The Redwood Palace

by M K Hutchins

  I was scrubbing someone’s lunch bowl, head down, when Osem elbowed me.

  “What?” I whispered.

  Hawak bellowed at me. “Dami! I’ve called your name four times!”

  I jerked to my feet and bowed.

  “You’re strong-of-arm. Come drag this bear into the butchery room—the apprentices hurt themselves last time.”

  I looked up. Sure enough, a dead bear lay near the inside door. A massive, sprawling bear. I wouldn’t be able to budge it. “It’s spring. Why do we keep getting bears?”

  “Hungry bears who gorge on battlefields are wandering east, looking for more. Did you forget there’s a war on?”

  Blood crusted the bear’s snout. I felt ill. Had that been some soldier’s innards?

  “Hurry up!” Hawak snapped.

  An apprentice dropped and shattered a fourth crock, full of a bubbling hotpot, drawing Hawak’s attention and a string of profanity.

  I swallowed hard. I couldn’t move that bear. Why had someone left it in the doorway, instead of bringing it all the way in? When I failed to budge it, they’d all know I’d lied. The king would hang me.

  Why did I think I could be Dami? I wasn’t her. I could only pretend. Poorly.

  Each step forward felt like a century. Nana would end up a Hungry Ghost. My parents would be homeless, robbed of Father’s post. Dami’s lies would unravel.

  I bit the inside of my lip, feet dragging like granite blocks as Hawak gave his oldest apprentice, the lanky Tanoak, instructions on butchering the creature. I prayed silently. Nana, ancestors... we’re all dependant on each other. I’m trying to help you, but I need your help, too.

  Nothing miraculous came to take the bear away, but a spluttering sound caught my ear—an over-boiling crock banked with white coals on the hearth closest to the bear. The image of Old Sandpiper’s wound flashed across my memory.

  My throat crusted over, like someone had filled it with burnt-on sauce. I couldn’t pretend to be Dami.

  But I could pretend to trip.

  “Dami, before autumn comes!” Hawak’s broad-chested voice cut through the kitchen clamor. He turned back to Tanoak.

  My stomach buzzed. My heart tightened. But my marrow stayed calm. This was my best choice. And so, I had nothing to worry about. No need to fret. Nothing left to decide.

  I stumbled over the smooth floor. I cried out and fell forward. My right hand landed on the warm lip of the brick hearth. My left I jammed onto the coals.

  Before I felt the pain, I smelled my seared flesh.

  I screamed. That, I didn’t need to fake. I fell to the floor, shaking. Pain shot up my arm, then turned into a giddy light-headedness. I glanced at my hand. Bloated pink-red flesh—like one giant blister. No one would ask me to haul a bear carcass today. I laughed into my sobs.

  “Dami! I said—” Hawak began, but then he turned. His face fell. “Tanoak! Dress some sorrel and fine-sliced onion in sour pickle brine. Now!”

  Hawak picked me up like I weighed nothing and brought me to the side of the kitchen. He laid a compress over my palm. It burned cold, like fresh snow on bare skin.

  “Clumsy girl,” he muttered. “Don’t you know you have to watch where you’re walking in a kitchen?” He sounded more concerned than angry.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I obediently ate Tanoak’s salad. Coolness flowed down into my hand, taking the edge off the pain. A crisped fish skin chip with sorrel would be more effective, but we probably didn’t have any fresh fish right now. Regardless, a burn this bad took time to heal.

  I didn’t know if Hawak had the apprentices do it, or if he sent for someone else, but by the time I finished eating, the bear carcass was gone, and the soft sounds of precise butchering drifted in from the other room.

  I wedged crocks between my knees and scrubbed them with my good hand. Osem washed faster than me, but I managed a fairer share of the work than I’d hoped. That evening, laying on our mattresses of musty pine boughs, she clucked over me like a mother hen. “You need to be careful.”

  “I was.” Not that I could explain why going to bed with a bandaged, throbbing hand was actually prudent.

  Osem sighed. “First you’re robbed, then I find you up on a counter with the door open, inviting in the Hungry Ghost, and now this. Dami, you’re either cursed by your ancestors, or you’re the least careful person I know.”

