Chapter 2: Cravings

Vladimir followed Father Larsen down the corridor, which lead to the kitchens. The monastery was awake and bustling with its daily activities. He had been escorted to his room, where he was allowed to change into his robes. It was a slow and painful process because of his aching back.

When they reached the kitchens Vladimir was left to stand awkwardly, all of the novices staring at him, while Father Larsen spoke to the Mistress of the Kitchens. Presently, Father Larsen returned, followed closely by Pavel. Vladimir groaned inwardly.

Pavel had come to Erengrad monastery several years before Vladimir, and he was many years older, but they were given instruction in the same class. Pavel was handsome, with sparkling blue eyes and curly golden locks, but he was none too bright. He had struggled with the ecclesiastical instruction, and when Vladimir and the others in their class had been raised to be Initiates, he was left behind. The following class was also raised, but once again Pavel was still a novice. After a third go through he was removed from instruction and made the assistant in charge of the kitchens.

As a matter of course, all novices spent some time in the kitchens. It taught humility, and of the virtue of service to one's fellow man. It was also used as punishment, whenever a novice, or rarely an initiate, got out of line. A sort of remedial course in humility. Pavel was known at the monastery for his harsh treatment of the novices and especially any initiate unfortunate to fall under his bailiwick.

"Pavel, this is Vladimir. He will be assisting you and the others in the kitchens until further notice," Father Larsen said. Pavel's almost-pretty eyes gleamed with a decidedly ugly light.

"Very well, Father. We certainly need help down here. I will take good care of him," Pavel replied, grinning like a shark. Father Larsen turned and strode out of the kitchens. Pavel waited until he was out of sight. His grin turned into a scowl. He spoke not a word, but gestured curtly for Vladimir to follow. Erengrad Monastery housed well over five hundred priests of Sigmar, as well as nearly thrice that many novices and initiates. The kitchens to feed all of them were vast. Fifteen hundred meals a day, except during periods of fasting, meant that the kitchens were always busy. They walked past rows of brick ovens, which were already producing the day's loaves of coarse brown bread. Cauldrons full of broth or stew steamed and bubbled. Pantries full of salted haunches of meat or earthenware jars for preserving fruit and vegetables. These would grow more scarce and valuable as the winter wore on. They stopped at the scullery.

Pavel shouted to be heard over the banging and scraping noise from within. He ordered three novices out of the scullery, telling them to report to the commons to serve the morning meal. He turned to Vladimir and nodded toward their recently vacated places.

The following weeks were a blur of dirty pots, steaming water, and aching muscles. Although the icy winter of Kislev raged above, the scullery was as unbearably hot and steamy as the jungles of Lustria. The novices in the scullery never spoke to Vladimir, they just glared at him as if it was his fault he had replaced three others, increasing everyone's workload. The skin on his hands was burned and pruned from having them constantly in the mixture of boiling water, harsh lye soap, and sand, that they used to scrub the endless parade of pots and pans. To make matters worse, it seemed Pavel had taken a particular dislike for Vladimir. He would stop by frequently, critiquing Vladimir's work. Pavel wanted to see his pretty little face in every pot Vladimir labored over. If he wasn't pleased he would switch him viciously.

Vladimir was truly remorseful over his actions, but he resented his treatment at the hands of the jealous Pavel. He hated himself for cringing every time the malicious taskmaster appeared, and for working extra hard in a vain attempt to avoid the inevitable switching. He passed the time daydreaming about what he would do to Pavel if the tables were turned. Vladimir was generally a peaceful sort, not prone to nasty or violent thoughts. He had summarily rejected the idea of becoming a warrior priest. He liked working with the texts, translating them and making them available for the people. With Pavel there was an exception. His nights usually consisted of falling into his bed late at night and being roused before he realized that any time had passed. On the few occasions that he did dream, he always dreamed of the same thing. He sat on a tall golden throne. His clothes were rich and resplendent, and he commanded the respect of all around him. He wielded great power through an object he wore around his neck. The dreams were quite vivid, just what it was around his neck was always a foggy detail when he awoke. If the dream were allowed to progress before he was awakened to more pots, he would summon Pavel before him. The pretty faced wretch would cower at his feet, and beg his forgiveness and mercy. But there never was mercy for Pavel. Then, after what seemed like an eternity of shriveled fingers and steam burns Father Larsen recalled him to his study.

"Well, Vladimir, your penance is finished. You have today free, tomorrow you will return to your work in the library."

"Thank you, Father Larsen," Vladimir mumbled.

