A/N: This story, as you could probably tell from the title, is about the "recalcitrant" sending who gives Sabriel her oh-so-gentle bath. It was written for The Shoppe forum's Epistolary Challenge. Entrants were to write an epistolary story (made up entirely of letters, diary entries, etc.), and the theme was "The Little Things" – hence the rather mundane plot and un-heroic protagonist. This story takes place during the two weeks in Sabriel between the time that Terciel leaves the House and Sabriel first arrives. I hope you enjoy it.
Diary of a Cream-Coloured Tyrant
"They were quite simple sendings, without any higher functions, but they loved their work." – Lirael
"Privileged family retainers, who always think they know best. Practically human, in the worst possible way." – Sabriel
Preface:
Abhorsen, your sudden departure to battle Kerrigor has put me in an unenviable position. Of course, you are the master of the House and can do whatever you very well please, so I will not criticize you for gallivanting off and leaving us sendings – and that vile dwarf – to ourselves.
In the meantime, I consider it my responsibility to keep a record of everything that takes place in your absence. As we sendings cannot talk (mute servants – what a silly idea!) a written record is the only option. The forty-eighth Abhorsen Jerizael forbid me from keeping a diary when, after having been gone for several months, she returned to find my meticulous records stacked all over her desk. And all over the floor of the study. And out in the hall. In fact, past Abhorsens have never appreciated my efforts to keep them thoroughly up-to-date, and many have surreptitiously burned my reports. However, I've noticed that you keep a diary yourself, and so you ought to understand. What follows are my keen observations of the goings-on at this House.
Sincerely, Cream
Day One:
Weather cold and grey. Made the Abhorsen's servant sit in the kitchen for his breakfast. No eating at the table anymore for him – at least, not until the master returns (that man is entirely too lenient with him). The horrid thing turned into a cat as soon as the master left, probably just to spite us. Now he's calling himself "Mogget". Next thing you know he'll be jumping through hoops and claiming he's a circus cat! His new size and shape mean he can get underfoot ever so much easier now, confound it. Anyway, this "Mogget" jumped onto his stool at the table in the Hall and waited a full twenty minutes before realizing that his meal was sitting in the kitchen. That wiped the smirk off his face. Ha!
Have just realized that this is not precisely a catalogue of today's relevant happenings. But perhaps injecting some personality into this "diary" will make it more readable. Carrying on –
There were plenty of chores to do. Really, it was nice to have the master out of the way. Many times I'd be in the midst of doing something, like sorting books in the Reading Room, and he would look up absently and mutter, "Oh – you don't need to do that." And he insists on pouring his own wine! Of course he's the master so all of his orders must be obeyed. But without him around, he cannot object to a little tidying up. The thing is, this Abhorsen likes the place messy. He thinks it's more comfortable. Hmph. The man spends most of his waking hours trekking across the Kingdom to kill the dead, or whatever paradoxical activity that constitutes his job. I really don't care. The point is, what does he know about housekeeping? I was created for one purpose only: to keep this House in order. So that is what I am going to do.
Have just realized that I've started ranting about my own master. On second thought, I'd better not turn this diary in when he comes back. Instead, these pages can serve as a preliminary draft, and I can write up a condensed, abridged copy when the master arrives. Yes, that sounds reasonable.
Anyway, with so much work to be done time just flew by, and the day seemed to end all too soon. Sendings do not need sleep, but in a house with one inhabitant and dozens of servants we've adapted to regular workdays, and spend our nights standing innocuously in corners, remaining in stasis unless there's an emergency. Except for the guards, who are always on the alert. They're a bit unnerving.
Day Two:
So much to be done! Cleaning, and scrubbing, and washing the curtains and carpets and bedding. We even washed the bedding of beds that haven't seen occupants for years – just because they aren't being used doesn't mean that they don't gather dust! Though there isn't a lot of dust in the winter... Still, it was a good idea to wash everything, just in case.
