Vermilion ~ Twenty-Six: Waitress

[annarti.livejournal.com]

The castle’s grand dining room hummed in anticipation of the main meal. The room had been decorated this morning with autumn bouquets incorporating not just the flowers from the castle gardens, but myriads of golden and flaring red autumn leaves. The room was even large enough that the ground staff had cut down two of the smaller trees from the candlewood forest to have them frame the small stage at the far end of the long dining hall.

There, Candlewood’s own singer and musician pair entertained the region’s nobility with songs that celebrated the town and the season. As though it hadn’t been made obvious when they stepped into the grand dining hall, Master Vermilion had made his announcement from the small stage once they were all seated. He thanked them all for attending the inaugural Candlewood Autumn Festival, and for spreading the word about it wherever they travelled to next.

After a spectacular match of canapés, soup, entrée and palette cleanser, the diners were all bright eyed in anticipation of the main event.

Sommeliers moved among the guests, discussing the wine selection with those who understood it, talking up Candlewood’s strengths to those who didn’t, and generally doing an excellent job at selling the town.

The waitress followed on behind her partner of the evening, carrying the three jugs of sauces on her silver tray. She had been well-versed in the components of each the day before, and had rehearsed them over and again with her sauce-serving fellows. One of mushrooms, made from the wild mushrooms growing around Candlewood’s fields and with a dash of the local brandy; one based in a lesser cousin of the shiraz that the sommeliers were serving; the last a salsa of rich salty flavours, olives and capers grown on the slopes the guests could see from their room, garlic, capsicum and the last of the season’s tomatoes.

The waitress might have been jealous, except that she knew the kitchen had deliberately made enough for there to be leftovers, though with far lesser cuts of steak, for the staff to eat later.

‘Oh, goodness,’ the lord she was standing beside pondered aloud. ‘Which would you recommend?’

‘Well, that all depends on your wine, sir,’ the waitress answered with a smile. ‘We’ve matched each sauce to one of the three wine selections.’

‘Well, obviously,’ the lord said with a grin, shaking his head at his own foolishness. ‘I have the cabernet.’

‘Ooh, good choice, a man who’s not afraid of flavour. It’s big, it’s full, it’s a strong, powerful wine that can handle a strong, powerful sauce. Take the salsa. Really great flavours, salty to go with your bacon, that’s your match.’

The lord laughed aloud. ‘Well, you’ve sold it to me, my dear!’

‘You’ve sold it to me,’ said the lady sitting beside him, ‘and I have the shiraz.’

‘Oh, no, my lady,’ the waitress said as she spooned the salsa into an artistic stack beside the lord’s steak. ‘You’ll drown the wine with it. It’s smooth and delicate, complex berries, good enough to drink on its own. We’ve prepared a sauce from last year’s vintage of its cousin on the lower slopes. It allows the steak, and the wine both, to shine through.’

The waitress continued her spiel for the next three guests, then stood back with her tray beside one of the other sauce servers, standing to attention in case anyone should ask for more. The spoon she had given them should be perfect, if the diner used it to complement the steak and didn’t simply smother it, but not every noble was taught how to appreciate food.

‘How’s our Master Vermilion looking?’ she said in a low voice to the waiter beside her.

‘Disgustingly smooth,’ the waiter replied. ‘I mean, he obviously knows everything about what’s going on, but he still let everyone around him ask me for the recommendations, then added a bit of his own flowery talk to it.’

‘He knows what he’s doing,’ the waitress agreed. ‘He has not spent a minute longer in talking with Mistress Greendale than with anyone else. Are we sure it’s her he’s after?’

The waitress shrugged. ‘Apparently she was on his arm all morning in town.’

Her companion gave a subtle shake of his head. ‘I’m not sure I believe them, yet. I haven’t seen any more evidence it’s her than anyone else. For all we know, it could be she’s trying to lure him when really he wants, I don’t know, the Elder Master Huntington.’

The waitress grinned, then bit it back and forced her face into a more demure servitor’s visage. ‘Unlikely,’ she murmured. ‘For one thing, I’ve never seen him make eyes at any men, and for a second, even the Elder Master Huntington is twelve.’

