They are poor, they are ragged, they are tired. They manage to sneak into the kitchens of whitekeep castle, steal some leftover soup and bread, and are found curled up on the floor by the fireplace fast asleep. -- Anon Guest
[AN: Whitekeep has laws to protect its citizens from that level of poverty. It's in the starting tenets of the realm. So... to make this work, it's A Whitekeep castle. Not THE Whitekeep castle. In this case, one of the freshly-conquered ones. Also I changed the plot on you]
Kirkenwald's holdings were known for its magnificent castles and picturesque towns, and the massive amount of homeless folks forced to live in the tunnels underneath. The lord Kirkenwald prided himself in the fact that no slums existed in his holdings. What he was less enthusiastic about was how anyone arrested for vagrancy became part of his laboring chattels.
Those who had money could profit, or at least hold their lives in a form of stability.
Streen was not one of those. She was one of the hidden poor. Starving and desperate enough to try... well. What she was trying.
It was the dead of night and all the proper people was meant to be asleep in their beds. Even the night watch were stumbling along half-asleep. That was how Streen could find her way into the local castle. She crept up by the garbage chute and snuck into the kitchens.
She almost died of fright to see it was in operation. Technically. There was a blue Hellkin in there with his shirtsleeves rolled up and a stained apron over both shirt and trews. He was weighing dough, then shaping it and placing it into metal casts, all lined up on a large tray in neat rows.
There was a glittering gold thing attached to his head, between his horns. A slight dusting of flour stopped it from dazzling Streen's stunned eyes.
He turned his glowing yellow eyes to her. "Ah. Hallo. You must be one of my new subjects." He spoke with a Teutonian accent.
Streen froze in the act of beginning to reach for a barrel in a darker corner.
"That one won't do you much good. Pickled fish and spices. A little strong for someone who..." a calculating look, measuring her by the carobweight. "...is not used to such fare. The bread isn't baked yet, but..." He danced about, inspecting some simmering cauldrons. "Ah. Porridge. Can you digest milk?"
"Please don't kill me, sir Hellkin?" Streen begged.
He sighed and served up a bowl of porridge. "This is yours. Sit. Eat. I promise I am not a violent Hellkin."
Streen watched the steam rise. Drooled at the smell of boiled oats and salt. Crept slowly up to edge onto the provided stool and risked lifting the provided spoon.
In that time, the Hellkin had made a gentle tea. He poured two cups and added honey to each. The bread, meanwhile, had gone into the oven. The Hellkin washed his hands and sat on another stool across from Streen. "Your lord Kirkenwald is dead, and part of my job to unfuck his realm. You seem to be the right kind of person to consult."
The porridge was the most delicious fare Streen had ever tasted. She almost choked on it when he said that. "Me? But I'm nobody."
"So was I, to everyone else, this time last year," said the Hellkin. "I was born a Viscount. Trained to be an Earl, at least for a while. I haven't the foggiest idea how to be a good Marquis to these people. I need... the perspective of those Lord Kirkenwald considered the least. The former slaves are busy making their housing. I might have to press my corps to making more housing. Or turn this fucking heap into a hostelliery until things are a little more even."
"...it's a castle," squeaked Streen.
"Ja. Lots and lots of rooms. The plumbing's already there. Even if they share a fireplace, we could fit five families in per suite. Ten to twenty for Kirkenwald's chambers. The biggest problem is privy access, honestly. How many folk do you know?"
The tea was doing a lot of work to soothe her nerves and her stomach. "Why?"
"The bread has to go to somebody. I'd rather it was somebody who needs it. You could get the word out. It won't be properly baked for a couple of hours, so you have time."
She had to ask it again. More clearly. "Why? Why are you doing this?"
"The first laws of my land," he said. "Never again in chains. None to go hungry. None to go without shelter."
He was clearly mad. On the other hand, he was mad in a way that promised at least a handful of years with full bellies.
Streen was continually surprised by how well Whitekeep's methods worked to improve the world... and her place in it.
[Photo by Serghei Savchiuc on Unsplash]
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