"I am certain I do not have to tell you that you are still bound by your oath, and forever will be."

"No, Father Larsen, I understand."

It was still early, the sun had just barely risen over the horizon, but Vladimir went straight to his bed. He was certain he could sleep straight through to the following morning. He was awakened by a gnawing hunger in his stomach. He dressed groggily and pried open his shutters to see the weak winter sun, a pale yellow orb in the heavens, barely visible behind the haze of clouds and snow. By its position he estimated it to be a few hours after noon. If he hurried he could catch the tail end of the noon meal. He hastily strapped on his shoes and headed for the commons.

He must have misjudged the time, because when he dashed into the dining hall it was empty. No people, no food, just a few novices wiping down the tables and scrubbing the floor. The smell of the noon meal still hung in the air. It made his hunger worse. He could feel the emptiness inside him. It made his stomach knot up and ache, and his head began to throb slightly as well.

Out of desperation Vladimir went through the back of the dining hall and into the kitchens. The heat descended on him like a wet, suffocating, blanket. His head began to swim. Underneath it all was the overpowering scent of food. Vladimir could not remember ever being so hungry, and he had only missed two meals. He spied the Mistress of the Kitchens approaching him.

"Good after, Mistress," he said, trying to be cheerful through the sick feeling in his stomach.

"Good after, Vladimir. I had heard you were done in here. You haven't gotten into any more trouble, have you?"

"No mistress. It seems I have overslept and missed both the morning and the afternoon meals." Vladimir smiled his brightest smile. "You wouldn't have a scrap or two remaining that I might dine on?"

"Of course, dear," she said, a look of motherly concern dawning on her plump face. "You just follow me. We will get you fixed right up, you poor thing."

She bustled off at her normal pace, which was a good clip for such a portly woman. Being the Mistress of the Kitchens for the whole of Erengrad Monastery was job enough for three, but she managed quite well on her own, and ran a tight ship at that. Vladimir limped along behind her, pressing his fist into his side in an attempt to quell the growing pain there. All the while he was nodding and grunting, in response to her nattering on. The woman never stopped moving, and never stopped talking.

"I saw the way that Pavel badgered you. I would have put a stop to it too, if Father Larsen hadn't forbade me. What a shame," she clucked her tongue. "That half-wit is downright mean. To all of the boys, but especially you. If I had it my way he would not be working for me, but the higher ups insist. Lucky for you you're done with him. You just mind your hens and chicks and don't get in trouble na-more."

They arrived at a preparation table, the last stop the food made before it was carried out into the dining hall. It was surrounded by young girls, busily storing the remains of the last meal, while also preparing the next. They chatted and laughed as they worked. As quickly as they were working before, they increased their pace when the Mistress arrived. The stout mistress gave them all a stern eye, before she spoke.

"Well here we are Master Vladimir. You can sit at that table there," she instructed, pointing to a small counter in the corner. "Eat until you have had your fill. The girls here will get you set up."

With that the Mistress turned and bustled back the way she came. The very moment she was out of view, the girls as one erupted into a chorus of giggles. They stared at him, huddled together and whispering to each other. One of them pointed, another round of giggles followed. Vladimir was puzzled by their behavior. He had not had much contact with girls in his life in the monastery. Father Ehrlich viewed them as a cunning distraction to the righteous duties of a Priest of Sigmar. Vladimir was inclined to agree. They made his head swim even more. He made a concerted effort to ignore their stares as he strode over to the counter and sat on an old wooden three-legged stool.

"Hello, my name is Liesel." Vladimir jumped, nearly falling off of the stool. He had been wholly absorbed in the miserable hunger that gnawed at him. He did not even notice that the girls had prepared a plate for him. The girl looked at him, concern marring her pretty face. "Are you well, Master Vladimir? Shall I call a physician?"

"No. No that won't be necessary," Vladimir explained. He was surprised at how much better he felt when her eyebrows unknit themselves and the worried lines smoothed out of her forehead. "I am just very hungry. So much so that it is making me ill."

"Then eat, silly," she chided, gesturing to the plate she had laid before him. More giggles from the girls at the preparation tables. They had not stopped working, but they were obviously listening attentively to their conversation.

"Thank you…Liesel?" He asked, embarrassed that he could barely remember her name. He was so hungry. And her eyes were so green.

