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His tone was cool and businesslike, which she found easier to bear than outright kindness. Perhaps he guessed that, too.
Hax’s office stood on the third floor, directly below Kosenmark’s suite. It was a room very different from Lord Kosenmark’s grand open space—every space stuffed with maps and books and leather-bound scrolls. A magpie’s nest, but with a strange kind of order imposed over the chaos. Hax’s appearance matched the room. He was an ancient man, to her eyes. His hair was white, its wisps escaping from its ribbons, and his skin was creased by folds upon folds. He wore a short indoor robe of fine-combed wool, with the cuffs turned back. He had the look of someone from the western provinces, lean and bony, with skin the color of pale sand and eyes that matched.
Hax waved her toward a bench. “Lord Kosenmark said I would see you today. Please, sit. I have a few questions and then I’ll explain a few things.” He looked and spoke more energetically than she expected for someone of his age. Taking out pen and paper, he said, “Name?”
“Ilse.”
“Family name?”
She didn’t hesitate this time. “None, sir.”
He nodded. “Age?”
Her bir
thday had passed sometime during her wilderness trek. “Sixteen.”
“Lord Kosenmark said you were young. He suggested you have only light duties at first. Later, once you’re accustomed to the house, those might change according to your ability and our needs.”
Hax went on to explain how much she would earn and what rules the house had. His hands were long and thin; he used them to sketch airy shapes to emphasize his words. Different servants had different hours—for example, there was always someone on duty in the kitchens, but the chief cook and her main staff worked hours centered around the house business. Ilse would be a member of that staff, and so she would be expected to work from late morning until just before midnight. As a start, she would be kept in the kitchen itself under Kathe’s supervision. “Don’t worry,” Hax said. “We shall not overtax you.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Hax spread his ink-stained hands outward. “You were gravely ill. We should not want any setbacks. Now, as for your training … Mistress Kathe has undertaken to instruct you, but your orders come from her mother, Mistress Greta Raendl. She in turn reports to Mistress Denk, the steward, who reports to me.”
Who reported to Lord Kosenmark. Ilse nodded.
“And you,” Hax said, “do you have questions for me?”
“None, sir.”
“Really?” Hax tilted his head in a way that reminded Ilse of Kosenmark. “You have the look of someone brimming with unanswered questions.”
She did have questions, and all of them began with why. Why did Lord Kosenmark bother himself with a runaway? Why did he run a pleasure house? Why had his expression gone so cold when she admitted to hearing stories about him? But she could ask none of these. She shook her head.
Hax regarded her a moment longer. “I think you will do well in this household, Mistress Ilse. Especially if you continue to mix your curiosity with discretion.”
He sent a runner to fetch Kathe Raendl, who soon appeared, flushed and breathless.
“Mistress Ilse will be staying with us,” Hax said. “Take her to your mother for more instructions. From there, it goes as we discussed.”
Kathe’s face brightened. “You agreed. I’m so glad. You’ll like it here, I know. Come, we should hurry away before Maester Hax scolds us both.”
Hax’s mouth twitched, but he only waved them out the door. Taking Ilse by the hand, Kathe led her down to the first floor and along a complicated route through a dozen rooms, all furnished with cushioned divans and ornate tables. Ilse noted the gold leaf work, the graceful statues set in alcoves, the richly colored paintings and silk hangings. It could be any noble’s house, she thought, except for the many beds and a faint musky scent throughout.
They turned onto a plainer corridor and soon came into the servants’ region. Down the hall, through a chaos of runners and scullions and lackeys and chambermaids, and through a wide set of doors, into the kitchen itself.
The kitchen was enormous, with a high arching ceiling set with vents for the smoke and fumes. Three fireplaces with grates and hooks lined the innermost wall. Another wall contained an oven. The last one had racks of knives and pots and other implements Ilse didn’t recognize. Scullions were swarming in and out with buckets of water. Other doors led into storerooms and a courtyard outside.
Several girls stood at the kitchen’s central tables, shelling peas, gutting fish, and chattering despite the general noise. Kathe and Ilse circled around the counters to where Kathe’s mother stood, supervising the activity as she mixed pastry dough. A younger, round-faced woman looked on, clearly unhappy.
Mistress Raendl nodded at Kathe, and handed the bowl to the woman. “Both of you work on the pastries,” she said to Kathe. “Take that open spot on the counters, the one by the windows.” Then to Ilse, “Lord Kosenmark told me you wished a position here. Do you know kitchen work?”
She had the same thick straight hair and dusky brown face as her daughter, and she spoke with her voice pitched to carry above the kitchen’s din.
“A little,” Ilse said slowly.
“What kind? How long? And speak louder, child. Tell me the truth. I hate surprises.”
