Free The Surrogate by Ann Somerville Page A

from Jendon. You?”
    “ From Egin, of course. So you’re the new bumboy—what do you think of our little Jaime? Pretty but cold as snow, ain’t he?”
    “ He’s considerate,” I said firmly, ignoring the slur. “How many do you cook for here?”
    “ Here? Oh, fifty or more, not including ourselves. All of them with appetites like goats. Why, want a job in the kitchens?”
    I shrugged. “If there’s no other call on my time, I don’t mind lending a hand. My mother taught me how to make bread, and I make a tasty sweet cake.”
    That got me a fresh appraisal. “Is that so? Well, I’d like to see that—the bumboy with his hands covered in flour. You come down sometime and we’ll see how you fare.”
    “ You’re on.”
    There wasn’t time for more than that before Jaime returned with a sack and a small box, which he handed to me. I wondered if he’d heard any of the exchange. I said goodbye politely and gave the younger girls one of my brighter smiles. I never knew when I might need an ally, and the kitchen staff were as good a place to start as any.
    We collected a pile of freshly washed and folded clothes and bed linen from the laundry, and an empty nightsoil can from the latrines. As outings went, it was very, very ordinary, but I was still glad to have done it. For one thing, it was nice to know there were real human beings around the place. The second...well, it was interesting to know that Jaime was held in such low regard by his fellow servants, and that his role and mine were hardly a secret. Did it mean the servants didn’t believe in the God incarnate, or that they just accepted what he supposedly did?
    More questions, no answers. As we came back to the rooms, I asked him, “What happened to Josia?”
    His mouth tightened. “He ran away after a week. He’s the one fertilising the garden.”
    “ You mean—the guy who was here just before me, he’s dead?” He gave me a cool stare as an answer. “How long ago?”
    “ Two weeks.”
    He took the box of vegetables from me while I was still contemplating this information, and stored them carefully on racks in the kitchen. “So...after he left and before I arrived, who...I mean....”
    He folded his arms. “Whoever they gave me. Is it your habit to persist when it’s so very obvious this is a subject on which I do not want to converse?”
    “ Hey, it’s my job now, and if you lot are just going around high-handedly killing runaway servants, don’t you think I need to know about it?”
    “ You were warned before you signed the indentures. That’s as much discussion as I will have with you about it.” He took the clothes away from the table and walked into the bedroom.
    I guessed, for him, he’d been pretty tolerant of my curiosity, and he was still rather depressed. I sat at the table and waited for him to return, and when I put my hand on the book in enquiry, he nodded. At least he wasn’t taking his mood out on me again.
    That set the pattern for the next two weeks. Four more times our services were required. The day after, he would be withdrawn, but gradually recover some animation. He disappeared most other nights for a few hours, and always returned looking weary and desperately sad. Some nights I heard him crying, others I did not. The rest of the time, he worked quietly at his books, and I joined him when I wasn’t doing small errands. I realised pretty quickly that interaction with the other servants was as painful to him as it was welcome to me, so he gladly let me take on those chores. Until I could go outside the temple, it was my only contact with other people.
    The actual job still revolted me, and I still burned to know the whole story, but in reality it occupied less than a couple of hours every few days. I could tolerate it, if I had to, and for now, I had to. I gained no release from his hands, and he never came at all that I saw, nor tried to relieve himself afterwards. His attentions were pleasurable for a brief period,