The Steward was a married woman of average height but nice clothing. She was clearly paid well. She always had a small, metal board style abacus hanging from her belt, along with a wax tablet and a stylus kept safe in a leather case.
On this chilly morning, Rahela and her maids-in-waiting followed this Steward over to one of the gates in the castle's outermost wall. There, they watched the process of people sending resources into the custody of the Imperial Family.
Every noble within Yahsin itself was required to send some agreed upon amount of something to the Imperial Family. They were also required to attend the Imperial Court at least once every two years. As for the smaller kingdoms owned by the Yahsin Empire, those monarchs and nobles weren't required to attend the Imperial Court at all, but they could if they wanted to. Regardless, they'd pay their tributes. Rahela knew that her home country, Testoa, was going to send an amount of iron and stone to Yahsin next year.
Rahela was meant to watch the Steward count all the important goods being carried through, typically on wagons or trailers. She also had to listen whenever the Steward pointed out the importance of certain goods, and how to tell when something was counterfeit. Thankfully, nobody had sent any counterfeit good along. Some of the things Rahela examined were horses, potted plants, stone, logs, and even workers for labor. Even the people had to be examined, in a way. Or rather, their contracts had to be examined.
It was a long, exhausting lesson, especially since Rahela already understood most of the concepts.
After all that was done, Rahela and her girls were led off to one of the barracks. From that beginning point, the maidens were escorted by one of the head guards about so they could see many of the routes certain patrolling men would take. Along the way they saw where stationary men would stand. At the end of this lesson, the maidens sat down under a tree for a break, sipping water and letting their bodies cool in the gray air.
That lesson was much more useful.
Back in the keep, as the trio was escorted in a hallway, they were stopped by the Empress Dowager and her ladies and maid-in-waiting. Rahela and her maids bowed, and then the Empress Dowager nodded down to her with the tiniest smile. "Holding in your complaints must have frazzled you," she said.
"I've no complaints, Your Majesty," Rahela said.
"Is that so?" The Empress Dowager folded her hands and let one of her shoulders rise and fall. "Then I've no complaints. Carry on, Tiny Princess."
And the Empress Dowager, with her girls, walked away.
***
The air only turned chillier.
The sky was painted with a thick layer of clouds.
Raw winds blew throughout the capital.
Almost in defiance of that fact, a single maiden walked down the street without a cloak. She looked like she might be able to afford a nice cloak because her dress was black, very black, and it had a lot of material. The reason why there was so much material might be simply because the maiden was so tall. She towered above nearly everyone she passed, not that she seemed to notice most of them.
She wasn't a beauty.
The arms and torso were tight enough. If the elongated, gaunt shape of the maiden's face hadn't made it obvious, then her silhouette certainly did. That maiden was so thin. That made one wonder just how much wealth she truly had. Had she stolen the beautiful, black dress? Or perhaps she was ill, and that was why she was so thin?
Her black hair was wild and messy, but it didn't yield to the wind, neither did her skirt. Truly unbelievable. It was as if the air around her was still.
"Miss! You, the tall one!"
The man's voice rang out, and many people heard him. Some stopped to look at and listen to him, but many still watched the tall woman walk. Her shoes were dark brown.
"Wait!" That man was also pretty tall. He ran past a mildly confused looking couple and to a spot in front of the tall woman. He even held his palms up.
Her expression unchanged, actually quite empty, the thin maiden calmly halted, but she leaned to one side as if there was something ahead that she wanted to focus on. The irises in her eyes were so black that the man couldn't say how big the pupils were.
He had to hold down the urge to cringe. This woman was so terribly ugly, although not in the most traditional way.
Yes, her complexion was fair and spotless, but it was perhaps too fair, too pale. There wasn't even a hint of a blush, and who in the world didn't have blood in their veins? The rest of the features were so amazingly unnoticeable. Even when the man tried to make out her features, such as the shapes of the nose and mouth, the face itself was so unreasonably vague that he couldn't describe it well. All he could be certain of was that she was thin, pale, and had terribly fixated eyes.
And ... goodness! Her arms seemed so long! Her fingers too!
