“Emmaline!”


Emmaline sighed and clambered out of bed and reached for the wine decanter beside her bed. It lifted with the peculiar sticky feeling one got when lifting an unexpectedly empty vessel. The curtains glowed with the effort of holding back the morning light and the clammy interior of the tower was beginning to warm. Emmaline sighed and set down the decanter before climbing out of bed.


“Emmaline!” Albrecht roared from upstairs. Emmaline threw open a chest and dragged out a soft robe of white fur that she had stolen from a noble she had helped Albrect scam. She slipped it on enjoying the soft feel of it against her skin. After a moment's thought she tugged the golden ring from her finger and placed it in the chest. A smile tugged at her lips, there was no question it had brought her luck the previous night. The ring would need to be exposed to the sky, particularly the night sky, in order to maintain the enchantment but she could handle that later.


Her somewhat threadbare modesty covered with luxurious fur she ambled up the stairs to her master's chamber. Albrect was laying in his vast four poster bed glaring balefully at her. He was naked beneath his blanket save for a silken night cap. The old wizard had been a handsome man once and was still surprisingly muscular, perhaps the better to run when his various schemes invariably went awry.


“What do you have to say for yourself?!” he demanded. Emmaline’s stomach dropped but thanks to Albrect’s lessons she had plenty of practice at concealing her emotions. He knew about Malcador. He was going to tear a strip off her hide at the very least and while she didn’t think he would expel her she didn’t want to imagine what other punishments he might come up with. She vacillated for a few seconds, trying to come up with some kind of excuse. 


“Where is my breakfast girl! Are you trying to starve me?” the old wizard demanded. A wave of relief flooded through her and made her feel giddy. He didn’t know anything, Myrmydia’s tits it was a miracle he hadn’t tumbled her last night. Or was it? Had the luck ring protected her then too? Emboldened her even?


“I’ll get right to it,” Emmaline told him and all but skipped out of the room. 


There were several kitchens scattered throughout the college. While there had been some efforts to centralize things over the years, competition and rivalry between the colleges and even individual wizards meant that each college had at least one kitchen. The Gold college had three each named after the head chef. Marcel’s was both the best and the closest to Albrect’s tower and was nestled in a trio of large sub basements, one of which had been converted to a bakery and another to a cold store. The public facing room was the working kitchen. It was a cheerful place with a trio of ovens along one wall. The opposite wall was dominated by a row of copper bound oak barrels. Metal taps had been driven into the wood dispensing ale, oil, and wine. Above the barrels were shelf after shelf of spices and condiments carefully labeled with scraps of parchment describing their contents. Bundles of dried herbs hung beside smoked and dried meats. Wheels of cheese wrapped in wax paper were stacked beside sacks of salt and flour, giving the whole place a unique and pungent scent. As might be expected the place was a flurry of activity as the underchefs tired to conduct both the normal business of the place as well as meet the demands of pie week. A dozen pies sat on a central table while Alisha, the pastry chef, brushed them with lemon juice and sprinkled them with generous helpings of granulated sugar. Another underchef was rolling out pastry while simultaneously trying to keep control of half a dozen pots that simmered various fruit compotes to create fillings.

“Emma?” Marcel called as he emerged from the cold store carrying a haunch of bacon. He was a handsome man with salt and pepper hair and he took some pains to keep himself fit despite the constant need to taste his own cooking. The chef looked her up and down and arched an eyebrow. Emmaline arched any eyebrow and then realised that a thigh length fur coat and not much else was probably not the best choice for running errands. She didn’t quite blush but plowed ahead anyway.

“Breakfast for two please,” she told him. Marcel nodded, he set down the haunch of bacon and then picked up a stick of chalk which he used to mark two tallies on a large slate.

“For you and Magister Albrect?” he asked over his shoulder as he began piling sausages, stewed tomatoes, bacon, and fried strips of potato onto a pair of wooden plates. Emmaline crossed to a brass jug and poured coffee into large ceramic mugs before adding sugar and cream.

“Of course, who else would it be for?” she asked. Marcel shrugged and set the plates onto a wooden carrying tray which he set on the bench for Emmaline to pick up.
“Oh I don’t know, one of the scullery maids reported a half naked apprentice wandering the halls last night?” Marcel suggested. Emmaline felt her stomach lurch again and managed to dump half of the sugar bowl into her mug.

“I don’t know anything about that, sounds like I missed a show,” she covered, cursing herself for a fool for the second time in what was still a very young day.