Chapter 8
THE GARDENER
Rafia led me through the dew-lined gardens of the king to find the gardener.
I had some ingredients to hunt down. Plump blueberries bloomed next to raspberries and strawberries in the chill autumnal air.
Mint leaves spilled from planter boxes while basil and thyme puffed up in great domes.
Apple trees grew round red fruit next to loping vines of grapes.
Back home, we covered our gardens in cloth to protect them from the ice storms and snow that were on the way. Here, only a crisp breeze reminded me I was not in an eternal summer.
We came upon a small cottage of brick and plaster surrounded by pumpkin and zucchini patches.
The thatched roof swirled up at an impossible angle.
The wooden ginger-breading detail curved delicately with the lines of the tall hut.
Two fires puffed smoke into the air from tall chimneys made from a black stone.
“The gardener’s hut, Miss.” Rafia smiled.
The sound of a voice muffled out from inside the hut, followed by another. The gardener was not alone.
Rafia knocked on the door. A deep grumbling sounded from within and the tinkle of glass jars jangled as someone made their way to the door.
The cracked wooden door opened to expose a tall, lean, blue-haired elf male.
He was classically handsome in an academic way.
He wore thin glasses and hair in a low ponytail, cobalt blue hair falling down the center of his back.
He looked down at me with surprise. “May I help you, human?”
“My name is Noelle. I’m the baker from the human realm.” I offered a small curtsy. Not sure what else to do.
“Names Jel.” Jel offered a kind smile and a small bow. “But I am very, very busy at the moment getting ready for winter and other such things I needn’t bore you with, so if you’ll excuse me—”
The door about shut closed behind him, but I stuck my foot out to stop it. Guest or not, my neck was on the line here. I was desperate for ingredients. “Jel, I need to talk to you about some herbs I need for my baking.”
No one stopped me as I followed Jel into his rather spacious cabin.
It was impossibly bigger on the inside with wooden tables and paintings lining the tall walls.
Every available space held an open book, bauble or steaming cauldron.
Glass jars with various ingredients, plants in terracotta pots, and bits of animal bone collections filled shelves from floor to ceiling.
Thick leather-bound books of every color lined the west wall from top to bottom.
In the center of it all, fiddling with a strange metal contraption, sat the Elf King.
Dirt covered a work apron, the black stuff caked under his usually immaculate fingernails.
A basket of freshly picked flowers and vegetables lay on the table.
The king looked up with surprise then stood, knocking back the chair he’d been sitting on with a crash. “Baker.”
“Highness.” I barely curtsied, a hot flush in my cheeks.
We both spoke in a rush.
“I wouldn’t have burst in if I knew you were here—”
“I was not aware you had come—”
Jel looked us both over with a curious expression, then smiled kindly. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Noelle?”
“Well, I—” words left me as I stared at anything and everything but the king. For as much as I hated him, I couldn’t help the wave of curiosity that plagued me. What was he doing here with a lowly gardener? Why was he covered in dirt?
After the longest and most excruciating stretch of silence, the king cleared his throat. “I was just leaving.”
As if I, alone, bore a contagious disease, the king strode through the hut and disappeared through the front door as it shut loudly behind him. Rafia and I both jumped.
“Well, that was nice,” I winced.
“Oh, don’t mind him. He has a lot on his mind.” Jel waved dismissively in the king’s direction, then fixed me with his be-speckled eyes. “What brings you in, my dear?”
But I was staring at the strange metal contraption the king had been looking into. It was in the shape of a cylindrical tube with glass circles fixed on either side. What could that possibly be?
“Working on these eggs, you see?” Jel gestured for me to join him at his large table. On it sat a nest with three brilliant blue robin’s eggs. “Here.”
Jel waved me to look through one end of the cylinder, the other end pointing at an egg. As I looked through the glass, I noticed with excitement that the egg had been magnified. Incredible. On closer inspection, a dark black shadow laced the egg on one side.
“Only one is like that so far. I left two other eggs with it as an experiment.” Jel pointed to the other end of the table where three pristine eggs lay. “These were with the others. So, I will see how this shadow spreads and what will come of it.”
Science here in a land of magic?
“What is happening to them?” I asked.
“A blight is spreading.” Jel prodded the small egg with some metal tweezers. “And I must find out why, and how to stop it.”
“But I thought you were the gardener.”
“Of course I am. Fifth generation gardener.” Jel huffed.
“A gardener’s only as good as his magic.
Not only do I craft the potions to preserve the plants for every season, but this blight is spreading to the tulips on the north side.
I need to get to the bottom of this before it reaches the king’s gardens. ”
Maybe this is what danger Rafia had been hinting at. This blight.
