Chapter 11
“Oops,” Janna muttered as hot bacon grease fell onto the stove’s edge and dribbled down its side instead of into the container that was supposed to catch it.
She peeked at Cook, hoping she hadn’t seen. The fernwoman was rinsing out the coffeepot, but she’d seen. There was a slight scowl on her face, which meant the same thing as a severe scolding from anyone else.
“I’ll clean it. What do you want me to use? Are there any more of those old rags? They have certainly come in handy. I never realized how useful a rag could be.”
“Stove’s hot,” was the answer Cook gave, along with a glance toward the pantry, but Janna had become an expert at understanding her supervisor’s way of communicating.
“Rags are in the pantry, but the stove’s too hot to clean now,” she interpreted. “Okay, then I’ll finish the dishes and put them away. After that, I’ll check the stove again.”
Cook ignored her, but Janna was used to that. She chattered on anyway, because this was a kitchen, and her mother’s kitchen was a warm, friendly place where people gathered and talked. The fact that Cook had the personality of a potted plant was no reason Janna couldn’t talk. She had made that decision weeks ago, and though Cook had steadily ignored her, she hadn’t told her to be quiet.
A gardener arrived at the outside door with two baskets of fresh vegetables, and Cook carried them over to the scrubbing sink. As soon as the fernwoman’s back was turned, Janna reached for her hidden cup of coffee and took several sips.
Her mother didn’t believe children should drink coffee. When Janna had announced on her twelfth birthday that she was old enough, Berta had given her a cup of what was basically coffee-flavored water, which had led to a protest from Janna. Her mother had insisted adult-strength caffeine wasn’t good for children, which had led to a full-scale eye roll from Janna. This had brought about a big fight, which had led, surprise, surprise, to coffee-flavored water from then on.
Cook didn’t know how old Janna was. The impassive fernwoman would almost certainly not care whether she drank coffee or not. Nevertheless, Janna always hid her cup.
The red coffee berries were grown outside the kitchen door under a special tarp that let in light and increased heat for the sun-loving shrubs. Each berry contained two beans that had to be washed clean of the berry’s pulp, then dried, peeled, and roasted. Queen Berta went through a similar process in Mount Pasture, but there was a difference between the two women’s final results. Berta’s coffee was good; Cook’s was outstanding. Janna had no idea what made the difference, but morning after morning, she smacked her lips over it.
A cool morning breeze was wafting through the open window. Nevertheless, Janna opened the door after she’d put away the last dish. A cross current of air would help cool the stove. Sure enough, as soon as the door opened, breezes rushed into the room and out the window, making the white curtains flutter.
“Cook, did you pick out the kitchen curtains or did the Fern Queen?” Janna asked as she sat at the kitchen table and picked up a knife.
The vegetables needed to be cut for a soup Cook was making for lunch. As soon as one meal ended, the next was started, Janna had noted. Maybe it would have been different if they weren’t feeding a whole castleful of people. She didn’t expect Cook to respond to her question. It would count as a trivial one, and the stone-faced fernwoman ignored trivia as consistently as she did chatter.
This time, however, Janna got an answer.
“They came from home,” Cook said slowly, as if the words were being pulled one by one out of her mouth.
Janna, who was cutting a carrot, was so surprised that she narrowly missed cutting off her thumb.
“Where is your home?” she asked as soon as she’d gotten over her surprise.
Cook didn’t say anything further. Her mouth closed as if it never meant to open again, and a tear, one tear, made its way down a green-veined cheek.
Janna was as stunned by that tear as she’d been by the answer to her question. Fernpeople didn’t cry, did they? She had never seen it happen, and she’d spent most of that summer in close contact with them.
“Oh Cook, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” she said in a rush. “It’s just that the curtains don’t have green on them, and everything else in this horrible castle is green. I’m sorry, I really am.”
The fernwoman made no reply, but her mouth lost a little of its tightness. With an effort, Janna made herself stay quiet too. Obviously, Cook didn’t want to talk now. Maybe she would be willing to share more later.
Besides, a commotion had started up outside. Someone was arriving by the sounds of it. Then a big hearty voice rang out.
“Plants for sale, pretty pots and cloth for sale. Ribbons and perfumes to make you beautiful.”
Janna froze on her stool. Then she choked out one word—“Dad”—and made a leap for the doorway, dropping her knife and scattering carrots over the floor. She was almost there. In another second she would have flown out of the kitchen, but a strong hand pulled her back.
“No.”
“But it’s my dad,” wheezed Janna, who was short of breath. Cook had rather a tight hold on her dress’s neckline.
“No,” the fernwoman repeated gruffly. “She’d kill him.”
