to bend the rules for Gardwig. If a priest had ever dared to inform him that divorce went against God’s law, Gardwig would have answered, “As king, I am no less than a god. I have my own laws.” Any priest who tried to excommunicate him would have found himself facing a death sentence.
Gardwig won all the fights he started and most of the ones he didn’t. Other countries criticized him freely, but at home in Wellster, they tried not to annoy him. As a rule, people didn’t want to die just so they could present a list of their complaints to Aldonai.
In the end, Gardwig married, divorced and executed his wives whenever he saw fit. He paid his soldiers on time so they would remain loyal, and the simple folk were proud of his powerful image without caring much what he did. They were too busy planting and harvesting their crops.
Anna’s mother was his second wife. She had been executed. He divorced his first wife because she was too old, but he executed his second wife for cheating on him. Despite that, he recognized Anna as his lawful daughter and sent her into the country to be educated. He divorced his third wife for giving birth to too many girls. Anna had four sisters who were raised alongside her. None of them could stand the others.
Gardwig’s fourth wife died in childbirth along with the child. It was a girl, so Gardwig didn’t feel too bad. His fifth wife was caught cheating and put to death before he could get her pregnant. The sixth tried for two years to give the king an heir. In the end, she threw herself at the king’s feet and begged for a divorce. If she couldn’t give him a son, she felt it would be a sin to deprive him of the love he deserved and the kingdom of its heir. Gardwig met her halfway, and they put the petition to the Holy Throne in her name just to keep things interesting. The religious leaders grumbled a bit, but they felt sorry for the poor woman and finally approved the divorce.
Gardwig’s seventh wife proved once and for all that seven is a lucky number. Mila of Shelt, the quiet, gray-eyed daughter of a baron, with a long, thick braid of dark hair, loved her tyrant husband sincerely. She surrounded the aging Gardwig with loving care, making sure that he ate well and giving him two sons. To top it off, she was pregnant again. Gardwig seemed to enjoy his last marriage with no thought of divorce or execution.
Anna was sure of one thing—if her father learned of her dalliance with her teacher, he would have her put to death, and even Mila wouldn’t be able to dissuade him.
***
Anna knocked at the door and waited before going in. His Majesty was sitting by the fireplace with a glass of wine and a plate of food. His faithful jester was on the rug in front of him. Anna had never seen her father without his jester, a small man with extremely intelligent eyes and a wrinkled face.
“Your Majesty,” Anna curtsied.
“Come on in. No need to sweep the floor.” He nodded at a bench by his feet. She sat down on it—bringing her down to the jester’s level—and kept her eyes on the floor.
“Look me in the face.” Her father’s hard fingers pushed her chin up. Anna fought the desire to close her eyes. ”She’s not bad at all, is she Harvey?”
“She has nice breasts.”
“Men like breasts.”
“You can’t keep a man with nothing but that.”
“Who knows? Richard is just a boy. He may fall for it.”
Richard? Who is Richard? Thoughts fluttered like frightened birds in Anna’s head. Gardwig must have noticed, for he explained, “Richard of Ativerna. He’s coming here with his ambassador. His father wants to marry him off, and you’re the right age. You’re not bad. You look like your mother; she was dark like you.”
Gardwig had a thick mane of golden hair and gray eyes, but Anna had dark hair and eyes like her mother, whom she had only seen in portraits.
“As long as she’s not a fool. Have you gotten mixed up with anyone?” The jester’s voice was calm, but he glared at her.
Anna flushed. She knew that this man could have her killed, but she was angry. Almost without thinking, she burst out, “Who needs me without a penny of a dowry? I have to alter my own dresses!”
“Idiot!” Gardwig spat out, his eyes flashing. “Do you think that coins and rags make up your dowry?”
Anna recoiled. She slipped from the bench and fell on the floor, but Gardwig continued to thunder away at her. “You are a princess! You may even be queen someday! Your dowry isn’t dresses. Its connections, land, and treaties! If Richard takes a liking to you, you’ll be the one handing out dresses and jewelry to others. Ativerna is wealthy, and I need Edward as an ally. Richard will be my ally after him. If you marry him, I won’t forget you. You can have the province of Bali as your dowry.”
Anna smoothed her skirt and sat back down under the jester’s mocking eyes. In a calmer voice, she asked, “Your Majesty, am I supposed to charm him?”
“Yes. After he comes here, he’s going to Ivernea. You’re the first one he’s going to see, and your job is to be the only one he thinks of.”
Anna nodded. She saw visions of balls, diamonds, and knights in armor, and above all, she saw herself with an elegant crown on her head—the crown of a princess, the future queen.
Oh, hell! Why did I get mixed up with Lons?
Gardwig
looked at her for a minute and then nodded. “Go calm down. Speak to Mila tomorrow. She’ll fit you with dresses that will make you shine. I’ll tell her. You may go.”
Anna managed to curtsey again and left the room.
Once she had gone, the king’s jester shook his head and said, “I don’t know about this. She’s selfish and stupid.”
“Just like her mother.”
“Do we have anyone else we can use?”
“No. The next oldest is just twelve. This one is sixteen. Edward wants his son married in the next year or two.”
“True. And there’s Lidia in Ivernea.”
“She’s plain as can be. Eighteen years old and thinks about nothing but books—an old maid.”
“Mila was over twenty, wasn’t she?”
“She was a widow; I got lucky with her.”
The jester nodded. He didn’t have the least respect for Gardwig’s wife, but he valued her. He saw how she loved the king and did her best to care for him. She was like a little hen on her nest, but she was just what the aging king needed. She wasn’t vengeful or sly. All she wanted was a home and children, and she gave birth to boys, which was a good thing. Gardwig would have lost his mind without the boys.
“Fine. If you think he’ll go for that snotty little girl, then I’ll have a talk with her. Will you permit it?”
“When have I ever told you not to do something?”
Few people knew that the jester and the king had been raised by the same nurse. They were childhood friends who considered themselves brothers. The violent, capricious Gardwig loved no one in the world like he loved his brother, and his brother worked hard to deserve that trust. Why is he a jester? Why not? He needed a day job when he wasn’t busy stirring up intrigue.
***
Anna danced back to her room.
A princess! She would finally be treated like a real princess! And if she played her cards right, she would be queen someday.
First lessons (Medieval Tale Book 1) Page 5