"Perhaps we could go to the tower first," Ruha sug- gested, worried she would not be there when Vaerana came to see her. "I have not slept in two days."
Tombor shook his head. "You said yourself we can't let these blossoms fall into the hands of the Cult of the
Dragon. Besides, the kitchen is on the way to Pearl
Tower. It'll take only a few minutes to stop and set up the press."
Ruha accompanied the cleric back to the horses. She removed a small satchel of supplies from her saddle, then helped Fowler and Tombor gather up the bulky sacks of ylang blossoms. Leaving the beasts with a guard, they walked down a chain of meandering pathways to a thatch-roofed shed against the back wall of the fortress.
The place smelled of animal grease, smoke, and fresh
Heartland spices.
Tombor stopped at the entrance and banged on the wooden door. "Up with you, Silavia! I've business in your kitchen!"
"The cook bars the door when she sleeps," explained
Fowler. "Otherwise, the night guards pilfer her breakfast
tarts."
They had to wait several minutes before a sleepy voice sounded on the other side of the door. "Go away, Tombor. I
won't have you calling in the middle of the night. You only want something to eat."
Tombor looked slightly embarrassed. "I've-uh-guests with me, Silavia. We need the oil press. It's for
Lady Yanseldara."
Silavia hesitated a moment, then asked, "Truly?"
"Truly," replied Ruha. "The matter is urgent, I assure you."
"Very well." Silavia sounded more put-upon than curi- ous. "Let me throw on an apron."
From inside the building came several moments of bustling and whispering, which elicited a resentful scowl from Tombor. When a muffled thump finally announced the withdrawal of the bar, the cleric pushed the door open and stepped inside, where a stout, tousle-haired woman stood in a nightshirt and crisp white apron. The flickering taper in her hand illuminated an ashen, moon- shaped face with a bottle nose and plump-lipped frown.
Tombor dropped his sacks inside the door, then snatched the candle from the cook and went to light sev- eral others. A flickering yellow glow soon filled the room, revealing a neatly kept chamber filled with cutting tables, kneading troughs, and spice barrels. The embers of several spent fires glowed in three different fireplaces, one with a roasting spit over the hearth, one with soup cauldrons sitting in the firebox, and one built beneath a brick oven. Silavia's sleeping pallet lay behind a dough bench, where a burly, black-bearded man stood looking down at a half-eaten honeycake and two empty mead pitchers.
Tombor glared at the embarrassed man for a moment, then growled, "You'd better get yourself to the gate, John.
There's a wounded horse there, and Pierstar's looking for you."
"My thanks for telling me so, Tombor." The farrier, looking happy for any excuse to leave, started toward the door.
Tombor watched the man leave, then turned to Silavia
"What was he doing here?"
"It's none of your concern who I give my honeycakes to!" Silavia retorted. "Not that there wouldn't be some foi you, if you ever came around at a decent hour."
"It's this trouble with Yanseldara's catalepsy!" the cleric protested. "I've been busy."
"So have I," Silavia snorted. She led the way to a small storage pantry and unlocked the door with a key from her apron. "The oil press is in here, if you want it. Don't expect me to help you with it."
Tombor motioned to Fowler, who dropped his ylang blossoms beside the cleric's and followed him into the little room. Ruha put her own sacks on the floor and tried not to yawn as Silavia glared at her.
Tou a friend of Tombor or Tuskface?" the cook asked.
"I am closer to Fowler. I do not know Tombor very well
Is he an important person in Elversult?"
"You could say that," Silavia replied proudly. Tombor's the one who saved Vaerana when the assassins first got after her. He's done the same twice since-at the risk of his own life, I might add."
The witch smiled, anticipating the apology she would be due when she exposed Tombor's heroism as a cull ploy
"I had not realized he is so well thought of."
Fowler emerged from the storage pantry, carrying a small oil press in his arms. The device was a mere frac- tion the size of the screw press in the spicehouse at the
Ginger Palace, being small enough so that a single cook could move it without help. Tombor followed a moment later, holding a small, empty cask beneath one arm. The two men set their burdens on a vacant table, then the cleric motioned Silavia to his side.
"How do I work this thing?"
Silavia fetched a large bowl from a shelf, then set it
beneath the drainage spout. "It's simple enough. First you put the raw goods in here."
She pulled the handle, raising the platen and display- ing a small wooden box. The bed had a grid of channels cut into the bottom, and it was tilted so that the oil would run into a collection trough at one end.
"Then you lower the top plate, and it squeezes the oil out." Silavia demonstrated, then stepped aside. "And when you're done, you clean up after yourself."
Tombor cast a wary eye at the eight bags of ylang blos- soms, then looked to Ruha. "How much oil do we need?"
"Enough to cover Yanseldara from head to foot," she replied. "I suggest you press all of the blossoms."
Silavia smiled at the cleric. "It looks like you're going to be here a while. Maybe I can find some honeycakes for
you."
Tombor's eyes lit up. "That would make our task more
enjoyable."
"If I may be excused, I shall leave it to you to press the oil." Ruha did not bother to stifle the yawn that came over her. "I am very tired. Perhaps Captain Fowler can show me to Pearl Tower."
Silavia raised her brow. "Pearl Tower? I think not.
Jarvis isn't likely to let a pair of strangers in there."
"No, but you can take her, Silavia." Tombor tried to remove a gold ring from his chubby finger, but had to moisten the knuckle with saliva before he could tug it off.
"Show this to Jarvis, and hell know you speak for me."
Scowling at the imposition, Silavia accepted the ring and threw a cloak over her shoulders. Ruha retrieved the small satchel she had taken from her horse, then waved at Fowler to come along and followed her guide into the gloomy courtyard. They passed several dark sheds simi- lar to the kitchen before turning onto a serpentine path of white crushed rock.
The witch paused there and allowed Silavia to march a dozen paces ahead, then whispered to Fowler, "You must return to the kitchens and help Tombor with the blossoms."