Sylvanlight, Book I by slflew

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Chapter 12. Vinegar and Wine.

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"Here are some of the terms to be used when one is carving:

Reak the deer, Sauce the capon, Spoil the hen, Umbrace the duck, Unlace the rabbit, Dismember the heron, Display the crane, Disfigure the peacock, Unjoint the bittern, Wing the partridge, Mine the plover, Thigh the pigeon, Chin the salmon, String the lamprey, Side the haddock, Tame the crab, Splat the pike."

~ Book of Kerving: Wynkyn de Worde.

 

As soon as they entered the house, Feanor hurried off to get dressed, and she did the same, carefully pulling on the leggings and boots, as well as the surcoat marked with Feanor's crest.

Feanor came out, looking splendid in a blue velvet coat, suit, and neckerchief. "Now," he said tensely, "we must go over serving." He sat down at the table, giving her a board to serve as a platter. "Now, you come through the door from the kitchen, and place it gently, GENTLY, in front of those you are serving. Then take the fork in your left - no, your other left - hand and the carving knife in your right. Cut along the spine if it's poultry, cutting inch-thick slices. Give one to me, placing it on the plate as if you're nestling an egg onto grass. Good. If it's anything else - rabbit, venison, or, gods forbid, beef, - you won't have fish - cut perpendicular from the spine, starting here-" he pointed. "And going this way." He relaxed visibly. Bow to the lord and lady, the hosts of the party, then leave to get the wine. Bring it back, asking if they would like some wine, the pour it carefully, leaving the pitcher. Then bow to the lord and lady once more before leaving for the kitchen, returning with supplemental dishes, which you will simply leave, bow, and return to stand by the walls. If someone needs something, they'll beckon to you." He pulled out a pocketwatch and stood up quickly. "We have little time. Come."

When they were in the carriage, he told her, "You'll get out ahead of me and offer a hand to help me out. Walk beside, but always slightly behind me, and refer to me as sir. Forgive me, Gwen, I've never owned a slave before, so I'm unused to following protocol." They rode on in silence as the fog began to congeal outside. Gwen shivered, quite aware that she had forgotten to put a coat before leaving the house. The cold crept up her legs, her toes already numb. Even so, her stomach twisted as she thought about the party. What if she did something wrong? Would she be beaten? Worse?

Eventually they arrived in front of the main gate, surrounded by carriages and flaming torches. People were stepping out of them, their servants in brilliant surcoats. Feanor smoothed down his coat and nodded as their carriage came to a stop. Gwen stepped out, performing his instructions flawlessly, to her relief. She followed him through the main gate, through the garden and into the entrance hall. The hall was brilliantly lit with Feanor's lights as guests chatted, the household Onlies passing among them with glasses of wine and plates of appetizers. This, she gathered, was where they were to wait. "Go to the side," Feanor whispered. "Look at the list!" Then he left her, walking through the throng to the wall, heart pounding.

List? What list? He hadn't mentioned a list. She looked around fervently, finally seeing an Only in a  surcoat go to a table before standing by the wall. She surreptitiously darted over to the table, where a great list on creamy paper was sitting. Scanning it, she noted pairs of names. Squinting, she was able to make out her name - Llewellyn, in roman letters. Fortunately, roman letters had been adopted for use in Breech, being one of the more versatile methods of writing. However, an understanding of Breech wasn't necessary for reading names - and those beside hers were Elwe and Melian. Tingles ran up and down her body as she moved to the wall, receiving a look of annoyance from the Only who had been standing behind her. She wanted to throw up.

The lord and lady of the household. She would be serving them, the very center of scrutiny. And Melian was a Maia, she recalled. More powerful than the Elves. She clasped her hands together to still their trembling. The elegant Onlies wearing white gloves opened the doors to the dining hall. The guests poured through into the brilliant room, and when they were all gone, Gwen followed the surcoats through a small doorway, down some stairs, and through a hall. Gwen realized suddenly that language was going to be a very large barrier for her cross.