‘He’s starting early,’ the waiter said with such a straight face that the waitress had to close her eyes to find her inner calm. ‘I don’t know, maybe he’s hiding it.’

‘Whatever for?’ she murmured back. ‘He’s never been one for hiding things, especially not where love is concerned. You weren’t here three years ago, when he asked for Mistress Cherry Wood’s courtship. He was crushed for a month after she turned him down.’

He nodded. ‘I had heard about that. I was here when he asked for the widowed Lady Cornerways, though.’

‘That was rough,’ she said with a small nod. ‘But not as bad as Mistress Cherry Wood. I wonder if he had almost expected it that time. It was silly, really. She was still in mourning. I’m sure that’s why he has this great party surrounding it, this time, so he can hide himself in it and dull the pain just in case she says no again.’

‘That,’ the waiter agreed, ‘or he’s showing off so much that she can’t turn him down.’

The waitress gave a quietly amused ‘hmph’ and a crooked smile. ‘Now that is Master Vermilion’s style. Well, whatever makes him happy. Maybe noble ladies are drawn by that sort of extravaganza, not so much for me.’

‘Agreed,’ her companion said. ‘I’d prefer a down-to-earth man who can cook any day. If I could marry a cook I’d be a happy man. Not a professional cook, mind, or he’d never do any for me.’

‘Don’t ask for much, do you? Just someone the level of a professional cook to cook only for you.’

‘I’m a simple man of simple needs.’

She smirked again, glad she was holding the tray or she would have smacked him in the arm. Before she could tell him to shut his mouth and stop breaking her demeanour, a violent coughing broke the evening apart.

The waitress froze and turned her attention to the woman halfway down the table, who was spluttering and going red in the face, whooping loudly whenever she tried to catch her breath. The waitress closest had darted in and was thumping her on the back, but to no avail.

‘That’s Mistress Dunhuin,’ the waitress recognised in a low whisper. ‘She’s the one who’s been ordering everyone around like her own staff. Even the townspeople, I heard.’

‘Hmph,’ her companion laughed. ‘Seems she’s earned her karma, then.’

‘Yes, but what does this look like for Master Vermilion?’

The young master was at her side as soon as he could round the table to her, pointing at one of the waiters and ordering something the waitress couldn’t hear over the conversation bubbling in the room. She hoped he was calling for a healer, though. With the help of another of the wait staff, he lifted her from her chair and carried her from the room, all the guests watching after them with eyes and mouths wide in horror.

‘What do you suppose happened?’ the waitress asked, aware she was echoing the question being asked around the room. ‘Did she choke? Is she allergic to something?’ She could still hear the woman whooping between her coughs from the hallway outside.

‘She might even be allergic to something,’ the waiter guessed. ‘There’s cream in the mushroom sauce.’

‘You’d know by now if you were allergic to milk, though, surely. Maybe one of the mushrooms? Probably half of them are only found around here. One of them might have some weird spores in it or something.’

‘That could be it,’ he murmured in stricken agreement. ‘I hope it’s just that she’s choked on some broccoli. If anything too serious happens to her…’

He trailed off, and the waitress felt a chill run up her spine. As she looked around the table at the worried guests, she knew what she needed to do. ‘Let’s not think on that,’ she said, and set her tray of sauces down. ‘Reassure the guests. Until we know for certain, let’s just keep everyone calm and let them know they’re allowed to enjoy the rest of their evening. It’s for us to worry, not the guests.’

He nodded as if shaking himself from his own stupor. ‘You’re right. You get to the guests, I’ll pass the message around.’

She nodded, put on her best concerned but confident smile and approached the five guests under her charge for that evening.

Comments

[ladylight.livejournal.com]

STOP. TALKING. ABOUT. FOOD.

The separate avenues of speculation running through various chapters are great - all helps to muddy the waters (and add to the small-town local gossip feel ...). I also like how different characters have their own different viewpoints on Vermillion - nice guy/too smooth, genuine/show off ...

God I want some olives. I was going to say something profound but all I can think about is olives and how I don't have any.

[annarti.livejournal.com]

I CAN'T HELP IT IT'S A FEAST D:

I want olives now, too. Not often do I want olives, but now I do. Bugga.