  “I didn’t try to leave the door open,” I defended myself, staring up at the darkness of our room. “The snake interfered.”

  Confused silence followed. Osem shifted on her mattress. “Snake?”

  “A pit viper.” I explained how I’d ended up on the counter, then laughed at myself. “I guess I’m not very lucky.”

  “You’re not making that up, are you?”

  “You think my life’s dull enough I need to invent things?”

  Osem sighed. “Dami, why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

  “It’s just a snake.” I squirmed on my mattress. I shouldn’t have said anything. “It probably wandered in. I doubt I’m being stalked by sinister Bloodmarrows.”

  “Blood whats?” Osem asked.

  I rolled over and explained what I’d heard the village woman say, about an army of Vengeful Ghosts controlled by the Shoreed who kidnapped and killed the people of Rowak.

  “Dami, this is no time to laugh at superstition! You can’t be calm about this. Deadly snakes don’t just appear in the kitchen.” Osem’s mattress crinkled under her as she shifted. “Fir likes playing pranks on servants—sometimes he even makes them resign—but this seems beyond him.”

  Fir had already played a prank on me and it hadn’t been harmless. I swallowed and tried to sound casual, but I couldn’t stop my voice from jumping a pitch. “Fir?”

  “Blue Lady Egal’s grandson, King Alder’s first cousin once removed. He’s yellow-ranked, though—his mother married below herself. Now he lives off Lady Egal’s generosity. No post. His brothers all joined the military, trying to advance themselves, but he loafs around here.”

  “Why doesn’t he join the army?”

  Osem shrugged. “He has no birthgift—maybe he’s too scared to face gifted enemy soldiers? I don’t know.”

  “No birthgift at all? Could his mother not swallow what the chef brought?” Vomiting during labor wasn’t uncommon, but that didn’t affect the gift.

  “His mother tried for double-gifted, but the attending chef messed it up. When Fir was born, there was no birthglow around him.”

  “No indication of a birthgift at all?”

  “None,” Osem said. “Rather rash of the mom, hoping to get two.”

  “Not really.” Parents sometimes asked Father to try for double-gifted with their later children. “If it succeeded, Fir’s skills would benefit the entire family. Maybe even help him earn him Green rank. If it failed, well, he has siblings to watch over him.”

  Osem shifted on her mattress. “Hmm. I suppose so. In any case, usually I’d blame him. I think he harasses servants because he’s bored.”

  “But he’s tamer than this?”

  “Oh, he’s put snakes in people’s beds before, but not poisonous ones. I think someone tried to kill you, Dami.”

  It sounded plausible when she said it. “Osem... you can’t report this.”

  I should have watched my tongue better—it was too easy to talk around Osem.

  “You sound scared.”

  “I am.” The snake hadn’t killed me, but an investigation with me at the center of it could easily send me to the noose.

  “Why don’t you want it reported?”

  She sounded curious, not like she’d run off and report it herself. “I want to keep my post.”

  “No one would dismiss you over being attacked,” Osem said. “But you’re still right about saying nothing.”

  Now it was my turn to be confused and silent. I wished I could see her face properly in our dark room.

  Osem continued, “If I wanted to kill someone and they started looking fo
r me, I’d try harder before anyone figured it out.”

  “That’s a cheerful thought.”

  Osem sighed. “Acting as if nothing happened will encourage the attacker to take his time. Maybe make him careless. I’ll keep my ears open and see if I can’t learn anything. In the meantime, make sure you’re never alone, Dami. Stay with me, or Bane, or Hawak. It’s not that hard to cover up one death as an accident. It’s much harder to say the same about two or three.”

  During my next half-day off, I ran into Bane near the kitchens, on the path that skirted a natural-looking garden of spruce trees.

  He fidgeted with an embroidered envelope, his brown eyes locked on mine. “Dami. I was hoping I’d see you during your time off.”

  “Oh.” I flushed, suddenly glad Osem wasn’t here to tease me. I tucked my hair behind my ear with my bad hand and winced.

  He stepped a half step closer. “What happened?”

  “Just a burn. Nothing some onion-sorrel salads won’t fix in due time.”

