3 bar menu

Vol.1, Ch.2, P.7

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Revision – 2022.10.27

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“Why, Emilie! Fine work today, eh?”

“Ey up, Emilie!”

“We make for the mess hall. Come and dine with us, Lady Emilie, if it pleases you.”

As Emilie and I made our way to the mess hall, we chanced upon the other members of the Owlcrane Brigade: Gerd, Raakel, and Sheila.

“O-oh, all right, then.”

Joined with new company, we resumed on our way, with Emilie surrounded by the other three and myself not far behind.

“Congratulations on your promotion, Lieutenant Emilie.”

“My thanks, Gerd. Only, I must say, ‘tis an honour wasted on the freshest newcomer.”

“Easy on the modesty there, m’love,” said Raakel. “Gotten a gander o’ that grand spellblade o’ yers, we have. Ye be the strongest o’ us, an’ if I’m honest, havin’ ye lead us is a no-brainer, ain’t it?”

“Can’t disagree there,” nodded Gerd. “And that’s to say nothing of your tactical wits—the best amongst us, mind you. Planning, organising—the mareschal doesn’t hold back his praises when he sees how sharply you manage our operations.”

“Y-you know! I’ve tried telling the mareschal for who knows how many times by now, but Rolf’s been the one charitable enough to give me counsel all this time…” Emilie admitted with an uneasy smile.

“Lady Emilie. Honour given is honour earned, no matter how much you have leant upon your swain for it,” Sheila corrected.

“S-still! That we needed a lieutenant to begin with was Rolf’s own suggestion…”

“Come now, Emilie,” said Gerd. “Thinking dearly of your swain—a fine play of virtue, sure. But I’ll be frank: you coddle that man more than he deserves, and that doesn’t sit well, not with me, at least.”

“How could you…” Emilie then turned to me, giving flickering glances with those troubled eyes of hers.

It does you ill to seek my help, Emilie. I count myself amongst those that see you fit for the lieutenant’s cape, after all.

The 5th’s Owlcrane Brigade heretofore did not have a lieutenant position of its own. Seeing this, I expounded to Emilie a number of reasons as to why our brigade stood to benefit from having a chain of command of its own, which she then relayed to the mareschal himself. Thus was the lieutenant’s role born, and Emilie the first to assume it.

‘And you will take up the charge, yes?’ Tallien had said, as if it was custom to thrust responsibility upon the proposers of ideas.

But if we were to consider it with an eye for aptitude, then Emilie well-seemed the perfect candidate. Gerd’s faculties of reasoning were slightly wanting; the man played by the book, so much so he lacked the flexibility to think beyond its cover. Sheila, on the other hand, possessed the composure to view things broadly, but her nature lacked the magnetism of a leader. And Raakel… well, let’s just say she was more the chess piece and less the player.

For her part, Emilie had a potent charisma about her, nurtured by an innately charming temperament that earned her no small measure of admiration. A vital asset for a commanding officer, to be sure. In fact, I measured her to be capable of someday leading a large host of her own. Single-handedly, no less. Not to mention, she possessed quite the affinity for the levin magicks—very often did she wrest the attention of others during training with her dazzling displays of lightning-ensorcelled swordplay, coupled with her winsome looks all the while.

In pondering such things, the mess hall now stood before us. Wafts of aromas, sure to rouse the stomach, had long greeted us down the corridor before our arrival. My nose predicted stew, the sort bedight with cuts of long-braised lamb. A feast, I was sure, one most welcome on a cold day such as this.

“Proper nitherin’, ey!” complained Raakel, as if on cue. “Cold’s been bitin’ these days. Ye feel it too, don’t ye loves?”

“I fear this winter shall not come gently,” Sheila confirmed. “On mornings of late, I oft find my staff frozen to the fingers’ touch—oh! How it startles.”

“Bloomin’ ‘eck, the mess hall’s no better!” Raakel continued. “Weren’t always this nippy here, ye think?”

“Is it now?” questioned Sheila. “I think it warm quite enough.”

Where people gather, they air words of the weather. I suppose there was some truth in that. By no particular fancy, I found myself lending an ear to the girls’ gossip.

“Ye pullin’ me leg, Sheila? Come on, I can’t be the only one shiverin’ here!”

“Raakel might have a point,” Emilie chimed in. “‘Twas warmer here up till recently, I feel.”

“Hm. Can’t make two ways about it myself,” Gerd added. “You sure it’s not just the faeries tricking your fancy?”

“Well, the Lady Raakel has barely a scant of fat about her,” Sheila observed. “It would explain why the cold bites her more bitterly, perhaps.”

“Ah Sheila, ever the unwitting jester,” chuckled Gerd. “Your japery jabs no less bitterly than the rimey mistrals, what with how unscanted your udders are.”

“Tempt my wrath, do you?” Sheila snapped.