Janna quit struggling to get away, torn between her longing to go to her father and her first-hand knowledge of the Fern Queen, who would do anything to get what she wanted, anything at all. And one of the main things the queen wanted, had always wanted, was the Kingdom of Mount Pasture, the kingdom that had defeated her in the war long ago, the large kingdom of lush green hills, the kingdom that she desired above every other.
A vision of shepherds turned into dull-eyed, green-veined fernpeople passed through Janna’s mind, and though she did pause when Alland came into view, she found that overall the prospect horrified her. She didn’t want such a fate for any of them, irritating as they could be. And her father—Janna choked again.
If the Fern Queen found out that the peddler at her front door was the king of Mount Pasture, she would kill him. If it helped her get Mount Pasture, she wouldn’t hesitate.
Janna was trembling with both hands on her face. Stumbling back to the table, she bent her head down to the wooden surface and cried.
Two minutes passed.
“She’ll call for you,” a gruff voice said. “Don’t tell.”
“Are you sure she’d kill him?” Janna was able to ask, hoping they were both wrong. “How do you know?”
There was silence.
“She killed my father,” Cook said suddenly. “She killed my mother, my husband, and my little girl. I was famous as a cook or she would have killed me too. She took me away from my home. I got to keep my kitchen things and my curtains, but I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t care about anything.”
It was more words than the fernwoman normally used in a week, and that wasn’t the end of the unusual behavior. Cook didn’t lay her head on the table, but her tears spilled out all the same, reluctantly at first, as if she’d forgotten how to cry, but then faster until they were gushing down the green-veined cheeks.
Janna stared open mouthed. She didn’t know what to do. Her mother was good with people when they were upset. What would…? Janna took a cloth, wet it in cool water, and held it to Cook’s face. The fernwoman jerked away, then turned her back on the girl.
“Get busy,” she said brusquely.
Janna looked at the mound of vegetables without moving. She was trembling when she finally sat down heavily in front of them.
“I can’t do this. Help me,” she whispered out loud.
The cold cloth was still in one of her hands. Automatically, she put it to her own face and drew a deep breath. Her trembling eased. He helped me before; he’ll help me now. She picked up the knife and started to cut a potato. The summons came a few minutes later.
“You’re wanted in the throne room,” growled a fernmen as he stuck his head into the kitchen from the hallway.
Janna stood slowly and walked out of the kitchen. Her emotions were under control now, and the cool cloth had hopefully taken away any telltale redness from her eyes. Her father’s very life depended on how well she played her part over the next few minutes.
Regrettably, playing a part was not something Janna was good at, and she knew it. She was far better at speaking bluntly and wearing every emotion she felt on her face. Her heart was one big aching prayer, but it was absolutely necessary to concentrate on what she was doing.
King Luff stood comfortably in the throne room explaining to the queen the names and needs of the various plants he had brought, as if he were chatting with one of his shepherds in Mount Pasture.
Janna took her cue from him and deliberately relaxed.
“Oh, Janna dear,” the Fern Queen said, waving her over. “Go examine the materials on the throne. I want to know which would be the most becoming on me.”
“How pretty,” Janna said in feigned delight over the satins, crepes, and silks.
They were all various shades of green, surely a limited selection for a peddler’s wares, but, on the other hand, considering the customer, it made perfect sense. Why would a peddler bring the Fern Queen anything but green?
Janna pretended to examine each piece of cloth critically, but the job of ignoring her father was taking every bit of her concentration. She had none left for choosing between materials. Desperately, she picked up the two closest pieces of cloth and silently held them out.
“Well?” the Fern Queen said, not satisfied with silence.
Janna could have screamed in exasperation but forced herself to say instead, “These two are perfect. They’re the best shades to flatter your skin tone and deepen the green of your eyes as well as set off your hair. Think how they’ll flutter when you walk or ride your horse.”
She was so wound up that once she got started she found it hard to stop. Fortunately, the Fern Queen never minded people talking on and on about her physical appearance.
“Yes,” the woman said in absorbed interest. “I see what you mean. Oh, this is such fun. Peddler, you must stay for the night. I cannot possibly make up my mind right away. You can tell me about the outside world. We are cut off down here in my little kingdom and always eager for news.”
The Fern Queen’s eyes flickered with something besides interest in the materials and plants spread out around her.
“It would be my pleasure, ma’am,” Luff said with his natural courtesy.
“Janna, show him to one of the guestrooms where he can freshen up before lunch.”
She started fingering the green ribbons, enthralled immediately by their different textures.
“This way, sir,” Janna said and led the way to the second floor, choosing the farthest, most private guestroom. She led King Luff inside, closed the door, and sprang into his arms.
