Authors: Lauren Skidmore
I
could smell and hear the
kitchen area well before I could see any of it, and as soon as I walked in the door, a shrill voice called out, “Carese! Who’ve you got there?”
The girl shrugged and said, “She’s new. They must have been keeping her in Etiquette before sending her to you.”
“We’ll see if this one sticks around long enough to be worth the effort.” A woman appeared, and I assumed this to be the Vera that the rude flirt had mentioned. She didn’t have the plump motherly qualities I expected from a Kitchen Mistress. Instead, she was fairly tall and slim. As she moved, I spied toned, muscular arms encased in the tight fabric of her dress, signaling she was probably much stronger than she appeared. She had dark brown hair, tied back in a neat plait, and her mask was actually quite pretty. It was pale blue, signaling a high-ranking background in fishing or farming. This made sense, seeing as how she needed an extensive knowledge of different crops and how to prepare and cook them, especially for a palace position. The mask looked to be made of a light material, with
intricate cutouts, allowing her skin to breathe in the hot kitchens. Behind her mask, dark eyes studied me as carefully as I’d been studying her, and I wondered what conclusions she’d drawn.
“She’s a shapely thing. She’ll make a nice Serving Miss with those eyes, provided she can carry those pitchers without spilling.” She spoke as if I wasn’t there and circled me like a cat waiting to pounce.
“I’m not a mute or a simpleton,” I spoke up, unable to keep quiet under her scrutiny, but careful to keep my tone polite enough so she wouldn’t send me right back out the door. “And I’m strong. And I’d appreciate being addressed directly.”
Her eyes widened ever so slightly at my directness, and she pursed her lips. “Indeed. What is your name, sweetheart?” When she used the pet name on me, it no longer sounded like a term of endearment.
“Evelina,” I said, giving my full name.
“Well, Miss Evelina,” she said, stretching my name out, “if you are no simpleton, as you say, I assume you already know my name to be Vera. However, only those of equal or better station may address me as such, and you are neither. To you, I am to be addressed as Kitchen Mistress Vera or ma’am, at all times.”
I scowled behind my mask at her degrading tone and decided I did not like her very much after all. Of course she would be sweet to the guards. They were her superiors, even if their masks were black.
She began to walk away, and I followed her at a brisk pace as she barked out orders. “As you should have learned in Etiquette, your job is to keep the goblets full
and to remain unnoticed at all other times. Keep your head down, don’t make eye contact, and do not speak. You do not exist.
“You will eat with the rest of the servers before serving the guests to prevent you from picking off the plates we serve. I don’t want a hungry staff. You will be compensated with clean clothes and a bed in the servants’ quarters below the kitchen, along with three silver pieces a day, paid every two weeks.” The wages weren’t bad, but much less than what I’d earned before. A single silver piece bought one good meal.
Curious eyes stole glances at me as we continued our brisk walk around preparation areas and other servants already preparing for dinner. Vera pointed out where I would take my meals: a long table pushed against the farthest wall with at least fifteen seats.
She showed me to the cavernous main dining hall and then directed me to a corner. “This will be your station. When you are not needed, you will stand here to monitor the level of each glass. Never allow a glass to become empty, even if they have completed their meal. If your pitcher runs low, do not leave. Another server will bring a fresh pitcher.
“You will remain here until all the dinner guests have left. Then you will assist in clearing the tables and washing the dishes. Jeza!” she called out in that imperious tone I knew I would grow to hate.
The flirt appeared at her side. “Yes, Mistress?”
Vera looked at me. “You report to Jeza, and treat her as you would treat me. She has the authority to make any corrections she deems fit.”
Jeza looked smug, her chin held high and her hands on
her hips. Her lips were painted a bright red, and at a second glance, I noticed the other girls had done the same to their lips. I bit mine self-consciously.
“Now, get busy. You’ve missed dining with the other serving girls, but I won’t have you filching food off the other plates, so eat quickly.”