Jel rolled on his wheeled stool from one end of the room to the other collecting ingredients from his jars and bowls. A book lay out, leather bound and of the deepest green. By the way the runes were written, it seemed to be a recipe book.
“I’ve been working on this potion for weeks, but can’t seem to stop the darkness from spreading. I can only contain it.” Jel peered into a magnifying glass attached to a spring.
“That sounds useful,” I offered.
“Useful for some, completely useless to most.” Jel shrugged and leaned into his magnifying glass. “What can I help you with?”
I cleared my throat. “I am looking for spices called cardamom and nutmeg.”
“Cardamom? I know the plant, but it’s not used for much more than a mild tea,” Jel said as he climbed a ladder and rummaged through a dozen or so glass jars on his gigantic shelf. He produced a jar containing cardamom and plopped it before me.
“Do you ever use the seeds in your cooking?” I asked.
“Not that I know of.” Jel raised an indigo eyebrow.
“It’s incredible!” I gushed. “You take out the pods and crush the seeds inside, releasing the fragrant spice.”
I walked Jel through the simple process and he took furious notes in a separate notebook, complete with illustrations.
His work was beautifully thorough, very much like my own father’s copious attention to detail.
By the time I’d finished gathering the herbs and spices I needed for my baking, Jel was already five sketches deep.
“Thank you, Jel,” I said. “I have what I need.”
“Anytime, miss. Humans truly are an interesting species. Perhaps when I’ve figured out this shadow blight, I can study more of your strange customs.” Jel waved, still intent on his sketch.
“You are welcome in the kitchens anytime.” I nodded, still not able to shake my curiosity at seeing the king, covered in dirt, working with Jel. What had he been working on?
With the hand-ground cardamom and nutmeg filling fresh glass jars, I made my way back to my kitchen to set up for tomorrow morning where I would not fail.
But what was the king doing at the home of a lowly gardener and more importantly, why was he so dirty?
I couldn’t imagine the king doing anything to sully his immaculate hands, but my eyes had not deceived me.
I filed that strange occurrence back with all of my other musings on the king as I made my way to the cottage.
Jacob and his eager assistant were waiting for me when I arrived.
I wondered if he would be too busy with the king’s carpentry demands to meet with me so soon upon arriving in the Undying lands, but was pleased to see him—a connection to home.
Jacob scratched his head and grunted when I waved at him from afar.
“Hi Jacob!” I smiled.
Another grunt. Yes, a connection to home, but a grumbly one.
“Are you busy? Does the king have you working all hours of the day to build some kind of precious throne carved from whale bones?” I asked.
“Whale bones?” Jacob continued to scratch his head. “I work in wood.”
“I know.” I grumbled, annoyed by how my weird thoughts sometimes made it out of my mouth without reason. “Are you busy? Because I have some things around the cottage that could use some sprucing up.”
Silence, then Jacobs’ apprentice, the lanky, eager one, burst into a fit of laughter, his bright green hair flying though it’d been piled on top of his head like a fluffy ball of yarn.
“Spruce-ing? I get it! You know, the tree? Spruce? And you’re a carpenter…”
I nodded and took full credit for the pun as if it had been intended all along. “Glad one of you has a sense of humor.”
Jacob merely grumbled again as he made his way through the front door and into the kitchen. He grunted, taking notes as he drew lines and took measurements before I’d even told him of what I needed. His assistant offered to hold the tape or help in some way, but was shoved off.
“The kitchen table needs a new leg and—” I started but Jacob cut me off with a raised eyebrow.
“Table’s no good,” Jacob mumbled. “Gonna make you a new one. Y’need space for your dough to rise near the heat of the oven and this?” Jacob indicated the half-broken table. “It’s a mess. Gotto.”
“Yes, sir.” Gotto, his assistant perked up.
“Take these measurements—in my language so I can read it.” Jacob commanded.
“Yes, sir.” Gotto shook his hand out awaiting numbers, which came in a stream of fractions of height, length, girth, and things I didn’t quite understand.
So, I left them to it and got to organizing my larder and shelves, which wobbled—so we added ‘secure shelves to the wall’ to the items on the list, which was becoming alarmingly long and detailed.
“I’ll have this done for you within a fortnight.” Jacob nodded and left without another word.
“Thank you!” I called to his and Gotto’s retreating forms.
Rafia and I exchanged amused glances at Jacob’s gruff manner. I hefted up a large bowl, and we got to work cleaning out the larder and preparing for our cinnamon roll delivery for the next morning.
The king’s words rolled through my head in a deep, cranky echo. “Do not disappoint me.”
Tomorrow, everything needed to be perfect.