by Ross Kitson
***
The manner in which Mother Gresham dominated her area of the kitchen went beyond her physical presence, which was formidable enough. Her corpulent bulk seemed to expand to occupy all available space. Rolls of fat cascaded from her face, giving the appearance of a gigantic candle that had melted. Her arms had swinging flaps of skin that Sandila joked could lift her enormous bulk over the upper city’s walls and into the void beyond, should a wind catch her unawares.
Yet there was a shrewd glint in Gresham’s eyes, borne from the strength of mind that had elevated the Mother from her beginnings as a scullerymaid to the matriarch of the lower floors.
She waddled the short distance to the robust bench on the periphery of the huge bustling kitchen. Emelia observed, over the top of the bread roll she ate, that Mother’s breathing had that peculiar wheeze of the gargantuan.
Mother Gresham took a mouthful of the alcas bread and scratched one of her chins in thought. She turned to address the six girls who squatted against the kitchen wall eating their breakfast. The peppery seeds of the bread gave her face an extra flush.
“Sandila’s left us in a bit of a fix, my girls,” she said. She spoke Imperial with a strong Azaguntan accent.
“Not as much of a fix as poor Gelia’s in now,” Emelia said to Abila with a whisper. Gelia, the slowest of the maids, was still scrubbing vomit in the adjacent dormitory.
“Sandila was to be taking up Lord Ebon-Farr’s breakfast early today. He always insists on her when he has guests,” Gresham said.
“I wonder why,” Abila said to Emelia. She tried not to laugh back, biting hard into her alcas bread.
Mother Gresham fixed her steely gaze on Emelia.
“Which I suppose means we’ll have to unleash you on them today, Emelia.”
Emelia blushed as the girls all stared at her. A trickle of dread rose from her belly and her mouth began to dry despite the moistness of the bread.
“B-but, Mother, surely Annre is better to…” Emelia said.
Mother shook her head, her jowls wobbling. “Annre, Abila and Tarn are to attend Lady Ebon-Farr for her dressing. M’lady has an engagement with Lady Farvous in Northside. I think we all remember your last experience of dressing.”
Emelia cringed at the reminder. Two years ago she had helped dress Lady Ebon-Farr in her many rich skirts and had torn the fabric on a loose nail. Mother had been obliged to cane her and she had sobbed herself to sleep for a week afterwards.
If she wasn’t such an ignorant crone, continually moving as you tried to fix her skirts, it wouldn’t have happened, Emebaka observed acidly. Emelia shut the voice out and tried to think of another excuse.
Mother interjected before Emelia could speak.
“Gedre and Quellik are needed in the kitchen today for the baking. The garrison is working full tilt with the Ni-Faris festival coming up. And besides they are both too young to be acting as parlourmaid.”
Gedre and Quellik both began to protest, but a glare from Mother Gresham brought them to a halt. Gresham had a temper to match her flaming hair.
A rich voice rose above the din from the kitchen as Captain Ris came in, and sat beside Mother on the already strained timber bench.
“It is a fair comment, lass. The lads are busting a gut and a hungry soldier is a mutinous one. Besides, it’ll give the lads a treat to see those eyes of yours in the upper Keep.”
The other girls all laughed. Emelia blushed again, feeling suddenly awkward and uncomfortable.
Ris’s pale blue eyes met hers as he peered down his hawkish nose. Like most Eerians he was tall and slim, with the grey hair that grew on them all from manhood. He had a clipped beard that gave his jaw a commanding edge.
“It seems only the other day these lasses were brought on the stagecoach from Greypeak, all doe-eyed and smelling of starch. You’ve done a fine job with them, Mother, what with Mister Hirfen moving to the Lord’s estate in Lower Eeria.”
Mother clucked at the praise.
“You’re too generous, Captain. Merciful Torik knows that girls can be a challenge, but they’ve each got good in them if you can just ferret it out.”
“The lads’d ferret it out of the Azaguntan lass, that’s for sure—shame she’s taken a fever,” Ris said with a chuckle. “Young Emelia’s diamond eyes might yet put a smile on his Lordship’s face today. He’s got some serious company it would seem, to be rising as early as the likes of us.”
Emelia sighed in defeat and rose.
