Passion Play (22 page)

Ilse shook her head.

“Are you arguing with me?” Mistress Raendl said softly.

“No, ma’am. I’m sorry. I will be careful.”

More pranks followed throughout the next five days. Vinegar added to her tea. Glasses cracked so that they broke when she washed them. Pins in her stockings. Brushes and rags and spoons that vanished from her workstation when she wasn’t looking. Soon her throat hurt constantly, and her nerves jumped at every sound.

It was late one evening, when there came a lull in orders from the common room, and Mistress Raendl gave all the girls an extra break. Ilse took the opportunity to go outside into the lane. The cold would keep the others away. If they set another trick, well, she was getting used to it. She wandered toward the gardens, to the path where she had first entered Lord Kosenmark’s grounds, nearly eight weeks before. The trees were bare now. Winter had arrived, bringing with it wetter weather and the hint of snow. If she walked away tonight, she would have to find shelter from the cold and damp.

One of the kitchen cats curled around her legs and mewed for attention. Ilse bent to scratch its head and took comfort in its rumbling purr.
Never again,
she thought.
Never again will I run away.

“Ilse.” Kathe’s voice came from the doorway.

Ilse straightened up and the cat whisked away into the darkness. “Am I wanted inside?”

“No. We’ve a chance to breathe tonight, thankfully. It was just—” Kathe’s voice sounded tentative, unlike her usual cheerful self. “I wondered if you wanted to tell me anything.”

Of course Kathe knew, or guessed at, what happened with her crew. She was clever and observant, as well as a good cook. Ilse was tempted to tell her everything. Then Kathe would lecture the girls and …

… and I shall forever need her protection.

She shook her head. “No. I have to solve it by myself.”

“So you do admit there’s a problem.”

“Not a problem. A puzzle.”

Kathe laughed softly. “As you like. But remember, if your puzzle does become a problem, come tell me, and we can try to solve it together.”

*  *  *

ILSE WOKE THE
next morning to an unusual silence. She tensed, thinking she had overslept. Then she heard a whisper, followed by a loud crackling. “I don’t care,” Lys said.

What have they done now?

She wanted to pretend sleep until the others went downstairs, but she could not afford to be late, not with Mistress Raendl already annoyed with her.

But when she sat up, her stomach knotted as she took in the girls’ latest prank. Dust all over her blanket. More dust in her hair. She sneezed and heard the girls laugh. The dust was nothing, however. When she wiped her eyes clear of the dust, she saw that her trunk stood open and empty, and her clothes lay scattered across the floor. Keeping her face expressionless, Ilse began the tedious task of gathering her things. Shoes in one corner. Shifts and bandeaus crammed behind the door. Hair ribbons knotted into an impossible mess. They had deliberately rubbed dirt into everything, including her best gown. Ilse brushed off the dirt as well as she could, but she knew she would have to take most of her clothes to the house laundry. As the girls watched, she put the soiled clothes to one side and folded the rest.

Only when she went to her trunk did she realize that something else was missing.

My letter.

Paper crackled again. Ilse snapped her head up. Lys sat cross-legged on her bed with Ilse’s letter from Lord Kosenmark. Rosel leaned over her shoulder. Both were sounding out the words they knew, speaking in an exaggerated drawl, and snickering.

“Give that back to me,” Ilse said.

Rosel grinned at her. “Why?”

“Because it’s mine.”

“Hah,” Lys said. “You probably found it in the gutter. Or stole it. Who would write such a stupid letter to you anyway?”

Ilse shook her head. She ought to have burned the letter, but she had not imagined that anyone would search her private belongings. At least they didn’t know who wrote it.

Janna glanced sideways at Lys. She looked more unhappy than amused. So did Dana. But Lys was grinning in obvious satisfaction. “So you did steal it,” she said. “I thought so. You’re a thief—a thief and a whore.”

“I’m not a thief.”

