“It is my hope.”
“What does your uncle say about that?”
“It is my father’s choice to make.”
Oken saw her shoulders tense, ever so slightly, in defiance. “Any father would be proud of such a fine son,” he said to her quietly.
Runa continued walking.
“He must miss you when you are away flying with your uncle.”
“He misses me, but he knows I am safe there.”
“Then he is a son to be proud of.”
Oken refrained from asking Runa if she missed her son. He could see that in the set of her shoulders as she walked.
The estate kitchens were separate from the main house, with a long, covered walkway between the kitchen and the serving hall. It was built of the same interlocking stonework as the main house, with broader windows and more chimneys. The windows were open. Rows of ovens heated the kitchens during the cool eve ning and in daytime steady breezes cooled them. Mama Kusay was in charge of more than just the Queen Mother’s fickle appetite. The entire estate was fed from her domain.
Women with woven baskets balanced on their heads were tossing handfuls of kernels to a noisy flock of black and brown chickens, turkeys, and small, fat geese. Workmen unloaded baskets from patient donkeys. The men had handsome mustaches, and hair tied back by red bands of cloth embroidered with the imperial seal, matching their loose clothes. They called and joked to one another merrily, elaborating their stories with flourishes of hands and feet. Younger boys scurried back and forth, holding bins open and leading the donkeys away.
Once Runa and Lord Oken were sighted approaching, the men fell quiet and hurried about their work. Runa did not look at them as she walked past. Oken nodded and smiled at them.
Runa did not lead him into the kitchens. She stopped outside one of the waist-high thresholds of the windows. She stopped to shoo away the many brown-and-white guinea pigs wheeking and hopping about. They were scrambling after the food scraps tossed out the window by a large, impressive woman working at a cutting table. She scraped and diced vegetables with alarming speed, chanting as she worked, chopped syllables barked out in time to her blade. She had a gold hoop dangling from her left ear and the imperial seal tattooed in red on her forehead and woven into her apron.
“Mama Kusay!” Runa put one hand on the window frame and leaned in so that she could be heard. “Mama Kusay!”
The woman stoppedher work and her chanting long enough to glare at Runa; then she went back to chopping with renewed vigor.
“Mama Kusay!”
Oken waded through the little animals hopping and leaping about his feet, to the other corner of the window and pulled himself up onto the window ledge. Mama Kusay stopped her blade and glared at him. He smiled at her, then put his hands together before his forehead and bowed to her as he had seen embassy servants do when requesting attention. She stared at him with calm astonishment, then at Runa, expecting her to explain.
Runa covered her laughter by putting her hand to her mouth; then she leaned forward into the window, whispering to Mama Kusay. Mama Kusay, in turn, lay down her blade and came around the table to lean closer to Runa in the window.
Oken made himself look away, pretending to turn his attention to the furry little guinea pigs, who were overcoming their fear of him and returning to root about for the expected dinner scraps. He folded his arms across his chest and closed his eyes, focusing his full attention on what he could hear. Runa and Mama Kusay continued their whispered exchange.
The endless song of the ovens was the backdrop. Voices of the many servants, assistant cooks, fire-stokers, and sculleries rippled through the flames. The breezes tantalized with the mingled scents of roasting meats and peppers, and the ancient essence of fresh bread baking. After a few minutes, the conversation between Runa and Mama Kusay had become the rapid back- and-forth of intimate exchange. Oken raised one eyelid enough to see the kitchen rooms behind Mama Kusay.
Cooks wearing only grease- stained aprons with scorched hems hurried back and forth over the straw-covered floor. Boys of twelve or so brought baskets of vegetables, leafy herbs and fruit, and stacks of bowls and plates on trays and carried out covered dishes. A far corner was cordoned off with a waist-high net, where four infants slept peacefully on piled straw. A little brown hound slept with them, puppies in a tangle around her.
The scene brought to mind Oken’s many happy childhood hours spent in the castle kitchens, sitting on a side shelf out of the way and chatting with the cooks and scullery maids and porters as they worked, all the while being handed an endless round of delightful snacks and tastes of this and that. He had learned a great deal about his father’s kingdom and the world in general while sitting on that shelf. Of course, Oken reminded himself, those women did not work in the nude. That might have enhanced the experience. “Lord Oken?”