She left then with Jeza at her heels, yelling about smelling something burnt, and I took the chance to finally breathe.
The kitchen was a flurry of skirts, pots, and steam. It was much busier than I expected. Dozens of girls were preparing the food and polishing the silver while more settled around the wooden tables that acted as our dining area.
I found a seat and watched the organized chaos around me. Nearly everyone had a mask similar to mine; color separation of rank barely existed among the servants. Some of the cooks had a little embellishment or hint of color in their masks, but nothing to draw much attention. I could identify the other serving girls—for that was clearly what I was supposed to be—by their matching voluminous skirts. I realized with a start that they all had green eyes like me as well. Some had more gray or more brown, but all were undeniably green.
I didn’t have time to ponder that, though, as I quickly stuffed down the food given to me. I was starving. No one bothered me or tried to stir up any conversation, which suited me just fine. I didn’t want to form any attachments, or worse, make any more enemies. I was sure Jeza would be enough of a thorn in my side.
Before I knew it, it was time to get to work. I felt a little lost in the throng of crowding servants, with no idea
of what exactly I was supposed to do. I scanned the room quickly and spotted other servers filling up large jugs and going into the dining room. I jogged over to them and asked what I was supposed to do.
“No one’s here yet,” Carese piped up as she came back in from the dining room. Now that I wasn’t so distracted with trying to keep from being thrown out of the palace, I had a chance to get a good look at her. She was a petite girl with her hair in a short plait. She turned to me. “Fill up as many of the goblets as you can, starting from where you’ll stand. They all need to be filled before the guests arrive, so just keep filling until you reach a cup that’s already been filled. Then work on your other side.”
She moved quickly and carefully, and if I hadn’t been so rushed, I would have liked to just watch her move. No movement was wasted, and I could tell she’d been here a long time.
She pressed a jug into my hands, and I was carried along with the crowd into the great hall that served as the dining area.
The tables were draped with expensive fabrics, floral arrangements, tiny statues, and all sorts of decorations. Even the place settings were beautiful: carefully folded napkins and brightly colored mats that I would be too afraid to eat over. There were no plates—the servants would bring those out with the meal—but at each seat there were cups and more silverware than any one person could ever need. If I thought I’d be bored earlier, just standing and waiting to refill cups, I was mistaken. It would be fascinating to watch this class dine. This wasn’t just a meal—it was a performance.
I tried to hurry to fill each glass, but I didn’t want to spill on the pretty cloth and, consequently, moved much more slowly than the others. The girl working from the other end filled cups at twice the rate I did. She didn’t say anything to me about it, but I couldn’t tell if that was out of kindness or distraction.
I was filling the last two cups when trumpets sounded and the doors were flung open. Guests filed in through the entryway, and after some meandering, each person found a seat. I didn’t know if there was any sort of order to where they sat, or if it was just according to personal preference. They traveled in small packs, a fascinating thing to watch. In clusters of threes and fours, they circled the tables, searching for something—I didn’t know what—until they found their spots. Then the men would pull the chairs out for the women, bow, and take their own seats. But in response to this deference, no woman pulled her chair in before the man.
The tables formed a large rectangle with the table farthest from me on a dais. It remained empty as the guests filed in and took their seats. I assumed it was for the royal family and their guards.
Fumbling, I filled the last glass and checked my pitcher level. About half full. Was that enough? Did I need to fill up while everyone’s glasses were still full and I wouldn’t be needed? I glanced around to see what the others were doing, but they were already at their posts. They’d finished before me, and their jugs looked full, judging by the weight and the way their bearers held them.
I stumbled back to my post, remembering Vera telling
me not to leave it
ever
, and hoped that someone would bring me more before I ran dry.
While I waited, I watched the others to catch a clue of how exactly I was supposed to flag a server down. I certainly wasn’t supposed to shout, wave, or do anything to draw attention to myself.
I kept getting distracted by the dinner guests. I didn’t see anyone who went without masks, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any foreigners. They were easy to pick out because the wearers moved somewhat awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable with wearing masks heavy with trappings, and unused to not quite being able to see out of the corners of their eyes. Native Venesians of this class knew how to keep masks light but still beautifully appropriate for an audience with royalty.
Of course, even the awkward movement of the foreigners was still graceful and, I’m sure, much better looking than mine would have been had the positions been switched. I couldn’t help but stare at these people, wondering how much training and how many lessons had been endured to attain such refinement. I wasn’t an outer country savage by any means, but these people put me to shame.
I also noticed that no one drank. Why did the blasted glasses have to be full before their arrival if no one was going to drink? I wanted to make a face in annoyance, but I was sure that with my luck, someone would see and take my expression as a personal attack or something. Oh yes, that would turn out well.
Finally, every seat was filled, except for table on the dais. The guests chatted among themselves until another
trumpet sounded, and then, as one, they all rose from their seats.
The Royal Family was here.
I didn’t know if I was supposed to do anything, since I was already standing, but it seemed rude to
not
do anything. Again, I looked to the other servers for direction. They bowed their heads, so I did the same, hoping I didn’t stand out as much as I thought I did.
My eyes were probably supposed to be glued to the floor, but I couldn’t help but sneak peeks at the incoming procession.
Two guards led the way, followed by the Speaker and then the princess. The king and queen entered side by side, and the prince followed behind them. Two more guards brought up the tail end.
Do they really have to travel with guards everywhere?
I wondered, remembering the Square and the abundance of guards there.
Or is this just for show?
If it was just for show, it was certainly an
impressive
show. It was easy to see the guard standard: at least a head taller than I, a thin but muscled physique, and sharp eyes that peered out at the crowd through plain, silver, full-faced masks.
The royal family was completely covered, though the king and queen’s dark eyes were visible. They were all draped in elegant white fabrics and jewels, and each had a mask that I had never seen before. I wondered if they had a new one every day. That would be exhausting for the makers. Perhaps these were simply their dining masks.
The bottom halves of their faces were still covered, just with opaque veils instead of full masks. The iridescent veils
and their white face-masks were covered in swirling patterns of silver. It was like watching a living painting as they paraded by.
They made a complete circle around the perimeter of the room, not speaking to anyone—of course, they didn’t ever speak—and when they passed by me, I certainly kept my head
and
eyes down. I felt them pass me, and when I’d thought they’d moved far enough away from me, I lifted my eyes again to watch them.
The prince’s head was turned almost completely toward me.
There was no denying he was looking at me. It wasn’t like there was anything behind or near me to catch his attention. My eyes shot back down to the ground, and I started to panic. Had I done something wrong? Was there something wrong with my uniform? I knew my mask was secure—I’d checked it at least a dozen times before leaving my room—and my bandage was completely hidden.
I chanced another glance. By then he had walked past me, so in order to see me he would have to turn around and walk back, and I knew he wouldn’t do that.
He’d fallen back into line, as if nothing had happened, but I couldn’t help but notice how tense his shoulders looked. As I stared, they shook once, as if he were laughing—or crying—to himself, then they completely relaxed.
I narrowed my eyes.
I didn’t have time to process what had happened before the kitchen doors burst open and the servers filed out with the first course: a small salad with some fruit. The royal procession took their seats on the dais, and a fine, silvery curtain was drawn around them.
“Of course,” I whispered to myself. “They can’t eat with their faces covered like that. The veils on their masks must allow them to eat.” I wondered if the veils were removable, or if they could somehow eat with them still on. The guards stood on the outside of the curtain, though, which led me to think the veils came off. Only royalty could see royalty, after all.
I didn’t have much time to contemplate the eating routine of royalty, though. Apparently the drawn curtain was a sign to start eating—and drinking.