“But you are a whore.” Her voice went low and angry, and dark red patches appeared on her bony cheeks. “I heard about the night you came here, girl. You were sick, they told us. Sick from spreading your legs. I heard you even tried to fuck Lord Kosenmark, so he’d let you in the door.”

Ilse closed her eyes. They will never be satisfied. Never.

“Four a night,” she whispered. “More after I got used to the work. Thirty men could have me, and they did. Mornings. Nights. When they rested the horses, sometimes. And I did whatever they wanted, no matter what, no matter how much I hated it. Just so Alarick Brandt wouldn’t send me back to my father. So yes. I was a whore.”

She heard swift footsteps crossing the room, a scuffling sound, then a squawk from Lys. But no one answered her, not even to say good-bye as they left the room one by one. When she at last opened her eyes, the letter lay on her bed. “My badge of courage,” she said softly, folding it carefully into a small unobtrusive square. “I will not let it go. And I will not run away.”

*  *  *

SHE DRESSED IN
her cleanest skirt and smock and made ready for the day. The clothes that she had been able to brush clean, she put away. The rest she took to the house laundry, where the wash girl eyed her curiously. “What happened?”

“An accident.”

“You should be more careful. Mistress Raendl is a strict one, I’ve heard.”

Ilse smiled faintly. “That she is. It won’t be the first time she’s scolded me. I’m nearly used to it.”

The girl grinned back, shaking her head. “Well, these stocking are fairly ruined. I’ll tell Mistress Denk so she can order you new ones. Are you sure you want to wear that smock today? It’s all over grease stains.”

Ilse hadn’t noticed the stains in the dormitory. She sighed. “It’s the only one I have left.”

When she reported for duty, Mistress Raendl did scold her, but absentmindedly. Reading the signs, Ilse guessed the night would prove hectic and nerve-racking for them all. She was right. Within moments, a quarrel broke out between the youngest scullion and the pastry cook. Mistress Raendl spun around to deal with it. When she did, Kathe took Ilse away and gave her a mound of dough to knead. “This should keep you busy and safe,” she said softly.

Ilse settled down thankfully to her task. The other girls glanced in her direction, but no one spoke to her. She was glad. She didn’t want to speak, didn’t want to pretend she wasn’t angry and miserable.

I forgot about envy,
she thought.
And jealousy. And distrust.

Those emotions had names and faces now. She glanced around at those faces. Fox-faced Lys. Rosel with her bright eyes and mobile mouth. Janna and Dana. Steffi. Little Hanne. Lys happened to glance up. Her gaze met Ilse’s and she tilted her chin up. They stared at each other a long moment, until Mistress Raendl called out for Lys to help the servers in the common room.

Ilse punched a fist into the dough.
I will not run away. I will not. Not again.

A lock of hair fell over her face. She blew it away. Anger solved nothing. Self-pity was equally useless.
So think,
she told herself.
Unless you want to spend the next year dodging tricks, and explaining your clumsiness to Mistress Raendl.
If Mistress Raendl didn’t dismiss her long before the year ended.

She folded the dough into the center and pounded it again. Lys was the senior girl and jealous of her position—that much was clear. And Rosel took her direction from Lys. Dana the moody one would join in the pranks if her day went especially badly. Steffi was simpler to work out—she just liked a good laugh. Janna … Janna was harder to judge. Ilse had thought her another like Steffi, but Janna thought longer before she spoke. She wasn’t afraid of Lys, but she also wouldn’t challenge the other girl’s status.

Then there was little Hanne, the one the rest overlooked.

“She’s from up north, like you,” Kathe had said. “Six brothers and four sisters. Her mother and father sent her to live with a cousin because they could not feed her.”

But the cousin had died, leaving Hanne without work or a home. Kathe had heard of the girl through friends and offered her a post. Hanne worked hard, but she clearly wanted nothing more than to go home.

Ilse paused in kneading the dough. Working hard. That was the key.
I have to prove that I deserve this post.