Runa’s voice interrupted his reverie. He opened his eyes and smiled at her. “Yes?”
“Mama Kusay asks what kind of nosh you would like?”
“Just a cup of broth, please. Puts the heart in me without weighing me down.”
Mama Kusay seemed surprised by this simple request. She went to one of the cauldrons herself and filled a large cup with a dipper. She handed it to him and watched intently as he took his first sip.
“Wonderful, Mama Kusay!” He could not identify any of the flavors other than pepper, which made it a delightful discovery. Under her watchful eye, he sipped at it until it had cooled enough to drink. He drank slowly, perusing his mental lexicon until he found the word he wanted. He finished it to the last drop, returned the cup to her with a smile, and thanked her, saying, “Misk’i!” Quechua for “delicious.” “Misk’i!”
Mama Kusay took the cup automatically, staring at him, astonished.
Runa spoke to her, laughter bubbling in her words. Mama Kusay nodded, bobbed her head to Oken in a brief bow, and went back to her blade. She picked it up as though momentarily confused by its existence; then she went back to chopping the vegetables. She and Runa exchanged a few more sentences. Runa bowed to her and left the window ledge.
Oken jumped down, careful of the little animals.
“Lovely woman,” Oken said as cheerfully as he could. “I will enjoy my meals twice as much now that I have met her. You must tell her I said so.”
“I will, sir. You are the first European Mama Kusay has ever seen. Uncle’s guests have never come down here before. She will be most attentive to your meals, sir, especially having seen your pleasure at the cup of broth.”
“Ah, Runa,” Oken said, “that was no mere cup of broth. That was warrior’s brew! Armies could march for days with such fortification in their veins!”
“It is named demon’s piss,” Runa said matter-of-factly.
“I could not have chosen a better name myself!”
“Mama Kusay decided to prepare it because the fire gods are fighting with demons over the mountain there again.” Runa pointed to the stony hills across the river. “Their battle has been lighting the night sky with fire these past few days, terrible fire.”
“Heavens!” Oken said pleasantly. “Does that happen often?”
Runa nodded. “Every few months or so, but sometimes not for a year or more. They fight only when Uncle is away, so he does not believe the stories, but I saw the fires of their battles when I was younger. I used to sneak away at night to watch them.”
“I wouldn’t mind seeing such a thing,” Oken said.
“No one is allowed on the slopes of that mountain anymore, sir. My father’s soldiers guard it now. They are as mean as demons.” She said the last as though it were a matter of fact.
“What a pity,” Oken said. “I’ve never seen a demon before. It must be quite a sight, wouldn’t you think?”
“Mama Kusay says that the sight of a demon would burn your eyes out.”
“Would it, really?” Oken said amiably. “I have no experience of demons. Thanks for the warning.”
“Don’t they have
demons in Egypt, sir?”
“Of course. We humans find demons wherever we go.”
“What do people in Egypt do about demons, sir, if I may ask?”
“We hire them,” Oken said. “We train them, and put them to work.”
“No!”
“You would be amazed at the work it saves when demons are under control.”
Runa tilted her face to look at him sideways. “You are teasing me.”
“No, not at all, ma de moiselle!”
She did not look convinced. “What kind of work?”
“Well, let’s see!” Okensaid. “There’s old Sobak, the crocodile demon. He’s every kind of fear wrapped up in a thick, scaly hide. We hire him to give extra strength to courage when we need it. He warns us, too, when we’re in danger and don’t know it. Quite useful, actually. Then there’s Apophis, the granddaddy of them all, a giant serpent—he’s the towrope of the Sun, keeps the day on course.”
Runa at last looked impressed. “You must have powerful priests!”
Oken nodded. “Perhaps that’s why I travel so much.”
He caught Runa’s eye, noting that she was looking at him as if deciding something. He wondered if he would ever find out what it was.
