The Strings in the Shadows

Chapter One- In Which Jack and Kaira get rudely awoken

The brave knight Jack the Great strode calmly forward as a malicious large dragon charged at him, snarling and with gray smoke billowing out of its nostrils. Yelling in defiance of this great beast, the heroic knight Jack the Incredible swung his giant broadsword skillfully, and was just inches away from cleaving the dragon's head from its scaley shoulders-

"JACK! IF I HAVE TO CALL YOU ONE MORE TIME, I SWEAR YOU WON'T EAT IN THIS CASTLE FOR A WEEK!"

Jack Hasline, kitchen boy, swore as he tumbled out of his cot. "BE RIGHT THERE, MAM!" He yelled back, fumbling with the straps of his boots; no need to get dressed, he'd slept in his clothes again. He glanced at his reflection in the smudged glass on his dresser; he had gotten more than one smack upside the head for coming to work without combing his hair into a more acceptable style than how his hair naturally fell: all over the place. He grimanced. When his mother sounded that angry, he didn't have time for a proper combing. His fingers would have to do, he thought, running his hands through his dark red hair as he raced out of the apartment he and his mam, Castle Head Cook Gretta Hasline, shared in the servants quarters behind the castle. He jogged doggedly after the small shape of his mother, three hundred feet ahead of him, down the path to the kitchens

Gretta Hasline was a no-nonsense cook, and even more of a no-nonsense mother. She was porky around the middle, like all good cooks, short with stubby legs, and her cheeks were always a ruddy red that matched her hair, either from the heat of the stoves or from yelling to loudly, which she often directed at Jack. Her hands had only a few old scars from when she was first learning the cook trade; Jack's hands constantly had one or three bandages covering the bloody mistakes he'd make when chopping up vegetables. He hoped his mam would see some sense for once and assign Jack to do something even he couldn't mess up, like... He had no idea what job he hadn't tried in the castle kitchens in the seventeen years of his life, but there had to be something! The only thing he could do aceptabley well was chop wood, but the son of the Head Cook is supposed to actually be able to cook without burning or destroying something.

In fact, if it wasn't for the same hair color, Jack would question whether Gretta was actually his mother. They acted nothing like each other and they looked nothing like each other, she was so stout and short to his own tall lean, her preferred method of communication was shouting and giving orders rudely while he talked at a normal, polite volume, her eyes were brown and his light blue...

"JACK! GET IN HERE NOW! " His mother screeched, breaking into his thoughts. He had accidently lagged so far behind that Gretta had already began giving orders to his fellow kitchen servants, who, like he should have been, were already making preparations for the new day half an hour before Gretta had gotten out of bed.

"I'm here, mam," he said, stifling a yawn. She glared at him.

"Wash those dirty mitts you call hands and start peeling those potatoes in the corner. Get it done in three hours, they need four hours to soak and by then we'll need them for lunch." She gestured vaguely toward his workspace, which was surrounded by nine or ten two-bushel baskets of potatoes. Jack quickly calculated and groaned. Twenty bushels in 180 minutes would mean he'd have nine minutes per bushel, and each bushel had on average of around 18 potatoes, so he'd have to peel two potatoes as big as his hand per minute for the next three hours. With no breaks. And he hadn't even had breakfast yet.

"Couldn't you give me some help?" He heard himself ask before he could stop himself.

His mother's cheeks began to turn a dark red as she yelled,"NO! IF YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE WORK I'LL THROW YOU OUT ON THE STREETS! NO FREELOADERS UNDER MY ROOF! NOW GET TO WORK!YOU'RE WASTING MY TIME!"