"I can still throw things at you and I won't miss," Glinda snapped, her blue eyes flashing a warning at Gardevik Rath.
"Then I will leave you now before the projectiles fly," Garde was still grinning. "I will inform Cheedas that Niff is coming with me. That ought to anger him enough that you'll not get a decent meal for a week." Gardevik left Glinda's quarters, laughing when he heard her shouting, "Jaydevik, come and kill your brother for me!"
* * *
Orliff was upset; I could tell immediately, as he gestured for me to fold and pack my clothing into a shapeless bag. I offered him a puzzled glance as he did his best to explain something to me, but my limited vocabulary prevented me from understanding much of it. He said Niff several times, the word go and somewhere in all that he said Baetrah. Were they sending me to the Southern Continent? To the volcano? I thought it was dangerous there. There was probably ash to be dealt with, and none of my borrowed clothing went well with blackish-gray. A strange comesula came in, dressed in a palace guard's uniform. He seemed to be asking if I were ready. He also had more clothing and a pair of boots in his hands, which he handed off to Orliff. Orliff gestured for me to wear one of the new uniforms, so I went to the bathroom to change.
* * *
"He'll lose that modesty quickly when we travel through the deserted areas," Veris, captain of the common guard grumbled as Niff walked out of the bathroom, dressed in the uniform and boots Veris supplied.
"He is not whole," Orliff snapped. "If an entire shop had fallen on your head, I would hope others might be sympathetic to your plight. Neither I nor my instructor thinks this is a good idea and your taking of Niff goes against Darvul's better judgment."
"I would not take him," Veris snapped back, "but Gardevik is demanding it. He wants Niff to cook for him and be his valet while we are on this mission for the Queen." Orliff was still grumbling when Niff was instructed to follow Veris out of the suite.
* * *
How had things come to this? I was wondering that for at least the tenth time as we loaded things into wagons (the comesuli and me; none of the High Demons thought to lift a finger). It didn't bother me to lift the heavy bags of flour or any of the crates, though if I caught anyone watching, I pretended to need help. The animals hitched to the wagons resembled oxen, with four short horns instead of two, like the ones I'd always seen. There were comesuli drivers for the wagons, and they would be tending the oxen. The comesuli in uniform (and that included me), were there to act as backup for the High Demons, especially in their dealings with other comesuli.
Midmorning arrived before we were loaded up and on the road, and as I was now considered Gardevik's private cook and personal servant, I rode in the wagon that carried his things. And he had a lot. My duffle bag of clothing and personal belongings were lost in a corner of that wagon. Most of the comesuli troops walked, but they switched off with those who rode from time to time, so everyone could get a rest. The High Demons had horses to ride. Yeah, same old horse-type horses Earth had. I was grateful to learn I didn't have to look after Gardevik's horse; somebody else would do that.
Altogether, there were six High Demons, not counting Gardevik, twenty comesuli troops, six wagon drivers and seven grooms to tend the horses for a total of forty. We left Veshtul behind after two hours, and the road we traveled outside the city sure needed work. It made me think of the Romans and how they'd built roads as they'd marched along. Somebody sure needed to work on this one as we moved over it. It also made me think of Gavin, and that made me sad. For him, I'd been gone three hundred years. I was probably a distant memory to him, which made me feel worse. The grief over René and Greg's loss was still fresh for me too, although Franklin was gone as well unless Merrill had talked him into allowing the turn. I had to force myself to think of other things before I broke down and wept.
The wagon I rode in was enclosed, but the driver didn't mind if I sat up front with him so I could see the country we were passing through. He knew I was recovering and spent the day pointing things out and naming them. I could have hugged him when he did that. His name was Corin, I learned, and he was a patient soul. When we stopped for the night, it was in the middle of nowhere and Gardevik got a steak grilled over a campfire, along with fresh asparagus I found growing wild near the road. He also got biscuits cooked in an iron skillet, which I served with butter and honey. Larevik, the High Demon captain, came over and had what was left of the biscuits, drizzling honey over them while he and Gardevik talked.
I cleaned my pans and dishes, made sure Gardevik didn't want anything else to eat and got his bed ready in the wagon. It only hit me then that I didn't know where I was supposed to sleep. I went to ask Corin, as best I could.
