Текст книги "Warprize"

Автор книги: Elizabeth A. Vaughan

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“Lara.” He grimaced. “You are not supposed to be here.” He jerked his head in the direction of the tent. “And I don’t think they really appreciate what you are doing.”

I stopped next to him, holding my burdens, and looked up at him. At first I maintained a serious countenance then slowly allowed a smile to spread over my face. As I stood there before my childhood friend, his frown faded as a smile crept over his face in answer to mine. I lowered my eyes and tried not to laugh. I stepped up to him, and he put a hand behind my neck, and pulled my forehead to rest against his. We’d done it since we were kids, a greeting just between the two of us. Of course, he now had to lower his head and stoop a bit to make it work, tall as he was.

Anna said I was just right—not too tall, not too short. But some days I wished for an extra inch or two.

I stepped back and grinned.

Heath glanced to the heavens in a great show of patience, as if looking for guidance, then returned his attention to me. “If anyone asks, you ordered me to step aside.”

I deepened my smile. “My thanks, Heath.”

“I could never say no to you, little bird.” He sighed as he lifted the tent flap. “I already had the men heat the water kettles for you.” He got that look on his face again. “My shift ends in three hours. Ameath comes on duty after me and you need to be out by then.”

I wrinkled my nose and Heath grimaced right back at me. There was something about Arneath that made my skin itch. He’d been made head of the Palace Guard recently by Xymund, over the heads of more qualified men. I avoided him whenever I could.

“I’ll be out in time.”

Heath rolled his eyes. “I’ve heard that before. Have a care, little bird.” With that, he lifted the tent flap.

I stepped into the tent.

The first thing to hit me was the smell. Herbs, blood, and death. The men were crammed in close, with more pallets than cots. There were no apprentices here, no helpers to air the place out or fresh linens or help with bathing. I made do with what I had, which was precious little.

When I had first come into their midst, no one would let me touch them, much less speak to me. Their language was fluid and fast, and I’d a hard time trying to pick up the meaning. It had taken persistence and sheer stubbornness on my part, but eventually a few allowed me to tend them. While they were all so different, ranging from fair complexions to deep tan, to almost yellow, one thing held true. They all bled red, and they all responded to my medicines. Thanks to the Goddess, a few spoke the trade tongue rather well and were willing to translate.

I let my eyes adjust, greeted the two guards stationed inside, and moved further into the tent. There was a silence when I stepped in, the tension palpable. Once they saw it was me, their relief was subtle, but clear. It was the signal that they would be permitted to bathe, and wash clothes and bedding as best they could. Unlike my Xyian patients, these men preferred being clean. There was even some sort of prayer that they murmured as they poured the water.

“Lara.”

I turned and saw Rafe making his way to me, a smaller man, thin, with fair skin and deep black hair and brown eyes. His face seemed always lit with a smile. One of the youngest, he had been the first to let me treat him, and to help me learn the language. There were still gaps in my understanding, words that I missed, or used incorrectly. But I was understood most of the time. These men did not seem to believe that I could treat them. I certainly had not been able to help them deal with the strange headaches they suffered from. But I had proved myself as to other hurts.

“Rafe, I hope that you are feeling better.” I spoke slowly, trying to get the correct sounds out of my mouth. I looked carefully at the wound that ran down the side of his face. It appeared to be healing well.

Rafe quirked his mouth. “You still sound like a child at lessons.”

He followed as I moved to the center of the tent, where there was a small table. I sat down my supplies, rummaged in my basket and produced ajar, which I handed to him. “Rub this on the gash, Rafe. It will reduce the scar.”

He took the jar, but frowned. “Why so? It is an honorable scar.”

“It will still be honorable if it heals flat and tight.” These men had very strange ideas about injuries. Rafe scowled, but kept the jar.

The men about us were already stirring, but Rafe shifted his weight, making no move to go bathe. A shadow passed over his face.

“Is something wrong?” 1 asked.

He hesitated and replied softly. “There is a new man here,” and jerked his head toward the back of the tent. I could see some men clustered around one of the cots. “If you would please…”

I took my basket and headed in that direction. Best to see what I had to deal with now, before I started to see to the others.

As I approached, some of the men drifted away. But two large men remained standing by the cot. With my eyes fixed firmly on my patient, I lowered the basket to the ground, knelt, and got a good look.

