Chapter 13

I could barely comprehend what happened next.

As I rolled my eyes at the insult, Pertrece let out an angered shout. “Flanken!”

A familiar mop of brown popped into view. “What-”

“I need another bottle of wine!”

Just as the wench began to turn around, obviously confused by the statement Petrece made, Pertrece chucked her bottle towards her. The bottle smacked against her head, sending the wounded women to the floor and shattering into pieces.

As I gaped at the bloody sight, Pertrece rose from her seat, swearing loudly at the fallen wench. “I told you to watch your fucking mouth!”

“Oi!” Flanken hollered, head snapping back into the kitchen. In the midst of the wenches shrieks and the patrons murmur, Flanken began to bark out orders. “I need you to grab Pertrece another bottle of that wine she likes! I need you and a few others to grab Brama from the floor! It just got mopped from the brawl last night!”

Flanken workers moved quickly. As a group of men came pouring out of the kitchen, rushing towards the shrieking wench that laid in a pool of wine, blood, and broken glass, another man scurried towards us with a new bottle of wine.

“Sorry about that, Pertrece.” The man apologized.

“It's not your job to apologize for other people's stupidity.” Pertrece scowled, “And I’m not the one that was insulted.”

The man's gaze slowly traveled to me. “I am sorry miss.”

“Although Petrece is right, I doubt I’ll be getting one from her.” I gestured towards the injured woman that was wailing on the floor. “I suppose I’ll accept your apology.” 

“Stay still Brama!” Another man fussed. He reached down to grab Brama, trying his best to bat away her punches. “Stop! I’m trying to help you!”

Brama sobbed, “She tried to kill me!”

“We need to stitch your wounds before you bleed out.”

“Get off of me!”

It was embarrassing watching as the men wrestle with Brama. She was only making this situation worse for herself. 

Having enough of her behavior, I turned my attention back towards Pertrece. “You speak as if you've been through this.”

Her furious flush slowly began to dwindle to a light pink as she screwed the cork off the bottle. “I'm lucky to leave before I laid with a priest.”

“A priest?!” I gasp.

“Money is money.” She shrugs, “No matter how immortal.”

To lay with a priest is treason. From the moment they begin their lessons, they are to be celebate. It was common knowledge to everyone that priests were off limits. If caught, it would only result in the death of everyone involved. From the priest, to the whore, to anyone that knew about the coupling.

“I just can't believe it.” I continued, “From a vixen to a wench.”

“From a whore to a wench.” Pertrece corrected, “Soon to be chef.” She poured the wine into my cup, “I've laid with my fair share of married men. From farmers to traveling lords. It's not something I'm entirely proud of.”

I accepted the cup, confused about the coolness that seeped from the cup. “It's cold.”

“I prefer my wine chilled.”

I took a tentative sniff.

It didn’t smell off. Curious enough, I took a small sip. 

“Ooooh,” I eyed the cup gleefully. “I think I do too.”

Warm and flushed from the sip of wine, I was ready to devour my stew. Grabbing a bowl of rice, I dumped it into the stew. I quickly gave it a quick mix, coating the rice in the thick broth. 

“You haven't answered my question.”

I scooped up a spoonful, “What question-”

“What is your obsession with becoming a whore?”

I chewed as I thought over her question. I don’t think any of my explanations would really suffice. 

“I don’t know.” I shrug, “I don’t just have one reason, you know.”

As she pondered on my response, a man slunk up behind Pertrece, tapping her on the shoulder. He flashed me a quick grin before turning his full attention towards his coworker.

“What's wrong, Constance?” Pertrece asks.  

“Flanken needs you to get back to serving.”

“Seriously?”

“Well,” Constance snorted, “You did beat up Brama. We’re down a wench.”

She grumbled unhappily, waving off Constance with a pout. As Constance shuffled back to the kitchen with a snicker, I tried my best to hold in my laughter at Pertrece’s huffing and puffing. 

“This conversation is not over.” Pertrece stood with a huff. “I’ll schedule some time for you and me to talk.” 

I was already stuffing my face again to properly respond back to her. Chewing and waving goodbye, Pertrece returned the wave before scurrying over to a waiting table. I watched as she fished out a writing pad, listening intently as the customer rattled off an order. 

I know she’s going to make good on her promise about us meeting up. She was rather stubborn when it came to things she wanted to know. And knowing that she has experience in this sort of thing, I was curious enough to continue the conversation with her.

Most people that talked to me about this were judgemental. They just see the things they want to see.

I guess I could also relate to that way of thinking.