At times like these I wish our masters hadn't created us mute. Then we could sing or even hum as we go about our work, as I've seen humans do. For now, I must content myself with the sounds of the wind and the river, or listening to Russet chase Fawn across the lawn because it forgot to mulch the young oak saplings again. Perhaps I should mention that as none of us sendings have names, I will be referring to each of us by the colour of our cowl. This technique has been used by several Abhorsens before. I've often heard them say, "Look out for the cream-coloured one." I wonder what they meant by that...
As we worked, Mogget was looking at us all as if we were mad. The atmosphere in this house could only be described as "bustling". We were all happy in our work. Really, it was a fine thing that the master left, so that we could be free to do these chores without disturbing him.
Day Three:
House is sparkling. No chores to do. Absolutely bored.
It's not fair; other sendings have work in the gardens and the orchards and the lawns, trimming shrubs and doing other maintenance work. Right now they're clearing snow off the paths and battlements. But the six housekeeper sendings have nothing to do now except prepare meals for Mogget and clean up after that ungrateful beast. At this point, I'd almost rather be a lookout.
Wandered outside to see if the groundskeepers needed help, but Russet only frantically waved me away, eventually going so far as to throw a bucket of water at me. Honestly! You'd think they'd be grateful for some help, though I do admit us sendings get rather territorial about our duties. It's hardest on Burgundy – one of the oldest. Poor thing came outside looking for work to do, and I think I spotted it scrubbing the trunk of the Great Fig Tree. That sending will clean just about anything. They tend to get a bit odd as they grow older. Just look at the lunatic that haunts the Observatory.
Ended up polishing the knocker with my sleeve, just to feel useful. Mogget walked by and gave me a pointed look, but I ignored him. Am very busy and important sending with absolutely too much work to waste time bothering with the likes of him. Yeah, right. And I may have "accidentally" trodden on his tail later that evening.
Day Four:
A surprisingly enjoyable day spent at the fishing hut. We don't need more fish, but Sage suggested it – if "suggested" means miming casting a fishing rod, and then dropping to the ground and wriggling around like a fresh catch. The groundskeeper sendings didn't know quite what to think.
Ash caught more fish than me; not only that, it held up its string of fish next to my own, clearly revelling in the difference in length. I paid no heed; it is the quality of the catch that counts, not the quantity! None of Ash's catch could've been larger than three pounds, if that.
All right, five pounds. But that's where I draw the line.
After fishing, work was still not finished – ah, bliss! We cleaned and salted the catch, before storing the meat. Had to stop Burgundy from scrubbing the fish with a bar of soap. Mogget tried to steal some, and I fended him off – little bugger doesn't need to eat, anyway. Found that hurling a boning knife at him works surprisingly well. Later, I felt a bit guilty. Don't know why, because that sort of thing wouldn't hurt him – more's the pity.
Day Five:
Back to boredom. Heavy snow today.
Decided to clean the Abhorsen's study. Normally he doesn't like anyone moving his things because he cannot find them again, but I simply had to find something to do before I went mad. Other sendings do not want to risk angering him, but I do not care. Ash might tattle, but then we cannot talk, so it should be fine.
Was startled by the sending in the Observatory coming down the ladder. That sending is completely barmy, probably from being stuck up in the Observatory all the time with nothing but a telescope, looking at the stars and things. Sometimes it comes down and wanders aimlessly around the House, but its job is to keep watch, so it has become some sort of mad hermit that lives in the tower. Sounds like something out of a children's tale. It does not have a name, either – and not even a nickname. All of those guard sendings in their black cowls look exactly alike and have zero personality. It's spooky.
Found every single possible way to arrange items on the master's desk. That's another day gone.
Day Six:
My turn to feed Mogget. Burned his milk. Am not sorry.
Big kerfuffle when Alliel's Fountain stopped working. It spouted water crazily in all directions and managed to hit Ash, which I was quite happy about. The groundskeeper sendings went nearly giddy overexerting themselves. Ochre went bonkers, wringing his hands and writhing on the ground, no doubt envisioning all sorts of punishments that the master would bring upon them should he unexpectedly return.
When they finally got it under control the lawn was a mess, with the snow and water making it into a great slushy grassy pool. Burgundy acted like an idiot, going around with a bucket and mop trying to clean up the puddles. It was pathetic. The groundskeeper sendings did not even have the heart to chase him away from their precious lawn. When the master comes back, he should just do the kind thing and undo Burgundy's spells. Permanently.
