Neverquest – Part 124

Characters: Russell, Wallace, Bob, Guy, The Rat, Duchess May

Location: In the kitchen of the House of Femmington

Time: Day 5 – Dawn

“I got you, sir. Hang on.”

Wallace held tight to the string, still gripping the apron with his free hand. Below him, Russell had fallen dangerously close to the ground and was now dangling like a spider at the mercy of the wind. Staring down at the moving floor, he closed his eyes for a moment and felt his stomach churning inside of him. It was a sickening noise that sounded like death. But when he opened his eyes, the string had finally stiffened and he was pulled up alongside the apron with Wallace.

“…Let’s try this again,” he grunted.

“You got it, sir.”

This time, Russell used the apron sleeve to his advantage. Remembering the leverage and distance the string had given him while falling, he decided to grab the end of the sleeve with both hands and swing his body back and forth. In doing so, he was able to build momentum, release the sleeve at optimal height, soar through the air like a spider now on the waves of the wind, and…

He was slammed hard against the sink. The shock rattled his skull, but he quickly shook it off, feeling the grease under his fingertips begin to slide away. Throwing one hand over the other, he scuttled into the dirty sink, cutting open his skin against the rusty sides.

“Dammit,” he muttered as he began to coil the string around his shoulder. Then he looked around for something to tie it to. The sink was filled with glasses and plates, and although he knew none of them would work, he couldn’t help but feel the pains in his stomach creep up again as he stared at the bits of food slopped again the dinnerware. When was the last time he had eaten? And why did it look so good?

“Sir,” Wallace called. “Is everything okay?”

Russell shook out of his daze. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

Turning away from the leftover food, he carefully toddled along the rim of the sink and began wrapping the string around the spigot. He tied it as tight as he could and then pulled on it for Wallace.

“It’s your turn to jump,” he shouted.

That was over an hour ago. Now they were thrashing about in the dirty sink water, trying to keep hidden from the maid who decided to do some early morning cleaning. She was a little thing—comparatively speaking—of maybe eighteen or nineteen, with dishwater blonde hair and raw, tiny hands that had been scrubbed down to the bone from years of rubbing them between soap. She had put on the apron against the wall and the first thing she had noticed was the glass on the table. And maybe Russell and Wallace would’ve asked her for help if they hadn’t seen the smile on her lips when she picked up the glass and saw what was swimming inside.

“Well, I guess breakfast is already made,” she said, placing the glass back on the table. Then she hummed a little song and began cooking anyway.

Within a few minutes of her arrival, the kitchen was fuming with the hot, succulent aroma of scrambled eggs and bacon, sizzling and popping atop the wood stove. Then she began making toast, scraping the burnt crust into the garbage can on the opposite side of the room.

Russell and Wallace watched her from the sink. They watched her empty the glass of Bob and Guy and refill it with fresh milk—smiling as she popped the two CNN agents back in like cherries—and they watched her set the table and dust the chair and light a few candles so that her mistress wouldn’t have to eat in the dark. Not that it was very dark anymore. The window overlooked the great courtyard and the maid stopped her work for a moment to watch the sunrise. Then she sighed, perhaps longing to be out there, and turned to the sink.

Her smile faded.

“Ugh, what a mess,” she said. Her bare feet passed over the Rat—who was still passed out on the floor—and Russell and Wallace ducked into the sink, where they were now, hoping not to be seen.

“Sir, I can’t swim anymore in this heavy armor,” Wallace whispered, but his words were half-garbled in grimy water. They had been able to stand on the glasses and plates before, but now the sink was almost empty. They had only one plate now, which dipped over them like a fallen log, and it was the only thing keeping them from the maid’s deadly scrutiny—to rid the kitchen of filth like them.

Russell narrowed his eyes. “We’re not going to go like this, Wallace. We have to do something.”

“Maybe you can pay her to let us go.”

“You saw how that worked with the Rat.”

“Sir, you never paid him…”

The maid hummed, polishing off a glass with her dishrag.

“Maybe we can hide in the pieces of leftover food.”

“Until she dumps us in the garbage.”

“It’s better than being here.”

Suddenly, the plate lifted towards the sky. The maid turned it over in her hands and paused for a second to watch the sunrise outside.

“You’re fired,” echoed a voice from across the room, and it must have startled the maid because she dropped the plate back into the sink.

