[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

"Girl! The dishes!" Froma's harried shout brought Iswyn to her feet. Forgetting the kittens she'd been looking for in the courtyard, she rushed headlong back into the inn. Shoving her sleeves back up above her elbows as she went, the girl hurried toward the kitchen of the White Horse Inn. Stopping long enough to wave cheekily at Annawyn and Bethberry, Iswyn pushed through the heavy swinging door and into the hot kitchen.

Froma, the cook, leaned over a hot stove. Something rich smelling simmered there, for the party guests no doubt, but Iswyn's attention was on the other side of the room. A mountain of dirty dishes was waiting for her, steam rising from the water that had been heated. Iswyn dipped one finger into the water, yanking it out quickly and spraying scalding water in a half circle around her on the floor. "Iswyn, child, stop dragging your heels and get me that…” Froma’s arms gestured wildly in the shape of a square. Iswyn grabbed the nearest pan and held it up hopefully. Iswyn liked party days. Even though the usually cheerful Froma was cranky and rushed, there was something special about party food and party chores that made it fun. Froma made the square shaped gesture again, and Iswyn brandished her pan uncomprehendingly. With a dissatisfied grunt the cook crossed the room, eyeing Iswyn’s pile critically and extracting a large rectangular pan from near the bottom.

He pushed the pan roughly at the girl, “Wash it up quick, now. I need it for the apples.” Dutifully, Iswyn sank her arms up to the elbow in the hot water, scrubbing at the pan with a small brush. Scrubbing it clean took a long moment, and when she pulled the pan free of the water and shook it dry, her arms were glowing red from the hot water, and her face was shiny with sweat. Carrying the pan in stinging fingers, she set it on the counter beside Froma, watching as he ladled stewed pork and gravy from the pot she’d smelled earlier into a pie shell and liberally sliced cheese over the top. As he turned to put the pie in the oven, Froma swatted at Iswyn with a rough hand. “Mercy, girl, I’m busy, get to the dishes!” The annoyance in his voice had reached a level Iswyn knew well enough, and she scurried back across the kitchen and stuck her hands cautiously into the water.

The water had cooled to a reasonable temperature by now, and the dishes weren’t that bad, once she got down to it. And then there were always the baked apples to look forward to. She could hear Froma preparing them from somewhere behind her. Juicy and dripping with brown sugar, her mouth watered as she thought about them. The girl snuck a glance back over her shoulder, hoping to find the cook busy at something else so she could steal a handful of raisins. But no, there he was, stuffing the hollowed fruits with sugar and raisins and dusting cinnamon across the top. Iswyn grinned. She could wait, she could always try and get the crusted rim of brown sugar out of the pan just as they came out of the oven.

As the last of the dishes stacked shining and steaming on the counter, and the kitchen filled with the smell of baking cinnamon, Bethberry poked her head in the kitchen door. “Froma, could you spare Iswyn for a bit? I think our peas may be ready to come in.” Iswyn held her breath, working in the garden with Mistress Bethberry was the best part of her job at the inn. But today there was so much to do in the kitchen. Froma hesitated a moment, but the thought of serving new peas with milk was apparently too much to miss.

He waved at her again with a smile, “Go then, but be back in an hour. I’ll have more dishes for you.” With a grateful grin at the Inkeeper, Iswyn snatched up a basket and dashed out through the kitchen door on her way to the cool garden.