Waffle Dreams, Part 1: Batter Up

Waffle Dreams, Part 3: Batter, Batter, Swing!

Waffle Dreams

Part 3

“A man has known those of Umber to possess more manners than these men currently show,” Jaquen said softly to no one in particular. He threw a leg across the table and smiled at the toe of his boot.

“Manners,” snorted the one called Dunstar. “I’ll say my thanks after I’ve had your whore, slit your lying throat, and sold that nag you call a horse out there for a few silvers so I can buy a few drinks and then do it all over again.”

“With a different whore and someone else’s throat,” the dark bearded one added helpfully. Fanny decided he wasn’t very bright. She also decided she had to get out of there quickly or die trying; unfortunately, the bow was lying far across the room. It might as well been a whole township away.

“A man is unarmed,” Jaqen said lazily, spreading his empty hands before him. “And sadly, nothing here, including the girl, is his to give. But if a horse is desired, by all means take it, for it belonged to those of the house Umber anyway.

The last remark seemed to irritate the two men, and Dunstar edged closer to Jaqen, both Fanny and the horse forgotten. The red-haired man waved his weapon at the fugitive who sat smiling before him, still as a cat.

Fanny held her breathe and scooted backwards, trying to put as much distance between herself and the two men as possible, as Dunstar lowered the sword’s point towards Jaqen’s throat, Whimpering, Fanny clutched at what little clothing she had managed to heap upon herself as she backed into the cabinet behind her with a thud. The wooden spoon that had been left balancing precariously on the edge of the counter now glanced off her shoulder and clattered to the floor.

Fanny cringed as she now found herself the focus of unwanted attention. “Sorry,” she offered meekly, not knowing what also to say or do.

Jaquen was staring at her, his eyes twinkling. Why was he so calm? His composure was somehow at once comforting yet infuriating. Despite his earlier threats, Dunstar barely gave her a glance, preferring to keep his concentration on the Lorathian, wary of the man’s tricks. The dark-bearded man glowered and leered for a moment, but his attention was soon swept upwards from her to the large bowl that sat atop the counter. Luckily, it had not fallen and still had quite a bit of sticky, tempting batter within.

Fanny tensed and balled up, trying to make herself small as the bald man approached, the light glancing off his pink head. She could hear Jaqen’s voice behind him, much stronger now.

“A girl makes lovely waffles. A man was about to sample some. There would be enough for all if the men of Umber would delay their killing long enough to let a girl continue with her cooking.”

Dunstar merely snorted, but his comrade poked a fat finger into the batter and sucked it off  his swollen digits with a popping sound. Fanny shut her eyes, hoping not to see or hear anything that might come next. Gods be good, be merciful, protect me, protect both of us!

The dark-haired man’s eyebrows shot up, and he turned to his partner, “This is really good! I think we should let the wench cook for us. If she’s good, I might even keep her around for later use!”

Dunstar scowled. “It’s one of this one’s tricks! Just gut the girl, and let’s get on with it!”

“But we’ve not eaten since yesterday, and that was a pile of shit from what-was-it, the Bleeding Arse or some hole!”

Dunstar rolled his eyes at the other man but lowered the point of his blade. “It was the Braying Ass. And it wasn’t that bad. “

“Who gives a fuck? I’m hungry!” He glowered down at Fanny, kicking at her with the toe of his boot, “Get up! Cook or die now!”

Fanny stared at him for a second, then grabbed up the soon and wiped it off with her chemise as best she could. She managed a glance at Jaqen, who nodded encouragingly as she limped over to the bowl. She clenched her teeth as she did so; it was bad enough that she wore only one boot, but the little vial of reddish liquid she had stolen from Jaqen was settling awkwardly against her arch. She moved carefully and prayed that it didn’t shatter and cut into her foot.

The dark-bearded man took the chair to Jaqen’s right, while Dunstar seated himself to the man’s left. “No tricks from you or her or you will die anyway with my sword arse-end up.”

Jaqen shook his head almost imperceptibly, his mouth twitching. “Surely men would not disobey orders. Both a man and soldiers must serve alike.”

“Shut up! If I knew where the parchment you stole was, I would just get it, kill you now, and take your head back on a stick.”

Fanny stirred the batter furiously and attempted to remain calm. She had seen no parchment when she found Jaqen. Perhaps he had lost it along the way? It was too bad—she might have been able to buy her own freedom with it; she lowered her eyes at the thought—it was unworthy of her. She could not sacrifice someone else for her own life--especially not this stranger who, for a brief moment, had made her feel her own existence once again.

“A girl also has fresh raspberry syrup, and so she must use it as well!” Jaqen was calling out to her. “A girl’s guests will appreciate such a delight.”

The dark-bearded man licked his lips. “A lot of it. And hurry it up.”

“A man is a connoisseur, no doubt.” Jaqen smiled.

“The man is an idiot who thinks with his stomach,” Dunstar scowled, “And the longer the wench takes, the more I am willing to kill you. You're just lucky that Brill’s stomach is mightier than his brain and sword arm together and it talks more sense than that ugly hole in his face.”

Brill smiled dangerously from across the table, showing all ten of his remaining teeth. “I could make a second one for you in that shithole you call a face if you want.”

Fanny could hear the men arguing but dare not look back; Jaqen was keeping their attention off of her, and so she did not stray from her work. She looked frantically along the shelf above her for the raspberry syrup that Jaqen had bid her use until realizing that she had no such thing. Blackberries, she had said. She had offered him blackberries. Not raspberries. She bit her lip. Would the substitution anger the men further?  Should she say something? She stood paralyzed, for a moment, her hands shaking, then cautiously turned her head as slightly as possible, hoping to somehow catch Jaqen’s attention.

Jaqen remained sitting, relaxed, though his boots were now firmly on the floor.  He seemed content to let the men seated on either side of him continue to insult one another across the table. But his eye was quick to detect Fanny’s movement, and he met her gaze in a second. And within that second, she understood. She turned back to the waffles, which were browning now and emitting the sweet smell of molasses and ginger. All depended on her now.

Fanny focused on her cooking, listening for Jaqen’s soft voice to engage the men in more banter. As soon as she heard his dulcet tones, she smoothed her loose chemise slowly and continued to work her way downward, running her hand down her thigh and deep into the long, roomy boot. She quickly found and slowly closed her fist around the small vial of red liquid and pulled it cautiously from where it hid nestled within the arch of her foot. Once in full possession of the vial, she stood motionless for a moment, hovering over the waffles with the liquid clutched to her, waiting. But the men at the table seemed to pay no attention, and so she eased the long stopper from the bottle and looked intently at the ruby liquid within. Her hands no longer shook.