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Chapter 6: Wash Maid
A sort of romantic aura filled the air with the dawn of each new day.
Or so Miri had always believed.
When she was only seven weeks old, she'd caught her first sight of Cair Paravel with a backdrop of a rose red sunrise. She'd known then that she belonged in that great palace, feeling the cool smooth tiles of marble underneath her paws and the swell of adventure in her spirit.
Alas, all the castle had need of when she inquired after a position was a washing maid. However, she would be within those gleaming walls, part of a living legend and that was a prize too great to pass up.
Like a swath of soft cotton she had soaked up all the stories of Beruna she could find. She learned all that she could about the Kings and Queens that had been the tool Aslan had used to restore hope to her homeland. Her mind, wild with tales of glory days gone by, created images of the glorious table they feasted at and the fine company they spent their days with.
The first time she'd seen King Edmund she was sure that there was a maiden with russet hair and the wide, dark eyes of the Telmarines awaiting him in the warm comfort of a library to match his wit and cunning with mystery and intrigue. And then she'd seen King Peter, and her mind conjured up images of a lady, perhaps a dryad, with hair as bright as the sun standing below a bower of wild roses, hands outstretched to catch his and pull him away to the grassy fields and a wide sapphire sky.
Such strong, noble, and brave sons of Adam surely had suitors as worthy as themselves.
It was this thought that kept Miri happily entertained even when she tired of hearing Trishna's voice prattle on about the latest gossip. For it was a well known fact that the wash rooms were the rampant birthplace of all palace gossip. And Trishna was the loudest of them all. Not even the ladies maids could outdo the wash maids, and certainly not Trishna.
It's not like they could help it. One could tell so much from a person's laundry.
For instance, Lord Wimble's atrocious manners. Why, the wash maids knew before the banquet maids did. Blackberry stains coated the front of his nightshirts.
Or Lady Spella's fondness for lilies. Nearly all of her gowns were embroidered with them. Lord Hamfast would have done well to have consulted the wash maids before professing his love and presenting her with a bouquet of peonies that had cost him a small fortune.
This day, however, none of that mattered. This day Miri had been selected to gather and wash the four monarch's laundry.
The bedchambers of the Kings and Queens were as ornate as she'd imagined them to be, gilded mirrors, satin bed linens, wardrobes larger than Miri's whole family standing upon each others shoulders--and for a ferret, she had a very large family. A balcony overlooking the sea was in each bedchamber with a long plush chaise resting in the full beams of pale dawning light.
But Miri was only allowed a slight glance as the doors opened before a lady's maid deposited a pile of cloth into Miri's basket.
Sighing and trying to savor the glimpse she'd been allowed, she moved to the last bedchamber, King Peter's bedchamber. She almost passed it by. After all, King Peter and King Edmund were still near the southern border at the last report. They weren't thought to be back for several days.
She had to content herself with the pile of laundry trailing behind her in a basket on velvety runners and the prospect of a morning filled with her paws sunk in a tub of soapy water. At least her thoughts could run free, exploring the seemingly endless corridors and meeting the crowds of lords and ladies.
The end of the hallway was curling out of the royal wing when a lady's maid came scurrying after her, waving a swath of fabric.
The item was tossed unto the towering pile and the lady's maid disappeared back down the hallway, muttering some incomprehensible nonsense. Miri merely continued her trek to the wash rooms, wondering if Aslan had to make sons of Adam and daughters of Eve quite so tall...
Twenty lion paces away from the sudsy room Miri began to hear the hum of voices, weaving tales both true and false, intermingling them until one couldn't be deciphered from the other. And so began another day of washing.
The wash room was a rectangular room filled with wide, wooden tubs brimming with heated water. Steam curling up from water's surface clouded the lye-scented air and almost hid away the last unused tub. She scurried over before someone decided that their water was dirtied, and decide to make use of a fresh tub to avoid having to refill their own.
Trishna was, as usual, chattering away about some lady who was sensitive to all herbal scents and the great scandal that erupted when she'd been invited to a garden party by only the richest duchess this side of the sea.
Miri had heard this tale before and set about preparing the clothes to wash, the familiar words becoming white noise in her ears. She caught up the item resting on the top and searched for stains, or marks that would require extra attention. It did seem strange that the lady's maid would run after the wash maid to confer a simple, linen tunic.
No extensive embroidery embellished the collar, though a thin line of gold thread was woven around the cuffs. Surely this could have waited until the next wash maid's arrival. A tunic of this size would take Miri a good portion of the dawn light to wash thoroughly.
She was pushing the tunic to the water's edge when the edge of the fabric twisted in the light and her sharp eyes caught a brilliant flash of color. Wondering what trinket had been hidden away, for nobles often secured jewelry or the like away in their suits and then promptly forgot such wealth existed until the laundry had been collected, she nudged about.
And felt her breath catch in her throat.
A deep crimson stain coated the left side of the entire tunic. A metallic smell assaulted her nose when she leaned in to inspect the stain further. She pulled away, eyes wide.
One thousand questions pummeled her mind all in one stroke. Blood? Though she was no expert on the subject, what else could it be...but whose? And why? Which room had she been next to when the lady's maid had chased her? Had she left the royal wing? Perhaps it was a lord's...perhaps...no, she clearly remembered being only a few yards from King Edmund's bedchamber, the royal bedchamber closest to the wash rooms.
The maid had come from one door back...High King Peter's bedchamber!
