Rrrr. Life lately has not been good. How long has it been since I updated?
At least three weeks. I've just been very busy—plus I got grounded for a
week for bad grades on my mid trimester report. Thanks to anyone who
reviewed, I am so glad you did. They really get me going. To be honest, I
didn't even go on fan fiction until last night! So I am glad to see that at
least I got some new reviews. I guess I should just get on to chapter 5.
Thanks for reviewing again, I'll put in mentions in the next chapter. Now
for another rhyme…
I like sour cream and chives, it's now chapter five! Yay!
After a brief tour of the castle, Isabelle was led to a tiny, sparsely decorated room in King Robert's castle. It was about ten by ten paces, with a dirt floor, a small straw cot in one corner, and some grungy curtains hanging in front of a glassless window.
"It's…it's wonderful!" Isabelle cried, tears almost coming to her eyes.
"I am glad you like it." Said John in a father-like tone, putting his hand in a friendly way on her shoulder. "Would you like to see the kitchen?"
"Oh, yes!" Isabelle shouted.
John led her down a dark hall. As they went, he showed her some of the castle's artifacts.
"Where is the King?" Isabelle asked as John pointed out a suit of armor.
"Oh, he's on a mercy mission. Feeing the poor and clothing the naked."
Isabelle sighed As she was led into the kitchen. It was sweaty smelling, and completely dark save the fire blazing in one corner. A goose spun over the spit and Isabelle's mouth watered at the sight of it.
"This is Eliza, the head cook." John introduced Isabelle to the woman, who was stirring an enormous pot filled with some type of stew.
"Pleasure." Eliza muttered, obviously not caring. Isabelle looked her over. For a cook, she was quite a thin woman, with a pinched, sour face and long, bony hands. Her dark, dark hair was pulled back sloppily under a greasy rag, and her face was red from standing in front of the fire too long.
"Hello. I am Cat-skin." Isabelle said shyly.
"You may have some food if you like." John said. "Eliza, can we have a loaf of bread for this poor girl?"
Eliza grunted, implying yes, so John took a warm loaf, which he handed to Isabelle. She took it with a watering mouth, and hungrily tore into it. John just watched her, shaking his head in pity. When he finished, John continued talking.
"I must go now, girl, but I'm sure Eliza can show you your job in the kitchen."
"What do I do?"
"Eliza will tell you!" John yelled as he walked out of the door. Isabelle turned to Eliza.
"What do I do?"
After a few minutes, in which Isabelle stood uncomfortably, shifting from one foot to the other and staring at the floor while waiting for Eliza's answer, the cook stirred the pot. Once she seemed satisfied, she put the spoon carefully down and looked at Isabelle with her hands on her hips.
"I have no need for another scullery-maid." She said in a tight, no- nonsense voice. "The only reason I have decided to keep you is that you look very pathetic and I can't help but pity you. A little." She stressed the last part. "So I shall show you what to do."
She led Isabelle around the kitchen, showing her her jobs—cleaning the pots at the end of the day, sweeping the floor, and occasionally fixing the Prince's dinner if Eliza got to leave work early. Isabelle, playing her part, nodded eagerly as the cook showed her each job.
Eliza made it clear that although she might have pitied Isabelle (A little), she still thought she was scum to be looked down upon. She never gave the girl a civil word, and didn't even say goodbye when it was time for her to leave.
"Finish the floor." Eliza said as she pulled on her coat, "And you can have the rest of the meat that is left."
Isabelle made a face to Eliza's back as she left. Just like I used to when Angie got angry with me, Isabelle thought sadly. She finished the floor and took the meat back to her room.
*~~*
Isabelle was walking home when she had bumped into a servant.
"Would you like something?"
"What?" Isabelle asked, surprised the woman spoke to her.
"I said, would you like something?" The woman smiled good-naturedly, her face round and beaming.
"O—ok."
"It's a notebook. A diary of sorts. I can't use it," said the jolly looking woman, handing over a leather bound notebook. "Can't write. But maybe you can use it, dear heart. You could trade it for some food and get some meat on those bones."
Isabelle felt as if she knew the lady, even though she didn't even know her name. The pages in the notebook were creamy white and empty, and the cover was think, brown leather. Even though there had many books like that where Isabelle had lived, she loved this one and felt it special. She had found a quill and started to write once she had gotten to her room.
King Robert's castle is just like Father's, she wrote. All of the same faceless tapestries and dull suits of armor. The servants walk about lifelessly, and the food is just the same as well—rich and fatty meats, warm buttery bread, and vegetables galore. Just like father's castle. The people starve outside while the king feasts. And then he acts like a martyr just because he gave a poor man a piece of hard bread. I suppose I must stop writing before I get any angrier. But he is just like Father! If they would stop the feud they were having they would realize they are too much alike. I must end now, for if I continue and someone finds this little book I will surely be beheaded for traitorous acts!
*~~*
"Get up! Get yourself up!"
Isabelle's wonderful dream was interrupted by a jarring, hard voice. She opened her eyes to see Eliza standing over her, hands on hips.
"What do you think you are, royalty? Get up! We have a lot of work today!"
"What? What work?" Isabelle asked groggily.
"Imbecile! It's the Prince's nineteenth birthday today! Get up! Get up! We have a lot of work to do!"
"All right, all right, I am getting up!" Isabelle growled, shooting out of her bed and pulling on her fur cloak.