Mabruke, dressed in his usual white suit and hat, was seated in the library garden, writing notes in the latest of his small blackbound notebooks. From the looks of it, he had just started a new one. The academy had an entire alcove in the archives with shelves of Mabruke’s little black books. Mabruke most often wrote notes in private. Seeing him here gave Oken an idea.
“Mik,” he called casually. “How’s your appetite?”
Mabruke looked up from the page with an easy smile. “Same as always.”
“Good! I’ve just the thing.” Oken turned to Runa. “Do you suppose Mama Kusay would be willing to spare my friend here a taste of her fabulous brew?”
Runa nodded. “I think she would be honored.”
“You are in for a treat,” Oken said, “and it’s more than the broth— just taking a breath outside her kitchen is a meal in itself!”
Runa giggled.
Mabruke tucked the notebook and pen away in his inner jacket pocket. He flicked the plume on his hat and stood up to join them.
Oken and Runa retraced their steps toward Mama Kusay’s window, with Mabruke in tow.
“By the way, Mik,” Oken said as they entered the herb garden, “the word you’ll be looking for is misk’i.”
“Misk’i,” Mabruke echoed, then repeated it again to test the pronunciation. “Misk’i.”
Runa turned her serene smile to Oken.
The little pigs squealed and wheeked as the three of them approached the kitchen window. Oken pulled himself up to the same spot on the ledge. Mabruke, mindful of his white suit, stood just outside, smiling at Mama Kusay’s look of concern.
Runa explained hastily, and Mama Kusay burst into smiles herself, nodding, and laid down her blade. She wiped her hands on her apron as she hurried across the kitchen to the cauldron. She poured broth into a cup and returned to present it to Mabruke with a bow.
Mabruke was at his professorial best. First he bowed to her, then took the cup in both hands. He closed his eyes and let the steam from the cup fill his nose, inhaling with the proper show. Then he sipped carefully, letting the hot liquid roll about in his mouth before swallowing. He took another deep breath, then opened his eyes, and gave Mama Kusay a big smile. “Misk’i!” he exclaimed with the proper enthusiasm. He bowed his head to her, said, “Misk’i!” again, and sipped, slowly and luxuriously. He stood so still that the little pigs got over their fear and crowded around his sandaled feet, snapping at fat, clumsy flies.
Runa and Mama Kusay were staring in fascination. The other cookslooked on with amazement.
Oken settled back to watch the magic happen.
He was not disappointed. When Mabruke had finished the last drop, he touched the rim of the cup to his forehead and bowed to her. He held the cup out to her, smiling his best.
Mama Kusay put her hands around it, unable to look away from his smile.
Mabruke said to Runa, “Runa, if would be so kind as to translate for me?”
“Certainly, sir.” Runa was clearly holding back giggles.
“Please tell Mama Kusay this: The professor craves knowledge of the names of these wonderful smells and flavors in your realm. In Egypt he is considered a man of much knowledge about smells and flavors. He teaches the young how to know the world by scent. You put his knowledge to shame. He would learn from you, if you would so honor him.”
Runa put her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. “You want me to say that to Mama Kusay?”
“If you would be so kind.” Mabruke was smiling at Mama Kusay as he spoke.
“Sir, you are a prince,” Runa said hesitantly. “Should I not introduce you as Prince Mabruke?”
Mabruke shook his head. “I am not here as royalty, only a humble scholar seeking knowledge.”
Runa’s face became serious as she translated this to herself; then she turned to Mama Kusay. The words tumbled out, faster and faster. Mama Kusay listened, frozen.
Mabruke continued to smile encouragingly at her.
When Runa had finished, Mama Kusay nodded slowly, then gestured to the front entrance to her kitchen realm, her eyes still caught by Mabruke’s glowing smile.
Oken leaped off the window ledge, careful of the pigs who bobbed up and down and ran away. He and Mabruke followed Runa around the big kitchen building to the door, standing open to the herb garden within the compound walls.
The men unloading the donkeys were peering around the other corner of the building, watching with solemn eyes.
Oken stopped in the entry to the kitchen, folded his arms, and leaned back against the doorframe to watch. Mabruke would be counting on him to fill in the details.