He was an enormous black man, spilling over the sides and ends of the cot. Black as night, black as wrought iron. The rumors were true. I caught my breath, and for one fleeting moment wondered if he would belch fire. But common sense came to the fore, as I took in his condition. Wrapped in a cloak and blankets, his eyes were open but unseeing. Sweat dripped from his forehead and close-cropped black hair, hair like I’d never seen before. Whatever his color, it seemed he suffered as any other.

The rough bandage was down close to the groin and my mouth went dry. Please, Goddess, not another gut wound. I reached out my hand and one of the men grabbed my wrist.

“What are you doing?” His voice was hard and clipped, but I could understand him. Dark, black eyes bored into me as his grip tightened. His broad, round face was grim, and while not as dark as the man on the cot, he was darker then most. I couldn’t help a brief thought—would I get to see a blue one?– before the man wrenched my arm again.

“I am a healer.” I focused on his eyes.

He snarled. “You are a bragnect.”

I did not know the word, but suspected that it was one that was not taught to children. Careful not to return the anger, I did not pull away. “I can help him.” I kept my gaze steady on his face. “I will help him. ”

He paused, studying me.

A sound came from the darkness. “Please, Joden. She is a healer.” Rafe came up behind us, his voice soft and serious. “We fought her off at first, but she can help.”

Joden glanced at him. “This? This is a warrior-priest?”

Rafe shook his head. “Even better, she is a healer.” He used the word from my language, rather than his own. “When she first came, she seemed mad and we tried to drive her away, but she has persisted.” He turned his face slightly, to display his scar. “See? She has helped many, Joden. I will swear it to the open sky, if you wish.”

Joden looked from me to the wounded man. He released my wrist with a huff of disdain. “If you harm Simus, I will kill you.”

I gestured with my hands. “Get him off this cot and onto a pallet.” Joden started to pull the blankets away. “Uncover him, and use wet cloths to wipe his face, arms, and chest. We must get the fever down. Leave the wound and the bandage to me.”

One of the younger men stepped forward to help. This one had skin that was a lighter color than Joden’s, but his black hair fell in braids.

“Rafe?” I sat back on my heels. “I mean no offense, but does he heal as others do? Will my medicines aid him, as they do the others?” He looked puzzled, as did the men around him. I cleared my throat. “I’ ve never worked on one such as he.”

“There is no difference…” He began. I lay my hand on his forehead, and Rafe’s gaze followed my gesture. “Do you mean his skin?”

I nodded, and pulled my hand back, giving it a quick glance to see if any of the color had come off on my fingers.

Rafe snorted. “There’s no difference beyond looks,” He cast a sly eye over at Joden. “Though there’s some that say Simus has more than his fair share of charm.”

Joden grunted, but I could see a slight smile. I dug in the basket, and found a small bottle of orchid root which I handed to the other man, the one with the braids. “You are?”

“Prest.”

“See if you can get him to take two swallows of this. No more. It will ease him for when we clean the wound.”

Prest nodded.

“I will return when I am done with the others.” I stood. “Roll up the tents sides.” I called out. “Let’s air the place as best we can.” We had done this before, to add some light and fresh air to the tent. The guards were not happy, but they let me do this when I felt the need. As the walls were lifted, I could see the guards that ringed the tent on the outside. Xy-mund was taking no chances.

As the men started moving, I got up and visited my other patients, checking wounds, using my salves and potions where needed. At first, I’d been pushed away, treated rudely whenever I tried to help. It had taken time, but I was tolerated by most, and welcomed by a few. But now there was a difference. While the men treated me well, I could tell that their attention was on my newest patient. Some who had never spoken to me before even went so far as to try to ask me about the man.

Whoever he was, I suspected he was important.

The kettles for the hot water were brought, and the bathing began. I had smuggled some old soap out of the castle that had hardened, forgotten in a storeroom. It had the faint scent of flowers, but was mild and worked well. I never made mention of this part to anyone in the castle. One could imagine the response to the idea of a Daughter of the Blood in a tent with naked men. But for some reason, it hadn’t occurred to anyone that a healer at some point had to deal with the actual body.

I’d gathered old tunics and trous, so that they had spare clothing. Each man washed out his own, and the guards had been bullied into setting out a drying line. It was when they stripped down for bathing that I’d first seen the tattoos that each man had on his arms. A different pattern on both arms and I could make no sense of them. I’d asked about them but been rudely rebuffed.