"Good then. I will see you in the kitchen in five minutes." Eliza snapped, and left the room.
"I will see you in the kitchen in five minutes." Isabelle mimicked, checking her face to make sure it was dirty enough before she left the room.
I like sour cream and chives, it's now chapter five! Yay!
After a brief tour of the castle, Isabelle was led to a tiny, sparsely decorated room in King Robert's castle. It was about ten by ten paces, with a dirt floor, a small straw cot in one corner, and some grungy curtains hanging in front of a glassless window.
"It's…it's wonderful!" Isabelle cried, tears almost coming to her eyes.
"I am glad you like it." Said John in a father-like tone, putting his hand in a friendly way on her shoulder. "Would you like to see the kitchen?"
"Oh, yes!" Isabelle shouted.
John led her down a dark hall. As they went, he showed her some of the castle's artifacts.
"Where is the King?" Isabelle asked as John pointed out a suit of armor.
"Oh, he's on a mercy mission. Feeing the poor and clothing the naked."
Isabelle sighed As she was led into the kitchen. It was sweaty smelling, and completely dark save the fire blazing in one corner. A goose spun over the spit and Isabelle's mouth watered at the sight of it.
"This is Eliza, the head cook." John introduced Isabelle to the woman, who was stirring an enormous pot filled with some type of stew.
"Pleasure." Eliza muttered, obviously not caring. Isabelle looked her over. For a cook, she was quite a thin woman, with a pinched, sour face and long, bony hands. Her dark, dark hair was pulled back sloppily under a greasy rag, and her face was red from standing in front of the fire too long.
"Hello. I am Cat-skin." Isabelle said shyly.
"You may have some food if you like." John said. "Eliza, can we have a loaf of bread for this poor girl?"
Eliza grunted, implying yes, so John took a warm loaf, which he handed to Isabelle. She took it with a watering mouth, and hungrily tore into it. John just watched her, shaking his head in pity. When he finished, John continued talking.
"I must go now, girl, but I'm sure Eliza can show you your job in the kitchen."
"What do I do?"
"Eliza will tell you!" John yelled as he walked out of the door. Isabelle turned to Eliza.
"What do I do?"
After a few minutes, in which Isabelle stood uncomfortably, shifting from one foot to the other and staring at the floor while waiting for Eliza's answer, the cook stirred the pot. Once she seemed satisfied, she put the spoon carefully down and looked at Isabelle with her hands on her hips.
"I have no need for another scullery-maid." She said in a tight, no- nonsense voice. "The only reason I have decided to keep you is that you look very pathetic and I can't help but pity you. A little." She stressed the last part. "So I shall show you what to do."
She led Isabelle around the kitchen, showing her her jobs—cleaning the pots at the end of the day, sweeping the floor, and occasionally fixing the Prince's dinner if Eliza got to leave work early. Isabelle, playing her part, nodded eagerly as the cook showed her each job.
Eliza made it clear that although she might have pitied Isabelle (A little), she still thought she was scum to be looked down upon. She never gave the girl a civil word, and didn't even say goodbye when it was time for her to leave.
"Finish the floor." Eliza said as she pulled on her coat, "And you can have the rest of the meat that is left."
Isabelle made a face to Eliza's back as she left. Just like I used to when Angie got angry with me, Isabelle thought sadly. She finished the floor and took the meat back to her room.
*~~*
Isabelle was walking home when she had bumped into a servant.
"Would you like something?"
"What?" Isabelle asked, surprised the woman spoke to her.
"I said, would you like something?" The woman smiled good-naturedly, her face round and beaming.
"O—ok."
"It's a notebook. A diary of sorts. I can't use it," said the jolly looking woman, handing over a leather bound notebook. "Can't write. But maybe you can use it, dear heart. You could trade it for some food and get some meat on those bones."
Isabelle felt as if she knew the lady, even though she didn't even know her name. The pages in the notebook were creamy white and empty, and the cover was think, brown leather. Even though there had many books like that where Isabelle had lived, she loved this one and felt it special. She had found a quill and started to write once she had gotten to her room.
King Robert's castle is just like Father's, she wrote. All of the same faceless tapestries and dull suits of armor. The servants walk about lifelessly, and the food is just the same as well—rich and fatty meats, warm buttery bread, and vegetables galore. Just like father's castle. The people starve outside while the king feasts. And then he acts like a martyr just because he gave a poor man a piece of hard bread. I suppose I must stop writing before I get any angrier. But he is just like Father! If they would stop the feud they were having they would realize they are too much alike. I must end now, for if I continue and someone finds this little book I will surely be beheaded for traitorous acts!
*~~*
"Get up! Get yourself up!"
Isabelle's wonderful dream was interrupted by a jarring, hard voice. She opened her eyes to see Eliza standing over her, hands on hips.
"What do you think you are, royalty? Get up! We have a lot of work today!"
"What? What work?" Isabelle asked groggily.
"Imbecile! It's the Prince's nineteenth birthday today! Get up! Get up! We have a lot of work to do!"
"All right, all right, I am getting up!" Isabelle growled, shooting out of her bed and pulling on her fur cloak.
"Good then. I will see you in the kitchen in five minutes." Eliza snapped, and left the room.
"I will see you in the kitchen in five minutes." Isabelle mimicked, checking her face to make sure it was dirty enough before she left the room.