The Last Thing You See Is Clean

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Hunne waited in a fancy office, assured several times already of the imminent arrival of the head of the Household Services faculty and, for some reason, the Dean of the university. The office was nice enough, the artwork tasteful rather than the garishness recently come into fashion. The furniture in what they called 'the sitting area' was lovely with softly curved wood and beautiful fabric covering the seats of the chairs. They were much more comfortable than Hunne had expected when she first saw them.

She'd been waiting for a quarter bell and Hunne disliked waiting. It was unproductive and a waste of time. Waste was another thing Hunne disliked. Had she known she'd spend this long waiting, she'd have brought her knitting along. She could have finished a sleeve for the sweater in the time they'd left her sitting.

Hunne was watching the double door impatiently when both suddenly burst open. A small group of men dressed in quite nice suits, led by a grey-hair, charged into the room and towards the sitting area. She rose smoothly to her feet and set her hands above her waist, purse dangling from her left wrist, exactly as expected when meeting someone of the dean's position.

"Miss Hunne, yes?" the older man asked as he came to a stop facing her. "We're delighted you could stay longer than your expected meeting. Thank you very much for your assistance."

"Just Hunne, sir. I'm a housekeeper with no title and no need of one. I'm happy to help if I can."

"Hunne," he said, a smile splitting his thin lips. "Of course. Please stop the 'sir' business. We're meeting as equals."

"Stop, sir? With the sirs, sir? Oh no. I couldn't. Wouldn't be proper."

"Proper?" Grey eyebrows rose high on the word. "Well, ah, you are our guest and can speak as you choose, I suppose. Please, take your seat and I'll do the introductions."

Hunne stepped in front of her chair then turned to face the men with a calm, patient, almost friendly expression. She stood like this until the first three sat, then took her turn.

"I'm Dean Wolser." The dean pressed a palm to his chest, then gestured toward the others one by one, rhyming off names, positions and departments. Hunne exchanged a polite nod with each.

"Now," Wolser said, "I'm informed you arrived at our university to determine your qualification to enter a program."

"The maid program. Yes, sir."

"Now you're meeting with the entire senior team."

"Yes, sir." Hunne gave a firm nod. "I'm told you'd like to speak with me."

"I've no wish to offend and mean this from a purely educational view, but there are two items we must discuss before we consider your case."

"Only two, sir?"

"Two, yes. First is your name. Hunne, um, hints at northern roots."

"You're concerned I'm Jijian."

"The disagreement between our nations is, ahhh, longstanding."

"Disagreement, sir? I'm not one to correct an educated person, sir, but it's a war. A bloody, horrible war, and has been for three generations."

"There are bad feelings on both sides," Wolser pressed on.

"Expect there are, sir. Not sure what their bad feelings are from, but ours are because the filthy buggers kill our merchants, raid our villages, and murder our people, sir. Sneaking around in the dead of night like vermin, sir. They've killed the last four of our kings."

"Filthy buggers?"

"Pardon my language, sir," Hunne said with a dip of her head. "Hard not to get worked up when discussing them. To answer your question, sir, I'm not from Jij. I'm from a village in the far north of Arr. It's a much longer story, but I spent some years travelling south and arrived the city when I was fourteen."

"Ah," Wolser said as others murmured behind him. Hunne wasn't fond of murmuring. If a person had something to say, best say it out loud and not be afraid of your words. "Excellent news. Secondly, you are somewhat older than our, ahhh, other students. Some would say much older."

"Yes, sir. I am," Hunne said with a gentle nod. "I'm thirty-two as of three months ago. By my guessing, sir, I'd say that puts me somewhere near arounds exactly fourteen years older than most of your students."

"Ah." Wolser said then looked around at his colleagues. "Well, yes. Most of our students enter at sixteen and graduate in their eighteenth year."

"Excellent age to enter the workforce, sir."

"Ahhh, it is." Wolser paused, his lips working, before changing the subject. "On to your question. Let's begin with your work experience."

"I was hired to Lady Flouncette's house when I was fifteen and worked in the laundry, sir. At sixteen, I became housekeeper and I've been there since."

"Sixteen years as housekeeper. Sizeable experience. Could you answer some questions for us to assess?"

"Questions, sir?" Hunne half-squinted one eye. "University questions?"

"Oh, no, no. More like a skills assessment."

"My skills, sir?" Hunne's tone clearly indicated she was teetering on the point of insult and could easily fall either way.

"Oh! Ahhh, no, ah, not your abilities. To see how your knowledge aligns with our teachings."

