CHAPTER 14
I surveyed the purchases arranged on the laundry table.
It was barely morning. A faint breeze swirled through the courtyard, bringing with it a hint of the ocean.
The sky glowed with gentle blue, veiled here and there with pink-tinted clouds.
Kair Toren had pulled out all the stops for this sunrise.
Yesterday when we came back from the docks, Reynald talked to Gort for a while.
Our precious salt was delivered by cart and installed in a secure spot with a strict warning to not touch the seal.
Reynald spoke to Kaiden at length about it.
When Clover found out how much we had paid for it, she turned slightly green and went to recalculate the budget.
In the evening Gort had left. He came back late, completely plastered, and announced that Will had a job on the Yolentas’ dock crew.
Apparently, the Yolentas often hired veterans for their loading and unloading, reasoning that people who knew how to handle themselves would be good at protecting cargo.
Gort had served with one of the supervisors and whatever sob story he told the man over the ale mugs and a plate of greasy tavern food had worked.
This morning Will had departed before dawn.
We wouldn’t know anything until he came back, and I needed to use this time to get our legitimate business up and running. I had no illusions—this was the calm before the storm, but I could either wait and marinate in my anxiety or work. I chose work.
I claimed the section of the courtyard with an open firepit, where Clover had previously boiled laundry in the huge pot.
I’d made a small fire, hung one of our spare cauldrons over it, and dragged a scale and a set of weights I found in Derog’s office to the utility table sitting there.
Then I got paper and one of the reed pens from my office and arranged our purchases, while Clover anxiously hovered nearby.
“I bought everything on your list,” Clover said.
I glanced at the gathering of barrels, jars, and vials. “I see that.”
“A short barrel of pan oil at fifteen dens,” Clover recited. “He wanted twenty for it, which would have been highway robbery.”
Pan oil came from Rellasian olives and served as the main oil in local cooking. It was also pricey. The short barrel contained about five gallons or so, and it had cost us a pretty penny even with Clover’s haggling skills.
“A short barrel of bulko oil at three dens.”
Bulko oil came from fat, green berries. It was inedible because of its off-putting taste, so it was produced for industrial uses—grease for wheels and axles, quench medium for armor and weapons, and first aid burn ointment.
It was nontoxic, possessed decent antibacterial properties, and best of all, it was solid at room temperature and had the consistency and texture of coconut oil.
Clover eyed the cauldron. “You can’t cook with bulko oil, my lady.”
Again with the my lady. “Maggie.”
“Maggie. It tastes awful.”
“We won’t be cooking with it.”
Clover glanced at the cauldron and waited to see if I would say anything else. I didn’t, so she forged ahead.
“A large vial of maidenflower oil at three dens and two quarters. It was on sale, and I got her down another half den.”
The clear glass vial held about two cups of dense, bright purple liquid.
I opened the cork and waved my hand above the rim, fanning the scent to me.
It smelled of vanilla with a hint of rose and just a pinch of something else.
Lilac, maybe? Maidenflower oil was used to add fragrance and color in baking.
I knew this because in the books Shana made a dessert with it.
“Two large loaf pans at two dens and ten small pans at two quarters each.”
She would go through the whole list. There was no stopping her.
“One bucket with a wooden stirring spoon at one den.”
Right.
“A large crock of yogurt at one den . . .”
Yogurt would come in very handy.
“One sack of lye at two dens and a quarter.”
A decent-sized sack, too. Kair Toren had an abundance of salt-tolerant plants and lye was cheap.
“Two pairs of heavy work mittens, and two pairs of stonecutter spectacles at two dens each.”
Safety first.
Clover frowned at our collection of supplies. “What is it all for?”
“Do you want me to tell you, or do you want to be surprised?”
She thought about it. “I want to be surprised.”
“In that case, let’s mix the lye.”
I put on the stonecutter spectacles, which were large, ridiculously heavy, and attached to a leather band that went around my head, put on the work mittens, and set about mixing the lye. Five drems ought to do it for the test batch. I measured the powder and mixed it into water.