"Miss," the man said, unpinning the cord that held his cloak together, "it's so cold, and I'm the only one around with a cloak long enough for you." He shucked his cloak off his shoulders and held it out towards the uncaring woman. "Take my cloak. I have another."
The maiden didn't seem to react to his words, but she did straighten and walk around the man.
Frowning, the man spun around and said, "If you won't take my cloak, then take my coin. There's a bathhouse nearby, where you can soak and have hot food."
At the word food, the maiden's feet stilled. Then one of the heels rose so the whole body could be turned. Once the maiden was facing the man, she stared at him. He didn't think she could've been starting at anyone or anything else. A thick, unpleasant feeling dribbled down his spine.
Putting his cloak back over his body, the man said, "Follow me. I'll take you to the bathhouse." He turned and starting walking. Whenever he looked back, he saw that unusual woman in calm pursuit.
Eventually they were at the bathhouse. The man gave an employee girl a few coins and said he wanted a nice bath and filling meal for the pitiable maiden.
Suddenly, before the man could leave, the maiden spoke for the first time.
Colder than the weather, perhaps even colder than ice itself. Lacking in any known accent.
"You'll never die from hypothermia."
Once she said that, she finally moved her eyes away from the uncomfortable man.
Having difficulty communicating with such a quiet, peculiar maiden, the employee girl shrugged and went on with the work. When the tub was ready, she told the maiden to go on inside, but the maiden only stood by the tub, looking out at nothing.
Rolling her eyes a bit, the employee asked, "Do you want your food first?"
That maiden's head slightly, oh so slightly, nodded.
The employee left to get the tray of food. Then she returned to lay it across the tub. She turned around, wiped her hands on her apron, and thought to go see another customer.
But her feet stopped because of certain noises.
Slurping, clattering, growling, sniffing!
The employee turned around to see what was going on.
The food was gone. All gone. It hadn't been pushed into the bathtub. It hadn't been spilled onto the floor. There were no broken dishes. In fact, the now empty dishes were still in place, still and almost looking undisturbed. Only hints of sauce and a few crumbs gave evidence of the meal.
That odd customer in black, she was the same as before. No sign that she'd done anything. Then, never looking at anyone, she turned away from the bathtub and left the room. Her eyes wide, the employee watched her walk out of the building, then onto the street.
***
It was another morning, although it was warmer than the last.
Rahela was in a building that functioned as a special workshop. The Imperial Family had their own private Soaper. Urmas Madal. He had a wife and a few children, and he lived on the workshop's second floor in a cozy apartment. He also had a good number of apprentices to assist him. On the ground floor, which was fairly wide with many open windows, Rahela saw a few high class people pouring different colored soap, still raw and mostly liquid, into different kinds of molds.
"It's one of the most popular hobbies among the wealthy," Urmas said. "Making the soap batter is dangerous. They leave that to professionals. Still, they want to arrange the colors and choose the ingredients."
Rahela thought he looked very much like a soaper, or how she'd imagined a soaper to be. His build was average. He had leather gloves and a leather apron. There were a few old burn scars on his arms. He'd rolled his sleeves up to show them to her.
"One of the most vital ingredients for soap is lye," Urmas had said. "After the soap is made, the lye changes and becomes a perfectly safe material for the skin, but one should always respect lye. It's one of the most dangerous poisons one can make."
Rahela and her maids listened to him speak as he worked. They had to stay some distance away because he was in the process of making lye. The huge windows were there to keep everyone from inhaling too much of the fumes. And he wasn't the only one making lye. There were others, mostly apprentices and the soaper's family members.
First, he took a box of ashes from an apprentice, and he spread them over a sieve. He put that sieve over a clean pot.
"Over time, we've been preparing for His Majesty's birthday," Urmas said with a smile Rahela hadn't noticed until then. It was very wise yet also sly. "Your Highness, I suggest you order some soap from me. I have plenty extra bars in case of emergencies, but we still have time to make a loaf or something." He gently poured hot water over the ash in the sieve. "Since you're a foreigner, the Emperor won't be offended if you give him something simple, but you should at least give him something with a dye for an engaging color."
Rahela looked back at her maids-in-waiting. Both girls nodded, and Oksana said, "Soap is one of the most prized gifts."
