Rossamund thought her still very sharp and feisty for one so very ill.
Doctor Verhooverhoven quickly went on. 'But enough of this unflattering talk of fiscal things-you must be easy now, and have your draft when it's done.'
Rossamund found that disturbing black lacquer case-the treacle-box-poking from a saddlebag at the bottom of the cupboard. Once again it gave him dread chills as he fetched it out. He took it over to Europe, who roused herself and smiled weakly.
She looked to Sallow, who blushed brightly from ear to ear. 'Let this little man help you, skold. I trust him.'
The fulgar gave Rossamund a strange and haunted look. 'He's my new… factotum…' she finished almost in a whisper.
The foundling was stunned-her new factotum? Where did that leave him with the lamplighters?
Doctor Verhooverhoven gave a slight bow. 'As it shall be, ma'am. Take your ease.Your drafts shall be ready presently.' He raised his arms in a broad gesture to the skold and the foundling. 'Come! Sallow. Young sir. Off to the kitchens now and do your duty. Gretel will show you the way. Tell Closet that I have sent you.'
With a small bright-limn in her hand, the bower maid opened the door and curtsied to them, giving a grin. 'I'll take you to the kitchens, just as the physic ordered.' She stepped lightly into the hall and the skold went with her.
Rossamund gave Europe a last look and followed, a welcome calm settling inside-things were going to turn out well. Still, his thinking turned upon two questions as he followed the bower maid and the skold down the dim hall: How am I going to be able to be Europe's factotum and lamplighter too? and Where are my shoes?
Gretel took them through a door, down another passage and through another door. Stepping alongside Sallow, Rossamund became aware that she was surrounded with some very unpleasant smells and sensations. In combination with the treacle-box, these made him feel distinctly queasy.
'Hello,' the skold said softly with a shy smile. 'M-my name is Sssallow Meh-Meermoon. What's yours?'
'Rossamund,' he replied. She must be kind of important, to have two names. As always, he was half waiting for a strange reaction to his own.
'My, R-Rossamund, it mmmust be am-mazing to be the f-factotum of the B-Branden Rose!'
She had not reacted. He liked her. Pity she smells so badly. 'It must be amazing to be a skold,' he returned.
'Ooh, I w-wish it were.' Sallow sounded deeply troubled.
Rossamund looked up at her sad face.
'I only j-just got back from th-the r-r-rhombus in Worms a m-month aa-go,' she went on rapidly. 'Three years I was th-there, learning the E-Elements and the Su-Sub-Elements, the Parts, potential nostrum, all the ss-scripts, all the buh-Bases and the Combinations, the kuh-Kornchenflecter, the F-Four S-Spheres and the fuh-Four Humours, Applications of the V–Vade kuh-Chemica, mmmatter and ha-abilistics. Oh m-my, what a l-lot to n-know.'
Rossamund knew from his almanac that a 'rhombus' was where some skolds went to learn their craft. As to the other things she'd said, he had no idea what she was talking about-except that 'matter' was the study of things now past, that 'habilistics' was the study of how things work and that the Vade Chemica was an ancient book-as Craumpalin had told him-full of the most unspeakable things. This girl seemed too polite and kind to have spent three years delving into such a grim volume.
'I have l-learned it all too,' she carried on. 'Eh-everything. Achieved hi-igh st-standards, won p-prizes. Oh, but nuh-now…'
She trailed off as they went through one last door and came into a very large room full of heat and steam and shouts. Shadows moved within this muggy air, lit glaringly from behind by a large pall of flickering orange. Delicious smells, sweet and savory, hung thickly.
Mmm, the kitchen… Rossamund's stomach celebrated this discovery with a gurgle.
'Bucket, you little sprig!' a refined but gravelly voice boomed. 'Keep that spit turning and turning slowly, or I'll put you on it and baste you instead!'
There was a clang, then a crash, then a tinkle.