  Bane blinked at me. “You really are learning a lot about cooking.”

  I silently cursed myself. I was horrible at being Dami around him.

  “Well, I’m not deaf and I do work in a kitchen,” I defended myself lamely. I shouldn’t be talking to him—I didn’t need another person to keep secrets from.

  “You mean you’re clever and you work in a kitchen.” He smiled. “I’m sorry that I can’t stay, though I’m glad I found you.”

  I blinked. I’d been sure he wanted to spend the afternoon together again.

  “My schedule got changed,” he explained. “I’m on duty right now. But I didn’t want you to think I was avoiding you. I’d like to spend another half-day together, sometime.”

  “Sometime,” I echoed, silently thanking my Ancestors that I didn’t have to push him away or keep lying to him.

  Bane smiled and bowed, his dark hair sweeping just over his eyes. Then he hurried down the path on his errand.

  The rest of the month passed peacefully. No more snakes appeared, at least, and Hawak granted Osem and me permission to tour the palace greenhouse. Parsely, carrots, snap peas! Their full leaves and stems made it look like summer had come. I couldn’t touch them, or eat them, or cook with them, but smelling them made life easier.

  My parents sent a letter, too—a painfully awkward one with mundane news from Clamsriver instead of the questions they wanted to ask. I spent a few chips of my wages to send an equally awkward reply. Mostly I told Mother about all the fresh food now filling the kitchens, then asked about her own plants.

  My hand healed, bit by bit. The work didn’t get easier, but it wasn’t unpleasant with Osem there. Someone had to scrub the crocks, after all. Might as well be us. Watching the apprentices’ mistakes made me itch to jump in, but by and large, the days passed smoothly. Sometimes I even overheard a tidbit of culinary wisdom from Hawak. Each lesson tasted better than our mountain’s finest salt.

  I could live like this until my two years ended. Until I could go back to being a real chef.

  Really, only the nights were horrible. Osem and I kept the outside door shut, but the piteous whimpering of the Hungry Ghost cut through the wood and stabbed at me.

  “Will it do that every night?” I asked in the still, quiet darkness of our room.

  “Dunno. It never did this before you came. Maybe the snake you fed it gave it indigestion.”

  Or could the ghost somehow tell I was a chef?

  “You... seemed to pick up on a lot of Hawak’s research. Did you learn how to exorcise one?” I’d seen shadow-plays in Meadowind that featured all kind of ghosts—from Vengeful to Mothering to Hungry—but the exorcisms always happened in a moment with a wave of lights and no practical information.

  “There are three steps, but I only heard the bit about cooking the meal,” Osem said.

  I bit my lip. I knew that much already.

  “Let’s see. Ravenous but never able to eat. Can’t open closed doors. Oh. And at sunrise and sunset, they always return to the location where they died.”

  “Sunrise?” Ghosts existed at night.

  “It’s apparently uncommon, but some ghosts take human form during the day. Hawak’s research didn’t say if they could open doors in that form or not.”

  If our ghost was human during the day, it could ask for help directly. “Do you remember anything else?”

  “No. But why are you so curious? It’s not like you can cook a meal to exorcise our friend.”

  I needed that reminder. I couldn’t do anything for the ghost without risking my post, my neck, and my family. I’d already asked too many questions.

  The ghost let out a high-pitched whine. I sighed.

  “You’re not considering going out there and playing with it, are you? You have a knack for trouble without looking for more.”

  “I know. I just wish I could ease its suffering.”

  One morning when Hawak was teaching the apprentices how to grill green onions, Fir walked in. My neck stiffened and my pulse jumped.

  But Fir didn’t spare me a glance. He strode straight to Hawak, cutting him off mid-sentence. “You have to go, Hawak. She’s getting worse.”

  “Tell Blue Lady Egal to send someone else. I’m the only one fit to run the kitchens.”

  Fir smirked. I hated how handsome he looked. “If the king’s grandmother dies at the hands of one of these ducklings, you want it on your head?”

  The apprentices unanimously glared at Fir.

