Though he liked the relatively novel autonomy of treehouse living, Cuthbert had spent most of his childhood sleeping in the 'prentice bunkhouse and was a social creature by nature. He missed the Compound for all of its comforts, not least of all the hot showers, but also the opportunity to immediately pester someone into company upon waking. It was more difficult in the Hamlet; Bert was ever an early riser and had to actually go out of his way for a bit of palaver.
This morning found him taking advantage of his favorite modern commodity, and when he'd dried off and dressed found that his mood was mysteriously plummeting. Cuthbert consulted Rook. Breakfast was in order, and since he was in the Compound, it could be something other than fruit off the vine.
He turned the corner into the kitchen. "Well, good morning to you! I dare say I've never been so pleased to see you," Cuthbert ventured, eyes going immediately to the poached eggs. "Breakfast and a beautiful lady- I think I've used up my luck for a fortnight." Bert raised his eyes to catch her reaction, and his grin faltered.
I saw his expression turn worried, and hastened to dismiss it. "Do not trouble yourself," I said, essaying a smile, and a bombastic manner borrowed from my ever-cheerful friend Quintilius Rousse. "Breakfast and a beautiful lady is indeed the order of the morning, and I can think of few who might appreciate the combination more. There's coffee, but if you prefer tea there's some cooling in the icebox."
"Oh no no, coffee shall complete the scene," he said, watching her, but his manner slightly subdued . He pulled up a stool and rested his chin in the cup of his palm, watching her work. "Where'd you learn to cook?"
I laughed, short but genuine. "Here," I said honestly. "A lady named Vianne-- she was the first here to speak my own tongue to me, and as we became friends she taught me to enjoy the kitchen where before I'd shunned it. I was not very good to begin with," I said truthfully. "But she was a good teacher." Privately I thought I could hardly be blamed for ignoring the kitchen; it was hardly the provenance of courtesans. Aside from the Cockerel, I doubted I'd seen the inside of a kitchen other than Montreve's or my own in my townhouse until coming here.
When folk talked about all of the others that had since left the Island, it gave Cuthbert some idea of how long some of these people had been here. A few years wasn't long at all, and yet with only five months behind him, he found it almost impossible to imagine. He nodded, looking on with the interest of a pupil. "Mmm-hmm. And how long have you been here?"
"It will be three years come November," I said, shaking my head in surprise and near-disgust. It had been a long time since I named that span of months aloud, even to my own ears; I did not like to think how long I'd been away from home, from Terre d'Ange, from the life I ought to be leading. "It sounds longer than it feels, betimes," I added, wishing not to encourage anyone else to share my over-pensive mood.
This morning found him taking advantage of his favorite modern commodity, and when he'd dried off and dressed found that his mood was mysteriously plummeting. Cuthbert consulted Rook. Breakfast was in order, and since he was in the Compound, it could be something other than fruit off the vine.
He turned the corner into the kitchen. "Well, good morning to you! I dare say I've never been so pleased to see you," Cuthbert ventured, eyes going immediately to the poached eggs. "Breakfast and a beautiful lady- I think I've used up my luck for a fortnight." Bert raised his eyes to catch her reaction, and his grin faltered.
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment