Drumwe Isles

chapter eight

When the warriors reached the gate, the guards looked them up and down. "The king and queen sent a summons for us." Cael greeted them. The guards moved from the way quickly and allowed for the trio to enter. Kieran and Enid exchanged glances. Something about an interaction with guardsmen of the palace being simplistic and easy was off to them. Still, they followed Cael inside. "This way." Kieran told them.

"You've been in the palace before?"

Enid shot him a confused glance. He ignored her and led the way.

They made it to the throne room only to find there was nobody occupying the space. It was rather early but still, they thought it strange that no one had been there at all.

"What now?"

Enid shrugged.

"We wander about until we bump into someone."

The trio nodded and they started to wander the palace. For the first few halls, there wasn't a soul to be seen. That was until they happened across the dining room which was absolutely bustling with life.

Servants of all sorts moved this way and that. It seemed a banquet was being set. Dishes of squash and red meats were laid out generously, along with what seemed to be the good dining sets. There had to be at least eleven people in the room and so much commotion that the trio were hardly noticed and properly not acknowledged at all.

"Pardon me, sirs."

Kieran had the good sense to halt an engagement between two servants.

They were two dark haired lads with similar complexions but vastly different facial structures. They turned and surveyed the group of strangers swiftly, pausing their prior fit regarding whether the head cook had fancied this or that dish set for the occasion.

"What can we do you for?"

"We were sent for by the king."

"Ah yes, we heard talk of that. You ought to ask the head cook whereabouts you're wanted, we haven't seen the royals all mourn."

One of the servant boys took to explaining whilst the latter stood stoic as a statue.

"Which way will the head cook be?"

"Right through those doors there, in the kitchens. He'll be the yelling burly man, you can hardly miss the fellow."

Kieran nodded his head towards the doors for Cael and Enid to follow. They dipped into the kitchens only to find a great deal more chaos. Young lads and lasses in flour-coated aprons danced this way and that, seeming a great deal more tense than those in the dining hall.

Towards the back was the eye of the storm, as promised. A large and burly fellow shouting in a bit of a funny accent that only one of the trio members could've placed. He wore the same manner of dusty, stained apron. The strange business was his yelling wasn't angry in nature, but certainly assertive.

Kieran led the way, broad shoulders cutting them a clear path to the man, who was quite busy in his own world of preparation.

"No, hun, you oughta butter the biscuits and season em' before they go in the oven so you lock in the taste! C'mon darling, I taught you better'n this."

The woman before him threw her hands in the air and nodded. "Yes, sir. Whatever you ask, sir." There was a bite to her tone but nothing short of surrender either. She was a looker though not in any conventional sense. Then again, Cael supposed, so was the head cook.

"Bloody Devan, who are you lot? You haven't even any aprons!"

The head cook placed his hands on his hips and eyed them judgingly. There was an eccentric and dare they admit- feminine, way about him.