Vignette 4 – Part 2

  Out, Damned Spot! Out I Say!

  Tyne hugged Llygoden. The smaller woman tensed up in surprise, giving the princess the opportunity to pick her up and place her in the bed. The mousey woman tried to protest; the soft linens were too rich for her blood, but Llygo’s pleas fell on deaf ears.

  Tyne insisted her lady-in-waiting rest before the feast. There was some half-hearted back and forth, but, as the woman had stayed up the whole night fretting over her mistress, Llygoden’s eyelids soon began to droop, and her will to stay awake evaporated.

  After tucking her servant into bed, the redheaded terror slipped out of her chambers and started towards the kitchen. Tyne felt better, but she was still far from a hundred per cent. With a sore throat and heavy tongue, what she needed was a pick-me-up. It was time to visit Cook.

  As she drew close, the foot traffic increased exponentially – there was a feast to prepare, and the kitchens were the beating heart. When she had walked back to her rooms, Tyne had mostly gone unnoticed; not so now. Her bright orange armour made her stand out amongst the throng. When the servants recognised her, they did their best to get out of the way. Even so, the crowd soon became too thick to slip through.

  Thankfully, she didn’t have to. Her brother sat in a raised alcove, above the chaos. When he saw her, he called out. Tyne ploughed towards her grinning brother, upsetting everyone she knocked aside. Before she could say anything to him, he offered her a hand. With his help, she heaved herself into the cut-out. She believed the area was usually used to display a vase, though now it was suspiciously empty.

  Finally above the mass of people, Tyne took a moment to sit beside her brother and look out over the river of servants pouring into and out from the kitchen, carrying mountains of bread, vats of butter, and bushels of chickens.

  “I didn’t know so many people worked here,” Tyne commented when it finally sunk in just how busy the castle was.

  “They don’t, not all of them,” Rhydd responded, earning him a curious look from his sister. “All the clans’ elders are here; it’s not like they were gonna leave their retainers behind,” he explained, gesturing at the veritable army of people.

  Tyne took a moment to examine everyone. She soon found that her brother was right. What had at first looked like a mess of people, could in fact be separated by their clan’s colours. Only one in seven actually sported her clan’s signature red.

  “Huh,” she responded astutely. Another few moments passed as they continued to watch, the constant flow never once slowing. “So, did you get something from Cook?” Tyne asked.

  “Sure did,” Rhydd confirmed, pulling a small ceramic jar, stoppered with a cork, from his pocket. Tyne reached for the elixir, but her brother snatched it away before she could grab it. She looked at him, tired and annoyed. “I’m not just gonna give this to you,” Rhydd explained with a cheeky grin.

  Tyne rolled her eyes. She didn’t have the energy for this. “What do you want?” she asked, getting straight to the point.

  “Well,” Rhydd began, drawing out the word, a smirk twisting his features, “it wasn’t easy to get Cook to agree to make this; he was incredibly stressed.”

  As if to emphasise his point, shouting began to echo out from the steam-spewing kitchen, followed by the sound of crashing pans. “I said you should add salt to the soup; why does it taste sweet?!” For the first time, the stream of people faltered, but some more shouted words got them moving again.

  Tyne had to admit her brother had a point. She had no idea how he had managed to convince Cook to part with any of his time. “So, what do you want?”

  “I want you to promise me, in the unlikely case you actually do beat out the competition and become the next Queen of Skilda, give me my own ship,” Rhydd replied, honestly.

  Tyne scrunched up her face. “I didn’t think you wanted to have anything to do with raiding – you’re worse at fighting than brother Doeth!”

  Rhydd clutched at his heart, feigning injury, “Your words, they wound me!” Tyne scoffed. Rhydd sighed. “But, you're not wrong. As a middle brother who doesn’t like to fight, I don’t have much of a place in Skilda.”

  “That’s not true—” the redheaded princess began, trying to console, but she was cut off by her older sibling.

  “It is. Mother and father have been kind to keep me around, but I can’t stay here forever. Eventually, I’ll be expected to make something of myself.

  Our oldest brother, Arwin, has spent his whole life shadowing father and training to become his successor. The second oldest, Ffyrnig, always knew his place was on the battlefield and has been leading the raids since he was strong enough to swing a sword. I don’t think Doeth has ever left the library. Our younger brother, Efan, wants to become the greatest fisherman the islands have ever seen, and our youngest sister, Diwedd, wants nothing more than to become the perfect lady our mother always wanted – no offence. And what do I have?”

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  “You're funny,” Tyne tried, unsuccessfully.

  “Do you know what I want to do with my life?” he asked and received only a shrug in return. “Neither do I, but I realised recently, I won’t find out if I stay here. I want to go to the mainland and explore, to see more of this world, and to find my place in it.”

  “And to do that, you need a ship?” Tyne asked, confused.