Have been feeling guilty about cleaning the Abhorsen's study, so later I went and put everything back where it had been.
Day Seven:
Day was crisp and clear. In the morning I furtively weeded the kitchen garden, hoping that none of the groundskeeper sendings would catch me and accuse me of stealing their work. Had a clever plan – if I heard someone approaching, I could quickly nip into the kitchen. There aren't many weeds in the dead of winter anyway.
Found myself wondering where the master was. He should bring his daughter around again; we haven't seen her in years. She was a darling. The kitchen sending Olive went nearly spastic with joy, cooking up several batches of cookies – more than could possibly be healthy for a human child. I remembered when this House used to be full of children. Those were good times – very busy, always lots of work to do.
Now the House has been nearly empty these past few generations – though sometimes we get guests. Like that Clayr trollop who arrived the day before the master left. She spoke with him, and I overheard some of it as I served dinner – she claimed a vision had shown that she would bear his child! The idea! She just wanted to leap into the sheets of the Abhorsen, taking advantage of the master's faith in such silly things like visions and whatnot. The other sendings – idiots, the lot of them – were overjoyed that we actually had a guest and somebody else to wait upon. They practically danced about, preparing a fancy evening dinner with all the stops pulled out. Even Russet brought bunches of honeysuckle and crocus to her from the gardens. But I saw through her little act! Oh yes, I gave her a real surprise when it was time for her bath the next morning. Ha! They all object to a thorough scrubbing at first, but it's really no use.
Was discovered by groundskeeper sending Fawn, who threatened me with a shovel. Stopped weeding and beat a hasty retreat to the House. Found Ash rearranging the books in the Reading Room. Doesn't that dratted sending know that books are more conveniently indexed by subject, not title?
Day Eight:
Sage has decided we should wash the windows before we all go crazy and break something. Poor Burgundy has already worn holes in two rugs while beating the (imaginary) dust out of them.
Window-washing is always an adventure, especially since all of us sendings are rather short. Perhaps we were made that way to give the Abhorsens, a tall lineage, a greater sense of superiority. But our unimpressive height is inconvenient for this sort of work. Washing the windows of the Abhorsen's House is a large and daunting task, especially the high stained glass ones. But work is work, so the six of us hurried about, our hands full of buckets and cloths as we scurried up and down ladders and clambered over rooftops. The groundskeeper sendings went so far as to stop pruning the shrubs and watch; we all must have looked like a bunch of idiots.
Ash washed more windows than me. We'd started on either side of the door and raced around to the back. And even after Ash had won, Sage came by and pointed out some streaks on my windows. Not fair! I bet Ash had just as many streaks as I did. And I had to wash the outside of that enormous stained glass window in the Great Hall – no small task, that. And what with Mogget constantly getting underfoot, trying to trip me up while I was carrying a ladder and a bucket – well, it just wasn't a fair match at all. You'd think my nickname "Cream" would endear me to that little terror, especially now that he is feline-shaped, but sometimes I think he hates me more than the rest.
Day Nine:
Snowing heavily. Bored again, so rearranged all of the volumes in the Reading Room by subject. Ha! Take that, Ash! Was still bored, so rearranged the volumes by author, then date, then title. Then rearranged them again by subject. Then wiped up all of the dust that had been spread around from all the rearranging. Yet another day spent productively.
Day Ten:
Snowing heavily. Us housekeeper sendings are getting restless, stuck inside without the master around. We need just one human resident so we can get busy stoking the fires, bringing out the fuzzy blankets, and brewing hot chocolate.
The groundskeeper sendings were quite pointlessly clearing snow from the paths and courtyards and battlements. The stuff just keeps falling, so their work never ends. Lucky them.
While melting some snow over the stove, I spotted Sandy through the window making snow sculptures in a desperate attempt to feel useful. It's Sandy who got in trouble with Kalliel all those years ago for trimming the shrubs into shapes of Free Magic creatures it had once seen in a bestiary. The shrubs have been round and boring ever since, but somewhere in Sandy is an artist just waiting to come out and express itself.