“Janna, my little Pound Cake, how are you?” her father’s loving voice spoke above her.
It was several minutes before Janna could answer. She had known that she wanted to get away from the Fern Queen, but she hadn’t realized until then how much she’d missed her father and mother.
“How’s Mom?” she was finally able to ask.
“Berta’s been terribly worried about you,” said her father softly. “We both were. When you went missing and we had no idea where you were …”
He shook his head, unable to continue.
“The Maker took care of me. You wouldn’t believe some of the things he did.”
“I want to hear about them, every one of them, though we’d better not take the time now. Can you bring me some water?”
“Oh yeah, and Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t call me Pound Cake,” she said before grabbing the room’s green-speckled guest bowl and dashing into the hall.
At the end of every hallway, where the door opened into the servants’ staircase, stood a table with a large water pitcher. Carefully, Janna poured water into the bowl and carried it back to her father, along with a sage-green towel, but her mind was not on what she was doing.
As soon as she got back to the room, she said, “I’m sorry. I can’t believe I corrected you when this trouble we’re in is all my—”
“No,” interrupted her father as he splashed water on his face and hands. “It is not all your fault. Your mother and I share the blame. Of course, you don’t want Pound Cake for a nickname now that you’re older. We should have talked to you more about our eating habits—and about other things too, secret things,” he finished heavily.
“Oh, you mean the Fern Queen’s tunnel. I can’t believe I fell into it.”
“I am the one at fault there,” admitted Luff heavily, reaching for the towel. “The past two kings had spread rumors that the tunnel was a myth, and I decided to do the same thing. We’re a kingdom of shepherds, not adventurers, and I thought what people didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, but my silence proved disastrous in your case. I—”
Someone walked down the hall outside the room, and he broke off midsentence. They didn’t speak again until they heard the sound of a door opening and closing.
“How did you figure out where I was?” Janna asked.
As he dried his face and hands, her father explained.
“We searched for weeks, thinking you were hiding somewhere in Mount Pasture. Then Alland remembered arguing with you about the old tunnel. I told the truth about it, and we found the collapsed entrance. When we tried to dig through to the tunnel, dirt slid down the hill and filled every hole we made. We could only guess that you had fallen in, but it explained why there was no trace of you anywhere else. I insisted on coming in search of you. Now that I’ve found you, I don’t know exactly what I can do, but at least we’re together. At least I know you’re alive.”
Luff had to quit talking. He rubbed his eyes vigorously with the towel. Janna put her arms around him, and they held each other.
****
During the luncheon that followed, Janna tried to act normally but playing a role for so long was difficult. Thankfully, the Fern Queen didn’t notice. The queen’s interest was focused on her guest, who was describing all the kingdoms he had supposedly traveled through while peddling his wares.
Is he making it up as he goes, Janna wondered, or has he really been to those places? Maybe she didn’t know her father as well as she’d always thought she did. The Fern Queen had a special interest in the geography of the different kingdoms. Janna wrinkled her nose in disgust. Dreaming of new fern gardens. Ugh. What a little mind!
Things went smoothly until the end of the meal. Janna served, Luff talked, and the Fern Queen listened and cooed her pleasure. Then something happened. It was a small incident, but it jolted Janna out of her low opinion of the Fern Queen’s mental abilities.
Janna had put apple, blackberry, and peach tarts on a green-striped tray. Such things were supposed to be arranged artistically, but Janna was not very artistic at the best of times, and this was not the best of times. She’d dumped them haphazardly onto the tray and served them.
Now, there was only one ritual left. Janna was standing at a corner of the dining room buffet pouring fragrant tea into delicate pale-green cups and arranging honey and cream on a matching tea tray when she happened to glance sideways into the mirror that ran along the back of the buffet. Over the course of the summer, Janna had perfected the art of moving her eyes without moving her head. The practice had often saved her from getting into trouble and had become a habit.
The buffet mirror revealed the Fern Queen studying the peddler’s profile as he talked about something outside the window. The queen turned from Luff to Janna and then back to Luff without noticing Janna’s sideways glance in the mirror. Then she smiled, and for one brief moment, the cruelty in her smile made her look as old as she really was.
Janna’s hands started shaking as she fumbled longer than was necessary with the tea things. She knows. Taking a deep breath, the nervous girl tried to convince herself that she was imagining things. Shrug it off, she ordered herself but couldn’t do it.
The Fern Queen knew who the peddler was. She knew. Janna became increasingly convinced of it. The queen was playing a game with King Luff to amuse herself. It was only a matter of time before she tired of the game and showed her true nature.