Before I returned to my new patient, I went to the guards by the entrance. The older one jerked his chin toward the back of the tent. “Is he bad, Lady?”

“Yes. I’m going to clean the wound. It won’t be quiet.”

He winced. “Aye, I would think not. I’ll warn the others as to what you are about.”

“Thank you.” I cocked my head. “More water would not go amiss, either.”

He sighed. “You know the King’s commands…” His voice trailed off as I looked at him. “Aye. More water, then.” He called through the tent flap as 1 turned to go back to my newest patient.

They had stripped the man and gotten him on a pallet. Prest was standing to one side, carefully folding the man’s clothes in a neat pile. As I knelt, I could see that he looked better. The beads of sweat were gone, and his eyes were closed. His breathing seemed easier, too. Instead of tattoos on his dark skin, there seemed to be scars, but in a pattern as the others.

“Two swallows.” Prest reported. I nodded, but my eye had already been caught and held by the wound. I waved the men out of my light, and leaned closer to get a better look.

The wound had been packed with the man’s cloak. It was wadded up, and the blood had crusted to the cloth. I took fresh water, and soaked the material, easing it away from the scabs. Clearly, the wound had been tended in the field, but neglected since then. I glanced at Joden. “You did this?”

Joden grunted. “It was all I had time for, before we were taken.”

I grimaced in understanding and worked in silence. Once the material came free, I let it drop at my side as I got my first good look at the leg.

It was bad. The gash started at the groin and got deeper as it went the length of the thigh. The edges were swollen, and white pus had gathered in its depths. There was grass and dirt and small stones embedded in the flesh. I reached out, touching the sides lightly, and felt the heat radiating off the flesh. I bit my lower lip.

“Will he lose the leg?” Joden was standing above me.

I looked up, noticing for the first time that Joden didn’t seem to have a hurt on him. But my eyes were drawn back to the gaping wound. I worried my lip, then spoke. “I don’t know.”

The men around us murmured, but I had no time to fuss with them. “We’ll start with the cleansing.” I turned to my supplies, and dug out the bottles and cloths that I needed. “It is going to hurt. I’ve warned the guards. But I need your help to hold him down.”

Joden sank to his knees next to me but made no move to help. “I wished for something to sing of, and the elements answered.” His tone was one of sorrow. “It would have been better to have granted him mercy and be done.”

The men around me recoiled. “You failed to give him mercy?” Rafe asked, hushed, his eyes wide.

I jerked my head up. Joden’s face was haggard and looked gray in the light. There had been tales of this practice, of the Warlord’s men killing their own on the field, but I had not believed. I rose on my knees, glared at them all, then jabbed Joden in the chest with my finger, drawing his attention. “You will not. To come this far, only to have you ki—.” I could not finish that word. “No. I will not have it so.”

He considered me, and seemed to laugh behind the pain in his eyes. “You think to save him? And the leg?”

“I think to try.” I glared at him. “I think to hope.”

He huffed again, looking at my small finger in the center of his broad chest, but nodded slowly. “We will try, healer.” The unfamiliar word caught on his tongue. “We will hope.”

I sat back on my heels. He gestured to some of the others. “It will take more than me to hold him, though. He is a strong one, make no mistake.” Three other men approached. Each, with Rafe, Prest and Joden, settled down, and took a hold. I moved closer and grabbed up the bandages.

The men tensed. Joden frowned at me, then muttered something about chants under his breath.

Rafe snorted. “She uses no spells, Joden. No chants to the elements.”

“No?” He sounded slightly disappointed.

I ignored the comments, and went to work. We were fine for about three breaths. I had even convinced myself that the orchid root would let him sleep through it. But as I spread the wound to scour deeply, he started to thrash under our hands.

“No! No!” His strong voice rang out, and he bucked up, trying to throw us off. Thanks to the Goddess I had large men to aid me this time. The apprentices would have been flung off in a heartbeat.

“More help here. Now.” Joden’s quiet command was obeyed and more men moved our way. Joden gave up his position to kneel by the man’s head. He placed his large hands on the broad shoulders. “ Simus, you’re hurt. We’re tending it. Lie still.”

Simus did not see it that way. “Warriors! To me!”

