Kristin, Chapter 3 - Kitchens

They remained in the throne room for a few more minutes, silent and unmoving. Then Finabard commanded, “Let her go.” The guards stepped away from her. Kristin collapsed onto her side. The woman, or, really, the sorceress Kimber, was gone.

“Can you stand up?” Finabard inquired. If Kristin had not been in the present circumstances, she might have called his tone kind and his face handsome. But she was here, in the throne room of the Sorceress Kimber, crumpled on the ground in front of the newly appointed Captain of the Guard. This was not a place to grasp at kindness or handsomeness.

In response to his question, she carefully picked herself up off the ground and struggled shakily to her feet. He nodded briskly, and then turned to the guards. “You are dismissed. Return to the barracks and await further orders.” In unison, they chanted “Yes Sir,” turned, and marched out the golden door.

“Follow me,” he told her, and made his way towards another great door, this one silver. Kristin struggled to keep up, even though Finabard adjusted his pace to compensate for her condition. Halfway across the throne room, she collapsed. She just couldn’t do it. She wasn’t useful for anything. She could barely walk across the room. He would kill her, and she would be with Clara again. That was all she wanted. Tears started streaming down her face.

Without a word, Finabard came over and looked down at her. Without a word, he lifted her gently off the floor and carried her through the silver door. This led into a bright dining room, all made of white marble. From here he turned, and carried her through a small wooden door into what she could only describe as heaven.

Food. The room was filled with food. Food being chopped, food being baked, food being tossed into salads. Food cooking, food cooling, food hanging from the ceiling. An old, chubby woman was overseeing it all, and her assistants scuttled back and forth, stirring, adding, popping things into ovens, taking things out of ovens, putting more wood on the fire, peeling, mincing, trying, adding a pinch of salt, trying again, and doing all the things generally associated with food and its preparation.

Finabard crossed to a cot in the far corner of the room and laid Kristen gingerly down on it. He covered her with a warm blanket, crossed to the chubby woman, said something to her, and left.

Kristin just laid there. She didn’t try to move, or think, or even sleep. She just let the room take her in and surround her in its warmth and comfort. After a while, the chubby woman came and set a tray of something down by her bed. Kristin slowly summoned her strength a got up to look at it.

Mushroom stew, a warm, fresh, quarter-loaf of bread, and a blue-colored fizzing drink. Kristin wolfed it down eagerly. The drink was sweet, yet sour as well. When she finished, she felt content to lay down and sleep.

Shadows haunted her dreams. Laughing sadistically, men with eye-patches chased her down never-ending passageways lined with giant iron doors. Every time she tried to open a door, it was locked. Finally, a door opened, and out rushed a red, sticky liquid. It seeped into her mouth, nose, eyes and ears, and as she drowned in it, she heard a little girl screaming her name.

Kristin awoke tangled in her blanket and thrashing around on the floor. Most of the kitchen staff was staring down at her with wide, frightened eyes. The chubby woman looked up form kneading bread dough.

“Good, you’re up. All of you, back to work. She’s not going to explode.” The staff scattered back to their business. Kristin stood up. She still felt weak, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been. That blue fizzy drink must’ve been some type of tonic.  She made her little cot, then sat on it, at a loss as to what she should do.

The chubby woman noticed her dilemma. “My name is Gretel. Call me Cook. You’ll have something to do soon enough. Right now, eat.” Gretel gestured toward a bubbling pot of porridge hanging over the fire. Kristin found a bowl and liberally spooned hot porridge into it. She slurped it down quickly. It was bland and tasteless, but warm in her stomach and quietly bracing.

She took her bowl to the washbasin and started to wash dishes. Every so often, she thought she felt Cook’s eyes drift over to her, yet whenever Kristin turned, Cook quickly looked down at her bread or her soup or whatever she was working on at the moment. Once Kristin thought she saw her shake her head, almost in pity.

The morning passed this way, rather uneventfully. Lunch came and went, and the afternoon wore on. Kristin spent her time helping out any way she could, though cooking had never been her strong suit. Around three o’clock, Cook came up to her.

“Now it is time to do what you were brought here for. Come with me.” Kristin followed her out the side kitchen door and into the area where the livestock where kept. Cook went straight to the cattle and picked out a rather fat, sleepy-looking cow. She led it out of the pen and handed the rope to Kristin.

“You,” she stated matter-of-factly, as if it was nothing out of the ordinary, “Are going to be the new dragon-keeper.”