The Baron gave a warm smile of his own, full of paternal love and pride at the sight of his beloved child so glamorously resplendent in her costume. The design had all been hers, he knew. How Seraphina loved to keep her costumes secret from him each festival, surprising him with her creativity and cunning at every turn, although even now he had to admit that she had outdone herself. "Your 'Majesty'," he bowed his head in amused graciousness, "It is you who honor my poor court with your beauty and race. My regards to your father, who must feel the most blessed man in the world to have such a daughter as you."
Broadmere smirked from where he stood behind the Chair. The old man, as was the custom of the time, was not masked in the least for as the Seneschal he had to remained conspicuous that the servants might find him in cases of emergency. His only concession to the festivities was an extra bit of lace at his wrists and neck. Otherwise his usual brocade robes and gold chain of office remained the same. There was a certain amount of entertainment in watching his Lord and Seraphina play their little game; they had been playing it since she was little, before her mother passed away even. That they still indulged in it now as she balanced upon the brink of womanhood gave a certainty to the notion they still doted on one another. His Lord could be a hard man to serve sometimes. De'Vance was fair but often coldly efficient in a way that un-nerved lesser men. Broadmere took great pleasure in seeing the banter as it confirmed his solid belief that his Lord had a heart, even though it was one well guarded.
Rising from his Chair, the Baron took a step down the dais towards the Swan Queen and extended his hand. "Might I have the honor of the first dance? And perhaps later, you might sing for us? All the world knows the beauty of the swans is in their songs as much as in their grace..."
***
The kitchen was chaos. The cook bellowed his displeasure at large to anyone who crossed his path, and not one single dish escaped his attentions before it was carried out to the nobles for their pleasure. If the beefy and ruddy complexioned man found anything to his dissatisfaction, the tray was disposed of immediately with a display of great roaring and scolding for how dare his helpers prepare something less than perfect to be served to the grand guests without. The boys who sat before the great hearths to slowly crank about the great spits of meat and fowl were cuffed should their pace be deemed too slow or too fast. In the heat of the kitchen with the red glare of fireplaces and ovens, it was hell. The cook was its master.
So busy was the man with slapping a dairymaid for bringing the wrong cheese that he failed to notice the slouching guardsman who sauntered into his sweaty realm to tap him on the shoulder from behind. In surprise and annoyance, the cook whirled about to see who might dare to accost him so! The guard, however, looked like he could care less.
"An' what is you want, my fine fellow?" the cook sneered, "A dip in the ale barrel? Some scraps for the dogs? Get out of here this instant!"
The guard, a young fellow with a drawn complexion, scratched at his armpit. The livery he wore was not of the Baron's household but certainly of a fine make; it was obvious that whatever House he served, it was an influential one. His expression was a mix of annoyance and resignation as he addressed the cook. "Look, mate. My Lady Mulbers took ill, right? And her bloody maid took to drinking while she were away and there's no waking the sorry bint up. They sent me to get someone to help her Ladyship out on account that half the upstairs servants is drunk, too, and none of the chambermaids are available 'cause they're all scrambling out cleaning while them toffs is dancing. So I gets sent down here to grab one of your girls to help lady Mulbers out of her fancies so she can rest."
The cook's eyes boggled as he regarded the indolent young man before him. The outrage of the idea caused him to sputter. "You-you want to take one of my people to act as a maid?? Now, of all times?? There's not a single girl or woman that I can spare, do you hear me?! I have a good three hundred people to feed here! I can spare no one, so your Lady... whatever... will have to go without!"
Rolling his eyes, the guard shook his head. "Naw, naw. Look, mate. I've been all over this castle three bloody times. Ain't no one else and by now her Ladyship is wondering where the devil I'm at! I need one of your girls." He looked about, spying the scullery maids by the well room. Pointing almost randomly, he singled out Feather. "What about that one there? She's a scrubber right? Most of their work's gonna come later tonight. Let her Ladyship have her for a few hours til she's better, then your girly can come back and finish up! What do you care if she's up all night scrubbing? Look, I've even got a few silver pennies I'll give you for her time, alight? What've you got to lose?"
Scowling, the cook finally nodded. "Five silver pennies and she's yours."
"Five!" the guard squawked in outrage. "What? Is I the good King hisself with coins falling outta me purse?! Three."
"Four," countered the fat man quickly, "And not a penny less or your backside'll be seeing my boot!"