I was glad that I had warned the guards, for the man had a voice like thunder. I worked as quickly as I could, fearing to cause more injury if I went too fast. It had to be cleaned, and better that I did it right the first time than to have to do it again.

“Joden!” Simus cried out as he writhed below us.

“I am here.” Joden put his head down by the other’s ear. “I am here. Hold on, my friend.” He glared at me. “Hurry.”

I ignored him.

Prest had both hands and his full body weight pressed on the man’s forearm. “We could burn it.”

“Shut up.” I snarled.

Simus howled and arched his back. I sat back on my heels as they wrestled him flat. Out of the comer of my eye, I could see the others watching us with looks of horror.

“Why not burn it?” Joden asked. He had moved his hands along side Simus’s head, and his thumbs were stroking his temples. The big man settled down and I doubled my efforts.

“Burning it will mean deep scarring.” I tried to think of the right words. “He may not walk. May not be able to ride.”

Joden grunted his understanding.

Finally the wound was cleansed. I bound the leg as tight as I dared, using fresh bandages, then pulled back, surveying my work. My audience looked as well.

Joden frowned. “You have not tied it.”

“No.” I glanced at him. “The wound must heal open. If I tie it, stitch it, it could…” I shook my head in frustration. “Sour. Go bad.”

“Putrefy.” Rafe had come up behind me.

Well that was extreme but I agreed with the translation.

Joden seemed to understand as he watched Simus. Now that we were finished, he had fallen into an uneasy sleep. I reached for fresh water to bathe his face, only to see my hands tremble in front of me.

“No.” Joden had risen and was standing next to me. He lowered his hand and held it out. “We can look to him now.”

I nodded, and grasped his hand, letting him pull me up. My legs were numb under me and I staggered a bit to the table where I had left my basket. The sun had fallen while we worked, and the tent was darker. The bathing had finished, and I could see that the men were feeling better as a result.

Certainly, it smelled better.

I found the jar of fever’s foe and returned to kneel again by Joden. Simus seemed to be resting easier, his breathing a little slower and deeper.

Joden rumbled at me. “My thanks.”

I smiled. “Do you need tending?”

His face seemed to close off. “No. I am not hurt.”

Which was when the horn for the change of the guard sounded. I had overstayed my time.

“Joden, take this.” I put the jar in his hand. Joden looked inside at the thick brown paste. “Cover your fingertip with the paste,” I dipped my finger in to show him. “Then put your finger in his mouth. Do this every hour.” I opened Simus’s mouth and put my finger inside, spreading the medicine on the roof of his mouth. “It will fight the fever.”

He listened and watched, absorbing the information. “Will you return?”

“Yes. Tomorrow.” I stood again, and dusted off my trous. “Prest has the orchid root. Use it if he becomes restless. But only two swallows and only once more this night. You can dose him again after sunrise if he needs it.”

Behind me, I could hear the guard changing. They were calling for the tent sides to be dropped, and I heard my name as well. It sounded like Arneath. I hoped not.

My patient sighed and seemed to relax a bit. Prest continued to bathe his face and arms. I reached down for the bloody cloak and the cloths I had used for the cleaning, and bundled them together. They could be boiled and used again. As I did so, I felt something cold and smooth under my hand. Through the fading light, I looked closer.

It was an onyx brooch, a large fierce cat poised in mid-spring, with yellow eyes that glared in defiance. It seemed to gleam with its own inner light. Especially the eyes. My own eyes widened as my poor tired brain took it in. I knew what the brooch meant. This man, my patient, was a general, a leader in the Warlord’s army. Goddess. Xymund would kill him.

My eyes darted to Joden’s. His eyes filled with consternation at my knowledge, then narrowed. His hand clenched at his side, as if looking for the handle of a dagger. If a weapon had been at hand, I am not sure I would have left the tent alive. He opened his mouth to speak as the guards approached from behind.

Chapter 2

I didn’t think. I just took the brooch off the bloody cloth and slipped it into my hand.

“Lara.” It was Arneath, Captain of the Palace Guard. There’d be no cozening him. “You must leave. Now.”

“Yes, I know.” Arneath would take great pleasure in preventing my visits to the prisoners. He’d made it clear long ago that I, a Daughter of the Blood, demeaned myself by learning a craft. I turned, placing the remaining jars in my basket, using my body to shield as I slipped the brooch inside. I stood, the handle tight in one hand, the bundle tucked under my arm. “I’m ready.”

