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Matter of Thyme by Vlork
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In an empty kitchen in the castle, a stone block slid silently into
the wall. James and Quom slipped into the kitchen through the hole.
The early morning sun flowed through large windows set in the wall,
brightly illuminating the room. Pots and pans were stacked neatly on a
table. A whole pig roasted on a spit over an open flame. Jars of
spices and seasonings sat neatly on a counter. James’ attention
focused on the spices.
“The thyme,” croaked the raven.
“Right,” the man said. He scanned the counter, stopping at a jar. He
opened the jar and held his hand over it.
“You’re sure you got it right?” Quom croaked.
“Yes,” the man said. He twisted the top of a small ring on his finger.
A fine blue powder trickled out into the jar. The man tapped his ring,
then twisted the top back on. He closed the jar, and shook it, mixing
the powder in with the thyme.
“Mission accomplished,” Quom croaked. Then the raven suddenly cocked
its head. “They’ve found us. Back to the passage. No, wait. No time.
Hide!”
James put the thyme back and leapt across the room, crouching down
behind a counter by a wall far away from the spices, with Quom on his
shoulder. The door opened and James heard footsteps coming in. James
peered over the edge of the counter. The Kings’ Guard Captain and two
other men stepped into the kitchen.
One of the men wore the uniform of the King’s Guard. The other was
rather fat, and wore a white apron, and a white hat. The fat man
turned to the Guard captain and glared at him.
“Well? Do you see any insurrectionists, murderers, or plotters in
here? No? Then go away so I can finish preparing the food. My
assistants will be here soon.” The cook turned and shoved the guards
out. He bustled around the kitchen, lighting lamps, and straightening
things. Then he turned to the pork roast and while his back was
turned, James ran across the room and out of the door.
* * *
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