He understood quickly when I mimed sleeping, pointing to a spot at the foot of Gardevik's sleeping pad and blankets. I was going to sleep there on a thin mat, with a blanket and small pillow. I nodded my thanks to Corin, who was bedding down beneath the wagon. I discovered quickly what being a High Demon's personal servant meant. Gardevik stripped, went to bed naked and watched lazily as I brushed dust from his clothing. I wiped his boots off and put everything away before going to bed.
Gardevik was completely uninhibited, parading about as if he were proud of his endowments. I'm not saying he shouldn't feel proud over what he had or how he looked. It was damned embarrassing, however. I sighed softly, told myself to get used to it and huddled under my blanket inches away from his feet.
We stopped in a small city on the second night and had rooms to sleep in—at least the High Demons did, and since I was Gardevik's personal servant, I slept in a corner of his room on a small cot. The High Demons were also served dinner by our host, while the comesuli made do for themselves. Garde grumbled about the food afterward, but I didn't understand half his words. He got a bath (we both did), but his came first and I saw to his clothing before cleaning up afterward. He didn't bother me and was snoring softly when I came out. I had my cotton pajamas on—that's what I slept in, and he never looked at me twice anyway. Just as well; had he paid attention, he might have noticed a few things. To him, I was a common demon and nothing else.
The following two nights were spent on the road and Larevik invited himself to dinner both nights. I made fried chicken for them the first night and smothered steak the second. Gardevik was begging for biscuits on the second night, but he called them indu nera, or round breads. He got indu nera, which was quite good with the smothered steak. I don't know how they kept their meats cold on the road but they had some way to do it, and I figured it wasn't local technology. Didn't matter; I was happy to have the cold meat and fresh produce they carried, and each town or city we rode through provided fresh supplies.
Gardevik asked our host in the next village for the run of his kitchen, sending me in to cook for him and the others. Some of the comesuli staff helped, and chicken and dumplings were the result of that collaboration. Apple pies waited for dessert; our host had apples in a basket he intended to give us for our trip. Many of those were baked into pies and every crumb disappeared.
* * *
"It's useless—he can't write or speak to give you the recipe—he only remembers how to cook and we are very thankful for that," Gardevik informed his host, who begged to have instructions for making apple pies written down.
"Will he ever remember, do you think?" Garde's High Demon host asked.
"No idea. He sustained a head injury in the attacks and we have lost hope that he will fully recover. I would like to know from whom he learned his cooking skills and why we never heard of some of these dishes before. Perhaps it was a closely guarded family secret," Garde answered. He was quite proud of his assistant, although he kept that information to himself.
* * *
We'd been on the road more than a week before I received my first taunt. Honestly, I expected it before then, but I was Garde's chief cook and bottle washer, so that's why it probably took so long. It wasn't one of the High Demons, either, which surprised me. It was a comesula—one of the guards.
"Difik," he muttered, when I showed up to get the evening's ration of meat and vegetables to cook. I was now serving Gardevik, Larevik, and Larevik's next in line. Difik was one of the words I actually knew. As best I could translate, it meant idiot, or even slow idiot. If I'd known how to call him shithead, I would have. I didn't know how and it would blow my cover anyway. I ignored him, collected my supplies and went back to Garde's camp.
* * *
"He needs a haircut," Veris's lieutenant declared. "Lord Gardevik has more important things on his mind and does not need to be bothered with this."
Veris carefully weighed Breth's claims about the little common who couldn't speak. "I suppose you intend to correct the situation?" Veris crossed arms over his chest.
"With your permission. His hair is too long and appears untidy. It presents the wrong image for the Raoni's troops."
"But that one is not of the Raoni's troops," Veris pointed out. "He is recovering from a head injury."
"A haircut is not harmful in the least," Breth declared. "And he will look better afterward."
"Fine, go and get him," Veris muttered.
* * *
The one who'd called me difik came to get me shortly before bedtime that evening. "Come," he demanded. I had no idea how to tell him that I didn't want to come anywhere with him. I watched him warily as he led me through camp. Veris, the one who'd pulled me away from Orliff at the palace, stood waiting. He mimed cutting hair to me. That stopped me in my tracks. I'd worked so hard to get my hair to the length it was. It barely touched my shoulders and was still quite curly as a result. Most comesuli kept their hair short—it was easier to take care of, I suppose, but I wasn't a comesula. I wanted to keep my hair and grow it longer. I wanted it back to the length it was before I'd tried to give myself to the sun.
I was shaking my head violently at Veris, doing my best to tell him I wanted nothing to do with a haircut. He was motioning for me to come and sit down. I shook my head again and tried to walk away. That's when I was grabbed.