  “With a ship, I could travel anywhere along the coast. I hear they even have rivers over there that are big enough to sail inland for hundreds of miles,” Rhydd explained, growing excited.

  Tyne’s headache was getting worse, so she just agreed to his request. “Fine, when I become queen, I’ll give you your ship. Hell, you can have a fleet, just please hand me that hangover cure.”

  Rhydd, realising his sister wasn’t so enraptured by the idea as himself, relented, handing over the jar. Tyne took it thankfully, but her expression turned sour when she unstoppered it and was hit by the stench of dead fish and rotten eggs.

  “Are you sure this is the right stuff?” the young woman asked, not confident that the thick, black, somehow-bubbling liquid was even safe, let alone some kind of medicine.

  “You have the Analyse Skill; see for yourself.”

  Following her brother’s advice, Tyne used the Skill.

  Analysis:

  Name: Cook’s Special Brew

  Description: A mundane concoction made by the human, Cook. This drink removes the after-effects of drinking and boosts energy for five hours.

  Tyne, never one to back down from a challenge, pinched her nostrils and downed the concoction in a single gulp. She wiggled like a cat preparing to pounce as the vile liquid oozed down her throat. Rhydd tried not to laugh at her turned-out expression of disgust but failed miserably. As a result, Tyne kicked him in the shin. He winced but couldn’t stop the giggles from escaping.

  It took several minutes for the disgusting feeling and accompanying taste to finally leave the young lady, but when it did, she felt a thousand times better.

  Status Effect:

  The Status Effect: Hungover V has been removed. You will no longer suffer from headaches, nausea, dizziness, and light sensitivity.

  Status Effect:

  The Status Effect: Energized has been applied. You will feel full of energy, need to act, and not be able to sit still for 5 hours.

  “Woo!” Tyne exclaimed as the effects hit her and she suddenly felt like a pig’s bladder full of firework magic. “That’s some good stuff; I feel like I could run all the way to the ancient forest and back again.”

  Rhydd – finally having gotten his laughter under check, thanks to his sister’s painful persuasion – nodded his head in agreement. “I don’t know what Cook puts in it, but it does the trick.”

  The suddenly lively young woman vibrated with energy. She barely heard her brother’s words. Her legs hammered against the wall beneath her as she struggled to stay put, earning her more than a few odd looks from the people below. She couldn’t stay still. She needed to do something, anything, and she needed to do it right now!

  As if fate had heard her thoughts, someone came along, more than willing to give her something to do.

  “There you are, Tyne, and it looks like I’ve hooked Rhydd as well. Both of you get down from there and follow me,” their mother ordered as she swept into sight at the end of the hallway. The two siblings looked at each other worriedly before jumping down in unison and making their way over to the force of nature they called their mam.

  Most of the time the king’s consort was kind and mild-mannered, but when it came to anything the slightest bit formal, or god forbid ceremonial, she became a tyrant that no one, not even the king, wished to cross.

  The tall woman strode through the corridors with regal grace, her stately dress gliding along the ground behind her. As she walked, her two children in tow, she spoke commands to the servants.

  “You there, replace those candles. It’s beeswax only, no tallow. Clean this carpet; I can see stains. Scrub those tiles; there are footprints on them. Tuck your shirt in. That bunting is the wrong colour; change it.”

  Although her voice was soft, her words were said as if they would be followed without question, and indeed they were. When it came to hosting, Grace of Clan Cynddaredd would not be denied. Her daughter, Tyne, winced. The next few hours were going to suck.

  She was right; the next few hours did suck. Their mother had the siblings running up and down stairs non-stop, ensuring all of her plans were coming to fruition, everything was being done properly, and no one was slacking.

  By the time evening rolled around, Tyne was once more sweaty and ragged. Her mother insisted she clean up. The young woman tried to protest, but she was completely bulldozed by the queen of ceremonies. So, despite her distaste for them, Tyne was forced into taking her second bath of the day.

  When the angry ball of orange stomped back into her room, she found that Llygoden was still asleep in her bed. Despite her fondness for the other woman, Tyne took some satisfaction in waking the tired lady-in-waiting. She hadn't been running about all day, and a part of her felt jealous.

  Llygo, ever the loyal servant, immediately started running another bath. Tyne suspected her mother had worn her out in an effort to get her to change into a dress. It didn’t work. She had more armour than actual clothes, and soon she was fitted in a similar, but clean, orange gambeson. Out of spite, she even added some chainmail around the neck and metal plates on her knees and elbows.

  Next it was Llygo’s turn to scrub up. Unfortunately, the well-rested woman refused to wear armour, even when Tyne offered her full suit of plate, so she was instead dressed in a clan-red dress with orange highlights to show her allegiance to Tyne Cynddaredd.

  When both women were satisfied, they left. The redhead leading the way and her lady-in-waiting a step behind, head down, eyes averted. They were excited for the once-in-a-lifetime feast.

  patrons: