His Lordship Returns

Alma threatened Sukie with a raised fist, shaking it for emphasis. “You clean him up!” Short and squat compared to the lithe and taller Sukie, the quakes this exclamation sent through her body greatly amused the baby that was the ‘him’ in question. She brought her fist down on the counter hard enough to shake the hanging pans in the kitchen.

Sukie made a show of examining her lacquered nails. “Why should I?” Screening her grey eyes behind a curtain of long, black hair, she was nearly successful in her attempt to hide her fear of the older woman.

Alma placed her fists on her ample hips and leaned forward, her matching black hair swinging as she leaned forward and stuck out her jaw, nailing the other woman into place with her own single bulging grey eye. “Because you’re the one who gave him the chocolate.” As if submitting evidence, Alma pointed to the brown stains that covered the happy toddler from head-to-toe.

“Well, he was being all,” Sukie twitched and writhed spasmodically as if in an unwelcome embrace herself, “squirmy.” She shrugged, the conclusion inevitable to her. “What else was I supposed to do?”

“Show one ounce of patience? An iota of forbearance?” Alma raised herself as straight as her bent frame could and squeezed the bridge of her nose. “With all that sugar in him, how do you think he’ll be for the Master upon his return? Do you he’ll be as smooth as pudding? Relaxed as chamomile?” She dropped the hand from her nose and cut it through the air towards the babe. “No, he’ll be worse than a crab in the pants.” Perhaps seeking to lodge evidence for Alma’s side of the argument, the babe began to crawl away.

Sukie gave her sister a smoky glare, still attempting to hide her nervousness at the prospect of the Lordship’s return. Every image of him in the house conveyed power and strength, whether it was the symbols of his office or the likeness of him in bust or painting. He had been gone so long his presence felt like a distant memory. That memory, though, was as harsh as it was potent and Sukie could only hope that he would be happy with the work the sisters had done in his absence.

Still unwilling to show fear, though, she only told Alma. “I’m sure he can manage.”

“Of course he could,” Alma breathed deeply, bringing some calm into her voice, reminding herself of her sister’s willful ways and that she, Alma, was (as ever) the reasonable one. “But we don’t want him to ‘manage’ it. We want him to be happy to see the little one. Grateful even.” With some semblance of calm restored, Alma resorted to appealing to her sister’s self-interest. The older sister pointed an index finger at the younger and said, “Which will make him that much more likely to grant us a boon.”

A genuine flash of anger crossed Sukie’s gaze at this. “Why wouldn’t he pay us? We’re doing what we said we’d do.” Thinking of the years of diligent service, Sukie felt a self-righteous rage begin to rise in her at the idea that the Master might cast it all aside if the sisters were to make one small mistake. It also sounded quite a lot like something that the Master would do.

Alma withdrew her finger, reminding herself that the time was drawing nigh, and that this petty arguing could put everything the sisters had worked for at risk. She moved her chest as a bellows, trying to draw patience in and out with each breath. Careful to enunciate each word, she explained, “Yes, but there’s doing a job and then there’s doing it right; down to the letter, correct in every facet.” She fixed her bulging eye on her sister again, “You know that.”

For the first time since they had begun arguing, Sukie fully met her sister’s gaze. She took several deep breaths herself, then slowly lowered her head, placing a hand on her throat. “Yes. Of course.” Surrendering, she dropped her hands and looked about the kitchen. She found a washcloth and, after a moment’s trembling hesitation, went and scooped up the baby by under its arms. Setting it upon one of the stone counters, she began to wipe him clean. The babe only fussed a little, playing with the cloth and staring happily at Sukie. The younger sister ignored him, the happiness of the child having no impact upon her still dark mood.

Alma returned to her own task; continuing to fillet a bog snake. She took it out in long strips, laying these across a cutting board on the same counter. A peaceful silence having settled upon the kitchen, Alma couldn’t help but tease her sister in an exasperated fashion. “How a woman like you can disjoint a frog without a blink but recoils at cleaning a babe is beyond me.”

Sukie wrinkled her nose as she continued washing the child. He wriggled and giggled and cooed and Sukie felt her expression corkscrew as she handled the repellant little creature. Seeking some explanation she said to her sister. “It’s just so...alive.”

Alma couldn’t help but chuckle, always finding her sisters’s blindspots to be amusing. “Well, that’s what the Master loves about ‘em.”

Sukie shuddered. She thanked her lucky stars that at least it was just chocolate she was wiping up and not something worse. Babies could get into so much, and if they didn’t get into it they could manufacturer it themselves. “I don’t understand why he has to be clean before we put him in the tub. What difference does it make?”

From the cutting board, Alma moved to slide the chunks of snake into the metal pot. As the bits fell in, each caused other items to roil to the surface; tongue and stinger and other sacrificial components floated up. “It’s a cauldron, dear. Now put the babe in and let us summon the Master.”