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smackenzieAfter about a week Hazel had seen what felt like most of the city without getting any closer to finding the missing prince. At least, she didn't think she'd gotten any closer to finding him - she supposed it was possible that she'd passed him on the street or sat next to him in a pub or even talked to him without knowing it. She'd talked to a lot of people, although some of those conversations were on the order of "I'm really sorry my dog scared your horse or tried to steal your sausage or jumped all over you and made you drop the load of laundry you were carrying...." It was just that Toast was so excited about all the people and animals and food in the city, all the new sights and smells and hey, look, pigeons!
Hazel kept him on a very short leash. It was either that or lock him in her room while she was out, and since she was gone all day that didn't seem very fair to him.
She did have to leave him in the rooming house so she could visit the public bath, though. A few days into her search and she was feeling kind of grubby, and since there wasn't a place to wash any more than her face in her room, she got directions to the closest public bathhouse for women, made sure she could lock Toast in the room, and went off to bathe. She made sure her dog would behave himself by giving him a doggy sedative - she'd learned enough animal medicine so far to be able to mix a sedative for Toast.
She was used to bathing in the river back home, and in the winter she used her aunt's big metal tub. She wasn't used to buildings dedicated solely to the business of getting one's self clean, or the fact that she could wash her self, wash her hair, soak in a tub, sit in a steam room, and have a drink and something light to eat, all in the same building, or at least all in the same complex. Hazel had never even seen a steam room, although she'd heard about them, and one of the merchant's wives back in Redhill had spent the better part of a year trying to convince her husband to build her one. Hazel hadn't understood why the woman hadn't hired someone to build it herself, but sometimes wives were like that. Equal partners in the business and sometimes they still wanted their husbands to make all the money decisions. Hazel had promised herself that she wouldn't be like that when she was married. She'd be as much of Hay's equal as she could.
But for now she'd simply be Hay's distant lover, and she'd think about him while she tried not to stare at the tile-lined pool of bathers, at the stacks of towels, at the doors on the far wall that led to small rooms lined with wood and containing hot rocks and buckets of water. She'd poked her head in one to see what was inside, and found two women sitting on a wooden bench chatting, one of them leaning forward to take a dipper out of the bucket and pour water on the rocks, which sent up a cloud of scented steam. Hazel coughed reflexively, the women turned to stare at her, and she backed out, embarrassed. Maybe she'd just take her homemade soap and go sit in the bath.
The central bath was lined with tiled benches at such a height that if you sat down you'd be in water almost past your shoulders. There was some kind of circulation system that kept the water moving - Hazel could just see the ripples in the surface - and thus kept it from stagnating. She wondered how they kept it clean and how they kept it warm, and did they have to drain it every night and refill it? It seemed like a huge waste of water to her, although for all she knew it was the same water all day, just piped in and out and back in again, maybe run through a filter to strain out any impurities. She'd heard about things like that, she'd just never seen them.
It was very relaxing sitting in the public bath with her towel folded on her head, leaning against the tiled wall and watching all the other women without looking like she was staring. She didn't think she'd picked an especially busy time of day, although who knew when city residents chose to bathe. The place wasn't exactly full but there was enough of a crowd that Hazel didn't feel as though she had the bath to herself. There were mothers and daughters and grandmothers, wrinkled old women and little girls, women who looked wealthy enough to have big houses with their own baths, and the occasional woman like her, who looked as if she felt out of place. Hazel hoped her cluelessness didn't show on her face.
Once she decided she'd sat and watched long enough, she lathered up her soap and scrubbed herself all over, then moved down the bench to get away from the soap bubbles, rubbed soap in her hair, and dunked her head a few times. Oh, that felt good. There was nothing like a good bath in warm water to refresh one's outlook on life. Maybe she should try the steam room for a while. Once you paid your admission into the bathhouse you could stay as long as you wanted, even have a drink and something to eat. Your drink choices were limited unless you wanted to pay extra, but she could get apple juice, grape juice, or small beer, which was fine with her. She didn't need to sit in a soaking tub and drink wine.
She did, however, have to try a steam room, because it was there. She found an empty one, settled herself on the bench (first she had to rearrange her towel so she could sit on it and cover herself with it at the same time, because the wood of the bench was hot), and poured a little water on the cage of hot rocks. The steam made her cough again, but once she got used to it, it wasn't so bad, at least at first. It was like one of the more humid days of summer, except in a confined space and without a cold pitcher of water to hand. She knew about steam treatments for sore throats and coughs and shortness of breath, so she imagined a steam room was good for you along the same principles, but usually you put something in the steam, and a steam room was just... humid.
