Chirping Merry
The Wolfian, Issue 7; London, England:, 1732 - Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Colony
A young hand, smooth of skin, hooked a steel hanger over the chimney crane and pulled.
“Too fast! Slow your horses, ye don’ want the stew spillin’ all over!”
With more care, the crane swiveled out of the hearth until a length of firewood was eased against a large black kettle hanging from it. A grizzled man wearing a gray work shirt pasted by sweat to a paunchy stomach drooping over his breeches nodded his head. After mumbling something sounding like “better” to the two boys given charge of the crane, the cook steadied the kettle with a wooden ladle, and then stirred the steaming contents. He spooned a taste off the surface, brought it to his mouth and blew a few cooling gusts of air over the liquid before sampling it.
“Beef stew’s done. Tell Master Jack.”
The servers looked at each other and froze. The cook’s face coiled to a glare.
“What’s wrong with ye two? Carryin’ too much tar on those shoes? Makin’ ye stick to the floor?”
“Don’t like goin’ down the stairs in that shaft,” said one with freckles and flaxen hair that fell free to his shoulders. Eyes focused on irregular grain lines in the worn floorboards as his hands twisted at a towel.
“Don’t like Master Jack,” said the other, black hair pulled together behind his neck and braided in a queue. He looked to the cook and said, “Don’t like the way Master Jack surveys me, runnin’ his eyes from the top of my head to my feet, slowly, as if he’s decidin’ how much I’m worth, like he’s at a livestock auction. Don’t like handin’ him anything, even a bowl of stew. His hands are scary, powerful, largest I’ve ever seen. Don’t want ‘em touchin’ me. And I don’t like those stairs. Always feeling somethin’ grabbin’ at me on those steps. Ghosts down there. Dead ghosts!”
“Ye ever seen a ghost that wasn’t dead?” said the cook, laughing after the words tumbled out. “The tunnel’s been there near a hundred years, since the Swedes carved out an old Indian cave. ‘Tis 1732 now, modern times. Ain’t no ghosts. I’s been in there dozens a times. And Master Jack’s a repeat customer. Ain’t never lost a server to him.”
He took the long wooden spoon out of the kettle and waved it at the boys. “One of ye git down those stairs and tell Master Jack the stew’s ready or I’ll beat the both of ye with somethin’ heavier.”