Post by albie on Mar 27, 2009 11:13:44 GMT
"Here we have the laundry, that is specifically set aside for the raiment and bedding of the royal household. No other item from the palace or outside the palace is to be washed here. It will be your job to ensure this rule is kept to, and when the washer-woman is not here, you shall fill in for her until she returns. Now, the royal maids deposit the garments here in these baskets. Each of the royal family has a basket alloted to them so there is no mix up. The King's laundry is attended to first, the Queen second and after that," the major domo tapped his nose, "use your judgment."
The major-domo ushered me out of the room.
"Next door we have the pantry for the palace servitors - don't go in there yourself. Your meals will be served in the servitors' hall with everyone else. Along this corridor we have access to the courtyards. Occasionally a guardsman may use this to, oh, I don't know, maintain security, something along those lines. It is not to be used as shortcut, under fear of death."
The major-domo chuckled. I wondered if I had shown that much fear at his warning.
"What else should I show you today? Yes, I could show you the cellar level."
The major-domo put his hand into a shadow and found a thin door studded with strong looking nail heads. It creaked like my mother's aged voice.
"In you go. The torches should be lit all the way down, unless the maid for this area has been slack in her duties."
A stone staircase wound downwards out of view. The torches mounted on the curving wall danced as I descended, sending the light into a furious confusion that shrank and deepened the shadows upon the steps. My feet echoed ahead of me.
"Come along. No need to fear. Down you go."
The stairs wound thrice before letting me out into more of the same kind of darkness: blotted with the thankless circles of illumination from sparse wall sconces. Doors sat thick and black beside most of the pools of light. We seemed to be alone.
"To the right. You're not afraid of deep dark places, are you? Some are. It's too late to apply for a job higher up in the palace. The King prefers his servitors to be women, in the turrets and bedrooms. Unless you find a way of beefing up and picking up a guardsman's pike?"
"I do not mind the dark or the depths, " I told him.
"Well done. You'll spend a lot of time down here. We have someone famous staying at the moment. You've heard of Count Bergarran?"
I did not want to tell the major-domo that my only source of information of Count Bergarran came from the alley rhymes of children, which I quickly tried to remember.
"I know of him, sir."
"Well, he's down here, with his allies. And people who follow a similar route through life."
"But, is the Count not dead?" I felt a fool to trust a street song, but I was certain it was fact.
"Yes, he's dead. Now, to the right and keep going. Come along. I have new maids to train in the art of chamber pot cleaning."
The major-domo, who's name I had yet to learn, walked me into the fitful darkness; not caring that his familiarity of the shadows was still to be gifted to me. What choice did I have?
"I started down here too, but not in quite a lowly role as yours. I enjoyed it. Not many do. Understandable. My years of service put me in good stead for the promotion to major-domo. I was thirteen summers old when I first lost myself down here. There are other levels below this. It's a warren. No rabbits though."
The major-domo turned a corner. It was then I began to notice a smell of cooking. Mother had fed me with bread and fish before I left home, unsure when I would see food again- but that smell woke my stomach afresh.
The major-domo was now twisting a large iron ring handle.
"Bloody thing! This hasn't worked right since the floods ten summers ago. Ah, here we are."
I had not seen the door but now it opened with a gritty bark of metal against metal. The smell of cooking came out to greet us properly.
"This way, boy. I'll introduce you to the Count."
The room was dotted with flames licking from coal filled braziers on long legs. They brought the only light and I struggled to put a name to the meat the flames worked at.
"You shall come down here and refuel the fires, three times a day should do it. You will also help with recording any activity."
"Activivity?" I had to ask.
"I'll just light this torch and show you."
He picked up something long from a barrel and pressed its end to the nearest brazier. The flames crawled across the stick and he held it aloft.
"See? Count Bergarran, at your service, " he said, placing the torch flame near a lump of darkness that quickly took shape. He had lit up the face of a corpse; red in some places. green in others, and what was left was black, charred.