"Yes. I am Liesel, and you are Vladimir. Now eat. And let me know if you need anything else." More giggles. She turned, and as hungry as Vladimir was, and as good as the smells coming from right under his nose, he couldn't help but watch her slender form, and the way her light brown hair swung to and fro, as she sauntered back to the table. She returned to her work, and Vladimir focused on his food.

The plate was arranged neatly with a good variety of victuals. There was a small slab of mutton, glistening with steaming brown gravy, a hunk of good coarse bread and some white cheese, some small red potatoes in the same gravy as the meat, and a bunch of round green grapes on the side. Vladimir attacked the food, nearly forgetting to use a fork and knife. He found the goblet Liesel had provided, and washed down some of the bread. It was mivieh , a wonderful drink which consisted of water, milk, honey, and peach nectar. Vladimir had ever only tasted mivieh on Holidays and Feastdays. It was rare this far into winter because of how difficult it was to preserve the peaches.

Before he realized, Vladimir had decimated the meal. His hunger was barely sated. Vladimir turned to ask Liesel if she might bring him another helping. She was already on her way. She took his first plate and set the second down before him.

"Thank you, Liesel. It seems you read my mind," he said, staring dreamily into her eyes.

"You have gravy on your chin," she replied, smirking. Vladimir jumped again then fumbled for his napkin. "If you slow down you might actually taste this one."

"Thank you for the mivieh. It is delicious."

"Don't mention it."

Vladimir devoured the second plate in just slightly more time than the first. Liesel brought another, with a friendly chiding about his manners. The young initiate was not sure what he liked more, the delicious repast, or her breathtaking smile. A third plate followed, then a fourth. Vladimir was full to the point of being sick. He was very aware of how tight his stomach felt. No matter how much he ate, there was still that gnawing feeling. He felt it in his gut, but it seemed to originate in the back of his head. He was sure he could not eat another morsel of food, but still the hunger persisted. Besides, he liked when Liesel brought him food. Not because of the food, or even that she brought it, but because she would talk to him and smile at him every time she did.

"Do you ladies mind if I tarry here a while?" he asked.

"Not at all, Master Vladimir," one of the girls called.

"You just stay as long as you like," another chimed in. Vladimir watched Liesel as she cut up some potatoes. There was something in the way she moved, that intrigued him. Or maybe it was her skin. Out of the corner of his eye, Vladimir caught sight of Pavel. He was standing in a shadow just beyond the doorway. He was watching Vladimir watch the girls. He had that same malicious gleam in his eye as he did when he was deriding some poor novice about his shoddy work. Pavel must have realized that Vladimir had noticed him. He faded back into the hall until he was out of sight.

Vladimir got up and looked down the corridor. Pavel was nowhere in sight.

"Leaving so soon, Vladimir?" He jumped again. Liesel was right behind him, peering over his shoulder. "Without saying goodbye?"

"You shouldn't sneak up on people, Liesel. You might stop their heart."

"Oh, tosh. I wasn't sneaking anywhere. You are just thick, is all," she teased, smiling. Whenever she smiled two adorable dimples appeared on her cheeks. For some reason Vladimir wanted to touch them. "I thought I saw something…in the hall," he started.

"Oh that was probably just Pavel," she said, frowning momentarily. "He is always lurking about, leering at us. It is enough to make your skin crawl. He is far too old to be making eyes at young girls."

"What do you mean?" Vladimir asked, perplexed.

"You are so sweet," she said wistfully. "You really don't know, do you?"

"Know what?" Vladimir was even more confused than ever.

"Never you mind. It is probably better that you never know. It won't do you any good anyway wearing those robes."

Vladimir was thoroughly puzzled. He could indeed understand why Pavel would want to look at the girls, especially Liesel. She was so pretty. What he did not understand is why they would feel badly when Pavel looked at them. They didn't seem to mind when Vladimir looked. Or did they? Vladimir's cheeks felt hot and his throat tightened.

"Did I make you feel bad…?" he struggled to force out the words. He felt horrible. Liesel looked at him quizzically, her head cocked to one side. Realization flooded her sweet face.

"Oh, no, Vladimir. You did not make me uncomfortable at all," she said, smiling. She placed her hand on his arm. He felt a strong heat where she touched him, but it seemed to come from himself. He was suddenly very aware of how awkward and skinny he was. He was not made for physical pursuits. He had neither a warrior's build nor that of an athlete. Liesel blushed a little and turned averted her eyes. "Were you even looking at me? I didn't notice. I mean, I am flattered, but…are you serious?"

"You have been so kind to me, and I didn't want to do anything that might make you uneasy."