"Alright, alight. Four it is," grumbled the guard. He quickly counted out the coins and then beckoned to Feather. "Right then, come along, ducky. Her Ladyship needs someone to hold the bucket."
Leading her out of the kitchens and down a back corridor, the guard then pulled her into a little used storeroom. Before she could protest, he rubbed quickly at his face. Make-up smeared to reveal-
"Master Tambernanny!" she cried out in astonishment. "How did you...? It did not even sound like you in there, I swear!"
The minstrel grinned at her. "The entertainer's trade, my dear. Half of it is nothing more than letting people see what they expect to see." He pulled forth a cloth from his belt to rub at his face some more, the cheeks becoming less sallow as he wiped. He quickly then began to discard the red and silver livery with its bright chain mail byrnie beneath to reveal his usual traveling clothes beneath.
"What's the other half?" Feather asked in bewilderment.
Tambernanny grinned rakishly at her. "Oh, that's easy! It's letting people see what they do not expect to see! Enough now. Here is your dress and shoes. Do not forget the mask. Very important, that. Those two barrels are full of water, and I've set out towels and soap and other assorted niceties for you by that stool there. Clean up, dress up and wait for me to return. I must make my own preparations. And do not worry about all those pots and pans that the cook is piling up for you! If all goes as planned, you shall never have to scrub another plate in your life and your night will end in a bed grander than you've ever imagined."
Feather looked down shyly at all the things he had prepared for her. It was just like out of the ancient stories, she finally admitted to herself. She, a lowly servant, would rise to join her betters and become one of them! It was really happening. The petite girl could not let her gratitude for the magical transformations this strange man was weaving for her. "Master Tambernanny?" she offered meekly, "I still don't know why you chose me but.. thank you."
For the briefest of moments, the minstrel looked startled and then slightly sad. "Oh, don't thank me," he smiled at her, "If you do anything at all, Feather, don't thank me."
***
The master of ceremonies stood at attention in a way that would have made even the cruelest of recruiting sergeants weep from the beauty of it. Back straight, arms at his sides, head looking forward except to greet the guests and get their names to announce them... As midnight neared, his job was mostly done. All he really had to do was stand there. It was a relief for him, really. Some of the older branches of nobility had adopted personas of antiquity, their costumes reflecting famous ancestors all of which bore extremely tongue tying names. Now all he had to do was watch the show on the dance floor below! And soon, the Lady Seraphina... er, the Swan Queen, rather... would sing. And that was always-
"Introduce us, my good man! Introduce us!"
Startled at the jocular voice at his side, the majordomo turned his head and looked in horror at-
"Well, come on now, man! My face is the most famous in the world! Surely, you know who I am?"
Dumbly, the court official nodded. The collar of his doublet felt strict about his throat as he tried to cough before announcing: "May I present, the Sparrow Maiden and... and... The Devil Himself."
The musicians in the corner crashed to a stop. The room was stilled to silence as the pair made their way inwards towards the Baron.
The Sparrow Maiden's costume caused instant scandal as the petite woman stepped gracefully down the stairs and towards the dais, for her dress was a near feather to feather copy of the Swan Queen's save for its coppery hues. The Maid was both shorter and thinner than her black adorned counterpart, yet there was not a man in the room who could swear that she was any less lovely. Her way of moving was peculiar for she did not step with the customary noble graces of the day but instead moved as though at a country dance to flow through the room with one foot in front of the other. It was a light and easy sashay, her toes lightly touching upon the floor to twist and turn her way towards Lord De'Vance.
Stranger still was the creature upon her arm. His doublet was of the finest scarlet with matching britches and all trimmed in gold. The shirt below was of a crimson silk that sprouted lace every which way in a fashion centuries out of date, while his hose were all ebony. The boots, too, gleamed with a solid blackness. A pair of heavy iron chains were wound about his waist as thought ready to ensnare wayward souls, while in the crook of the arm not escorting the Maid rested a fiddle polished to a golden glow. Most terrifying was his mask, for upon his face he wore the blacken visage of the Cuckoo. It was the image of the Devil Himself that every priest had ever described, was depicted in the most ancient of manuscripts and adorned children's books to frighten them to goodness. Indeed, many of the older nobles felt a chill at the sight of him. It was as if the monstrous creature of their nannies' nighttime tales had come to life before them! The beak was a leering a grin at all as he marched with a more stately pace towards the Lord.
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WhiteAngel25
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