Northwoodsman's Story: A Fine Distillation

It was late after-hours on the mezzanine, and in former able seaman Stewn’s cozy sitting room the little fire was just warm enough to shake off the last of the late spring chill. The reflected light gave his weathered face a burnished look, and the wuisc in his glass added a relaxation that seemed to unfold the skin around his eyes. “I’m not asking you to tell tales!” he laughed. “I’m just asking you a little about the princesses. You serve neither of them!”

Jenks gave Stewn a mockingly stern scowl over the top of his glass. “I serve this family. To talk about any of them is as bad as talking about the prince, in my estimation.”

“Eh, your loyalty is to be admired, Jenks. Just tell me. Is that Princess Ellika a flirt, or has she set her cap at my king?”

“Princess Ellika?” said Jenks in surprise. “I confess I haven’t seen her in company with King Brinnid.” He narrowed his eyes. “What’s she doing?”

“Eh, nothing out of the ordinary, I suspect,” grinned Stewn. “She hangs on his arm, laughs at the least of his jokes, begs him to take her out to the Promenade. Always smiling and making big eyes at him. That sort of thing.”

“Mm. No, nothing out of the ordinary, for her,” said Jenks, shaking his head. He took a small sip of wuisc. “She even flirts with me from time to time, the minx.”

“Minx is she!” laughed Stewn. “A fine, fine thing to call a princess!”

Jenks smiled into his glass. “I’ve known Miss Ellika since she was very young. She is as innocent a minx as ever there was. A terrible flirt with no real idea what she’s doing. She thinks she does, there’s the danger. Is your master questioning whether she’s in earnest? Because I assure you, she isn’t. It’s probably some madcap scheme of hers to make her sister jealous.”

“Ha, and there’s another one entirely. A top-up? Sure and you want one,” said Stewn, refilling their glasses. “Her sister. Is she made entirely of ice, or is there rock under there somewhere, too?”

“The Princess Sedra is a lady of practical bent. She has no use for antics like her sister’s,” answered Jenks. “No ice there, nor rock either, but His Majesty the King of Sairland has his work cut out for him.”

“So you think she’ll turn my master down?”

“Oh, no,” said Jenks, grimacing slightly. “His Majesty the King of Tremont will insist otherwise.”

Stewn tapped the side of his glass. “Eh, my master won’t like that. He does things correct-like. Wants to win her fair and square.”

“Fair and square doesn’t apply here, my friend, and we both know it,” said Jenks, saluting with his wuisc before taking a good sip. “Ah, did I not say this was a fine distillation, Mr Stewn?”

“You did, Mr Jenks, and I would fain agree with you.”

“If your master wants to win the princess ‘fair and square,’ as you say,” Jenks resumed, “the best advice I can give him is to stop paying attention to Miss Ellika, first and foremost. She is very much used to men preferring her sister’s company to her own, and will just assume that King Brinnid is as smitten with Ellika as everyone else is. Then he should engage Miss Sedra in serious conversation. She is a serious lady, and gives exactly as much respect as she receives. After that, I do believe your king’s charm will carry the day.”

“Aye, he’s a sly boots, that ‘un. The question is, should my master wish to marry Miss Sedra?”

Jenks grinned. “Ah, and who’s the sly boots, Stewn? I’ve said more than I should already. Suffice it to say if your master thinks he can handle such a woman, he’d not regret it, for she is far and away the cleverest and most engaging of the three.”

“Your master is a little slow up top, is he?”

“I’m not drunk enough to say that, sir!” laughed Jenks.

“Well, then,” said Stewn, topping off his opposite’s glass, “drink up, lad, drink up!”

The two valets clinked glasses and took another swig. “So now, a question for you,” resumed Jenks. “Tell me about this cook of yours.”

“Britt?” said Stewn, surprised. “Why would you want to know about that bawd?”

“A bawd, is she?”

“Well, no,” said Stewn, rubbing the side of his nose. “No, ‘bawd’ ain’t the word. But she’s her own woman, that’s sure. She’s had more than one man dangling after her, and she just sends them on their way. She’s been with the king since he first went to sea, and I sailed with her before that.”

“A woman on a ship?”

“Oh, aye,” said Stewn, his vernacular leaning to starboard as the level of wuisc in his glass dropped. “Not many as do it, but t’isn’t unheard of. She came on board as the sister of our master gunner--needed a place to be, and he not being married, she took what would’ve been his wife’s place. Nannied the young ‘uns--the midshipmen, d’you know. That’s where she met His Majesty. They took a shine to one another, and she’s followed him ever since. Fine cook, too, though most of what she rustles up goes straight to His Majesty with a rare bite to the rest of us.” Stewn squinted at Jenks. “Why? D’you fancy her?”

“If I did, Mr Stewn, would we have an issue between us? Were you a ‘dangler’ of hers, as you say?”

“Me? And Britt Aneen?! Pagg’s balls, no! I like tits to be a handful, not an armful.”

Jenks guffawed. “I am drunk enough, Stewn, to say the opposite! To the ladies, big and small!”

“To the ladies!” agreed Stewn. The two men clinked glasses again, and drained them dry.