A Veil of Betrayal

Chapter Three.

Layle was in charge of the silver dining service. A mind numbing, tedious job. And when that was done, there were the menial tasks of washing, fetching and carrying, food stuff and dishes. The short time she spent in the actual Kitchen, however, made her glad to spend most of her time outside it. It is loud and smoky, with most of the counter tops cluttered with utensils and ingredients, meat hanging from the roof and a giant roaring fire that has pots and cauldrons hanging over it on metal hooks, and on most days spit-boys, boys younger than Eve, turn large pieces of meat with a metal spear through the middle and rotate them over a flame. Sweat drips down their backs , being so close to the heat, and their face flushes a bright red, and they sway slightly, seemingly unstable on their feet. Layle can't bear to look at them. She hasn't yet been allowed in the Great Hall, or been able to glance at the rest of the Royal Family, to her dismay. For the last two days, she has been dusting candles as she hears laughter from the Hall, as Minstrels entertain them, and as lute playing and singing wafts through the crack under the giant oak doors. Candles on the walls flicker and illuminate the shadows as she sinks down onto the smooth cold marble floor, her feather duster still in her hand, and stares at the giant colourful tapestries lining the walls in front of her, imagining what it would be like the be at the opposite side of the wall.

Layle sits at the edge of her bed, undoing the hasty braid in her hair and running her fingers through her aching scalp. Along with most of the female servants, she is to live in the attic of the castle, a draughty, musty place, smelling of moth balls and mildew. Her pillow is just burlap and stuffed with buckwheat and makes Layle itch. The only thing that gives her some comfort is that the Castle Messenger will have gotten to her house by now, and her family will have gotten her daily wage. Layle's thoughts are interrupted by the arrival of a group of young girls, the same age as her, giggling and chatting and sitting down on their own beds. Layle smiles at them but they don't return her gesture. One of them, Esmu, one of the higher ranked servants, Layle remembers, turns and stares at her. Layle has heard her speaking, well, squeaking, around the Castle, with her shrill sweet voice, which matches her shrew like face. "You're the new girl, aren't you?" She asks, and Layle nods. She sneers. "We can tell. I thought it was at least basic decency to wash before you come here. What's your name?" Layle opens her mouth to tell them, but Esmu interrupts her before she can tell them. "It doesn't matter. We'll call you crotte de poule." The other girls around them giggle and Esmu's teeth glint in the darkness before she turns around and goes back to ignoring Layle. Chicken droppings. Even here, she isn't free from ridicule and insults. 

If Layle thought the Castle was busy when she arrived, the looming presence of a Royal Ball threw everyone- noble and servant alike- into a frenzy. Layle ducks and steps out of the way as people carry dead boars on their shoulders, through the large Entrance Hall, followed by more helpers holding some exotic birds that she had never seen before. Soot is being cleaned from the walls, and servants scrub the grease and filth from the floor, on their hands and knees, a precarious place to be as more assistants carry swans and pigs and try not to trip over them. Fresh rushes are scattered in the dining hall, filling the entire Castle with their sweet smell, and the gold platters are being brought out. The cooks are working over time, preparing the most extravagant dishes in the country for the gentry attending and by the time the sun sets, the ball is in full swing. Layle walks along the silent corridors, ones usually bustling with people, now empty and gazes up at the paintings of the Royal family. She wonders how her family is. She wonders how Eve is, and if she is still feverish. Her footsteps echoing is the only sound audible, as the music playing grows fainter the farther she walks from the Ballroom. Suddenly, she hears two more voices and she creeps forward, interested in what they are saying. The first thing she can make out is that they are male, and seem to be guards- but what are they guarding? On a night like this, she would have thought that everyone would be in the Ballroom. The voices become more clearer, she realises that they must be just around the corner. "This isn't fair." One of the guards grumbles, adjusting his armour. "We should be in there with Bartholomew and Aldous or dancing the night away with some pretty little thing, not here waiting for the Princess's stupid gowns." The other one sighs, and when he speaks, his voice is a lot deeper and Layle has to strain to hear what he is saying. "She'll have our heads if we leave now and don't make sure they arrive in perfect condition. When are they to arrive anyway?" There's more clanging of armour and then the other one speaks. "Five minutes, give or take." Layle's heart is pounding, and her mind is racing. She's beginning to come up with a plan- a plan to get medicine for Eve, but she doesn't like it. But...It could work. Quickly, she walks away, and her footsteps quicken before she is racing down the white hallways, and out the servant's door.