Aithne woke with a feeling of slight panic. There was something she was supposed to do. Or supposed to have done. What was it? 

 

She looked around the dark room. Nothing seemed amiss. Urag snored from the bed, a sound that always made Aithne smile a little only because it felt like an outward expression of the differences between her orc masters. Both had snored, but Urag’s was a gentle rumble. Borkul’s snores were like him – oversized and powerful. And difficult to sleep with.

 

The thought sent a spark of lust through her body and she shivered a bit in the darkness, which appeared to be just enough movement to awake other parts of her body. Her bladder, specifically, chose that moment to make a query, and Aithne rousted herself from the warm blankets and headed for the fancy toilet that still fascinated her, this many weeks later.

 

She entered the dining area on the way back and stopped, cursing under her breath as she stared at last night’s dinner dishes still on the table. She had forgot all about them! She thought about her options – should she just leave them until the morning? Or try to return them now? The thought of leaving the suite without permission again sent a quiver down her spine, but her Master had not seemed perturbed by her absence last night. It seemed safe.

 

She tried to ignore the yawning pit of fear as she gathered the dishes as quietly as she could. She pictured the design of the kitchen alcove in her head and…discovered the dishes hampered the movement of her hands. She grunted in irritation as she re-arranged everything, bowls balanced with precarious footing upon mugs upon other bowls, until her hands were just free enough to move. She concentrated on the alcove design once again and mumbled the words while moving her hands. The now-familiar rush overtook her and a moment later a burst of unexpected noise startled her into a jump. The shaky pile of dishes teetered and crashed to the floor, sending ceramic shards and congealed stew in all directions.

 

The kitchen was abustle. The fires were lit, people moved in every direction, the smell of baking bread and savory meats filled the air. Those closest had stopped to identify the crashing sound, and Aithne heard a good deal of laughter as most turned away and went back to whatever they had been doing.

 

Most. A stern looking woman broke from the crowd and stormed toward her. “Foolish girl! This is why you always bring a tray! Get a broom, quickly!”

 

“Uh…” Aithne stood frozen, the last plate still clutched in her shaking hands.

 

“Are you deaf, girl? A broom!”

 

“She’s new, Minyet.” Aithne blinked as the boy she had talked to last night weaved his way through the crowd and stopped in front of her, though he faced the woman. “I’ll show her where the brooms are.”

 

The woman – Minyet – tilted her head as she gazed harder at Aithne, then turned to the boy. “I wondered why I hadn’t seen her before. Very well, thank you, Ghint.” She turned back toward Aithne. “What’s your name, girl?”
 

“Ah…Aithne. Ma’am.”

 

“Well, Aithne, when you’re carrying dishes from the floors, make sure to use a tray. No exceptions. Even if it’s just for a single mug.” She motioned at the mess on the floor. “Understand?”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

“Very good. Hurry and clean this up, we’re falling behind.”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

Ghint grinned as Aithne made her way through the broken shards. “Don’t worry about the spill. Happens all the time.”

 

Aithne nodded, still clutching the plate. “I’m…um…sorry I didn’t return them last night. I tried, but…”

 

“Don’t worry about that, either. Here, I’ll show you around. Set the plate there.” He motioned toward the table by the sink that was just as full of dirty dishes as it had been the night before. As she added the plate to the pile, he continued, “The washers clean the dishes and stack them for drying, then they’re put on the shelves. Those move, see? They put the plates on that level, bowls there, glasses, mugs, each has its own shelf. When the servers make up the plates, they take what they need from the shelves and the shelves automatically move the next one down. The brooms are over here.”

 

An abrupt turn to his left, and Aithne followed, still looking back at the dish shelves.

 

“These rooms are food storage. Dry stuff in these, meats go in here. They’re magically sealed to keep things fresh. Here, let’s go in here!” Another abrupt turn into a room that was unexpectedly…

 

“C…cold!” Aithne wrapped her arms around herself as a blast of frigid air hit her. She looked around a room full of frozen meat. “Did someone leave a window open?”

 

Ghint laughed. “No, that’s the magic! It’s always cold in here. It keeps the meat from spoiling. Come on!”

 

Aithne followed him out of the room and felt instant relief as the cold air disappeared as if…well, as if by magic.

 

“Here’s what we’re looking for.” Ghint opened another door farther along and gestured to rows of cleaning supplies. “Brooms, mops, whatever you need. Here.” He grabbed a broom and shoved it in her direction without looking back. “There’s a waste pan some…ah. Here we go.”

 

Aithne took the broom as Ghint stepped back out of the room with the waste pan in his hand. “Let’s go!”

 

He moved back up the hallway, still chattering away about the rooms and their contents. When they reached the kitchen, he held the waste pan while she swept the broken shards into it, then he showed her where they dumped the trash.

 

“It all goes to an incinerator below. Do you know what that is?” (He left no space for a reply.) “It’s a giant magical furnace. It’s always on, just like the cold room. Hey, since you’re here, do you want to bring old Urag’s breakfast to him? I wondered why we started to bring two each day. Guess I know now, don’t I?”

 

A laugh as he led the way across the room, still giving little room for responses. Aithne began to wonder if he was related to Eleanor.

 

“Are you his girlfriend or something? It’s weird to think about him with a girlfriend. It’s weird to think about any old people with girlfriends. Ew! Here, this is where the trays are filled. Yours should be…here.”

 

He pulled a tray from a spot that looked like the other spots in a long line of filled trays.

 

Aithne studied the line of food as she took the tray. “How do you know which is hi…um…ours?”

 

“Oh, it’s these cards. See?” Ghint pointed at a series of small labeled cards attached to the wall above the trays. “They tell you were the trays go. This one says ‘AR-01.’ That stands for Arcaneum room one. Of course, there is only one room there that gets food, so it makes it easier. Some of the wings have hundreds of rooms, so it gets a little more confusing.”

 

“I see.” Aithne glanced down at the tray and frowned. “Um. Is there a way to change this? He doesn’t like the porridge. Can he get ham instead?”

 

“Really? He’s never complained before. You can get whatever you want every day, but you have to put the order in the day before. He never puts in an order, so he just always gets what the students get that day.”

 

“Well, he’s not one to complain much.” Another similarity between her two Orc Masters – Borkul had never complained either. Of course, that was because he just skipped over the complaining and went straight to fixing the problem. Usually in the most violent way possible. “He never eats more than a couple bites of the porridge, though. How do I put in orders?”

 

Half an hour later, Aithne entered her Master’s suite bearing breakfast in her hands (on a tray) and a weekly menu under her arm. Urag looked up from the bed as she entered and she tossed him a smile as she passed on the way to the dining area.

 

For the briefest of moments, her eye met his and she registered his look of surprise that shifted to…dare she interpret it as pleasure? She did not stare – meeting his gaze was more than she should have done in the first place, a transgression that would have had her bloodied on the floor with her previous Master – but she was certain she saw the hint of a smile on his face.

 

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