Hazel breathed deeply a few times to test her theory, but unlike holding your head over a bowl of boiling water and inhaling the herbal steam, taking a deep breath in a steam room actually made it harder to breathe. She stuck it out for about ten minutes, which felt like long enough, and as she stood in the central bath room wondering if she needed to take another bath, she noticed another woman walk out of a steam room and climb down into another bath, this one much smaller than the main one. The woman sat and soaked for a minute or two and then got out, wrapped her towel around herself, and headed towards the changing rooms. Hazel dipped her foot into the smaller pool, which was a little cooler than room temperature, and then climbed in. She guessed you had to cool off after the steam room and wash some of the sweat off yourself. She also guessed you could do the steam room before your wash, and maybe she'd try it in that order the next time she was here.
She found her clothes in the changing room where she'd left them along with her boots and a little money and the small traveling pack she carried around during her daily meanderings around the city in search of the prince. Everything was still there, but she wasn't surprised. Hazel trusted people, for one thing, and she'd seen the women who guarded (for lack of a better term) the changing rooms. They all wore the same uniform as the women who took the money at the door and the women who handed out towels and the women who served the drinks and snacks. Bathhouse workers, Hazel guessed, and wondered what guild they belonged to. Not that it mattered, since her clothes and things were all still in the basket where she'd left them. She wrapped her soap up again and stuffed it in her pack, got dressed, laced up her boots, and headed out, almost forgetting to leave the towel behind in one of the tall baskets by the changing room door. She'd seen women with their own towels, and was grateful that the bathhouse had some for people like her who suffered from occasional stupidity that made them leave their towels in their rooms.
She did not feel at all guilty about leaving her dog in her room, though. She took the long way back to the rooming house, stopping along the way to buy a roll and a couple of apples because all that bathing and steaming had made her hungry. Toast was asleep on the bed when she got back, spread out on top of her clothes. He was snoring faintly, which made her giggle, and his back leg twitched like he was either kicking something or running. He was so cute when he wasn't terrorizing pigeons or cows or the poor girl who worked in the pub downstairs. Hazel debated waking him up, but then she calculated how long she'd been gone and how long Toast had been locked in the room, and she figured he should probably go out and do his thing, and they'd walk around for a while and maybe look for the prince in some places they hadn't already looked.
words: 1685
total words: 16,020
Hazel kept him on a very short leash. It was either that or lock him in her room while she was out, and since she was gone all day that didn't seem very fair to him.
She did have to leave him in the rooming house so she could visit the public bath, though. A few days into her search and she was feeling kind of grubby, and since there wasn't a place to wash any more than her face in her room, she got directions to the closest public bathhouse for women, made sure she could lock Toast in the room, and went off to bathe. She made sure her dog would behave himself by giving him a doggy sedative - she'd learned enough animal medicine so far to be able to mix a sedative for Toast.
She was used to bathing in the river back home, and in the winter she used her aunt's big metal tub. She wasn't used to buildings dedicated solely to the business of getting one's self clean, or the fact that she could wash her self, wash her hair, soak in a tub, sit in a steam room, and have a drink and something light to eat, all in the same building, or at least all in the same complex. Hazel had never even seen a steam room, although she'd heard about them, and one of the merchant's wives back in Redhill had spent the better part of a year trying to convince her husband to build her one. Hazel hadn't understood why the woman hadn't hired someone to build it herself, but sometimes wives were like that. Equal partners in the business and sometimes they still wanted their husbands to make all the money decisions. Hazel had promised herself that she wouldn't be like that when she was married. She'd be as much of Hay's equal as she could.
But for now she'd simply be Hay's distant lover, and she'd think about him while she tried not to stare at the tile-lined pool of bathers, at the stacks of towels, at the doors on the far wall that led to small rooms lined with wood and containing hot rocks and buckets of water. She'd poked her head in one to see what was inside, and found two women sitting on a wooden bench chatting, one of them leaning forward to take a dipper out of the bucket and pour water on the rocks, which sent up a cloud of scented steam. Hazel coughed reflexively, the women turned to stare at her, and she backed out, embarrassed. Maybe she'd just take her homemade soap and go sit in the bath.