The first Onlies had entered the kitchen, giving the names of those they were serving to the cook, who shouted back for the platter, which would be given to the Only by a kitchen boy, and carried off to the dining hall. She distinctly heard one girl shout "Feanor!" and when it was her turn, she yelled "Elwe! Melian!" The cook laughed at this, then shouted incomprehensibly. A steaming silver platter was set before her, which was heavier than it looked.

Gwen bore the platter up another flight of stairs, following the other Onlies up to the dining room. (By her very nature, Gwen was a person that could bear a great deal of pain without a single complaint. Oftentimes, she wouldn't complain about a sickness to her mother soon enough to do something before it got worse. Thus she bore the weight of the platter, its handle chafing her neck, with no complaint.) It was dark, and she discovered they were in line before a door. The girl before her, with black braids, was frantically gesturing to her and speaking in Breech. "I don't understand," Gwen said, and the girl whispered, "Front! You front!" She nodded, shifting past the others, lifting the platter above theirs, then waited with baited breath for some cue to enter. It's like a stage, she told herself. You're the actor, this is the performance. Everyone else is the audience. Just do the job, ignore everyone else. Then the doors flew open, and the show was on.

She stepped forward into the room, walking forward as she quickly assessed the situation. In any case, she had the easy job because she didn't have to identify who she was serving. A table was raised on a dais at the head of the room, with two adorned chairs that indicated the hosts. She made for them, stepping up onto the dais, swiftly but carefully setting down the platter. She served them quickly, relieved when that job was finished. Following the other Onlies, she went down to the kitchens for wine.

When Gwen returned to the hall, she walked up to the dais, then froze mid-bow. She couldn't say "Would my lord like some wine?" in Elvish, or understand their answers. "Crap!" she swore lightly under her breath, then stood up, smiling. "Would my lord like some wine?" addressing the person she assumed was Elwe. A frown passed over their faces momentarily. "                 ," he said gently, touching his cup. She assumed this meant he wished some wine, so she poured it out. When she turned to Melian and asked, "Would my lady like some wine?" She gave an imperceptible shake of her head. So Gwen set down the pitcher, heart pounding, bowed, and left for the other dishes.

The rest of her serving went more smoothly, and once she was done, she went to stand by the wall and by another Only, the one who had helped her beforehand. The two looked at one another and gave wan smiles. "Thanks," Gwen said, although she was sure the other girl didn't understand. The girl nodded and looked away. Gwen cast around looking for Feanor, finding him on the farthest table away from the dais. He looked a bit dour, but was eating well. She looked around to see if she could recognize anyone else of the few people she knew in this land. Perhaps Finrod was there.

And indeed he was, sitting on one of the closer tables to the dais, and he caught gaze, giving her a broad smile. Perhaps parties weren't so bad, after all. Elwe turned around in his chair, gesturing to her, so she went to him. He tapped his wine goblet again, and in a quick glance she saw the pitcher was empty. She bowed again and left for the kitchens, which, she noticed, she wasn't alone in doing. Other Onlies were going for refills, asking the cook for specific things. When she came to the cook, who looked at her expectantly, she went red with embarrassment. "Elwe," she said, then pantomimed pouring from the pitcher. The cook screwed up her eyes, not understanding. "Wine!" Gwen said. "I need wine!" The cook shoved her out of the way to help the next person, and Gwen realized with a sinking feeling that she was on her own.

She darted deeper into the kitchen, dodging stacks of dishes and silver platters as she went. She looked around, desperately searching for any pitchers or wine bottles. She finally found a table with pitchers and bottles, next to the dark entrance for the cellars. It was currently unmanned, unfortunately, because she didn't know what kind of wine to get. There were at least ten different types, lined up, ten to a row. But there was one that stood apart, in a different-shaped bottle, and this was the one she chose. Perhaps Elwe had a specific type he liked. She poured it into a pitcher, noting it was about the same color as the wine she had taken out before. She then grabbed the pitcher and dashed up the stairs, nearly spilling the wine as she passed an Only, then slowed to a measured walk when she entered the room.

