12 Remember the dead

The air seemed to solidify with those words.

Tina stood. "I think it's disrespectful for me to make something in remembrance of people I barely know. It's like I'm pretending to feel as much grief as their families do."

Vardimann sat on the window sill. "But if you don't, who will?" He closed his eyes. "There are plenty of people who die with nobody to grieve or even care. There should at least be one person that remembers who cares."

Whitlow felt a cold tingle run down his spine. There was no trace of childishness on Vardi's face. With his back to the light, there were lines on his face that hadn't been there before.

"Also…I think that the dead would like to have as many people as possible to remember them and how they died. To remember how someone died is a warning. To remember how they lived is their wish. Is that not the reason people desire to have families, to be successful and well-known? So that their children will remember them, so that people who hear about them will remember them. Didn't you get angry when I belittled your tapestries? I'm sure you would prefer people to praise them, knowing they were made by you, because those tapestries will still be around after you're dead."

Vardimann looked out the window, half of his face in the light. "Even if I don't know their names, I make it a point to remember everybody I saw pass away. Just so that there is someone who remembers that actually cares, however little."

After a long silence, Vardimann smiled and stood. "I'm hungry. I'm going to get some food from the kitchens." He passed Whitlow on his way out.

Tina looked up at Whitlow, her eyes slightly red. "Am I really so heartless?"

Whitlow knelt next to her and patted her shoulder. "Of course not. It's because you're sensitive to others that you hesitate to get involved."

Tina sniffled and twisted the cloth in her hands. "He didn't have to be so mean about it."

"Vardi is, uh…not so great at being polite."

"Do you think he's right?"

Whitlow didn't answer immediately. Tina scoffed. "As always, men will side with men."

"That's not it." He wasn't sure how to explain it. "He was only wrong because he doesn't know anything about you. The other things he said might be right. Like grieving for those who don't have family, and learning from people's deaths."

Whitlow had a moment of inspiration. "You now, maybe you could create a tapestry about how to care for sick people. That way, people who can't read would know how to help others when I'm not around to ask."

"That…" Tina rubbed her face. "That's actually not a bad idea."

"All right." Whitlow helped her up. "While I'm here, I'll draw out some medicinal plants so you can use them as reference. Vardi could also learn from them as well."

She pinched his arm. "You're making us work together so that we make up. Like a pair of squabbling children."

"Well, he can be a bit childish at times." Whitlow gave her a sideways hug. "And to me, you'll always be my little kid sister."

Tina stuck her tongue out and pushed him away. "I don't appreciate being called a goat." Her mood seemed to have improved.

Vardimann's room was on the second floor, next to Whitlow's. At dinnertime, the doctor knocked on his door. They headed down to the hall to find the tables crowded with people, talking and drinking while they waited for the first course to be served. Whitlow led them to the central table. Tina sat in the middle with her husband. She still wore the pink dress and hat. On her left was a young girl and two other men. The steward sat alone and lonely on the far right, with two empty seats between him and the baron.

The baron caused Vardimann to blink several times. When he'd heard that he loved hunting, this wasn't the kind of face or figure he had in mind.

Whitlow knew what he was thinking. He hissed, "don't say anything. He's really sensitive about it."

Vardimann resolved to keep his mouth shut. He was well aware that he had already caused enough trouble for one day.

Whitlow went over to the baron. "Elias. Sorry I'm late."

Baron Elias spread his arms. "No, it's fine! I knew the flood would delay you, but I didn't think it would be this long." He pulled out the chair next to him. "Sit down and introduce me to your new friend."

Whitlow sat next to Nathan. "This is Vardimann, my new assistant. You'd like him, his sense of humour is similar to yours." Vardimann sat next to Elias.

Elias frowned. "Why are you over there?"

Whitlow ignored him. "Vardi, this is Nathan Stewart. He's the steward here." Nathan nodded.

Vardimann raised a hand. "Hey Stewart Steward. I mean, Steward Stewart."

Behind him, the baron snorted a laugh. "He found your nickname so quickly." Nathan ignored him and focused on his wine. He didn't seem to be a people person.

