Fingers caressed the surface of the pages, as if they might absorb details missed by her eyes, even after multiple readings. The paper in this section of the book was slightly rippled, and the tome now opened automatically to it.
“Reading ain't gonna help you stop burning your crusts,” came a piercing voice from behind. “Only experience will do that. Besides, you know as well as I do you've memorized every recipe we have.” The plump Mistress of the Kitchen stopped suddenly as she recognized the book, her entire demeanor softening. “Oh dear, I didn't realize....” Her hand gently patted the younger woman's head, only to draw it away quickly when she felt something sticky in her hair. Was that...dough?
Daisy looked up into those concerned eyes. “I'm sorry, Mistress. I know you said it's not healthy to keep brooding over this, but...” she bites her lip, an anxious look on her face. “...but I can't just give up on it! I had a life once! I mean, I know I have a life here, and I thank you for that. You've been so, so very helpful. But...” she closes the book in frustration, “what if I had a family? What if I was married? What if there's someone still looking for me, or... what if everyone I ever knew now thinks I'm dead? I have to find out. I have to...at least try.”
The Mistress gentry grasped the distraught woman's shoulders. “You will, dear. You will remember! But not from that book!” she asserted, pointing a stubby finger in the book's direction for emphasis. “You've tried that, and it hasn't gotten you any closer to answers. You need to stop locking yourself away.” As Daisy tried to object, she put up a hand to stop her. “I'm sure anyone who wanted to do you harm has long moved off. It's been over a year. You need to get out more. Meet some people. See some new sights. Nothing you've been doing has helped. It's time to try something new.” She nodded her head once as if to affirm what she had said, which she always did when she felt a matter was closed.
Daisy slumped in her chair, knowing no further objections would be heard. Begrudgingly, she even agreed with the elder cook's advice. Defeated, she responded, “Yes, Mistress,” and put her book under the counter to be collected later.
Satisfied that the lass was finally listening to reason, the Mistress patted her once more on the shoulder. “That's a good girl.” She began making her way towards the door, stopping just before walking outside. “Oh, and Daisy! Make sure you get those tables cleaned off before the next shift make their way in.”
“Yes, Mistress,” replied Daisy, already resuming her chores.
Shortly afterward, while Daisy is still tidying up....
Two men strode through the door from the street. The first, a young member of the Town Guard, spoke tirelessly. “And this is the Mess Hall. A great place to put yer feet up after a long day on patrol. Plenty of tables for sittin' or dicin' or drinkin', but don't let ol' Heathstraw catch ye passed out, or it'll be double duty for ye tomorrow, am I right?” He jovially clapped a hand on the second man's shoulder, laughing at his own comment despite the simple grunt he received in return. Without a pause he continued prattling on, showing him around the room.
A brute of a man with sandy hair and beard followed the enthusiastic guard, no longer even bothering to nod along with the constant commentary. His eyes darted this way and that, naturally settling on the darker corners of the room.
“Welcome, gentlemen!” came Daisy's voice. “Would either of you like me to cook you up something?” Moving from table to table, her arms were full balancing a stack of soiled dinner plates.
Interrupted mid-ramble, the young guard looked in her direction. As soon as he recognized the cook, his face reddened slightly. “No, no we're fine. We're not even hungry, really. We're just—“ He cut off as the other man pushed past him, walking straight towards the dish-laden cook. “Hey! Where are you going? I said we're not hungry.” His voice began to sound almost frantic.
“You,” muttered the sandy-haired man, his eyes going wide as they looked at the woman. “You are... you are Daz—“
“I am Daisy, yes,” she finished for him, appearing rather nervous seeing the look in his eye. “Can I... can I help you?”
Suddenly the man laughed. Once, and then again, much louder. Something came over him. A sort of joy, mixed with surprise and exhilaration. He spun on his heel, addressing the perplexed young guard. “So long, Bree-lander! I won't be needing your job any more.” With that he strode quickly towards the door, stopping once to look again at the woman, which caused another fit of laughter to accompany him as he marched outside.
He made his way quickly through the dark streets, occasionally laughing to himself. All this time. All this time he'd been staying in Bree, looking for any sign of the woman, listening for any word of her body being found or actions that might be attributed to her. Finally, having almost run out of the coin the Boss had left to cover his expenses, and having lost interest in this fool errand, the sword-for-hire decided to take a job with the Town Guard. And after losing all hope in her existence here, there she was! In a kitchen, of all places, serving others! A woman of her station, carrying dirty dishes. The idea was laughable, and so he did.
Tomorrow he would steal a horse and make his way back to the Dale-lands. The Boss would be pleased to hear that his target had been found. The man grinned. Surely he would be rewarded for his loyalty.