  “And if the king’s father dies? That’s no better,” Hawak countered. I’d learned a little more about people in the palace. Last fall, the king’s father fell deathly ill and abdicated the throne. The king’s grandmother was ancient—nearing ninety. She’d lived at Sandhead taking care of her family’s shrine ever since her husband died, some thirty years ago.

  “You don’t get to pick priorities, Hawak,” Fir said.

  I’d seen Hawak frustrated, and I’d seen him disappointed. But never angry like now, with his eyes pinched and his broad shoulders tight. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but—”

  “I’m not playing.” He pulled a letter from his belt. “Blue Lady Egal and His Majesty discussed the matter this morning. He’s ordering you to go tend to his dear, ailing grandmother—at once.”

  “King Former Fulsaan can’t possibly concur.”

  “Too bad he abdicated.” Fir nodded at the paper. “Look at the signatures. His Majesty insists you leave.”

  Hawak read, jaw clenched. “Get. Out.”

  Fir smiled roguishly. His soul must be filth, to look so charming while torturing Hawak. “Do you think I forged this seal? These are His Majesty’s orders and—”

  “And this is still my kitchen, whether I’m here or not. You’re trespassing. Shall I call the Palace Guard?”

  Fir stepped forward. “I am the grandson of a Lady! The great-grandson of a king! I will not be spoken to in this way.”

  “Last time I checked, you’re a spoiled, yellow-ranked brat. Go complain to His Majesty. See if he cares that his Green Rank Master Chef has snubbed the youngest son of a lady who married below her rank.”

  Fir bristled. I wanted to cheer, but I bit my tongue and scrubbed a bowl with my good hand instead.

  Hawak turned to an apprentice. “Tanoak, you’re in charge while I’m gone. If you see this fox come around here, call the guard. Or save yourself the trouble and gut him on the spot. Your butchery work has greatly improved.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tanoak replied, standing straight and tall as an ash tree.

  Hawak stared Fir down until he stumbled out of the kitchen. Then Hawak threw his rag on the ground and swore.

  Hawak gave a brief speech to all of us about not letting the kitchen burn down during his absence. Barring any delays, the carter stations could get him to Sandhead in three days. His Majesty had ordered him to stay for at least ten, or longer if his grandmother hadn’t recovered.

  Sixteen days. That seemed like an eternity for
the palace to be without Hawak. He left after lunch.

  That afternoon, one of the apprentices burned three crocks of buckwheat, filling the kitchens with smoke. Another failed to whisk the bean cake dough properly and ended up with an inedible, lumpy mess. A third cut his finger and attempted to treat it with a quick sour thimbleberry tea that granted strength-of-heart, but that only made his wound bleed faster. He should have made endurance-of-skin to encourage clotting. The apprentices scrambled to remake their dishes as servants arrived to fetch platters for their masters’ and fellows’ supper.

  Chaos reigned. Tanoak shouted himself hoarse—salal jam or honey-braised spinach stems would help, but time allowed no such luxury. Servants whined and complained at being made to wait, slowing the apprentices further.

  I ached to stand, take charge of the kitchen, and make order from chaos. But of course I couldn’t do that.

  Without Hawak to monitor things, dishes seemed to dirty themselves at double the usual rate. My arms ached as I tried to keep up.

  “Dami,” Osem said, “we won’t finish at this speed. C’mon, strong-of-arm.”

  “Strong-of-arm. Not endurance-of-arm. Though right now, I’d rather be lazy-of-everything,” I muttered. The stew on the inside of this crock might as well be plaster.

  Osem laughed. “If we’re lucky, the King will revise his orders and send someone to fetch Hawak back before he reaches Sandhead.”

  “If we could send Fir away at the same time, then I’d feel better.” Did he enjoy causing trouble? That couldn’t be all. He was up to something.

  Osem picked up the next crock—filthy, with hotpot bubbled up and burned onto the outside—and grabbed a handful of salt. “You’re that upset about losing Hawak? He’s married, you know. I’d stick with Bane.”

  No matter how hard I protested, Osem kept teasing me about him. I flustered. “Doesn’t talking make us scrub slower?”

  “But I enjoy it more.” Her mouth tugged up in her about-to-tease-me smile. “Bane will be heartbroken if you abandon his affections to try and steal a married man.”