Eat the Poor

II

On my way into the castle kitchen, I crossed paths with a goose.

A tall, fat goose, waddling through the doorway with its orange bill tilted up like it was headed somewhere important. Perhaps royal geese knew they were royal. No one ran after it.

There were women inside, all rushing and bustling about. Some slicing vegetables. One stirring a heavy black pot over a brick fireplace. One on her hands and knees wiping the floor.

"'Scuse me!" a voice called as my eyes lingered for just a moment on the girl's backside. "State your business or back to the streets with ya!"

"Uh," I mumbled. She was old, the woman who had shouted at me, and short with a broad chest that strained against her full-length apron. "I have, eh... a paper, it-" I shuffled the parchment out of my vest. "I wish to be hired."

She snatched it away like the tailor had and glanced the writing over. "Here to work?" she asked finally, rubbing one stained finger under her eye.

My nose wrinkled at the acrid smells hanging in the air - tallow candles burning, fresh blood, onion.

"I am," I said, deepening my voice slightly. "I might look scrawny but I can manage just about anything."

The old woman shrugged and trudged back the way she'd come, through the kitchen and out a tiny, rounded door to a curving hallway. "What ya standin' 'round for?" she barked from across the room. "Follow me!"

I skipped after her, ducking my head under the stooping ceiling. I was an awkward, mediocre height, not tall enough to tower over others, not short enough to resort to jumping when crowds gathered in the square.

In comparison to my brothers, who had all, save for Gale, been blessed with my father's warrior build, I was easy to miss.

"Men's quarters is 'ere," the old cook said, jutting her chin aggressively in the direction of a room along the hall. "If I catch ya bringin' girls in I report ya straight to the steward."

I stepped forward to peer my head inside the room, then pulled back when I was immediately hit with the pungent scent of unwashed bodies. "This is where we sleep?"

"Work starts at dawn," she said, pushing open the creaky wooden door fully and giving me an elbow inside. "Don't be late. You're out if you're late."

"Do I get a cot?" I asked. There were about ten or so men in the room now, all lounging on faded, fraying white cots, though I assumed dozens of other servants were scattered elsewhere in the castle.

"Try if ya can." The old woman straightened her apron where it had slid to the side. "I'm back to the kitchens. Rest up."

I looked over my shoulder to give her a nod, then nearly flinched as the heavy door slammed shut. The mens' heads snapped up at this, and then suddenly, one by one, their chatter silenced and they had all turned to look at me.

It was as if I had just been locked in a cage full of wolves. Dirty, stinking wolves.

They went back to ignoring me, some quicker than others. A few were playing cards at a table made from a slab of wood over two barrels. The one closest to me kept staring. He was large, with a shiny bald head hosting a single hair. "Hello," he said, wiping a hand over his ruddy face.

I said nothing and walked to a sagging empty cot in the back of the room. There was some sort of gray sludge on the floor beneath it. I held my breath as I tried to avoid stepping in it.

Tacked to the wall was an ink resemblance of the King, complete with his royal crown and long red cloak. A cluster of sharp darts pierced his chest, two in his eyes, and several more in his groin.