Surely he had not returned already, would someone have heard? Trishna perhaps? But if he had, the stain was his? Had he returned wounded? Miri's breath now came quick and fast, the pieces clicking into place in her head.
Perhaps, perhaps they hadn't mentioned his arrival in an effort to keep his condition concealed. Perhaps they'd been attacked by bandits on their return journey. Perhaps the High King had been mortally wounded.
Then, he could be saying his farewells to the world even now as the sunlight made its appearance over the gray horizon. He could be lying, strength bleeding away, with his sisters weeping at his side and his brother had the foot of the bed. They could be hearing the last requests of a King and brother, the pressing weight of sorrow settling over their hearts.
Suddenly Miri felt an unquenchable urge to flee to her King's side. She would be of no medical help but if it was anything like her imagination told her, she would be a comfort in those last cold moments before life's candle was snuffed out.
Throwing down the tunic, she fell to all four paws and flew out of the wash rooms, ignoring the faint cries of indignant wash maids. They merely did not understand the severity of the situation. Who could worry about linens when a monarch's life was in jeopardy?
Miri had never moved so swiftly or with such purpose as she did now. She practically flew down the hallways, the only thought driving her to enter that room and offer whatever consolation she could.
Mayhap, the High King would even have a quest for her, a grand adventure that would bring her into the graces of the court and the favor of the monarchs. Mayhap, she would even meet a noble ferret with titles and land to his name who would fall madly in love with her upon witnessing her virtue and sacrifice.
She screeched around the corner and closed the last few feet to the High King's bedchamber. The door was closed, no doubt to keep the masses from panic. However, Miri would handle the loss with valor. She would bear the burden well.
The door was easily pushed aside and Miri went sliding in, prepared to view the High King for the final time, prepared to take her place among the legends of history.
But the bed lay empty. The chair by at the bedside, too, sat vacant.
Breathless and very confused, she glanced about the room and saw no bloodied bandages or weeping Queens or brooding Kings. She was very much alone in the opulent bedchamber.
That is, until the slender figure of Queen Lucy stepped in from the balcony, hands tangled in a towel. Her rich brown hair hid half of her face from view yet Miri knew instinctively that the Queen was unaware of her presence.
Miri knew somehow she'd been mistaken. How? She didn't know...
"Bother..." the Queen muttered, twisting her fingers about in the cloth and Miri caught another glimpse of angry red.
And then again, the questions resurfaced. That was it, Miri had simply entered the wrong room. She must have mistaken the distance between the rooms. It must have been King Edmund that was injured. Queen Lucy must have sought solace to recollect her thoughts upon seeing her brother's blood.
The round eyes that musicians across the land sang about flicked up from the towel and Miri was spotted. "Oh my! I hadn't thought there was anyone else in here! I'm terribly sorry!"
Miri internally congratulated herself. Her assumptions had been correct. "Nay, my Queen, I should be the one begging your forgiveness." the ferret found the words difficult to find. How did one voice such a thing?
"You..." her brow wrinkled in thought. "You should?"
"Aye, if I had not been so presumptuous as to intrude upon you in this time of-"
The door clicked open and Queen Susan, in all her elegant glory as rare and fine as the ballads said, entered. She immediately crossed the room to come beside her sister, heaving a soft sigh that would break one hundred knight's hearts. "Oh, Lucy...Iysa told me all about it."
Queen Lucy's gaze dropped and her cheeks flushed. "I am sorry."
Miri took a few respectful paces back, prepared to exit the room and leave the two mourning sisters in peace.
"No harm done, really. I'll tell Peter the wash maids misplaced his tunic if the stain won't come out and all will be well."
Miri's head shot up. All would be well? Her brother was on the brink of death and all would be well with the rinsing of a tunic?
"If only I'd been more careful with the paints..." Queen Lucy trailed off and Miri became more confused than ever.
Paints, what in Aslan's name were they talking about? Unfortunately, Miri wouldn't receive any more clues.
A chime of golden trumpets and the two straightened, a light dawning on both of their faces.
"Su, is that," Queen Lucy's voice was breathless with anticipation, "do you think that's them?"
The answer was the door opening yet another time and Miri felt the last of her confusion melt away into something else entirely. Her eyes followed a pair of muddied boots all the way to the inquiring face of her Liege, the one and only High King Peter with King Edmund only a step behind.
She shrank back, skin flushing scarlet underneath her sable fur down to the tip of her tail.
"Peter! Edmund!" The chorus of their voices and the race to the door to fling their arms about the traveling brothers' necks left Miri with no escape route, leaving her to sit in nearly unbearable embarrassment as they were reacquainted.
"How did you manage to arrive so early? We thought you'd be away until tomorrow." Queen Susan's face was as equally delighted as her sisters, though her eyes managed to quickly survey that both brothers were unharmed.
"Ed missed his chess set so we rode through the night."
"Right, I was the one packed up half the camp and practially galloped the whole way here." The dry sarcasm in King Edmund's voice brought a faint sheen of color to the High King's cheeks.
"Admit it, you wanted to be back here as badly as any of the rest of us." The High King pointedly avoided mentioning himself, a fact which was no doubt the reason behind King Edmund's smirk.
"Pete, look, you've got to come see. I think it's the best I've done yet." Queen Lucy tugged on her older brother's hand, pulling him out to the balcony, the petty debate completely forgotten.
The final piece of the puzzle found it's place when Miri saw the object of Queen Lucy's enthusiasm.
A painting of a bright crimson rose.