Everyone except Aviva, of course, whose kitchen was already the most bread-free place in the land.
Even so, Aviva still had plenty of work to do. Her market bags were still on her table, brimming over with a bounty ranging from turmeric root to salty, chewy cheese to fresh peas. Everything needed to be sorted and put away so that she would have plenty of time tomorrow to get ready for the royal seder. The Head Cook, with her army of helpers in the palace’s main kitchen, would oversee most of the food, but everything that touched the queen’s lips had to come from Aviva’s kitchen.
Including me, thought Aviva with a grin. Queen Shulamit was an eager connoisseur of her kisses and her cooking alike.
Thunder rumbled outside, and Aviva felt safe and secure inside the kitchen-house. It wasn’t a big deal if she got stuck here for a little bit while she started to prep for tomorrow night. It was already nighttime -- in fact, Shulamit was knocked out in bed early, sleeping off a heavy day of hearing cases in court -- so the sky outside the window could give no indication of how bad the storm would be.
Even so, there was something strange about the visible night. Aviva, holding the turmeric root in one hand, paused in her work to glance out the window. The air outside looked strangely still, if indeed a storm was coming on.
Aviva brushed stray wisps of black hair out of her face and returned to her work. As she emptied the first bag of its contents, she spotted something unexpected way down at the bottom. She brought the tiny sack over to the lamp to read the note attached to the small cloth pouch. “For Aviva -- thank you for your business and Chag Sameach. A little something in case you run short in your baking.” The pouch was made of the same cloth as everything else that came from the spice man, so she inferred he must have slipped it into her bag between the star anise and coriander seeds.
Wondering eagerly what kind of spice was in the unexpected gift, Aviva opened the pouch and sniffed.
Flour!
She froze, momentarily stunned. It wasn’t a spice at all. It was extra flour for matzo. The folks in the marketplace didn’t entirely understand why she was so careful when she bought the raw materials for the queen’s food, and even the ones who did usually dismissed Shulamit’s problems as the pickiness of royalty. They, of course, hadn’t been the one standing there holding her braids out of the way while she threw up, or holding her gently as she tried to sleep off stomach cramps.
Aviva forgave easily. Even in error, the flour was a kind gesture. And since it was still in the bag, it was easy to seal it back up again. No harm done. She’d just take it to the main kitchen and see if the head cook needed it for anything.
Resting the pouch of flour against a calabash, she finished emptying the bags of star anise, coriander, and peppercorns into their respective jars to join their companions. Then, feeling rushed by the sound of another boom of thunder, she rose, took the bag of flour in hand, and opened the door to the kitchen-house.
And yelped.
Gone were the palm trees and vegetable garden that wrapped all the way around the house; gone was the balmy night sky. Instead, she’d opened the door into a vast, gray wasteland lit by sickly white lights. The ground looked like stone -- no, like hard, compacted sand. The sky -- no, that wasn’t a sky, that was a ceiling -- and walls were made of dull silver metal.
She was inside of something. Her entire kitchen-house had been plucked out of the palace courtyard and transported inside... what?
Maybe that’s why she’d heard thunder without seeing any wind. Maybe it wasn’t thunder at all.
Aviva didn’t see anyone in the big gray chamber, but she wasn’t taking any chances. Placing the sack of flour carefully on the table next to the calabash again, she retrieved one of her sharpest knives from her knife block.
She was just in time. A door opened at the far end of the gray chamber, and two beings stepped through it and moved toward her.
They were tall and thin and looked like no people she’d ever seen. Gigantic eyes shone like glass bowls full of black water from the crown of oblong heads, and while they walked on two legs, they had four arms instead of two. Their skin looked slick and shiny, if it was even skin, and reminded her of tiger’s-eye the way it shone back and forth between brown and black.
They wore belts with strange objects hanging from them, and small white spheres were strapped to their throats with bits of cord. One of the strangers was also sporting a cylinder of brilliant blue on its head and carried itself with the pride of a leader.