Lilac and Burgundy nearly came to blows when they both tried to sweep the hall floor. Apparently Lilac was sweeping the dust the wrong way, or something ridiculous. That Burgundy sure is a nut. It's senile, so I guess that's some excuse. But I'm the next-oldest of the six of us, and I am not at all like that aged crackpot. For punishment Sage made them go outside in the snow and scrub the paving-stones of the Eastern and Western Courtyards, respectively. I almost envied them.
Oh, all right. I did envy them.
And lucky Ash got to finish sweeping the hall floor.
Unearthed a mouse in a sack of grain while sorting through the cellar. Could not find a broom, so grabbed a towel and chased it around the room. Note: towels do not make good instruments for beating mice to death. Finally decided to put a potato inside the towel – much better weapon! As soon as the battle was over Mogget appeared and destroyed the evidence. I swear he has an uncanny sense about these things. The potato was all right, but there was some blood on the towel. I didn't mind, though, because I got to wash it.
I think I need a hobby.
Day Eleven:
Clear skies. Burned Mogget's milk again. Ha! That's revenge for interfering with my window-washing.
Sage opened a large bag of dried tomatoes he got from the stores. We were kept cheerfully busy all day, canning them and making tomato sauces and preserves. Now the kitchen smells like tomatoes. Mogget thought we were all round the bend, and did not hesitate to tell us so every few minutes. Olive nodded approvingly at Ash's creamy tomato sauce, but didn't so much as look at my pot of stewed tomatoes. Spent the rest of the day in the buttery, sulking.
Day Twelve:
Clear skies. Bored. We're all getting antsy.
Found Lilac in the hall counting the silverware, which it had spread out all over the floor. No doubt Lilac will give every piece a thorough polish before putting them away again. Olive was making pickles, and did not want any help. I knew exactly what that sending was thinking: "Cream makes mediocre stewed tomatoes and burns the milk; what would it do to pickles?" Hmph. Sage and Ash were polishing weapons in the Salles des armes, and unfortunately there is only enough room in there among the racks to seat two. Burgundy had somehow gotten hold of a trunk full of old clothes that hadn't been worn in a hundred years, and was mending them in a haphazard fashion. Out of desperation, I tried to catch Mogget to give him a bath, but he managed to escape by dashing into the kitchens and hiding under Olive's robe. The other sending didn't notice a thing, and I couldn't very well go poking about the edge of its robe. How is it that everyone else has found some way to be useful and I have absolutely nothing to do?
Finally decided to clean the Observatory. Nobody likes to do this, because of the crazy hermit of a sending that lives up there. But the telescope probably needs a good dusting, and the glass could be washed.
As expected, the Observatory sending was absolutely bonkers. Kept hopping around and waving its arms in silent indignation as I cleaned the telescope, and after I was finished it pounced upon the brass instrument to re-set all of the dials. Then while I was washing the glass dome, it bobbed up and down trying to see around me. I only cleaned the glass for a few minutes! It's not like a horde of Dead Hands would take advantage of this momentary obstacle and invade the House! Honestly, this sending takes its lookout duties much too seriously.
Day Thirteen:
Grey skies, windy. Still bored. Wandered down to the underground caves where I found Burgundy polishing the icicles. Quickly left.
Tuned all of the instruments in the music room, which didn't take as long as I thought it would. The Abhorsens are usually a musical family, but sometimes us sendings provide entertainment. Back in the good old days, Abhorsens would host parties, with Royal guests and everything.
Was struck by a sudden horrifying thought: What if the master never returns? Lately we've been going through Abhorsens at an alarming rate, and there has been talk of this Kerrigor thing – he sounds like a dangerous fellow. And that's who the master went to look for. What if he was slain? What if this is truly the end of the Abhorsens, and we're all stuck here taking care of a House that will forever remain empty? Stop it – these are negative thoughts, and I should just put them out of my mind. Maybe I should join Burgundy and polish some icicles...
Lilac saved me. It came up to me with a couple of damp rags, and led the way up to the frosted battlements. Bliss! We happily spent the rest of the day cleaning bird droppings from the stones. Lilac really is a blessing sometimes. The groundskeeping crowd looked up at us from the lawns below, clearly annoyed that they hadn't thought of it first.