Arneath stood behind me, unconvinced. I think he had been expecting an argument. I looked at Joden and spoke in his language. “I’ll return tomorrow. Do not let him try to walk or stand.” I ignored Arneath as he shifted from one foot to another, looming behind me.

Joden’s face and tone did not change. He remained kneeling at Simus’s side. His dark eyes glittered in the remaining light. “Do not betray him, or I will break you over my knee.”

I didn’t reply. I just turned and brushed past Arneath. Rafe nodded to me as I left, staying well back and out of the way. He had learned early on that Arneath struck hard when he was not obeyed.

Arneath followed me out. “What did that last one say to you?” He looked suspicious.

“That no matter the healer, medicines always taste terrible.”

One of the other guards guffawed at that. Even Arneath chuckled as he held open the tent flap for me. We emerged into the twilight. The cool night air felt good after the stuffiness of the tent. The stars above were peeking out. Once outside, I realized that Heath had already left. He was probably in the castle kitchens.

Arneath’s mirth faded as he took up his position. “Don’t see why you waste time on them. Nothing but animals.” His gruff, oily tone followed me as I started off toward the castle. “Or maybe you’re thinking that helping the dogs will make you friends in the enemy camp. In case things go bad.”

I pulled up short, stopped in my tracks. There were chuckles from the guards, but they were uneasy ones, as if they believed that evil lie. I turned and managed to keep my voice even. “It is by the King’s command, Arneath. Besides, I am a Master Healer. I treat any who are in need.” I tilted my head and smiled. “Did the ointment you asked for clear up that crotch rot?”

Arneath flushed as the guards guffawed. Amidst the laughter and taunts now aimed at him, I turned and continued on my way, entering the overgrowth. Once out of sight, I let my shoulders sag a bit. I shouldn’t have done that. Father would have shook his head in despair at my flash of temper, and my crudeness. Worse, Arneath was in a position to take his frustrations out on the prisoners. I scowled at the hapless path below my feet. Still, he’d deserved it. How dare he imply that I, a Daughter of the House of Xy would—

I remembered the brooch in my basket and flushed.

The shadows were deeper now. I narrowed my thoughts to staying on the path and shivered slightly in the night air. As I walked, I mentally started to inventory my supplies. I wanted to go to the market early on the morrow to get what I needed. Xymund had made it clear that none of his supplies were to be used on the prisoners. I rolled my eyes. As if he had ever gathered herbs for the still room.

At that, I started to worry my lower lip. It was easier to think about herbs than to think about the brooch in my basket. It marked the large black man as a leader of men, something I was sure no one had yet realized. If Father were still alive, I’d have no hesitation in telling him. He’d have used the situation to his advantage, but he’d not kill a man in cold blood. I could tell Heath, but he’d have no choice but to go to his superior, which was Arneath. My steps slowed as I thought about that option. Arneath would kill the man, of that I was certain. If Heath took the information to Xymund directly, it would place Heath square between us if it came to an argument, and I’d not do that to him. Same for Othur, the Seneschal. Now, Lord Marshall Warren, he I could trust. Father had appointed him to his office and had faith in him. He would stand against Xymund to the extent that anyone could. I took a deep breath. It would be some time before the man was conscious. I would tell Warren and let him decide what to do with the information.

I remembered the rose hips as I came to the briar and decided to try to gather enough for a potful of syrup. It was dusk, true, but I could see well enough and touch would tell me if they were ready. I set the basket and bundle down and reached into the bushes, feeling my way. The scent of the remaining roses surrounded me and filled my lungs. And my memories. The scent of roses by Xyron’s bedside, as he lay dying.

Father had sickened slowly, gradually. Like the shades of gold that dust the trees at summer’s end. The signs had been there, but I’d missed them along with everyone else. Once it was obvious, the illness had continued, regardless of the remedies that we’d tried. He’d wasted away slowly, growing weaker with every passing day. Nothing had helped.

Xymund had slowly taken up the reins of power, trying to ease the burden on our father, but that had not gone well. At first, Xyron had encouraged Xymund to take up his ceremonial duties, so that he could conserve his energies for the business of ruling. But as his energy waned Xymund had to try to fill the holes. I’d credit him that, for my half-brother never once moved forward unless he saw that Father was no longer able to perform a duty, or concentrate on a problem set before him. But Xymund had fumbled a few decisions while learning his role, and members of the Council and the Guilds had gone to Xyron directly, setting ailing father against fledgling king.