“Zzzzggghhhtt plbbbbbttt mmmmoooooop,” said the one wearing the hat.
“Turn on your language box, Commander,” said the other one deferentially.
The commander fiddled with the box on its necklace and then spoke again. “Is it working now?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. You there!” This time he was calling to Aviva. “Can you understand me?”
“I can,” she called loudly, her left hand on her hip and her right firmly clasping her knife. “If you can understand me, send me home right away.”
“We have come a long way,” said the commander. “Our world is five thousand kadrooms from yours.”
“I don’t know what that means,” said Aviva.
“Our sun is nothing but one of the stars in the sky to you,” explained the subordinate. “As yours is to us.”
“If you’re foreigners, then maybe you’re unfamiliar with our customs,” said Aviva. “We don’t steal strangers out of their homes, and we don’t steal their homes, either!”
“Our spaceship has been traveling for seven bayzoms,” said the commander grandiosely, “and our food replicators are worthless!”
“I don’t know what a bayzom is, either,” said Aviva. “Are you sure those boxes are working?”
“It means we’re sick of eating flavorless protein coagulants!” shouted the commander. His shiny eyes became even shinier, apparently in reaction to his heightened agitation.
“If you dock your spaceship in our city, there are plenty of places to get food in exchange for money or work,” said Aviva, “but you can’t just barge in and take a whole person!”
“Who will stop us?”
Aviva sputtered and gestured at her knife. “I will! Besides, I’m the last person you want to mess with. I’m the queen’s personal chef, and she’s best friends with a warrior hero and a dragon. Do you know what a dragon is?”
“No,” said the commander, “but unless it can travel through space, I don’t see how it concerns us. You’re in orbit, Chef.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re up in the air. You’re yidrees above your planet,” said the subordinate.
“Unless this dragon of yours can travel through your planet’s atmosphere and the vacuum of space, you’re all alone up here with us,” said the commander.
Aviva’s eyes widened as she looked from one to the other. Her hand tightened on her knife. “Please let me go back to my family.”
“Cook us dinner first.”
She looked at the commander suspiciously. “That’s all?” Aviva knew more of humanity’s evils than she cared to think about. Then again, these weren’t exactly humanity. She realized what animal they reminded her of -- locusts. They looked like giant locusts.
Wearing belts.
“What could be more important than a good meal?” The commander threw up his top set of hands in a gesture that looked like a shrug while the bottom set of hands reached for her. “Do you have anything you need? We tried to take your entire kitchen.”
“You did,” Aviva answered with a sigh, looking around her stores. Well, she supposed she could make a quick stir-fry... “Will I have access to water if I run out?”
“What is water?”
“Dihydrogen monoxide, Commander,” answered the subordinate.
“Ah, yes, yes. Wonderful stuff. We worship it, you know.”
Aviva was only half listening. The sooner she could get a meal together, the sooner she’d be safe at home and
reunited with her family. It was interesting to think about what that meant to her -- to be home. After all, they’d taken her kitchen-house with her, so technically, she was still “home.” But that wasn’t true at all, because to her, home was where Queen Shulamit was, where she could listen admiringly as the queen ran her mouth a mile a minute about trade disputes or legal points or advances in peach cultivation, where she could be there to take a soft hand in hers and massage out the stress of the day by working at each finger one at a time. Home was Shulamit’s awkward smile as she saw what new inventions Aviva had cooked up for her that day, and home was watching her grow into her father’s throne with new capabilities every day.
Cook your heart out, Chef, Aviva told herself, and get home.
She found something to measure with and began to pour out rice. “Neither of you two gets sick from any foods, do you?”
The subordinate locust-man came to the door of the kitchen-house. “What?”
“Some people get ill if they eat the wrong foods,” said Aviva. She dumped the rice into a pot, then began to measure water from the basin she’d filled earlier in the day.