Day Fourteen:
Snowing heavily.
Burgundy has cracked. That sending is so desperate for work, now it's making its own messes just so it can clean them up. Sage and I came across Burgundy dumping my jar of stewed tomatoes all over the hall floor. We grabbed the lunatic and shut it in the south cellar. There are only sacks of flour and potatoes in there, and the garlic, so Burgundy won't go nuts rearranging everything like he would if he were in the north cellar with all the jars.
There had been some heavy wind last night, so the groundskeeper sendings needed help gathering up all of the broken branches in the orchard and the oak grove. It was rather a pleasant day. To make the work last, we picked up one branch at a time to put them in the wheelbarrows. And of course most of the twigs were covered by falling snow, so we had to dig around to look for them. In this fashion everyone was kept happily busy all day.
At dusk Sage and I went to release Burgundy, and found that it had braided all of the garlic into chains and draped them around the room in intricate designs. The sacks had been stacked into a fort and he was sitting inside, determinedly sorting an opened bag of potatoes according to their size. That sending is not safe anywhere.
Day Fifteen:
It was very early – about dawn – when the Observatory sending burst downstairs. Us housekeeper sendings were in the hall, gathered around the table to take an inventory of the china. This job doesn't actually require six, but all of us really wanted to participate. Anyway, the Observatory sending waved his arms and danced about and generally behaved a fool, and we remained in the dark for several minutes. For the millionth time I wished we had been given voices; that would make everything so much easier. Of course, then I would probably have to put up with Burgundy's insane muttering, and Ash's snide remarks – because you just know that Ash is the type to make snide remarks. On second thought, I'm rather glad we cannot talk.
Finally the Observatory sending mimed ringing bells, and we understood – the master! Then we heard voices at the door; we rushed over and threw it open to find a girl collapsed on the doorstep, and Mogget peering at her face. We had a new mistress! There was a brief struggle as we fought over who would carry her inside. Ash and Lilac won.
We were happier than we had been in two weeks! She was exhausted, but we have lots of experience dealing with Abhorsens turning up at the House on the verge of collapse. Though it varies from person to person, we knew she would probably awaken just before dinner time.
Olive happily bustled off to the kitchen to plan dinner while the rest of us trooped up to the bedroom. For the first time in a long while there was a real sense of camaraderie among us as we each performed our duties. I shut the door in Mogget's face before he could come in. Sage built up a fire and lit the candles. Ash and Lilac stripped the girl, checked her over for wounds, and put her to bed. I sorted through her filthy clothes and burned them all – but I draped the swordbelt and bandolier over the clotheshorse in her room. Burgundy acted like an imbecile and started spontaneously scrubbing the already-immaculate floor, until Sage had him fetch some blankets.
When at last she was tucked away all nice and snug, we drew straws to see who would attend the new mistress when she awoke – and I won! I accepted my victory graciously. All right, I did jump up and down a few times. And yes, I also waved the straw tauntingly in front of Ash's cowl, which caused Ash to lunge at me, and Sage to push its way between us and wag its finger threateningly.
Then we all went to the kitchen where Olive had been flipping through a stained cookbook. Lilac set the table (with all of the cutlery, even a gold straw to suck the innards out of a pomegranate – though I don't remember that being on the menu); Burgundy and Ash gathered the nets and went off to catch some fresh fish; Sage helped Olive gather the ingredients, including tomato paste, fresh basil, garlic, and wine. First I helped Lilac clear away all of the china (the inventory was long forgotten), and then went upstairs to sort through old chests of clothes.
Having noted the mistress' build, I knew some of her great-aunt's clothes would do until new ones could be made. I even found a suit of gethre armour that would fit her quite nicely. After selecting a cotton underdress and long woollen surcoat, I grabbed a towel and a pair of slippers. They are sitting beside me as I write.
And now I must leave off writing this diary. The mistress will be awake soon, and – joy of all joys! – she will be needing a bath.
End.
A/N: It was a bit of a challenge to get into the head of someone obsessed with housekeeping, but I quite enjoyed writing this. Reviews, as always, are greatly appreciated.