Serving my apprenticeship and performing my journeymen duties had pulled me out of active Court life. I ’d been isolated even further when Father grew ill, for my attentions were all spent on him. Xyron was a warrior betrayed by a body that had served him long and well, and his temper grew worse as his body failed. He was quick to anger, and even quicker to blame, finding fault with everything. This made his relationship with Xymund harder. It made keeping servants to attend him almost impossible. So my role was healer, daughter, and peacemaker. I rarely left my father’s side, and at the end, rarely left his chambers. We’d used flowers and rose oil to sweeten the air as he lay dying. I suspected the scent would always bring back those long hours.

I continued to pick, dropping the fruit into the basket, covering the bottle and jars. I had to move slowly to avoid the thorns. Best to get some before Anna the Cook descended on the briar to pluck and snip for her own uses. Her rose-hip jell was wonderful in the winter months, spread on toasted bread with honey. My arm stretched in further, getting several good scratches for my pains. Perhaps this had not been such a good idea after all.

I froze of a sudden. The hairs on my neck had risen and drew my attention to the unnatural stillness.

There was something out there.

I held my breath. All the normal sounds of the garden were gone. The tiny birds settling in for the night, the small sounds of rabbits and the like, all were missing, as if a large predator was in the area. I wondered for a moment if one of the hunting dogs had gotten loose. Though my brother rarely hunted, he still kept a few dogs for the use of the huntsmen. But those dogs were all tail and wiggles, eager for a touch on the head and a scratch behind the ear. They’d not stay still for a minute.

I pulled my arm back slowly, and took a step away from the briar. I drew in a deep breath and held it, straining to hear over the noise of my own body. Nothing moved, and I could hear no sounds. I remained quiet and unmoving for a minute or two, glancing about as if my eyes could pierce the night.

Then my stomach growled and reminded me that the morning meal had been some time ago, and that Kalisa’s cheese only went so far. I laughed nervously. Overtired for certain. I dropped the last of the rose hips into my basket, then indulged in a good stretch. Which, in turn, caused my hair to fall out of its bun. Again. I cursed and fumbled with it, managing to get it pulled back. There was a tie in my pocket and I pulled it out to restrain the curly mass. The night was still silent when I picked up my basket and moved on.

Apparently I was the only large predator prowling the garden tonight.

The warm light spilled out of the castle windows as I moved through the kitchen garden and approached the back door. The High Court must be in fine fettle tonight. Considering that there was a war on, it seemed rather odd and inappropriate. But then, the lords and sycophants that made up the bulk of the Court would think nothing odd about it.

In our glory days, Xy had been a center for trade. The valley and the mountain passes were a gathering point for caravans, according to the history books. Xy had maintained a standing army, bolstered by the wealth of the merchants and the produce of the fertile soil. But in my great-grandfather’s time, the trade routes had dried up. To make matters worse, in my grandfather’s reign the Sweat had devastated the land. Grandfather had sealed the great trade gates, closing the mountain passes and isolating Xy even further. The standing army had been disbanded, leaving only the Palace and City Guard, and not many of them. The landed gentry that remained farmed the valley and Xy survived, small and alone, a shadow of what had been.

Xymund longed for the glorious days of old, and attempted to maintain a ‘court’, gathering the ‘lords and ladies’ and their children to fawn upon him. Since my father had added the craftmasters and the clergy to his council, there was quite a crowd willing to eat at Xymund’s table, and play at the game of nobility.

Once the Warlord had started his march up the valley, many of the Lords had fled their farms and manor houses and sought the city, bringing the fighting men at their command. This left the hamlets and villages normally under the lord’s protection to the mercies of the Warlord, and allowed the brute to advance swiftly, apparently to our very gates.

I slipped in through the old wood door, and tarried for a minute on the threshold. For all its size and huge hearths, the kitchen always seemed hot, overcrowded and cluttered. Here Anna the Cook reigned in all her glory. She was standing in the middle of the room, directing serving staff, cooks and footmen like the skilled general she was. A huge, fat woman, whose apron was covered in food stains, she tolerated nothing and no one. I noticed with envy that all her straight black hair stayed in its bun. Wielding her wooden spoon, she was a force to be reckoned with. Nothing escaped her scrutiny.