“M-mistress, I’m sorry,” she said quickly, straightening her apron and spinning around. She smiled meekly, but Duchess May was no longer looking at her.

“I don’t remember paying you to daydream,” she said, looking down at the plate on the table. It was steaming with mounds of scrambled eggs, which she dipped a finger into and then held to her mouth, slowly pushing it between her pale red lips. “Mm… Are these runnier than usual because the chickens don’t know how to lay eggs or you don’t know how to cook?”

The maid’s eyes sank. “One of the chickens has been feeling rather ill lately…”

“Aww,” May cooed, breaking off a piece of toast. “Then I guess I know what’s for dinner tonight.”

“But Mistress, that’s the chicken that lays golden eggs. She’s my daughter’s pet…”

“Do you love your daughter?”

“Y-yes, of course.”

May chewed with her mouth open. “Do you want your daughter to live on the street like a Man or to grow up to be a poor commoner like you?”

The maid wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

“Then you know how I like my chicken done. I want to hear him bawk-bawk-bawk all the way down-down-down.”

“…Yes, Mistress.”

May laughed and leaned her butt against the table. “And tell your daughter that she’s welcome to dine with me.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Good. Now, get out of my sight. It’s bad enough that I have to catch you daydreaming in my house when you’re supposed to be on duty. You’re lucky I’m not into cannibalism or I’d fry up your whole family. Capisce?”

“Yes, Mistress. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You know, you’re lucky that you’re so stupid and unable to complete such a simple task like cleaning my dishes without your tiny mind wandering off somewhere.”

“It won’t happen again, Mistress.”

“Yes, it will. This happens every day.”

The maid nodded slowly.

“Now, go away. You disgust me.”

Bowing her head, the young maid took off the apron and hung it on the wall. Then she sulked out of the room in a hurry, trying not to cry in front of her mistress. But May’s snorting laughter didn’t do much to ease her pain.

“Don’t forget to tell your daughter and chicken that I can’t wait to have them for dinner!” Then she laughed, purposely louder, so that the maid heard her all the way to the front door.

When she was gone, May sighed, smiling out of the corner of her lip, and sat down to eat alone.

“You know, you two are lucky,” she said, not even glancing at the CNN agents in the glass of milk she was talking to. Instead, she took the napkin nestled so perfectly next to her plate and began to fold it daintily in her lap. “I didn’t get home until late last night, and I know how hard it is for sub-species like you to tread water for any extended period of time.”

Bob and Guy were too exhausted to respond. They just stared up at her, through the open cavity at the top of the glass, and swallowed more milk as its waves slapped their faces. They didn’t realize May’s shaking leg was causing the whole table to wobble.

“You see, I like to wake up at this time every day to go hunting. The early bird catches the worm—that’s my secret.” She put her elbows on the table and leaned forward, peering down into the glass. “Sucks for the worms like you, but why should I care? I’m rich.”

“…All we wanted was some milk,” Bob sputtered

May’s expression was something between pity and amusement. “Aw, you poor, poor, pathetic creatures. Is there anything I can do to help?”

She struck out her lower lip, the way Isabella had taught her, and her eyebrows sagged across her face with folds of compassion, but anybody with half of a brain could tell she was pushing crocodile tears.

“I think she means it,” Guy whispered to Bob. “She really feels sorry for us.”

“Yeah, maybe she’ll let us go!”

“Maybe I will!” May said, slapping her cheeks with her hands. “Golly, wouldn’t that be great.”

“Yeah!” Bob and Guy cheered.

May cheered as well, mocking their hopeful visages, and then picked up her fork. “It’s too bad the decision isn’t up to me.”

“…It’s not?” Guy asked.

May stabbed her scrambled eggs. “No. I’m just a predator eating her prey. Why should it be my job to save you? Aren’t I doing enough work already?”

Bob frowned. “We’re sorry…”

“Yeah,” Guy said. “We didn’t mean to make you overwork yourself.”

“Can you forgive us?”

“…I’m going to let you guys in on another little secret,” May said, sticking the fork in her mouth, “You may not be smarter than the food on my plate, but unlike it, you are still alive. So I suggest you start making like your end of the food chain and find a way to escape, or I won’t be held responsible for what nature makes me do to you.” Then she smiled and her mouth was still full. “Capisce?”