The monestary school

Venessa and Sarah finished their breakfast in good time and made their way back through the dining hall to the kitchen. Rebecca, the royal cook, was putting the final touches on the pack lunches she was getting ready for the girls. Rebecca was young for a cook. At 20 years of age, she was only three years older then the princess. Her father had been the official royal cook for 25 loyal years, but had suffered a shooting accident one year ago, and had lost mobility in his right hand. Rebecca was his pride and joy, and had cooked by his side these many years, and so with the king's best recipes locked away in his brain, and his daughter to be his hands, the King had appointed Rebecca as the new royal cook. She was to work at his side until she knew all of the recipes by heart, and then take full control of the kitchen, which wasn't far from being the case anyway. Though entirely competent in the kitchen she was still thin and wiry from cooking more then she ate. She was no nonsense, and confidence exuded from her every move. The rest of the kitchen staff, though substantially older then she, adored her and followed her instructions to the letter as if she were her father, himself...for not only would she recreate his best dishes, but she would imagine up her own finery that could rival any cook in any kingdom. Baking was her specialty, and for Venessa and Sarah she had baked up fresh bread topped with roast beef and yellow cheese. There were fresh vegetable from the garden and apple pie for dessert.

Venessa's senses spun as she breathed in the kitchen aromas. It was like heaven itself to walk through this room of the castle. “Becky, you have outdone yourself with breakfast. I am now too full to concentrate on Greek. If I fail my studies, I blame you,” the princess said with a smile. Becky wiped her floury hands on her apron and then embraced her around the neck, careful not to get the sassy red dress dirty, “I'm glad you liked it. Have a wonderful day, friend...and enjoy your studies,” she said just a little too loudly, being used to yelling out orders in a very noisy kitchen. You couldn't fail at anything!” Rebecca added. The child-hood friends smiled at one another as they bid each other fair well. Clutching there lunch in a beautifully woven basket, Sarah and Venessa exited out the other side of the kitchen and walked down a stone laden hallway that led to the inner courtyard. There the girls could hear the crunching of gravel as the royal coach pulled up. It was pulled by a beautiful bay mare, who snorted in disgust, stomping her foot in protest of the weather. “She doesn't like the rain,” the coachman explained with a smile, as he held out his umbrella for the girls as they stepped inside. “She did not want me to take her out of her stall this morning.” “That makes two of you,” Sarah chuckled as she settled in against the plush purple seats, thinking, on more then one occasion, how lovely a color choice they were. Venessa made no comment, but smirked as the carriage lurched ahead, headed straight for the court yard gate, a huge metal thing that took four men to raise. Quite the spectacle for so small a castle.

Venessa brushed aside the window covering and stared out at the scenery as the bumpy shifting of the carriage over dirt road lulled her into a trance. The Princess truly felt blessed to live in such a place. Everywhere she looked was lush and green, and it all smelled newly washed. Venessa breathed in the smell and then caught her breath as they neared the ocean. After about 15 minutes of riding, the carriage pulled up in front of the two story building. It was butted up against a rock faced wall. It was built of stone hewn from the cliff and looked like nothing more then an extension from the mountain itself. One could hardly tell where one ended and the other began. Inside, from top to bottom, it was thoroughly laden with redwood furnishings. The building structure itself was originally a monastery, though it hadn't been used as such for decades. It now held a threefold purpose. The bottom story was a library; every wall was covered in shelved books, from floor to ceiling. In the middle of the large room, amidst large tables and chairs was a staircase that wound it's way up to the second story. Originally, one giant open space, it was now separated into three smaller rooms and an open foirer overlooking the library below. These above rooms were used for classes and for learning. Every fall the king would employ the best scholars to come and tutor those at court during their coming out years. A parson was also employed to manage the library building, and together with his wife, was housed not a quarter of a mile away in a much smaller, but well furnished cottage. They had a very roomy spare bedroom especially meant for housing the tutors every year. Underneath the library was a basement level that used to be used to house the monks. There were about ten smaller rooms, big enough only for two beds, two wash stands and two small desks. The monks had lived simply and had no unnecessary decorative furnishings. There was also a great room that used to be used as a kitchen. In one corner it had a giant oven hewn into the wall, the chimney of which, rose up through the corner of the library and upper rooms to let out it's exhaust. This oven had been long since used to cook bread, but was instead used to heat the large room during the winter months. All of the tables used for cooking and for eating were stored away in the old living quarters and in their place sat long wooden benches and one medium sized pulpit for preaching. The parson ran church services every Sunday for the common folk in the area out of the basement level, affectionately referred to by most as the Underground.