by Patty Jansen
And with that, Nellie had come to the last page of the book. She closed it and sat with it on her knees.
It was late, but some people were evidently still up because people were talking down the hallway, or maybe the bakers had already come into the kitchen.
A deep black fear took hold of her.
She had half hoped that her father’s book would contain nothing of importance. But a dragon was important. Especially one that was angry and might do harm to innocent people. Especially if the church already knew about it and had been sheltering this creature for the past ten years.
The question was: what could she do about it? The dragon—presuming it was still in the crypt—could only be commanded by the owner, and the prince was dead. The prince’s father, the eastern trader Li Fai, was gone.
It sounded like a dangerous situation, and what good was it to put it in the hands of a kitchen maid?
Chapter 4
* * *
“SO,” DORA SAID. She was pounding a cloth bag containing dry bread onto the table to make crumbs she needed for the duck stuffing. A line of plucked and marinated ducks lay before her on the table. “What did it say, this big secret book of your father’s?”
Nellie sighed and sat down at the table, clutching her tea and facing her plate with bread and cheese.
During the long night, she had spent much time looking at the ceiling in the dark, wondering what she would answer to these inevitable questions.
“The book told me I didn’t want to remember the bad things about him.”
“What I said. He’s a dick.”
“He was not a bad man in his heart.”
“Pfaugh.” Dora hit the bag on the table a few times. Dust wafted through the pores in the fabric. “No one is perfect. Not even our parents.”
“I wanted to remember the good things about him. He looked after us. He taught me what’s right and wrong.”
“But?”
Nellie met Dora’s eyes. They were blue, and some said they were hard and cold, and that Dora was a careless woman. Nellie thought that was because Dora, as an older woman, had nothing to lose, so she said whatever she thought, and not everyone liked that.
“Well,” she said, and she blew the steam off her tea. No, she really didn’t like saying bad things about people in public, not even when those people were dead. “My father had strong ideas about what’s right and wrong.”
“Don’t they all, these church men? They think they know what’s best for everyone, but most of them do not understand our messy real lives. Sometimes the best thing to do, and the thing the church tells you to do, are not the same. I mean—these Church shepherds can’t marry, so what do they know about having families?”
And Dora’s family was a messy subject no one spoke much about. Not her abusive husband whom she had left, who might have been involved in a robbery where someone was killed, not her daughter who had also fled an abusive husband, and who lived with her, with a two-year-old child.
“This is not about that.”
“Oh?” Dora’s eyebrows rose. There was flour in one. “What’s it about, then?”
“My father worked for the church and he saw a lot of things that the church spent money on. He didn’t agree with some of their . . . purchases.”
“Like what? Did they contribute to the Regent’s banquets and wine?”
“This is from before the Regent.”
“Oh, there would have been many things to disagree with when old King Nicholaos sat on the throne. Like how he hired necromancers.”
“It is also not about those.”
“What is is about, then?”
Nellie licked her lips. “He says the church bought secret books of dark magic from Burovia, books that described the ways of the dark arts. He says he was told that the church needed to learn what the dark arts were in order to stamp them out, but he feels the church was all too happy to learn about the dark arts with the view of using them.”
“Well, the enemy uses magic, why not inform yourself? Seems sensible.”
“While at the same time they were telling the citizens that magic is evil?”
Dora shrugged. “I never understood that part.” Her cheeks were red. “Magic is not evil. Not most at least. It’s how you use it.”
“Necromancy and ghost-whispering is evil. Fire demons are evil.”
Dora nodded, but gave no further comment. The subject of magic was never an easy one because you never knew who listened.
So Nellie said, “He also said the church was hiding a dragon.”
Dora looked straight at her. “You’re kidding. A dragon? One of those huge ones that spits fire like ‘aaaggghhhhh’?” She made a hissing noise while holding her crumb-covered hands in front of her like claws.
“That’s what he said.”
“Did you mean one of these dragons that lives in a box and comes out to do the master’s bidding?”
“I don’t know any other dragon.”
“But those were only owned by the eastern traders.”
“Yes, those.”
“I thought the eastern traders had all left the city.”
“Evidently, they did not to take their dragons with them.”
It felt like a flippant response. But Nellie felt very much out of her depth talking about the subject of dragons. In all the years the eastern traders had lived in Saardam, they had never displayed the dragons they had. The dragons were real, though, because Nellie had seen one once.
Dora snorted. “What does the church want to use a dragon for? Where did they get it?” Like you could just buy dragons at the markets.
Nellie shrugged. She wasn’t sure that Dora was taking her seriously after her earlier comments about her father. “The book doesn’t give me any information about that. I’m not sure if my father knew, only that he was asked to sign the transfer of money. And that he didn’t agree with that. He said the church collected magical artefacts in the crypts in case they needed to unleash magic to defeat magic. He didn’t think they were honest about this. He said they were keeping the dragon for their own aims.”
“And what would those aims be?”
“The Triune only knows. The book said gaining power.” Nellie lowered her voice. “He said there would be trouble if the Regent wanted to be declared king.”