The central bath was lined with tiled benches at such a height that if you sat down you'd be in water almost past your shoulders. There was some kind of circulation system that kept the water moving - Hazel could just see the ripples in the surface - and thus kept it from stagnating. She wondered how they kept it clean and how they kept it warm, and did they have to drain it every night and refill it? It seemed like a huge waste of water to her, although for all she knew it was the same water all day, just piped in and out and back in again, maybe run through a filter to strain out any impurities. She'd heard about things like that, she'd just never seen them.
It was very relaxing sitting in the public bath with her towel folded on her head, leaning against the tiled wall and watching all the other women without looking like she was staring. She didn't think she'd picked an especially busy time of day, although who knew when city residents chose to bathe. The place wasn't exactly full but there was enough of a crowd that Hazel didn't feel as though she had the bath to herself. There were mothers and daughters and grandmothers, wrinkled old women and little girls, women who looked wealthy enough to have big houses with their own baths, and the occasional woman like her, who looked as if she felt out of place. Hazel hoped her cluelessness didn't show on her face.
Once she decided she'd sat and watched long enough, she lathered up her soap and scrubbed herself all over, then moved down the bench to get away from the soap bubbles, rubbed soap in her hair, and dunked her head a few times. Oh, that felt good. There was nothing like a good bath in warm water to refresh one's outlook on life. Maybe she should try the steam room for a while. Once you paid your admission into the bathhouse you could stay as long as you wanted, even have a drink and something to eat. Your drink choices were limited unless you wanted to pay extra, but she could get apple juice, grape juice, or small beer, which was fine with her. She didn't need to sit in a soaking tub and drink wine.
She did, however, have to try a steam room, because it was there. She found an empty one, settled herself on the bench (first she had to rearrange her towel so she could sit on it and cover herself with it at the same time, because the wood of the bench was hot), and poured a little water on the cage of hot rocks. The steam made her cough again, but once she got used to it, it wasn't so bad, at least at first. It was like one of the more humid days of summer, except in a confined space and without a cold pitcher of water to hand. She knew about steam treatments for sore throats and coughs and shortness of breath, so she imagined a steam room was good for you along the same principles, but usually you put something in the steam, and a steam room was just... humid.
Hazel breathed deeply a few times to test her theory, but unlike holding your head over a bowl of boiling water and inhaling the herbal steam, taking a deep breath in a steam room actually made it harder to breathe. She stuck it out for about ten minutes, which felt like long enough, and as she stood in the central bath room wondering if she needed to take another bath, she noticed another woman walk out of a steam room and climb down into another bath, this one much smaller than the main one. The woman sat and soaked for a minute or two and then got out, wrapped her towel around herself, and headed towards the changing rooms. Hazel dipped her foot into the smaller pool, which was a little cooler than room temperature, and then climbed in. She guessed you had to cool off after the steam room and wash some of the sweat off yourself. She also guessed you could do the steam room before your wash, and maybe she'd try it in that order the next time she was here.
She found her clothes in the changing room where she'd left them along with her boots and a little money and the small traveling pack she carried around during her daily meanderings around the city in search of the prince. Everything was still there, but she wasn't surprised. Hazel trusted people, for one thing, and she'd seen the women who guarded (for lack of a better term) the changing rooms. They all wore the same uniform as the women who took the money at the door and the women who handed out towels and the women who served the drinks and snacks. Bathhouse workers, Hazel guessed, and wondered what guild they belonged to. Not that it mattered, since her clothes and things were all still in the basket where she'd left them. She wrapped her soap up again and stuffed it in her pack, got dressed, laced up her boots, and headed out, almost forgetting to leave the towel behind in one of the tall baskets by the changing room door. She'd seen women with their own towels, and was grateful that the bathhouse had some for people like her who suffered from occasional stupidity that made them leave their towels in their rooms.
She did not feel at all guilty about leaving her dog in her room, though. She took the long way back to the rooming house, stopping along the way to buy a roll and a couple of apples because all that bathing and steaming had made her hungry. Toast was asleep on the bed when she got back, spread out on top of her clothes. He was snoring faintly, which made her giggle, and his back leg twitched like he was either kicking something or running. He was so cute when he wasn't terrorizing pigeons or cows or the poor girl who worked in the pub downstairs. Hazel debated waking him up, but then she calculated how long she'd been gone and how long Toast had been locked in the room, and she figured he should probably go out and do his thing, and they'd walk around for a while and maybe look for the prince in some places they hadn't already looked.
words: 1685
total words: 16,020
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no subject
Date: 2004-11-10 11:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-10 10:09 pm (UTC)(a schvitz! yeah, pretty much. ^_^ )