“My apologies, ma’am,” he said, touching left hand to heart. “The kitchens?”
“Other wing,” she said. “Though if the cook got any sense, she won’t feed you.” She shook her head and marched past him. “Drinkin’ ‘til almost sunup.”
Her mutterings dwindled as Ōbhin rubbed leather-clad fingers against his throbbing head. His steps only exasperated it as he left behind the servants’ quarters and entered the main house. He passed through the extravagant entry and the door to Dualayn’s lab. A tray of food, covered by a linen cloth, lay before it while a wooden sign hung from it with painted letters reading: “Research in progress, kindly do not disturb.”
The smells from the kitchen filled the other wing of the house. He encountered another pair of maids bustling around with friendlier smiles than Jilly’s followed by a cook’s assistant, a young woman named Hajina who gave him a nod. He reached the open door to the kitchen where a fleshy woman, face ruddy but bearing traces of youthful beauty, watched her young assistants dicing yellow, gnarled carrots.
“Come on, girl,” the woman said, her voice cold. “Even cuts.”
“Yes, Kaylin,” the girl said, shoulders hunching.
Ōbhin rasped on the edge of the doorway. “Ma’am, could I sneak a bite to eat?”
The cook turned her attention to him. An apron, not dissimilar from the maids’, covered her dark dress. Her sleeves were rolled up, arms smeared with streaks of flour. Her eyes had all the warmth of a corpse as they fixed on him.
“Eat?” she asked almost like the question confused her. “Yes, yes, lunch meal is ready.” She shook her head and then turned around. “Where did we put the lunches, girl?”
“They’re under the cheesecloth, Kaylin,” the girl dicing carrots said.
“Of course they are,” the cook said with almost a tone of admonishment. Despite her bulk, she moved swiftly around the large table to a second that stood near a bank of stoves with pots steaming on them. She pulled back a large cloth and revealed plates with hunks of sliced bread and meat draped over them. “Take one.” She frowned. “Who are you?”
“Ōbhin.”
“He’s Ni’mod’s replacement,” said the assistant. “Remember? Came in with Master Dualayn and Avena yesterday.”
“Did he?” The cook frowned again, the confusion appearing in her eyes. “Did Dualayn leave?”
“He did, Kaylin. Don’t you need to attend to the stew?”
“Of course I do!” snapped the cook. She whirled around. “Only one here who has any sense in the kitchen.”
As Ōbhin entered the kitchen to fetch an earthenware plate, he glanced at the assistant. The young woman, her round face flushed, shrugged. “She ain’t been right since her husband died.”
Ōbhin nodded. He heard something about the previous butler passing on. The fussy Pharon had replaced him. Scooping up the plate, he said, “My thanks, Madam Kaylin.”
The cook frowned. “Who are you? Why are you in my kitchen?”
Ōbhin just gave a smile and retreated with the plate. He found his way outside and leaned against the wall. The scent of the savory stew spilled out the window. He ate slowly and was soon joined by the other guards who looked as bleary-eyed as he. All save Smiles, who had a big grin.
“How can you be smilin’?” Fingers growled around a mouthful of wheat bread and goat meat. “Feel like my wife clubbed me over the head with her rollin’ pin a time or three.”
Bran nodded in agreement, the youth’s pale cheeks tinged with a faint hue of green.
“Jilly was such a dear,” Smiles said. “She fed me a tonic and soothed it all away. Good wife is a comfort.”
Ōbhin stared at the man and shook his head. Maybe the wrong wife’s doing the poisoning.
“What sort of duty chart do you have?” he asked.
“Oh, we take turns watching the gate during the day,” said Fingers. “Do some patrollin’ of the ground. One of us got to wake up a few times during the night and check if all the gates are secure.”
“No one’s awake for the whole night?” asked Ōbhin, frowning.
“With just the three of us.” Fingers popped his knuckles. Then he winced, rubbing at the swollen joints.
“You ever ask Dualayn to use a healer on you?” asked Ōbhin.
Fingers snorted. “Not lettin’ some gem resonate through my body. Experimentin’ wot put his wife like that.” Fingers nodded to the wheelchair being pushed around the grounds by the motherly woman. “Should’ve let her die, not keep her soul trapped in that husk.”
“He’s trying to save her life,” said Smiles. “And his experiments didn’t cause her gettin’ feeble-minded.”
“Nope!” Bran said around a hunk of bread. “Mfy magh sadyh—”
“Swallow, boy,” growled Fingers. “Colours, we can’t understand you.”
Bran chewed and chewed on the thick bread before finally swallowing. “My ma said it was another surgeon wot did it. Botched her with his cure ‘n destroyed her mind. My ma would know.” He nodded to the motherly woman. “See, she’s been carin’ for Madam Dashvin for years and years.”
“Avena said much the same,” Ōbhin said. “So, you don’t guard at night, only the day. What else do you do?”
Bran shrugged. “Just, you know, be ‘round. Ready in case of any of dem Breezy Hills Boys try ‘n break in. They be Rangers boys, you know. Don’t like us. Why we got spikes on the fence.”
Though the grounds looked picturesque, they weren’t far from the slums of Kash. Ōbhin knew that a hundred or more street gangs controlled various neighborhoods, running contraband, stealing, extorting merchants, or running illegal brothels. Some were allied with Grey’s Brotherhood, while others, especially in the outlying burrows, supported the Free Association of Rangers. Twice, Ust’s band had been ambushed by