Dora threw her head back and laughed. “This’s hardly news, is it? If the church had wanted a new royal family, they would have crowned the man king already. Ten years in, and we’re still waiting. Is it going to happen? No!”
“But who is the rightful heir to the throne? The Church was going to sort it out.”
“Someone boring, fat and rich. They will sort it out. I don’t care as long as they eat. Come on, Nellie.” She put a hand on Nellie’s shoulder. “You worry too much. This book is just a thing full of empty words. A dragon! What are you supposed to do about this dragon? Just walk into the crypts and ask to see it? If you bring me that book, I will throw it in the fire for you when we ‘test’ another cask of the Regent’s wine. That book just fills your head with nonsense.”
“You’re probably right.”
Nellie finished her tea and set down her cup. Time to start working.
The stairs across the hallway came out in the foyer just outside the doors to the ballroom.
Preparations were in full swing.
The room was normally fairly empty, as it was also where the king would see formal guests. Normally, it just held the dais with the throne and a few ornate chairs on either side. They needed many more chairs and tables. Some of those chairs were stacked against the walls, others were in the garden room.
The tables stood in a storeroom. They needed to be brought into the hall.
Lines of boys and young men were carrying in tables from the storage rooms, placing them in rows so that the kitchen hands could cover the tables with white tablecloths and put out the palace’s beautiful gold-rimmed tableware.
So many guests were coming that Nellie had
asked her helpers to collect plates from storage.
A sixteenth birthday was a significant event. Casper would now be of marriageable age, and the Regentship of Saardam had propelled the family into a position of importance. Many of the nobles and royal families from surrounding nations were expected to attend, and some would only be here to explore the possibility of marriage between their daughters and Casper.
All these people would stay in the palace and eat in the main dining room, entertained by the Regent and his family. Over the past ten years, the Regent’s parties had become somewhat of a legend so it was not something that anyone with an invitation wanted to miss.
The guest list had been a point of contention. Did one invite the rulers of the surrounding nations, even if you were not friendly with them?
The Regent had said no, his wife, Madame Sabine, had said the boy should meet eligible women from all surrounding countries, and eventually, Shepherd Wilfridus had to be called in to approve the guest list.
All these people would need somewhere to sleep, and the guest rooms had to be prepared.
Not all the guests were happy to have their rooms near some other guests.
Others had strange requirements, like the Regent’s advisor Lord Verdonck, who always insisted on a room where he could open the window, because fresh air was good for the humours.
It was the Regent’s housekeeper’s task to sort this out. The poor woman had spread out a few chalkboards on a table in the hall, each with names written on them. Whenever Nellie walked in or out carrying boxes with tableware or freshly washed serviettes, she would stand there shaking her head. Nellie was glad she only had to make sure the tables were set and everything looked pretty.
Word went that Regent Bernard was holding a meeting in his office—which was upstairs—with a few of the guests who had arrived early. He asked for “a few pretty girls” to bring snacks, so Dora filled a big plate with pastries and made tea in a pretty teapot with flowers, which were carried upstairs by Els and Maartje, two of Nellie’s young assistants.
The guests from out of town started arriving.
Whenever Nellie walked through the foyer and looked into the palace forecourt, some other elaborate coach had come in through the gates. The guards and courtiers would congregate at the door to welcome the guests and take them to whatever rooms were ready, wherever the housekeeper had decreed that they would sleep.
Soon, the guests started to explore the guest rooms, asking for extra pillows or blankets or for food. This put Dora in a foul mood, because she was busy preparing for the banquet.
Nellie ran up and down the stairs with trays of food more times than she cared to count.
The guests met up with each other. They occupied the hall and other spaces where the servants still worked. Neither the Regent nor Madame Sabine came out to entertain their guests—the Regent was supposedly still in the meeting—although Nellie spotted Casper and his younger brother Frederick strutting about in their new suits looking like peacocks.
Nellie knew the Regent had engaged the modiste Mistress Yvette, who had made Casper a bright blue suit. It consisted of a pair of blue velvet trousers, a velvet jacket and a long-sleeved shirt with a ruffled collar. He wore gold-buckled boots with high heels and had tied his straw-blond hair in a ponytail. Two strands on either side of his head had been treated with a curling iron.
He had decided he was an adult now, and dressed as one.
A lot of the noble guests had brought adolescent children, either theirs or their family’s, who all gathered around the birthday boy in the palace foyer.
Casper ordered the servants around, too, in a haughty voice, telling them to bring items for the ever-growing group of well-dressed young people who were, frankly, getting in the way of the servants and kitchen staff entering the hall or getting work done.
The group included Casper’s fourteen year old brother Frederick, dressed in red velvet, but still with his curls loose about his head, as well as Hestia, the blond-haired, big-bosomed daughter of Baroness Viktoriya and at least twenty years old; Duke Sylvan’s daughter Odilia, dark-haired and thin, with deep-set eyes like her father; and King Leopold’s grandsons Max and Patrice, both of whom looked disturbingly like Casper. They were cousins, but they were not that close.