"You will have heard about the Count's treachery to the King, of course?"
"Yes."
"Betraying the King's confidence is a grave offense. A devil must have moved him to such a tragic act, and a tragic consequence."
The major-domo moved the torch away from the Count's face and I was glad of it. Then he strolled further into the room and lit up another face, and another, and another.
"We have a full house. Some have been here months. They generally don't last a year. Although, when I was an apprentice here there was boats of seven months and fourteen days on the flame."
"Please. I do not understand. They are dead, aren't they?"
The major-domo held the torch close to his own face. For one second I thought that he also would be black and charred.
"The Kingdom has secrets, child. Things that the man in the alleys and sweating on the docks will never know of. Secrets that are to be imparted to select members of the palace servitors, such as yourself."
"Me?"
"Yes. You look like a person who can keep a secret, keep his tongue."
I had no choice but to nod my head furiously.
"Well then. Here it is. The Count is dead, all these people are dead. They died in the torture chair, after weeks of justly administered pain. They are indeed dead, but that does not mean that their agony should come to an end."
"It doesn't?"
"No."
"No?"
"No, " the major-domo said in a whisper, slowly shaking his head. "Science has shown the way. Filled the yawning gap between here and there. With special practises and special unguents and fluids, the flesh can be used to convey the King's righteous punishments beyond the veil."
"Into the heavens and..."
"Into the hells, yes. The body is kept in a state akin to life and the slow flames, that will feed, lick agony into the soul that has abandonded its limbs and its responsibilities. And if done right the pain is intense enough, insistent enough, that it plucks the writhing souls of these back stabbers from their non corporeal realms and returns them to their bodies."
I tried to swallow.
"Then, my dear boy, your most important of chores requires your utmost attention: you record the activity."
The major-domo brought his torch to a corner of the room, to where a small table and chair sat, looking like firewood nailed together. A quill sat upright in a bottle of ink, upon the table. Below it a piece of paper with writing on it. It looked like the messiest handwriting I had seen outside of the schoolroom.
"Activity?" I asked again, my head swimming.
The major-domo drew back the torch flame to illuminate his own face.
"Yes. Activity. You shall record their confessions."
The major-domo ushered me out of the room.
"Next door we have the pantry for the palace servitors - don't go in there yourself. Your meals will be served in the servitors' hall with everyone else. Along this corridor we have access to the courtyards. Occasionally a guardsman may use this to, oh, I don't know, maintain security, something along those lines. It is not to be used as shortcut, under fear of death."
The major-domo chuckled. I wondered if I had shown that much fear at his warning.
"What else should I show you today? Yes, I could show you the cellar level."
The major-domo put his hand into a shadow and found a thin door studded with strong looking nail heads. It creaked like my mother's aged voice.
"In you go. The torches should be lit all the way down, unless the maid for this area has been slack in her duties."
A stone staircase wound downwards out of view. The torches mounted on the curving wall danced as I descended, sending the light into a furious confusion that shrank and deepened the shadows upon the steps. My feet echoed ahead of me.
"Come along. No need to fear. Down you go."
The stairs wound thrice before letting me out into more of the same kind of darkness: blotted with the thankless circles of illumination from sparse wall sconces. Doors sat thick and black beside most of the pools of light. We seemed to be alone.
"To the right. You're not afraid of deep dark places, are you? Some are. It's too late to apply for a job higher up in the palace. The King prefers his servitors to be women, in the turrets and bedrooms. Unless you find a way of beefing up and picking up a guardsman's pike?"
"I do not mind the dark or the depths, " I told him.
"Well done. You'll spend a lot of time down here. We have someone famous staying at the moment. You've heard of Count Bergarran?"
I did not want to tell the major-domo that my only source of information of Count Bergarran came from the alley rhymes of children, which I quickly tried to remember.
"I know of him, sir."
"Well, he's down here, with his allies. And people who follow a similar route through life."
"But, is the Count not dead?" I felt a fool to trust a street song, but I was certain it was fact.
"Yes, he's dead. Now, to the right and keep going. Come along. I have new maids to train in the art of chamber pot cleaning."
The major-domo, who's name I had yet to learn, walked me into the fitful darkness; not caring that his familiarity of the shadows was still to be gifted to me. What choice did I have?
"I started down here too, but not in quite a lowly role as yours. I enjoyed it. Not many do. Understandable. My years of service put me in good stead for the promotion to major-domo. I was thirteen summers old when I first lost myself down here. There are other levels below this. It's a warren. No rabbits though."
The major-domo turned a corner. It was then I began to notice a smell of cooking. Mother had fed me with bread and fish before I left home, unsure when I would see food again- but that smell woke my stomach afresh.
The major-domo was now twisting a large iron ring handle.
"Bloody thing! This hasn't worked right since the floods ten summers ago. Ah, here we are."
I had not seen the door but now it opened with a gritty bark of metal against metal. The smell of cooking came out to greet us properly.
"This way, boy. I'll introduce you to the Count."
The room was dotted with flames licking from coal filled braziers on long legs. They brought the only light and I struggled to put a name to the meat the flames worked at.
"You shall come down here and refuel the fires, three times a day should do it. You will also help with recording any activity."
"Activivity?" I had to ask.
"I'll just light this torch and show you."
He picked up something long from a barrel and pressed its end to the nearest brazier. The flames crawled across the stick and he held it aloft.
"See? Count Bergarran, at your service, " he said, placing the torch flame near a lump of darkness that quickly took shape. He had lit up the face of a corpse; red in some places. green in others, and what was left was black, charred.
"You will have heard about the Count's treachery to the King, of course?"
"Yes."
"Betraying the King's confidence is a grave offense. A devil must have moved him to such a tragic act, and a tragic consequence."
The major-domo moved the torch away from the Count's face and I was glad of it. Then he strolled further into the room and lit up another face, and another, and another.
"We have a full house. Some have been here months. They generally don't last a year. Although, when I was an apprentice here there was boats of seven months and fourteen days on the flame."
"Please. I do not understand. They are dead, aren't they?"
The major-domo held the torch close to his own face. For one second I thought that he also would be black and charred.
"The Kingdom has secrets, child. Things that the man in the alleys and sweating on the docks will never know of. Secrets that are to be imparted to select members of the palace servitors, such as yourself."
"Me?"
"Yes. You look like a person who can keep a secret, keep his tongue."
I had no choice but to nod my head furiously.
"Well then. Here it is. The Count is dead, all these people are dead. They died in the torture chair, after weeks of justly administered pain. They are indeed dead, but that does not mean that their agony should come to an end."
"It doesn't?"
"No."
"No?"
"No, " the major-domo said in a whisper, slowly shaking his head. "Science has shown the way. Filled the yawning gap between here and there. With special practises and special unguents and fluids, the flesh can be used to convey the King's righteous punishments beyond the veil."
"Into the heavens and..."
"Into the hells, yes. The body is kept in a state akin to life and the slow flames, that will feed, lick agony into the soul that has abandonded its limbs and its responsibilities. And if done right the pain is intense enough, insistent enough, that it plucks the writhing souls of these back stabbers from their non corporeal realms and returns them to their bodies."
I tried to swallow.
"Then, my dear boy, your most important of chores requires your utmost attention: you record the activity."
The major-domo brought his torch to a corner of the room, to where a small table and chair sat, looking like firewood nailed together. A quill sat upright in a bottle of ink, upon the table. Below it a piece of paper with writing on it. It looked like the messiest handwriting I had seen outside of the schoolroom.
"Activity?" I asked again, my head swimming.
The major-domo drew back the torch flame to illuminate his own face.
"Yes. Activity. You shall record their confessions."