The simplest recipe I knew called for olive oil, coconut oil, and lye at thirty-three percent each by weight.
“I need five drems of bulko oil and pan oil, each.”
Clover reached for the scales. “See, I didn’t forget anything when we went to the market.”
“Me.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You forgot me. I wanted to go to the Dog Market. You knew I wanted to go but you left without me.”
“You were tired and resting,” Clover said carefully. “Are you unhappy with how much money I spent?”
“No, and that’s not the point.”
I took the cauldron off the heat and set it on the stone block. Should be hot enough to melt the oils. I added the bulko oil to it and watched it liquefy.
“I had a friend who worked for a merchant.”
Me. I was the friend. In college I’d switched to political science aiming at law school. In my senior year, I interned at four different law firms and found out that I hated law with the passion of a thousand suns.
A series of random jobs followed. I got hired by an insurance agent, and six months into it the agency went bankrupt.
I tried to be a journalist and couldn’t keep myself fed.
I tried civil service and watched my supervisor stress-cry in a closet on my first day while my coworker assured me that I would get used to it.
I ended up at a storage place run by an elderly couple.
It gave me plenty of time to read and figure out what I wanted to do with my life, while putting a roof over my head.
Sort of. The job market was lousy across the board.
Last year my roommate finally threw in the towel and moved back with her parents, so now I spent my days off delivering food to make up for her portion of the rent.
I realized that Clover was waiting on me.
“As I said, I had a friend who worked for a merchant. The merchant was elderly, and she would get confused when managing the accounts. The previous servant warned my friend not to correct her because she would get flustered and upset. He told her to smile, nod, and say, ‘Yes, tress,’ and then do things the way they were supposed to be done once she left.”
My elderly employers knew just enough about QuickBooks to complicate both their life and mine.
The oils were melted, and the mix had sufficiently cooled. I carefully poured the premeasured lye into the cauldron and set about stirring it.
What I wouldn’t give for a stick blender right now.
I met Clover’s eyes. “The point is, I don’t want to be that merchant. I don’t want to be placated. If you find fault with something I want to do, I would rather know about it.”
The yellow mass in the cauldron got a little lighter. Maybe this could work after all.
Stir-stir-stir.
Stir.
Clover raised her chin. “I didn’t wake you up because you didn’t have an appropriate dress.
The Dog Market is the best one in this part of the city and the one we will frequent.
If you are to pose as a lady, you must look like one when you are going out, otherwise someone might remember seeing you in a shoddy dress and old shoes and wonder why a lady of noble birth would dress like that. ”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you would want to go anyway.”
“Fair point. Anything else?”
The pale mass in the cauldron reached the consistency of soupy mashed potatoes. The technical term was “come to trace.” I tried to draw a little heart with the tracings dripping from the mixing spoon. It didn’t hold. No, not quite there.
“Also, please stop cleaning.”
I stopped stirring for a second. “What?”
“Please stop cleaning. Especially the toilets. It makes me uneasy. I am more than capable of handling basic household maintenance. You don’t need to insult my skills.”
“I cleaned because it had to be done. We have a giant house. We all pitched in.”
Clover sighed. “I know. But that’s over now. There are things that only you can do. Please do those things and leave other things to me.”
I resumed stirring. “It really bothers you that I scrubbed the toilets?”
“What kind of maid lets her lady clean the bathrooms?”
The light finally dawned. Clover had left her home and studied for years to become a lady’s maid.
When she was thrown out of the earl’s household, her entire identity had been ripped away from her.
She desperately wanted to get back to the place where she was competent, efficient, and admired for her skills.
She required a lady, especially now, because she had something to prove, and for better or worse, I was it.
“Very well. I will leave the cleaning to you.”
“Thank you, Maggie. I swear I won’t go to the market again without you.”
The contents of the cauldron turned into thick banana pudding. I drew a heart on the surface. It stayed. No yellow streaks, and the shine was just right.
“It’s ready.” I took a ladle and scooped the mass into the first small pan.
“But what is it?”
“Soap.”