While the adults moved off into their own rooms, the youngsters loitered in the foyer, getting ever louder in their laughter and demands.
Nellie gathered her own young helpers in the kitchen, a handful of pale and tired faces. The kids were all from common worker families and Nellie had collected them in her group because some misfortune had befallen their families.
Johan’s mother had died a few years ago, and Els and Maartje came from a very large family with far too many children to feed. Their father had broken a leg while working at the docks and now walked with a crutch, which meant he couldn’t work anymore. The older children had gone to work, but there was never enough money.
The problem with Els was—and this was why Nellie had called them all together—that she had a mouth too big for her position. The upstairs housekeeper had already beaten her twice in the last year for “having a big mouth” toward the Regent’s guests.
The combination of Els and the group of noble youngsters upstairs was a disaster waiting to happen.
Els stood with her arms crossed over her chest, leaning against a kitchen bench. Wisps of her flaxen blond hair came out from under her bonnet; her cheeks were bright red and her eyes blue and feisty. She was only fourteen, but she looked at least four years older. She was big and sturdy, and had a healthy bosom on her.
Nellie said, “I know that there will be a lot of bad behaviour in the next couple of days. A lot of very bad behaviour. All the noble guests have brought their sons and daughters with them. Many of these youngsters have never been to a banquet, and they are likely to go slightly . . . overboard. I want none of you to get involved with the trouble they get themselves into. They will demand ridiculous things from you—and you will smile. They might even demand rude things from you—and you will walk away. If any of them promise you anything at all, don’t believe them. These are kids, and they don’t know what they’re saying. They’re drunk with power and money. Do not trust them. Remember that you work for the palace, and not for them. Ignore them.”
Els said nothing, but Nellie gave her a stern look that said, I want no trouble from you, young lady.
“Have you seen what some of them are wearing, though?” said Maartje.
“Yeah,” Johan said, and he laughed. “That light blue suit looks ridiculous.”
“I was thinking about Baroness Hestia’s dress,” Maartje said.
“Oh yeah. When she bends over, you can almost see her tits.”
“Johan!” Nellie said. “I will not have you use any sailor’s language in the palace.”
“Are you lot finished holding a meeting out there?” Dora called. “I need someone to bring in more firewood.”
Of course, there was more work to be done.
For now, however, the group of young nobles—and there were almost twenty—appeared to be happy just to stand in the foyer and make silly comments about the attire of the guests walking through the hall.
This, of course, led to complaints by those guests.
The Regent’s meeting had included the mayor and his daughter, who was also sixteen. The girl objected to being called dumpy and an argument broke out between the mayor and the palace staff about moving the group of youngsters along to a less prominent position where they wouldn’t bother and insult people. The Regent came down the stairs when Nellie was walking through the foyer and made a show of jokingly berating his son for saying these things. But he added that the girl was dumpy.
The poor girl ran off crying and she and the mayor left in protest. He had, he said, come here to welcome the distinguished guests but would not stand for being insulted by a spoilt brat.
“No,” Casper said. “You have come here for one purpose: the chance
to foist your daughter on me. I don’t want her.”
He held a glass of wine. Nellie had lost count of how many he had drunk that afternoon. His cheeks were red, and his voice sounded a bit funny.
All the noble sons and daughters surrounded him, most from more respected families and many of them much older than he.
The Baroness Hestia laughed raucously when the girl and her father strode out of the foyer. Her cheeks were red, too, and the pink dress kept slipping off one of her shoulders. She stood next to Casper, encouraging him by laughing at everything he said.
“Well, I know that I’m not supposed to say anything while upstairs,” Els said when she met Nellie in the kitchen, “but I think she looks like a whore and she behaves like a whore, so someone should call her a whore.”
“Don’t be surprised that even nobles like whores, especially when they’re dressed up in ridiculous outfits,” Dora said. “And the men are so dumb about it, too, like their gazes are so transfixed on a pair of tits that they fail to notice other stuff. When a man is with a whore, either the woman steals something, or she spies on him. Beware of whores, young Els. They’re smart women and they usually leave the room with more than the agreed payment.”
“Be careful talking about such things,” Nellie said. “Next thing Baroness Hestia will send people down here to punish us because we said she’s a whore.”
“What they don’t hear us say, they don’t know. And she does look like a whore.”
Nellie agreed. And she also knew that women of loose morals often stole things. And, having visited Florisheim, Hestia’s home, Nellie knew Hestia was not here to look at the scenery and that, as heiress of the Barony of Gelre, a noble woman’s only way to influence politics was through the man’s bedroom, as long as she didn’t marry, because the moment she agreed to do that, she was no longer worth more than a pretty piece of fluff on the man’s arm.
Hestia was here to do damage. They would have to keep a close eye on her.
Nellie worked in the ballroom, setting plates on the tables, feeling the anger stew inside her each time she heard the Baroness squeal with laughter. Whore, whore. She couldn’t bring herself to say the word out loud, but that’s what Hestia was: a whore in a garish and expensive dress.