"Well that is the sweetest thing I have heard in a long time," she sighed. Without warning, she leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Now off with you. We have work to do here, and I can't be chattering with you all day."

Vladimir wandered off in a daze. He could still feel her lips on his skin. He was amazed at how unbelievably soft they were. He left the kitchens, a dreamy look on his face. He was so wrapped up in his euphoria that he didn't even notice Pavel watching him from a dark alcove, jealousy burning in his eyes.

Out of habit Vladimir's feet led him to the scriptorium on the bottom level of the library. He sat at his desk, closed his eyes, and breathed in deeply. The rich smell of the well-oiled wood, the acrid smell of the ink, and the musty smell of old vellum filled his nostrils. Familiar sounds reached his ears. The scritch-scratch of busy quills, and the faint echoes of footsteps breaking up the deafening silence.

Vladimir opened his eyes and looked around him. The great domed ceiling soared high above, with a fresco depicting the Dwarf king presenting Sigmar his legendary hammer. Towering stained glass windows portrayed other inspiring images of Lord Heldenhammer. Even in the frail winter light they cast a multicolored and decidedly holy light onto the stone walls, stacked from floor to ceiling with books. Shelf after shelf, row after row, floor after floor. Ecclesiastical texts, arcane tomes, scientific journals, volumes of poetry and prose, historical manuscripts, and innumerable other written works, all organized in a neat and orderly fashion. They were indexed by author, subject, era, and just about any classification you could imagine. Vladimir took great comfort in that order. He derived a certain peace and tranquility in the inherent stability of it all. But his serenity was incomplete.

That nagging, gnawing hunger in the back of his head would not let him find his center. With his appetite sated and his thirst slaked, Vladimir puzzled as to what was the cause of this strange yearning, this craving that was completely alien to him. It was like there was an invisible hook in his brain and it was pulling him towards…something.

Vladimir tried to quiet his mind, as much as he could with that longing ache in his head. He closed his eyes and regulated his breathing, as he had been taught to do in his meditation sessions with Father Kriskei. He began shutting out all of the distractions that the corporeal world posed. He muted all of his senses, sight, hearing, smell, tactile, eliminating everything but the beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his breathing, and the pull. When all outside stimulus was suppressed, he could discern a direction to the pull. He felt the source of the disturbance, and it was close. Opening his eyes, but maintaining his trance state, he stood and walked towards the source.

Like a human divining rod, Vladimir navigated the maze of bookshelves and reading tables by feel. The gnawing sensation eased slowly as he drew nearer to the source. He found himself standing in front of a sturdy oaken door, bound by heavy iron hinges. Whatever it was that was luring him was behind that door. He knew it led to one of the many basement chambers under the library. Most were used for to keep old tomes, others for general storage. Vladimir reached for the knob. His hand was shaking with anticipation. Before he could grasp the handle the door swung open. Vladimir jerked his hand back and skipped back a step to avoid being knocked senseless.

"Vladimir? What are you doing here?" Father Ehrlich asked, his brow furrowed in consternation.

"What? Oh. Nothing." Vladimir's mind raced. He was not sure why, but he felt extremely guilty for being there. He realized that he was in the cartographic section of the library. He quickly formulated a devious tale.

"I was looking for a map of…of Araby. I was just curious about some things I had read. I was back here looking, when I heard a noise from over here. I was just investigating when you startled me." Ehrlich seemed mollified by Vladimir's deception.

"I apologize for startling you. I was in a hurry and didn't expect anyone to be out here."

"It was nothing," Vladimir assured. He peered over Ehrlich's shoulder into the recess behind him. "What were you doing down there?"

"Oh, just taking care of some things," the cleric evaded, appearing flustered. "Nothing with which to concern yourself." Vladimir's curiosity was getting the better of him. He could feel how close he was to the source of his desire.

"Is there anything I can help you with?"

"No Vladimir, I am just fine. I believe the maps of the southern continent are over there." Brother Ehrlich pointed to some distant shelves. It was clear that he was being dismissed, but Vladimir lingered still, searching his mind for any reason to stay. After a few awkward moments he offered Father Ehrlich a weak smile and turned to go.

Vladimir made a good show of perusing the maps, all the while watching Father Ehrlich out of the corner of his eye. The cleric remained by the doorway, obviously watching Vladimir. Realizing that he would not be allowed near the door, the young initiate selected a map and slowly made his way back to his desk. As he left he heard the key turning in the lock to the basement door, and his heart sunk. His stomach began its sickening twisting again.

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