She quickly replaced the pitcher and took the empty one to the table of dirty dishes that was being bussed to and from the dishwashers in the kitchens. Then she stood by the wall as the meal was finished. As the lord and lady stood, the rest did as well, even if they weren't finished with their meal. Then the doors to another great room were thrust open, and the Elves traipsed in to dance, followed by the Onlies, who went in and stood by the walls. The dancing hall consisted of two levels, the top one lined with French-style doors opened up to the night garden, mysterious in its mists and lit by the occasional Feanor-light, like fireflies. The top level overlooked the dancing floor, with its musicians, and had a grand staircase the Elves descended into its brilliance. The Onlies, however, stayed on the top, along with groups of Elves who laughed and chatted. Gwen did not desire to watch the dancing. Instead, she noticed one of the ornate doors open, and a group of children's faces peered out, giggling at the finery. Then the door closed.

Gwen pressed her hands against the cold wall behind her, staring at her feet, not comprehending the babble of unfamiliar words around her. Suddenly, shiny boots stepped into her field of vision, and she looked up into the dark-eyed face of her master. "Why did you do it?" he said quietly, hidden anger lurking dangerously beneath, suppressed for the public. "Did you do it on purpose, because you bear me some great grudge?" Gwen's face went white, eyes widening. "Master, what did I do? Did I offend in some way?"

"Offend? Of course, with the stunt you pulled!"

"Master, whatever I did was out of ignorance - "

"Is everything all right, Uncle?" Finrod's red hair materialized over Feanor's shoulder.

"All right? Gwen served Lord Elwe vinegar instead of wine, that's all!"

Gwen's mind reeled, replaying her tramping through the kitchens. "Vinegar - I didn't know! It looked the same!"

Finrod put a hand on Feanor's slightly heaving shoulder. "It was an accident, Feanor. She doesn't speak the language."

"Yes, but she could have at least -"

Elwe suddenly appeared next to them, as well. He smiled at them, puzzled, but said something in Elvish. Feanor relaxed as Elwe kept talking, and laughed. Elwe looked at Gwen, smiled, and left to join the dancing. "See?" said Finrod. "He even took it well."

"Yes, well," Feanor sighed. "Be careful next time, Gwen."

Finrod winked at her over his shoulder as he guided Feanor back to the crowds. She stood there, shifting her weight back and forth so that her legs wouldn't fall asleep, watching the general frivolity. She noted the way the ladies carried themselves, with Melian being the most noticeable, moving with stately grace throughout the clusters of gossiping people. Gwen noted that Melian had a much darker complexion than the women around her, but someone tapped her shoulder. She turned to face one of the elegant Onlies who had opened doors. He licked his lips nervously. "Are you Gwendolyn?" She was immediately on guard, worried that they would take her away for serving vinegar.

 

 

"Yes," she said cautiously.

Relief flooded the visage of the little sweaty man. "Oh, good! At least you understood me - barely anyone speaks English."

She frowned. "Are you from Earth?" she asked.

"Yes! I mean, I arrived just a few days ago."

"Me too - we must have been on the same ship. I'm from Ash Mills."

The man mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. "Yeah, I'm from Bangor - we were raided before you. I'm a professor at University of Maine - a linguistics professor. You were a student, huh?"

"Indeed. Are your new masters good to you?"

He glanced over to the throng. "They're pretty good, I guess. Nice family, nice house. Yours?"

"He's pretty cool -he saved me from breeding."

The little man made a face. "It's unbelievable, that they do that here! The whole thing's pretty surreal.  I mean, when I was sitting at home watching TV a week ago, I wasn't expecting to be a slave."

"Our lives can change pretty suddenly, Professor," Gwen said, as Feanor walked up to them.

"Come Gwen, we can go. The night may be long, but the next day longer still. These cocks might be able to sleep in, but I have an honest living to make." He glanced at the professor. "Who are you?"

The man licked his lips again. "Mark, sir. I lived around Gwendolyn's area."

"Oh. Well, good night."