Hal - The Duellist #1

Chapter Forty-Three: Broken Glass

Hal's heart sank. Franc had claimed her disguise would gain her access to the fort.

"You can sleep in that corner over there." He pointed to a pile of rushes on the floor near the fire. "You'll eat what comes back from my Lord's tables. No pay for the first month – just food and board. After that, a shilling a month. Understood?"

She nodded dumbly.

"Good. So get yourself an apron, and help the girls peel those vegetables. I'm master Garth. This is my kitchen. If you answer to anyone, it's me. Now let's see you working."

One of the girls raised her head and nodded in the direction of some hooks from which a few aprons hung. Without a word, Hal fastened one around her waist and found herself spending the next few hours standing in silence, scraping potatoes, her hands frozen by the murky, cold water. She wondered if Nérac was in the habit of enjoying such feasts every day, or if this was a special occasion, but thought better of asking. Questions could well arouse suspicions.

Garth returned to the kitchen, having apparently spent much of the afternoon drinking, for his breath reeked of spirit, and his face had gained a glowing redness. "You," he pointed unsteadily at Hal, "and you!" he indicated the girl next to her. "We need some more jugs of ale from the cellars. Bring them."

The girl gestured to Hal to move quickly, as Garth reached towards the table, picked up a potato and hurled it at her. She ducked just in time, working hard to restrain herself from hurling one back.

"Quickly, or you'll get it!" The girl hissed. They made their escape through a door at the hearth end of the kitchen. A flight of steps led straight down into the cellars.

The scullery-maid seemed young, barely an adult, although her eyes belied her age, shadowed with sleeplessness and worry. Dark waves of hair crept out from beneath the folds of her head scarf, and her tattered, stained dress clung to a willowy frame.

"Name's Magda." She offered her hand and Hal took it, shivering as she made contact with the girl's chapped, dry skin.

"I'm Orla." Hal hadn't given much thought to her counterfeit name, and regretted her choice the moment she'd opened her mouth.

"What are you doing here?" Magda whispered. "Are you a spy?"

Hal sucked in her breath and then laughed nervously. "Of course not. What makes you say that?"

"No one just turns up here asking for work. It's hell, so it is."

"So why are you here, then?"

"Don't have any choice, do I? Indentured here: to pay off my family's debts. If I work for another five years, my parents get to keep their farm."

Hal recoiled in shock. "That's like prison!"

"This is prison. That's what I mean. No one just asks to be let into prison, now, do they?"

"I didn't know. How could I? I needed work...It's my first time in Dal Reniac."

"You're not much of a liar, are you?"

Hal stared at her for a moment and then grinned for the first time that day. "And you're too smart for your own good. Let's find that beer, shall we?"

"Listen!" Magda grabbed her arm. "I don't want to know what you're doing here. It's better for me if I don't. But just remember what I'm telling you now. If you aren't playing their game, then sooner or later, they'll catch you out." She fell silent, as footsteps echoed down from the top of the stairs.

"Hurry up down there! Don't make me come down myself!" Garth yelled, his voice hoarse and slurred.

They grabbed a few jugs of ale from the shelves and trudged back to the kitchen, to find him glaring at them.