Curse of the New Age no. 2b

I quickly folded the letter. For a moment, I considered burning it. It was dangerous for me to keep it. It was a weakness to hold onto it, I knew, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. So, instead, I just put it back, locked the drawer, and hid the key in the usual place.

I started to take off my clothes, but I kept staring at the door. So, I grabbed a chair and stuffed it under the door handle.

The situation was intolerable, but it was better than starving in the streets.

I quickly dressed myself. The family had provided me with a generous clothing allowance. There were only a few tailors in the city who continued to make traditional Kyn clothing, but I was able to buy extraordinary pieces. They were elegant and beautiful, consisting of long panels of embroidered thick cloth that disguised the features of my body.

The problem now was that I was in a hurry. I wasn’t in the mood for straps and ties and buttons or lacing or layers. I realized my breathing had changed again. After the initial relief I felt when he left, I slowly began to consider the gravity of the situation.

My best chance for survival was to do as I was told.

I steadied my breathing. I tightened and tied the lacing on both sides of the front panel of my vestments. I brushed my hair and tied it up into a high knot. I dotted rouge on my lips and my eyelids. I slipped on my shoes.

I put the chair back where it belonged, took a quick look into the mirror that was hung over my dressing table, turned, and opened the door.

I kept my head high and my stride strong as I left the house and headed toward the kitchen. The young master lived in a house hidden on a remote corner of the estate, so several times a day I had to make a trek to the kitchens. I tried to pretend as if this were any other day.

The estate was one of the first imperial building projects in the nation. It was once the institutional seat of the occupying forces before full governmental integration. I thought I would feel very strange living here. I did, but not in the way I expected.

It made me feel strong.

Here I was, tutoring the discarded child of a wealthy family, with their roof over my head and sleeping in their bed, eating their food and walking on their cobblestone paths, and wearing Kyn finery out in the open.

I had survived.

I remembered who I was.

But every day, I had to remind myself to choose peace.

Today, the kitchen sounded different. It was louder. I realized that I had never come to the kitchen at this time of day. They must have been busy preparing for lunch.

The moment I opened the door, someone yelled, “Where were you?”

“I overslept,” I explained as I walked in the door. “Young master missed his breakfast. Do you have anything prepared that I can take him?”

The kitchen was almost always busy. Several members of the Gannon family lived on the estate, and they often entertained in the evenings. The facilities were still much too large for them. The head chef had three assistants who also performed other tasks. All four of them were working in the huge kitchen created to literally feed a small army.

“I had something prepared this morning,” the head chef said, as she continued to toss cubed summer squash in a large skillet, “but most of it is too old to serve so we gave it to the pigs.”

“My apologies, Chef,” I said. “I’m sorry to bother you with my mistake, but Young Master is hungry and upset with me.”

Two of the assistants whispered among themselves and started to giggle, the chef shot them a look.

“Don’t just stand there,” she barked. “The young master is waiting.”

The junior of the two responded, “Yes, Chef,” and began assembling a plate of bread, butter, jam, fruits and slices of preserved spiced meat.

I stood there, waiting patiently with my head down.

“Tutor Lafe,” the chef said, more quietly as she began seasoning the squash, “are you alright?”

It was very unusual for them to show concern for me, so I just instinctively looked up, confused. The junior preparing the plate stifled a laugh and I became anxious.

“Your…your whatever-you-call-it,” the chef said pointing roughly in my direction.

I looked down to see that the panels on the outside of my vestments were inside out, so that instead of the beautiful embroidery there was a mess of colorful exposed raw fiber.

My dignity was already holding on by a thread. I felt like crying. I tried very hard not to. I wasn’t successful.

“I’ve had a difficult morning,” I said in as clear a voice as I could. “I was in a rush.”

The chef took the skillet off the heat and set it on a nearby unused stove, then shot another look at her subordinates who had begun to laugh.

She stepped away from the stove, wiped her hands on her apron, and said, “follow me,” as she walked through the door that led to the dining room.  

I reluctantly did as I was told.

Our footsteps echoed as she led me through the large empty hall toward a room that was under the stairway. She opened the door, lit the lamp, led me inside, and shut the door behind us.

The room appeared to be a storage area, full of games and toys that were neatly placed on built-in shelving. I didn’t know what she was planning. Was she going to scold me or give me a lecture?

“Let me help you,” she said, as she reached for my clothes.

I took a step back, startled.

2b3a. Trust her.

2b3b. Ask her to leave.