Mabruke had taken out his notebook and pen, and stood smiling down expectantly at Mama Kusay. She, for all her girth, was only slightly taller than his waist. She whispered something nervously to Runa, then curtsied to Mabruke as though she had run out of ideas.
“Perhaps we might begin with the demon’s piss?” Mabruke said, anticipating Mama Kusay’s question. He gestured toward the cauldron of broth with a wave of his dark, elegant hand.
Mama Kusay’s round face lit up, and she went over to the cauldron, motioning for Runa to follow. Mama Kusay was already bubbling over with words. She filled another cup with the broth and held it out to Mabruke, speaking to Runa in Quechua as she did so.
Mabruke bowed respectfully before taking the cup, holding it reverently in both hands.
Mama Kusay waited for Runa to translate.
“Mama Kusay’s secret to this broth,” Runa began.
Mabruke interrupted her. “I do not ask for her secrets, Runa. I have not yet earned the honor of that.” He continued to hold Mama Kusay’s gaze as he spoke. “I wish only to learn the names of her ingredients, as a humble student. Beyond that, if she would honor me with the names of the master farmers from whom I might purchase my own supplies, I would devote myself to their study when I return to Egypt.”
For nearly an hour this continued, while the other cooks and sculleries tried to complete their work. Mabruke wrote many pages of notes in his minuscule, elegant hand, and both women relaxed, chatting comfortably as they decided how best to answer Mabruke’s endless questions.
Oken focused on their voices, so that he could help Mabruke later with pronunciations. Runa clearly enjoyed being the translator for this magic show. Oken spent as much energy remembering her delight as Mama Kusay’s carefully pronounced names for spices, herbs, vegetables, and fruits. Long before they were done, Oken had become impressed by the many uses for maize and roots, as well as the many different kinds of papa there were, “potatoes.” Under Mabruke’s respectful gaze, Mama Kusay grew more confident, walking over the straw-covered floor of her realm as though she walked on the magnificent rugs in the manor.
Once th
ey completed the round of cauldrons, ovens, cutting tables, and bins, Mabruke put away his notebook. Mama Kusay stopped in midsentence, blinking at him as if dazed. Mabruke strolled over to the corner where the infants were napping. The little mother-hound was sitting up amid her sleeping pups, giving Mabruke a breathy canine smile, tongue flashing. Mabruke knelt beside the net barrier and reached over it to put his hand out to her.
The hound came over, shedding puppies, to lick his fingers, her tail wagging. The puppies rolled about yawning and stretching, then scrambled up to follow her, yipping. Their eyes were not fully opened, yet they were nearly half their mother’s size.
The voices of the pups woke the infants, who also yawned and stretched, showing red tongues in toothless mouths. Their opened eyes tracked the familiar reaches of the kitchen, then fixed on Mabruke, kneeling before the little family of hounds. Tiny fingers waved at him, and the infants laughed.
At a word from Mama Kusay, the parents of the infants put down their work and went over to the netting. This was lifted aside, letting the eager hounds crowd around Mabruke, kneeling on the straw. The pups jumped and pawed at him, and his dark hands moved among them, petting their heads and tugging theirears, letting the mother sniff his hand and wrist and sleeve with savage intensity. She sat back abruptly, putting her chin up so he could tickle the soft triangle under her jaw.
The infants made cooing, happy gurgles. One by one, their parents knelt before Mabruke, holding their child up for him. He asked Runa to tell him their names; then he greeted them, repeating what she said to him. He touched each infant’s forehead with his fingertip, and the babies smiled at him.
With this ceremony completed, the children were returned to their beds, the netting was put back in place, and the parents hurried back to their work, casting glances at Mabruke as they could.
“These are the children of Mama Kusay’s people,” Runa said to Mabruke. “Mama Kusay is the daughter of the headman of her village. Those who work for the Queen Mother bring their children here for her to bless them, in the presence of her hearth fires.”
Mabruke thoughtabout this, then said to Runa, “Tell Mama Kusay that Professor Mabruke begs her to add his blessings to those who come to her hearth. Her wisdom exceeds his. Her knowledge has brought awe to him, and he begs her to consider him her humble servant, now and always.”
Three Princes Page 19
