Chapter two, Jack

Jack was an adventuresome fellow. He liked a good dangerous undertaking as well as the next person, and specialized in getting himself out of all sorts of scrapes. Never would you find Jack caught between a rock and a hard place. Wearing his hat at a jaunty angle, he perambulated along the path, headed for the castle in the distance. He was rather fond of castles, he couldn't say exactly why. He loved finding work in new places, the excitement of meeting new people and seeing strange lands. This was the sixteenth kingdom he'd been to, and he was determined to see them all before he died. With an average of thirty baronies in each of the smaller kingdoms, he thought he was doing quite well, as a matter of fact. He'd reach the castle just before dinner, and perhaps beg a few favors from the cook. Nothing like castle food, there really just wasn't a comparison. He whistled cheerily and jingled the coins left in his moneybag. Things were definitely looking up.

-------------------------------

Jack wandered the halls of the castle, wondering which way the kitchen was. He had been let in through a side door, guards never minded letting such a polite, cheerful fellow in for a bite to eat. And anyway, the folks in these parts were so easy-going, it was no surprise the kingdom had such a booming tourist trade.

A delicious smell led him to an outside hall, where a large set of doors was standing, just waiting to be knocked upon. Just as he raised his fist, the door creaked open, and a woman leading a sobbing young man came out.

"Blast fool!" roared a voice from inside. "Stop your wailing!"

The young man flinched and whimpered, gingerly holding his slightly singed hand. The woman sighed and pulled his shoulder, leading him off toward the castle proper.

Inside the kitchen, Jack could hear the voice lamenting the timing of the lad's accident and the fact that the 'sop' had to take another one of the cooks to lead him home. Taking that as his cue, Jack burst into the kitchen. With a flourish, he bowed and doffed his cap to the roaring man. "Good Sir, prithee allow me to assist you in your time of need! I am Jack O' Field, and I wish to offer my service in your fine establishment."

The giant of a cook stopped mid-roar, studying this new development with a shrewd eye. The dapper young man in front of him seemed strong enough, and his easy way of standing spoke of years' labor. A bit theatrical, perhaps, but that was simple enough to deal with. "Very well. Over there and start peeling, any mischief and it'll be you in that soup, understood?" His eyes glittered as the foppish lad stood, and then bowed again.

"Most assuredly, good sir. You'll get nought but hard work from me!" he straightened and made with all due haste to the selected counter, where he startled a somewhat flustered girl making tarts. "Good morrow," he said cheerfully, as the Cook's attention was drawn elsewhere.

The girl looked him over, from feathered cap to pointed boots, and gave him a doubtful nod. "Good morrow," she said politely.

He took up a knife and started peeling the various vegetables piled next to him. "And might I be so bold as to enquire the lovely lady's name?" He flashed a smile at her.

"Jill," she said, turning her attention back to the crust of the pie-sized tart.

"Very pleased to meet you, Jill," Jack said, unruffled at her seeming disinterest. "My name is Jack O' Field. It's clearly more than chance that I ended up next to you, of course. It must have been meant to be." He beamed at her, a genuine light in his eyes.

Jill quirked an eyebrow at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"Jill and Jack, Jack and Jill!" he enthused. "It's perfect. I hope you don't mind me though, I tend towards over-exuberance, and I hope you can see past that."

She turned to him and narrowed her eyes, studying him for a moment. He had a handsome, honest face, with a clear intelligence in his eyes and, aside from the theatrics, impeccable manners.

He gave her a timid smile.

"I confess," she said slowly, "I don't see that our names have anything to do with it."

He brightened immediately. "Why, Jack and Jill, have you never heard those stories? For instance; 'Jack be nimble, Jill be quick, both jump over the candlestick'? Or perhaps 'Jack Sprat could eat no fat, Jill could eat no lean'? No? More's the pity. I love making up new ones, it's a favorite pastime of mine. Do you always work in the kitchens, Jill?"

"No."

"Ah, well, they say variety is the spice of life!" He whistled merrily as he peeled, seeming not to notice Jill's disinterest.

In spite of herself, Jill found this man rather charming, with his easy air and friendly smile. She took note of this, and with another look at his feathered cap, decided that she did not like him. After all, she mused, it was like her Mother had always said, "People are charming because they need to be." And since this particular Jack didn't seem to be selling anything, there must be something off about him and his intentions. He caught her looking at him and grinned. She smiled shyly back, selecting to play the 'innocent-young-Castle-maid' card. It worked.

"You know," he said, leaning towards her, "I've been around quite a bit of the world, I've got plenty of stories to tell, if you'd like to hear some."

"Did you make up rhymes about them too?" she asked, smiling as though she meant it.

"Oh, some. Perhaps I could entertain all you fine folks later this evening with some of them. They're great crowd-pleasers." He winked at her, and she had to remind herself not to get drawn in by his honest looks.

As they worked, Jill noticed him studying the workings of the kitchen carefully, getting a feel for who was important and who was not. "A thief, perhaps? Or someone looking to get a high-ranking job fast?" She frowned down at the huge apple tart. Twenty more to go, and she was stuck next to a man whose sense of self-importance would need constant grooming if she were to get into his confidence and find out what he was up to.

It was going to be a long morning.

--------------------------------------------------------------

A/N – And slooooowly we get to a plot...Yes, Jack is the sort of person who Perambulates...that means 'walks', to you and me..-g-

So, be honest, what do you think of our dear master Jack?

For those who wish to know, the giant/human scale is a bit like the BBC 's 'The Silver Chair' Giants, or to the giants the average human is equivalent to the height of a large cat...So just picture yourself walking around with a bunch of people as tall as your cat, and you've got the Giant's scale. (Yeah, okay, I'm short. Our biggest cat comes almost to my knee when he sits down. But in my defense, he is a very large cat.)

Also in case anyone wishes to know, the way to tell a maid from an undermaid (the muscles and posher clothes) and the fact that privy workers were paid the most but died off the fastest (both of these in the introduction) are actually true... although the maids detail was from Victorian times, not the middle-ages...