'That's it! Out! Out!' the voice boomed more loudly.
A small child scurried out of the thick vapors, pushed past them roughly and through the door. A ladle came flying after him, just missing Gretel and bouncing to the cobbled ground with a bang and a clatter that stung the ears. A very average-looking man with a red face appeared from the steam, his expression changing from a fit of fury to shamed apology and finally fixing on stiff reserve as he saw the three newcomers and at their feet the still shuddering ladle. 'Gretel. Whom have you brought me? Do they not like their food? Do they want Uda to make it instead, do they?'
He was neither short nor tall, fat nor thin, handsome nor ugly, just very average. He wore an apron of the cleanest white despite all the bubblings and boilings going on around them. It was his voice that had bellowed before.
'Not at all, Mister Closet,' Gretel answered merrily. 'You recognize young Sallow, our skold, don't you? Little Sallow? Went off to Worms, has come back a proper young lady and a bogle-fighter too? She needs to brew a potive here or some such, under Doctor Verhooverhoven's orders.'
Mister Closet made no sign of recognition. Instead, he looked ceilingward impatiently. 'Well… if the good doctor has ordered it, I suppose it must be allowed.' He frowned at Sallow and pointed to his left, his hand clutching a jagged knife. 'Use the hot plate in yon corner there and stay out of the way!'
Gretel went to leave and saw that Rossamund was padding about the place in just his trews. 'I am so sorry- you haven't had your shoes returned. Sitt, the rascal, has taken his time. I will fetch them for you,' she said and left them with a smile.
A silent, portly lady in an apron as filthy as Closet's was white gave the skold a small clay pot to mix in.
Rossamund fidgeted. The uncomfortable sensations coming from the treacle-box were beginning to become unbearable. It was a great relief when Sallow took it from him. As he gave it to her, he asked, 'Um-Miss Skold-ah- Sallow. Doesn't it make you feel… nervous, to hold all these reagents?'
'N-no, not r-really,' she answered absently. 'This is a w-well laid out b-box. Very ha-andy. Do you n-know where sh-she got it from?'
'Uh, no…'
With great concentration Sallow busied herself in the preparation of the treacle. The skold went through all the steps just as Rossamund had done, muttering to herself all the time. 'F-first the… bezoariac, then… the… r- rhatany… then…'
When it was finished (and Rossamund thought it a little too lumpy), Sallow poured the treacle into a beer tankard and carried it back to the room.
Europe drank as greedily as she always did. Almost before their very eyes her face flushed with renewed vigor.
As she finished the last of the treacle, Doctor Verhooverhoven turned to Sallow. 'I have good tidings for you, my dear.' The physician smiled at the skold. 'You see, this fair fulgar has told me-while you were brewing-that she has slain those troublesome bogles in the Brindleshaws!'
Sallow looked as if she had just been freed from a terrible gaol sentence. 'Really! Oh ruh-really!' She turned from the beaming doctor to the impassive fulgar.
Europe smiled in a cool, regal way, and nodded. 'I hear from the physic that you were doomed to fight them yourself, girl. I am glad to rid you of the burden. The big fellow was a doddle, but those I believe to be his little masters gave me the… hardest time. A mercantile league in High Vesting hired me to do it, so you can thank the Signal Stars the unhappy task is done. Back to brewing and books for you.'
'Oh my! Oh m-my! What a r-ruh-relief,' was all that the overjoyed Sallow could manage for the moment.
The offhand mention of the death of the Misbegotten Schrewd gave Rossamund a sharp jab in his gut. The sorrow of it returned to him.
Europe lay back, closing her eyes. 'I won't need your soporific, Doctor Verhooverhoven. I feel sleep coming to me anyway.'
'Good to hear-just as it should be.'
Taking up a candle, the physician shepherded Sallow toward the door with upraised arms. 'Time for we less sleepy folk to leave. I must return to my own abode-things there also need attending to. Sallow, after you.' He
