Lora of Two Worlds

Dawn. Shawn made his rounds and found the tower chamber gate still shut.

Wrong. At this hour, even if the young lady hadn't risen, the maids should be up, sweeping, preparing her wash and morning meal.

Shawn knocked. Chance barked wildly inside. No one came to open.

His heart clenched: Something's wrong.

Shawn vaulted the wall. The great hall door was open, no one moving about. "My lady! Arch! Lucy!"

He ran for the hall. Chance bounded alongside, tail wagging, pouncing at his calves.

Shawn burst in. Several maids lay on the floor, Chance's barking had roused them. They sat up, rubbing their eyes.

"Arch! What happened? What's that smell? Where's the lady?"

Covert guards were forbidden to drink. Shawn had never touched even mild ale. The spirit fumes made him queasy.

"The lady's in the inner room..." Arch clambered up.

Margaret looked around, panicked. If the Countess found out she'd been partying with the young lady: she'd be sent to a farm to marry a peasant!

She rushed to the inner room's bed. Thank heaven, the young lady was smiling in her sleep, dreaming sweetly. She came back out, drew the curtain, whispered:

"The lady's still asleep. Everyone, clean up. No one breathes a word. Shawn, if you care about the young lady, same for you."

"This... is what you drank?" Shawn didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He opened the jar under the table. Half full. The source of the fumes.

"It's spirit we brewed ourselves. The proof is too high... We can never let the young lady go wild like this again. She made us each drink a cup, then she wanted to play 'idiom chain.' Anyone who couldn't keep up, penalty drink..."

Shawn coughed violently. Nearly choked. Bit back his laugh.

Margaret's story, he believed it. This was exactly the sort of thing the young lady would do.

Outside the tower chamber, Shawn walked away, grinning.

The tower chamber returned to normal. Margaret remembered the storehouse requisition slip in her sleeve. She gave Lucy instructions and hurried to the outer yard to find Mistress Susannah.

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Lora had risen by then. The spirit wasn't great-tasting, but no hangover headache the next day. A point in its favor.

"See? I told you. Our wine isn't poison. Just strong. A sip in winter, warm from head to toe."

Lucy, combing the lady's hair: "Think of all the grain we went through for one jar. Only a house like ours can afford the experiment. Common folk couldn't."

True. Distilled spirits had appeared in a later era, but only after granaries were full. A luxury of abundance.

She'd sell the recipe to Hugo, let him empty young noblemen's pockets. Once her hygiene products were tested, those could sell too.

And the iron-plate cooking, maybe open a restaurant.

She didn't have time for these small ventures herself. She was thinking about developing the family's forest, starting the herb tea-garden project, talking Mother into lending household funds.

When the Southland grain seeds came back, the farms would need to trial-plant. Cross-region transplanting, who knew how many seasons it would take to adapt? She'd never farmed.

Leon and her brothers charged ahead. She needed to "charge" behind them, charge money, buy equipment. The Yorvik horse-buying had shown her: armies devoured coin.

Thank heaven she could source cheap materials. That was her edge.

"My lady, Lord Roland is here!" Gardenia ran in, nose twitching, grabbed a fan and waved frantically.

Lora laughed: "Stop fanning. Even if he notices, worst case, I offer him a drink."

"No, no, Lord Leon is here too!"

"Ah?"

Lora leapt up, snatched the fan, and fanned herself.

"What's that smell? What's it in here?" Roland's nose led him around the room. He called to the door: "Lyle, bring the lord up."

Spirit fumes?

Leon shot Lora a look: You promised not to drink. And here you're, hiding in your room, drinking?

Lora tossed the fan, clapped her hands: "Oh, perfect timing! We brewed our own spirit. After many setbacks, success! Brother, cousin, try it."

She lugged the jar onto the table. Popped the seal. The aroma hit.

She fanned the air, pretending: "My strong spirit, the scent is a bit heavy..."

"Stop acting. You blink when you lie. I'm your brother, you can't fool me." Roland wore a cat-caught-the-canary grin. "Bring a bowl. Let me see what you've brewed."

Lora giggled: "Blink? I don't blink. I hadn't noticed."

Behind her back, she gestured. Lucy brought two porcelain cups.

"This spirit is different from what you've had. You can't use big bowls. Small cups only." That got their attention. She ladled half a spoon into each cup.

"That's all?" Roland sniffed, skeptical. Downed it.

"Spicy! Did you put pepper or ginger in it?"

Leon sipped. Then drank. Different from anything he'd had. "The color is transparent... What's this?"

"Distilled spirit. The Book of the Nine Realms taught me." Lora beamed: "Well? What do you think?"

"I won't sugarcoat it, the taste isn't for everyone." Roland peered into the jar. Half a jar. He glared at his sister: "I'm confiscating this."

Leon said, measured: "This spirit, it warms the innards. On winter campaigns, when hands and feet stiffen, it would ward off cold."

"Good point. I felt that too. Give me another sip." Roland reached for the ladle. Lora pulled it away. The siblings' glaring contest was interrupted:

"My lady!" Margaret burst in, brow knit. Seeing Roland and Leon, she curtsied, then said urgently:

"I went to find Mistress Susannah for the supplies. I searched everywhere, inside and out. She's gone. I asked Laney, she says she hasn't seen Susannah since last night. Assumed she'd gone to the rear courtyard on errands. Didn't think anything of it."

"You mean Susannah is missing? I'll have men search right now."

Leon looked up: "She manages the storehouse? Check the storehouse first."

The storehouse?

Lora had a bad feeling.

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