She considered how for the rest of the evening. After the shift ended, she waited until the others had left, then approached Kathe. “I need a favor,” she said softly.

Kathe glanced around. “For your situation?”

Ilse nodded. “I’d like you to give me drudge work. The nastiest smelliest work you have. If it’s not too much trouble, that is.”

Kathe smiled faintly. “That is hardly a favor. We always have drudge work, and we all take turns, or we earn it by making trouble. But if you want it …”

“I do.”

The next day, Kathe provided Ilse with several sets of plain rough clothing—jerseys and trousers and socks—and told her to wear these while she worked. Then she gave Ilse a wire brush and the kitchen’s filthiest pots, the ones coated with soot, or baked with sauces that had bubbled over. “Clean these until I can see my face. That should be nasty enough.”

After Ilse finished that job, Kathe set her to washing out the big trash barrels. The barrels stank from rotted foods left to ferment, and Ilse had to crawl inside to scrape out the crevices. She heaved up her breakfast the first day. The second day, she scrubbed the barrels first and then ate after taking a hot bath. After the barrels came the chore of scraping out the drain pipes that emptied into the gutters outside. Normally the lowest scullions did that chore, but as Kathe cheerfully reminded Ilse, she had asked especially for those kinds of chores.

“Have you had enough?” Kathe murmured when this state of affairs continued for ten days.

“Nearly,” Ilse said under her breath. Her hands were red from the soap, and her fingernails were chipped. But she had noticed a difference. Janna now greeted her when she came into a room, and Steffi asked her more often to share her stories and folktales. Dana made a point of leaving her special hand cream by Ilse’s bed, when Lys wasn’t around. Even Lys herself did nothing worse than ignore her.

“Take a break from the filth,” Kathe said. “I need you to deliver breakfast trays to our fair courtesans.”

Ilse hesitated. “What about …?”

“We ran low on pickles and vinegar and a few other things, so I sent Lys and Rosel to the market. The other girls won’t tell, I’m guessing.”

Ilse nodded. “Very well.”

Her response provoked a laugh from Kathe. “I’m so glad you consent.”

“I didn’t—”

“You did,” Kathe said, still laughing. “But I understand your reluctance. Hurry, though. Tatiana will be crying for her tea before long.”

Ilse scrubbed the dirt from her face and hands and changed into a clean smock and skirt. It was a welcome change, she thought, after she had delivered six trays to various rooms. Her last delivery was to the common room, where several courtesans lounged. A few hours remained before the pleasure house opened for general use, and the room was filled with sunset’s heavy red glow. Eduard dozed on the couch and Mareike softly played her double flute. Nadine lounged next to Adelaide, but at Ilse’s appearance, she rolled into a sitting position and patted the cushion next to. “Excellent. We’ve had one breakfast already, but I could have three more.”

“You’ll get fat,” Eduard said, his eyes still closed.

“Maester Schaulder likes plump women.” She turned back to Ilse. “What about you? You look hungry enough for another meal.”

Ilse smiled but said nothing. She laid out the dishes with food and collected the dirty ones to take back to the kitchen.

“Quiet,” Nadine observed. “Steffi tells me that you know stories. Would you tell us one before you go back to the kitchens?”

“I can’t. Mistress Raendl—”

“Mistress Raendl,” Nadine said crisply, “ate too many prunes when she was a girl.”

Ilse choked back a laugh.

“It’s true.” Nadine’s expression was grave, but her eyes were bright with mischief. “Six, count them, six baskets of prunes, eaten in a single day, on a dare. A tragedy. We speak about it often, we courtesans. Tatiana sings of the matter to clients, when they ask for sorrowful songs.”

Smiling and shaking her head, Ilse wiped down the table.

“I think you ate some of those prunes, too,” Nadine went on. “Or else you would be laughing right now. Just like Eduard.” She poked Eduard with the foot. Eduard grunted and rolled over, but his shoulders were shaking.