Grinning, he watched Blueyes slip away through the side-door, before making his own way towards the kitchens. They had passed through the kitchens earlier, and the sight of it had caught him. He’d never seen so much food before, and such variety, not even at the fall festivals on Market Street! He had to see it again.
Truedream tugged down his shirt and checked his cuffs, before running his hand over his hair, quite liking the ribbon but missing his usual eats. The kid at school who’d done them for him had been a real talent, tying them into his real ears, and without them, sounds seemed muted and distant. Added to that, he kept trying to twitch them, the muscles in his scalp itching.
He'd tried a tail once, to match, but it made the logistics of both skirts and trousers that much more complicated, and he’d gotten rid of it before the afternoon was over.
Hair patted down all neat and tidy, cap tucked under his arm. Ok, time to steal some food!
-
The air in the kitchens was humid from steam and bodies, the smell of cooking thick in the air. For a moment he stood in the doorway, his plan of attack momentarily disrupted by the pure energy of the place, before he was rudely pushed into the room.
“Move it or lose it,” the pusher said, using the silver tray they were carrying to bop him lightly on the head, the plates and glasses upon it rattling. “Get on with you.”
Truedream staggered forward before catching himself. Right, right, he was here for the food!
In the centre of the room was a long wooden table, spanning a good length of the room, upon which people were chopping vegetables and rolling out dough and doing all sorts of arcane things to birds that he’d never seen before.
Center-piecing one wall was a fireplace, the scale of which he’d never seen before, but the fire within was unlit. Arranged around it was a bank of shiny cast-iron stoves. The head of the kitchen was obvious, a large busty woman who was in her element directing the workers.
She spotted him the moment he staggered into the kitchen, shouting out to him and gesturing with a soup ladle. “You over there, you’re one of those kids who passed through earlier, right? Where’s your accomplice gone?”
Truedream balked for a moment, not realising they'd been spotted before, accomplice? “That’s us, he’s gone home, uh, Sir, got a message his mother wasn’t feeling very well.”
She squinted at him for a moment, considering this very flimsy excuse, before shrugging. “Well you’re here now, you done kitchen work before?”
Truedream shrugged, “Nope, but I’m sure I can learn.” A grin, “I get fed for this, right?”
She waved her arm as if to whap him with the ladle, but as she was on the other side of the room, it was relatively ineffective. “Wash your hands and get over there, Godschild will show you how to stuff pastries.”
Weird name, he thought as he scrubbed his hands, but he’d heard weirder. Blueyes, for one! He greeted Godschild, and they chatted for a while as they worked together to form and stuff the pastries.
The sweets were made of a sweet dough, which he learned was different from bread dough, filled with a mix of fruits, nuts, spices and animal fat. He had licked a little off his fingers (getting a shout from the kitchen boss) and found it was tasty, but probably better once cooked.
They got through those rapidly, his first few rough but more than good enough by the end to earn him a word of praise. After that, it was on to kneading bread dough, which was different from pastry, although still sweet. Once they were done, he helped glaze them in watered-down honey to make after-dinner rolls.
The initial meal had already been prepared, cooked and sent out by the time he entered the kitchen, but afters were still due. Then after that, the guests would want snacks and finger food, the ball winding down and the nobility scattering throughout the house to play games and drink.
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After that, more bread was prepared, apparently for tomorrow, and there were small sandwiches to be made. The bread was sliced thinner than he’d ever considered possible, or edible, and was whiter than he ever would have ever considered safe. The sandwiches were filled with vegetables, because, he was informed, it was bad form to eat meat at night, consumption leading to bad dreams, disturbed sleep and too many trips to the privy.
It had never bothered him or his crew, but what did he know.
While slicing vegetables for the sandwich fillings and contemplating constipation, he learnt they had indoor toilets here, complete with plumbed water. One of the wonders of the modern age. A large part of him was disgusted by the idea of shitting indoors, an impulsive shudder running through him that the other servants gave emphatic nods at.
He’d spent a lot of his life grubby, but he washed (at least superficially) every morning, and even their hovel had a bucket of clean water near the door so they could avoid tracking dirt inside. Even Kitten washed herself every night.
Huh, a moment of introspection, they should buy her some shoes, she was getting big enough now to make them worth it.
Disease was a real risk anywhere, but even more so in the city. They all had lessons on cleanliness drummed into them at school from a young age. He knew you could see germs and bacteria under the microscope, and they’d all done the experiments where you dropped a bit of rainwater and sugar onto the plate and watched the mana make it bloom.
If that happened to a city, it could lead to infections at best, and plague at worst. Bad times.
He carried on kneading the bread dough, copying the movements of those around him. He could learn to enjoy this kind of life. Sure, the owner of the house was a prick, but so was every tavern or innkeeper he’d ever met, and at least he wasn’t expected to muck out the horses once he was done with the sweets.
After the rolls came little bowls made of pasty, tiny and filled with fillings of wild mushrooms or fruit jam or a variety of other things, all to be served cold. The cases had been prepared earlier, and he was tasked with circling the various rooms of the house with a tray, offering them to hungry guests and collecting discarded glasses and plates in return.
And so on and so on, until finally, the night was over.
Come 2 am, drunk on the atmosphere and stuffed with leftover pies and pastries, Truedream realised that it was quite possibly the most fun he’d ever had. On top of that, he’d been washing pots and cups for almost an hour as things wound down, and his hands had never felt so clean.
Finally giving up and half asleep on his feet, he collapsed into a heap next to the old fireplace, beside the cooling stoves. His sleeves were rolled up around his elbows, and he'd acquired an apron at some point, but his shiny new clothes would need a wash before he could hand them back.
Somebody had lit a small fire in the fireplace, nothing like the cooking fire it once would have held, but enough to ward away the oncoming chill. The doors and windows were thrown open to allow the night air in, and most of the servants had gone to bed or home by this point. He was one of the last people left.
Smiling and blinking away sleep, he stared out of the door and into the quiet courtyard beyond. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear quiet talking and laughter, but most of the guests were abed by this point, and the atmosphere in the house was like the calm that comes after a violent storm.
He didn't react as the kitchen boss walked up to him, leaning heavily against the edge of the kitchen table to take the weight off her swollen ankles.
“You don’t work for anyone here, do you?” she asked, her voice quiet, her face lit orange by the firelight in his peripheral vision.
He shook his head, still staring out into the moonlit courtyard.
She waited for a moment, and then nodded as if that confirmed something. “One of the staff told me you said your sister was missing?”
A shrug, “She went out this morning and didn’t come back. My brothers are looking for her though.”
She watched him without speaking for a minute more, before heaving herself away from the table and heading towards the other side of the kitchen.
With a groan, Truedream got to his feet, pulling himself up against the edge of the mantle, stiff muscles slowly flexing back into life. She was right, it was time to go home and see if Wordsound had found the kitten. He needed to get his face fixed too, if their Changer was still awake. Maybe he could try cat-eyes this time, he wondered how the world would look through slit pupils.
Yawning, he made his way across the kitchen, dunking his head under the kitchen tap for a moment to wake himself up. Indoor plumbing, what a wonder!
Surfacing for air he was surprised to find the kitchen boss behind him.
“Take this.” She held out a basket to him, filled with food. “For your sister, and your… Brother's mother.”
He blinked, holding back for a moment, before deciding to speak his mind, emboldened by the spell of the silent room. “They'll love that... I don’t suppose you have work going, in the future like?”
She smiled tiredly, pressing the basket into his arms. “Come back in a couple of days, and I’ll see what I can do. Now get outta here, you’re keeping me from bed.”
He looped the basket over one arm, giving her a mock salute. “Yessir!”
He could hear her quiet laughter as he shut the kitchen door behind him. A moment of logistics, as he worked out how to ride the bike and carry the basket, and then he was off.
Time to go home.