Whitlow continued with the introductions. "You've met the baroness, Tina. The little girl is their daughter." Vardimann waved at a girl with beautiful golden hair. She waved back excitedly.

"Next to her is the priest, Amon, and Marshal Richard, who is in charge of the stables and men-at-arms."

Richard scoffed. "I'm not really a marshal. There are only six people here who can wield a sword, and I beat them all in an arm-wrestling contest."

Vardimann mused. "Does that mean that if I beat him at arm wrestling, I can be the marshal?"

While Elias laughed, Richard flexed his muscles menacingly. "Do you really think you can beat me?"

Vardimann studied the arms. "I do. It doesn't look that hard."

Growling, the big man got out of his seat.

There might have been an arm-wrestling match on the dining table if the kitchen staff hadn't intervened, elbowing Richard out of the way while bringing in the first course. They were laying out many dishes Vardimann had never seen before. He was eager to try them out, but they were still bringing stuff out and no one else was eating yet. So he had to resign himself to a sip of wine.

The sour taste almost made him spit it back. "This wine is raw!"

The baron sniffed his drink. "Seems all right to me. What do you mean by raw?"

"I mean, it hasn't been cooked." Vardimann stuck out his tongue. "Tastes disgusting. Raw wine is only good for cleaning wounds."

On the other side, Whitlow commented, "Your family uses wine to sterilize wounds?"

Vardimann nodded. "Needles and thread as well."

Elias poked his back. "When you say cooked, do you mean mulled? Mulled wine?"

"I don't know."

"Then…how did you cook it?"

Vardimann blinked. "It's really simple. Put it in a pot and add some herbs. Boil it, let it simmer, then serve. Takes less than half an hour. It's nice and warm in the winter, too."

There was a giggle under the table. A little girl peeked out, wrapping the tablecloth around her head like a hood. "You made a rhyme."

Vardimann laughed and sang. "Put it in a pot! Add some herbs! Boil , simmer, then serve!" Over the laughter, he said "but seriously, I can't drink this. Can I get something else?"

Elias waved a kitchen boy over to replace the cup. "Kitchen recipes in prose. You're my new best friend." He scooped his daughter out from under the table and sat her on his lap. The two of them made quite a pretty picture. If it wasn't for the beard, one would have thought the baron was the baroness.

The real baroness snorted coldly. "You might want to rethink that. He has no sense of shame whatsoever. One day, he'll say something about you that will make you red with anger."

"What did he say to you?"

Tina looked at Vardimann and turned away in a huff.

Since she didn't answer, Elias turned to Vardimann, who shrugged. "I told her she looked like a she-devil." He leaned over to talk to Tina. "I'm sorry, okay? I couldn't help it. Your hat reminded of a devils' horns, and it just slipped out." She ignored him and started talking with the priest, who had an uncomfortable look on his face.

The kitchen boy returned with some mulled wine. People were starting to reach for the plates, so Vardimann promptly forgot about the baroness's anger and went for the food. Elias and Whitlow had fun getting him to guess what they were. Vardi was surprisingly accurate at identifying internal organs, such as the liver pate. But when it came to the rest of the meat, he could only identify the decorative bull's head. "You people actually eat that?"

As the light faded, more courses were brought out, and the wine cups refilled, the irresponsible drinkers began to get tipsy. Of the men, Nathan, Whitlow, Vardimann, and the priest didn't get drunk. Vardimann's drink had no alcohol in it, so he couldn't possibly get drunk. However, he had completely forgotten his resolve to keep his mouth shut and behave. His actions and words weren't that different from the average drunkard, just less slurred and more on point.

"So…" Vardimann pointed at the steward. "Home." He pointed at the priest. "Heart." Next was the marshal. "H…horse!" Richard scowled.

Elias interjected. "The H trio!" The two of them burst out laughing foolishly.

Richard slammed the table, knocking over the priest's cup. "You…you say that again!"

Vardimann grinned. He was having way too much fun to stop. "Heeere horsie horsie horsie! Let's hoof wrestle!"

Whitlow apologised to Nathan. "I'll visit you later, okay?" He got out of his seat and dragged Vardimann away before he was killed by a sword-wielding horse marshal.