“Sometimes the commander eats too many bep-beps and has to lie down and drink liquid infused with gas,” said the subordinate in a conversational tone.
“What is -- never mind.” Aviva shook her head. “But that’s from eating too many, right? Not from a small amount?”
“Yes, from too many.”
“That’s not the same thing. We’ll be fine.” Her fingers worked at cloves of garlic, freeing them of their delicate skins. The action was familiar enough to soothe her, at least a little. She’d been shucking garlic her whole life, or peeling carrots, or shelling peas, so at least she still felt like herself. She thought of Shulamit again, sleeping in her royal bedchamber with her braids undone and her thick, black hair spilling across the embroidered pillowcases. Aviva’s fingers worked faster. Hopefully, she’d be able to get home before Shulamit woke up and found her missing. She’d left once before, on purpose, and she hoped Shulamit trusted her enough now to send Captain Rivka after her instead of thinking she’d run off again.
“You’re good at that!” said the subordinate.
“Thanks,” said Aviva, dicing onions with dazzling alacrity.
“You’ve been doing it your whole life?”
Aviva nodded.
“I can tell. You are, then, worker class?”
Aviva simply grunted. That was a complicated question; yes, she was working class, and proud of it, but she was also the queen’s romantic companion, so her life was privileged in certain obvious ways. She also didn’t see why she should have to make trivial conversation with her kidnappers -- especially when there was work to be done.
“I am not worker class. I am merchant class,” said the subordinate proudly.
“Are you?” said Aviva in her best bored voice. She retrieved a skinny purple eggplant from one of her baskets and began slicing it into discs.
“I am merchant class and I am not married.”
“Hm,” said Aviva. Suddenly, the eggplant was fascinating. She simply could not take her eyes from it.
“Are you married?”
The question shouldn’t have caught Aviva off guard the way that it did. No, she was not married, but she was married to Shulamit in her heart. What was that called? Everybody in the palace understood it; those outside the palace either understood also or chose to ignore it. Women who took each other as partners were often invisible in their society; she hoped that someday she and Shulamit would be a reason for that custom to give way to a new one in which all consensual adult relationships could be celebrated and recognized.
Her hesitation gave her away. “Are you looking for a husband, then?” The subordinate took a tiny but threatening step closer.
Aviva lifted her knife under the pretext of chopping more vegetables, but she aimed a steely gaze right at him. “No, I’m not.”
“You are mated, then? What does he do? Is he also worker class?”
Aviva, still holding her knife, put both hands on her hips and gave him a withering look. “No, she’s the queen of the whole country. Is that enough class for you?”
“A woman? Do you not like men?”
“There are some men that I like -- I just like her best.” Aviva knew it was probably smarter to pretend she didn’t like any men, but she also wasn’t the type to hide behind potted plants. Nobody should have to.
“But if you like men, then you are still in need of a husband. I would like to volunteer--”
“To help me shell peas? Sounds great! Here you go.” Aviva practically threw the pouch of fresh peas at his head, then turned her back to him completely. She had a good-sized rear, and she hoped he was getting the idea from having it replace her face as his conversational companion.
To keep him from talking any more, she started to sing. Since tomorrow was the first night of Passover -- if she could get home for it -- she started with ‘One Baby Goat.’ It helped keep her sane and created the illusion of a shell of autonomy around her body while she worked.
Soon, the joyous odor of star anise, coriander, and cinnamon filled the air. With a flourish, Aviva sprinkled a handful of sesame seeds over her pan, stepped back, and declared it finished. “Food’s ready!”
The commander and his subordinate waited patiently at a table at the edge of the gray chamber with both sets of hands resting in their laps, the top set covering the bottom ones, as she dished out the food. Each of them got a big plate of white rice topped with fresh and colorful stir-fried vegetables. The eggplant was tender; the peas were bright green and cheerful; the fresh cilantro on the side of the plate evoked memories of the garden she usually had right outside her doorstep.
