She’d never been to The Island. It had some official name, something to do with a ship that wrecked on it, or the captain who caused the wreck, but no one ever used it. The Island was simply The Island, and it was there, guarding the entrance to Harbour Bay, its buildings a funny mix of army fortifications and nobles’ pleasure-houses.
And now she was to be sent there, to work as a maid in one of the noble’s homes. If you could call it a home if it was a place the owner only spent a month or so there in the year. And sent their children for another two, so they didn’t interfere with the summer socialising while the Academy’s teachers spent three months recovering from teaching the little monsters.
Gerda watched the peaks and dips of her destination emerge from the morning mist. The house she was going to belonged to a family with no small children.
The pilot of the small launch she was on pointed ahead to a blocky shape forming ahead of them. “That’s the landing station there, ye’ll each be met by someone from the house you’ll be serving, don’t wait for your luggage, it’ll be delivered. The house staff never wait, they’re too busy they’ll tell you. Although doing what, when there’s no one to be pandered to, I’ve yet to be told.”
Gerda gave him the nervous giggle he seemed to be expecting. The others with her, three of them, all going to houses with known hellions due to descend within the month, didn’t respond, too busy murmuring amongst themselves, sharing tips and warnings.
The pilot raised a brow at her. “And don’t go thinking you’ve got it easy. You’re assigned to House Evander are you not?”
“That’s correct.”
“You be keeping an eye out on the heir then. He’s yet to grow up for all he’s four and twenty. And he don’t like taking ‘no’ for an answer.”
“Doesn’t like?”
“Oh, he won’t force you if you’re adamant, but you’ll likely need a new position a week later.” The old man tapped his head. “If you’re smart, you’ll make an ally of Lady Carlotta. For all Lord Timon is the heir, Carlotta’s the eldest and, on The Island at least, has always been the one in charge.”
The DNA of Stories 