The Angel Wore Fangs(36)

That was the best that could be said about the place. There were no rushes on the floor here, so close to the fires, but the packed dirt floor itself was greasy and squished with unmentionable spoiled foodstuff when stepped on. Here and there were bones left by the dogs, who apparently roamed the kitchen, too, as well as the great hall. The long prep tables were covered with days-old food, maybe weeks-old. The room smelled, and it was not a good kitchen smell, either.

A short, fat woman, who was yelling at a boy who apparently failed to turn the spit rapidly enough, turned on hearing them enter. She wore a blue gown, belted at the waist and covered with a full-length, white, open-sided, apron-type garment attached at the shoulder straps with crude brooches. In fact, most of the women here wore similar attire. A kerchief of some kind tied around her head failed to hold in all the curly gray hair underneath. She was relatively clean, in sharp contrast to the filthy kitchen she supervised.

“There you are!” the woman said on seeing Cnut, as if he’d just stepped out and returned moments later, not a month later. “Frigg’s foot! Wherever you been musta had famine, too. Yer near a starveling now. And what happened to yer hair? Was it the lice you needed ta shave off?”

Cnut laughed and said, “’Tis good to see you, too, Girda.”

“Would you just look at this mess?” She waved a chubby hand to encompass the kitchen area. “I been gone fer six days ta care fer me sister up the mountain and this is what I find when I return. Half the food stores gone, and not a pot scoured.” She pointed a long-handled soup ladle toward a wide archway into an adjoining room, the scullery, where it appeared as if every pot and wooden platter and utensil owned by this estate was out and dirty. Girda then glared at Finn as if he were to blame.

“I told Freydis to take over your duties,” Finn tried to say.

“That halfbrained wench! The only thing Freydis knows how ta do is spread her thighs fer the menfolks. I swear, the fool has brush burns on her rump.”

Andrea looked at Cnut, who was trying to hide a grin.

“Andrea, this is Girda, the cook and commander of the kitchens here at Hoggstead. Girda, this is my friend Andrea of Philadelphia, who will be helping you fix the food situation.”

“She gonna end the famine?” Girda scoffed.

A famine. That’s the second time I’ve heard famine mentioned. If it wouldn’t attract too much attention, she’d like to smack Cnut again. Along the course of this nightmare day, she’d discovered she had a violent streak in her that could only be satisfied by swatting the fool.

“Where do you come from that ladies wear men’s braies? Wanton, it is. Do women wear hats like that in yer land? Or is it jist magicians?” Girda asked. “Bet it keeps you dry when it rains.”

Feeling her face heat, Andrea removed the hat and placed in on a wall peg. “Definitely. And it shades me from the sun, too.”

“Whass wrong with the sun? Wish I had me some more sun.”

Cnut snickered.

If they were alone, she would have hit him again.

She crossed her eyes at him.

And he winked at her.

Yep, a good smack!

“You a witch what’s gonna wave yer magic broom and the famine’s gone?” Girda asked Andrea.

“Well, no,” Andrea said, stepping back at the assault. Why was the old lady picking on her? Did she think Andrea wanted her job? No, thank you! “Although I do wield a mean whisk. Ha, ha, ha.”

The woman didn’t even crack a smile. “What in bloody hell is a wiss?”

“Now, be nice, Girda. You know you need the help.”

Girda made a harrumphing noise of assent.

“Show them what you showed me earlier today,” Finn advised.

They followed Girda into the scullery, which smelled even worse than the kitchen and not just from food-crusted pots and wooden dishes. The scullery apparently also served as the laundry, and dirty clothing was piled almost ceiling high, some of it wet and musty. There were rushes on the floor in here, but not up close to the laundry fireplace, which would be used to heat water.

Beyond the scullery, there was a locked door. Both Girda and Cnut took torches from the wall while Finn pulled a key off the ring at his belt and opened the door into a dry storage room with many shelves, half of them empty. What they did have was stored in barrels, or pottery containers, or baskets, or was hanging from the ceiling. “You can see how depleted our supplies are,” Finn said. “Only five barrels of good flour; the rest is filled with weevils because someone failed to secure the lids.” He gave Girda a pointed look of condemnation, and Girda bared her surprisingly clean teeth at him. “There’s some barley and some raw oats, but not much.”