Aviva stood in the corner and watched them while they ate. They seemed happy enough, which made her relax some of the muscles she hadn’t even realized she was tensing. Her thoughts wandered to the seder happening in the palace the following night. Aviva’s parents had moved into the palace -- one of those perks of being the queen’s “favorite” -- and she was looking forward to impressing them with her professional handiwork. She was also looking forward to hearing Shulamit lead a royal seder for the first time. She’d only been queen since last fall; King Noach was still alive last Passover.
Aviva had a sobering thought: Shulamit would probably need extra comforting tomorrow night, as memories of past seders made her miss her father worse than usual. Aviva longed to be with her, to cover her in generous hugs.
“This is wonderful, Earth woman!”
“Thank you, Commander,” said Aviva, approaching the table. She was still holding her knife. After the kind of experiences she’d had in her life, she wasn’t about to put it down. Especially after the way the subordinate locust-man had talked to her.
“Beeeeeeeeeezit blarrrgh boom.” The Commander had turned to face the other one, and Aviva realized he had turned off his language box. Immediately suspicious, she gripped the knife harder and felt adrenaline marinate through her body.
The subordinate smiled, and his big, glassy eyes rotated slightly in his head.
With a touch to his throat to reactivate his language box, the commander turned back to Aviva. “Very good food. You will stay with us and continue to cook us good food.”
“No,” said Aviva assertively, “I’m going back to the palace with my family.”
“How are you going to get there?” queried the commander.
“You’ll take me back. You have to take me back,” Aviva insisted. “I cooked for you, just as you asked!”
The commander shrugged. “That was an audition.”
“No, it was not.” Aviva hurried behind him and put her knife to his throat. “Take. Me. Home. Aaaa!” she yelped, for the subordinate had aimed one of the weird things on his belt at her knife. It zapped into nonexistence. “My knife! You pile of toads -- I’m a chef! You took my knife! Never mess with a chef’s knives.”
The subordinate responded b
y zapping her with the weird thing instead. Her arm stung as if she’d been whipped. Breathing heavily, she looked back and forth from one locust man to the other, fear and caution mixing with her growing hatred.
“As you can see, we really aren’t scared of you,” said the commander dispassionately. He was still finishing his food.
“What if I refuse to cook?” Aviva shot back.
“Ensign, turn on the view screen.” The commander finished his order with a loud burp, which Aviva could smell. She wrinkled her nose and fantasized about Captain Rivka punching his stupid face in.
The subordinate -- the ensign -- stood up and hit a button on the wall. A panel slid away, revealing a black surface that reminded her of dull matte satin. She figured that’s what they meant by ‘view screen.’ He hit another button, and an image of the slumbering queen appeared before them. Aviva gasped at the unexpected technology. “Where is she?” She also felt an illogical burst of protectiveness about Shulamit’s hair, of all things -- seeing her with her braids down was not something reserved for just anybody!
“She’s asleep in her bed, down on the planet,” said the commander. “But we can easily zap her, just as we did your knife.”
Aviva stood completely still, unable to breathe. All of her bluster had been knocked out of her. If they’d vanished her knife so easily, could they really do that to a person? Maybe they were bluffing -- but then, her arm still smarted from where Ensign Jerkface had gotten her a few moments ago. Even if that’s all they could do to Shulamit, she couldn’t do anything that would make it happen.
And what if they really could kill her?
For a moment, Aviva imagined herself leaving with them, selflessly putting away her own needs yet again, as she had all through her childhood during her mother’s illness, and as she had as an adult last year when she’d left Shulamit the first time to save her mother’s health. She imagined a loveless existence, up in this floating stone prison, cooking for people she hated, with God for her only companion. She imagined cherishing her loved ones, forever taken from them, knowing they’d never imagine why she’d disappeared. She imagined Shulamit trying to lead the royal seder for the first time tomorrow night with tears flowing down her cheeks, choking her until she couldn’t get the words out.
Tales from Perach (Mangoverse Book 5) Page 10