“How about you, Rolf?” Emilie asked, turning to me. It seemed charity compelled her to count me in on their conversation.

“Soot,” I said, looking further into the mess hall. “The hearth seems choked with it. Left as is, I’m afraid it’ll prove a poor shield against the chill.”

“Soot does that, now? Why, I didn’t know!”

“It does indeed, my Lady. Soot causes the burning of firewood to scantle.”

“Well then, ungraced. Be a good yeoman and go clean it right up, will you?” Gerd said nonchalantly. Looks like the lamb stew would have to wait.

“W-what? Why?” questioned Emilie. “Rolf joins us for supper! ‘Tis hardly a time for errands.”

“Housekeeping’s best done before the hour grows late,” Gerd answered. “Ungraced here has more chores early on the morrow, I’m sure.”

“But why Rolf, then? We’re hardly short of housekeepers.”

Because I’m a swain who can’t fight, of course.

“Why not? He’s a swain.”

“‘Tis no job for a swain! You know that!”

“Then what is? This bloke—can he fight? No? Well then, there’s the rub. Let’s make him useful, why don’t we? Give him a job he can do.”

Lips pouted. “R… Rolf is my swain and mine alone. You have no right…”

This will not do. We were drawing more eyes than needed. A shouting match between these two would make Emilie seem the lieutenant over-eager with her newfound authority.

“I’ll have it done, my Lady,” I interjected. “Honoured Owlcranes, I bid you all a pleasant supper.”

“Oho! We be eatin’ warm tonight,” said Raakel. “Ta fer that, muscle-pate!”

“But, Rolf…!”

“Lady Emilie. I pay it no mind, really. Besides, I mislike lamb this time of year; it chews not as tenderly,” I assured her. “Dine well, my Lady.”

“Ah, Ro…”

Turning about, I exited the mess hall and made way to the cleaners’ closet. Perhaps speaking ill of the lamb was foolish of me. A fox once mocked a cluster of grapes for its sourness, though purely on account of it being beyond the reach of his paws. In recalling that fable, I surrendered a slight grin.

 

♰

 

Levity and conviviality suffused the mess hall as those within partook of both hot meals and hale chatter. Divorced from the merry backdrop was I, about to partake instead of some hearth-cleaning.

Such menial tasks are hardly a chore, I feel. In fact, since my earliest days, I’ve been quite taken with them. In times when my mind is mired in doubt or worry, I would unfetter my heart from the weight of it all and simply give in to a nice round of cleaning. At the end of it, I would find both my heart and my room as a clear sky after a passing rain. Wondrous satisfaction, it is.

People get on in their lives, each taking comfort in a routine that frees them. Some let loose in culinary pursuits, others simply take a stroll. For me, keeping things tidy fits the bill.

Having said that, this would be my first time cleaning a hearth. Lacking experience, my thoughts turned to the servants back at the Buckmann manor, and all the times I’d watched them busy in their business. Soot-sweeping, too, was their duty, their methods of which I proceeded to mimic.

First came clearing out the larger pieces of burnt debris. I left the ashes for later, once they were in the company of the soot to be scraped from up the chimney. I then crept into the hearth, taking along a lantern to illuminate the vertical interior. There, I found layers of soot stuck to the chimney’s inner walls, though they had yet to extend to the portions higher up, thankfully. Cleaning the lower walls would do just fine, from the look of it.

After shoving my body further into the chimney, I began brushing off the hanging soot. Clumps and crumbs of the black stuff dislodged and trickled down. Quite gratifying, oddly enough.

With a longer brush in hand, I gave the same treatment to the middle portion of the chimney, bringing my lantern up from time to time to check my progress. Areas still sooted earned themselves another scrubbing.

Before long, the chimney found itself well-tidied up. Worming my way out of it, I turned my attention to the hearth, freeing it from its own fair share of the caking soot. And when the muck was mostly cleared, I reared out of the hearth to inspect its condition. Well done so far, if I do say so myself. A little more brushing, and my job would be finished, but not before removing the soot and ashes collected at the bottom of the hearth.

By then, the others in the mess hall had mopped up the last of their meals, whiling away the remaining time with tea and chit-chat.

“…Look there, hey? An alga, he is…” one amongst them whispered, earning a round of resounding laughter.

“Alga”—that is, the “soot-steeped”. An unsavoury epithet for the indented who earn their living from soot-sweeping, and in the process, finding themselves absolutely dusted in the dark silt. Truth be told, I must have seemed the part, soot-steeped as I was. My face, too, was likely smeared and shaded all over with the stuff.

The giggles and guffaws failed to relent in the slightest. One of the onlookers was unabashedly in stitches, clapping and tearing up from the hilarity.

I began to wonder how Emilie felt in witnessing all this. Her probable expression was an easy guess; likely she would turn away in sorrow were our eyes to meet.

Knowing this, I made sure that they didn’t.

 

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