"Alignment." Hunne pushed her lower lip up for a moment then nodded. "Alignment is acceptable, sir."

"Excellent." Wolser smiled a wide smile. "Let's start with some of the basics. Folding. How would you fold a towel?"

"A towel, sir?"

"Yes. A simple towel. How is one folded?"

"I'm afraid, sir, you're not giving me enough information to answer the question."

Wolser blinked confused eyes then turned to murmur a bit with the group behind him.

"What further information do you require?" he asked after turning back.

"The type of towel, sir. We have kitchen towels, bathroom towels, laundry towels, outdoor towels, and dusting towels. To name a few."

"Ah, um, let's say a bathroom towel then."

"Yes, sir. Hand towel or body towel? For use, storage, or display?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Well, sir, there's two towels used in a bathroom, not including the lady's towel. Each of those has three styles of folding. Which one would you like, sir?"

"Three styles?" Wolser asked. "Lady's towel?" He spun around for further murmuring while some of the men found pens in pockets and opened notebooks. This session took longer than the last, but he spun about again.

"Could you please explain the lady's towel?"

Hunne's lips tightened before she spoke.

"It's a towel, sir, used by women. We added them to the inventory a few years back. Standard two-by-two fold."

"Used only by women?"

"I've said enough on the subject, sir. To a gentleman, sir."

"Ah!" Wolser straightened up. "My apologies. Let's move on. A body towel for use, please."

"Yes, sir. For the lady's bathroom, a guest bathroom, a powder room, or the servant's room, sir?"

Wolser stared at her for longer than he had previously. Clear in his eyes was the stuckedness of his mind. It reminded her of when fat Lord Lodder visited and had a poop in the guest bathroom. She'd worked for an hour to clear the pipes.

"Ahhhh," he said eventually, "they're different?"

"Yes, sir. The guest bathrooms are smaller, so the cabinets are built slender. Body towels receive a three-and-one fold, sir."

"Three-and-one?" Wolser said slowly, as if processing the words. He then blinked and shook his head. "Enough on towels. Let's discuss sweeping."

"Yes, sir. Hard floors first, if you don't mind. First sweep is just regular two-step, and I don't expect you've much interest there. Second sweep, dust sweep, or final sweep, sir?"

Hunne was, somehow, unsurprised when Wolser returned to staring. For an educated man, he certainly had gaps in his knowledge.

"Final sweep?"

"Yes, sir. Just before you close the door to the room. The dustmop is a useful tool, but I made a broom to get anything it leaves behind."

"Made a broom?" Wolser stumbled over the words. "What if there were grit on the floor. How would you clean it up?"

Hunne stared at Wolser, straight into his eyes. She adjusted herself in her chair with a brief shimmy. When she'd finished, her posture was one to frighten the mightiest of warriors into begging submission.

"Grit, sir?" she asked, voice as hard as her chopping block. "On the floor, sir? On my floor, sir?"

"Yes. Dust, perhaps."

Hunne closed her eyes and drew in a long, deep breath through her nose. She let it out slowly, then opened her eyes again.

"I'm supposing, sir, you're not familiar with the language housekeepers use amongst themselves. If you were a woman, sir, I'd be out of my chair and beating you black and blue. For the insult. Sir."

Wolser's eyes were wider than ever, but he said nothing.

"Fourteen rooms, sir, each swept four times daily, each sweep done in four steps." She slowed the cadence of her speech. "There is no dust on my floors, sir."

"Perhaps one of the other housekeepers missed some?" one of the other men asked.

"Other housekeepers, sir?" Hunne fixed the man with a stare to freeze his soul. "I am the housekeeper, sir. I keep the house as it should be kept."

"Fourteen rooms?" Wolser asked. "By yourself?"

"Yes, sir. It's a bit of work, but I manage quite well, thank you."

"Could you, perhaps, give us a run down on your day?"

"Each day is different, sir. Every day starts, after the bread is made, with a thorough cleaning. I do walls, contents and floors in each room, ceiling in two rooms each day."

"Ceilings? You clean ceilings?"

"Of course, sir," Hunne replied stiffly. "The ceiling is a gathering place for filth."

"Ah, yes. Please proceed."

"After first clean, sir, I do laundry from the day before and hang it out to dry. I won't have one of those wringing machines. Then carpets, three each day, taken out back and thumped heavy. The lady wakes up about then. I help her dress, serve breakfast, get her set for the day."

"You clean the entire house, do laundry, and whack the carpets before your lady wakes?"

"I do, sir. Can't ask a lady to wake up before the sun rises. Wouldn't be proper."

"Indeed. Please continue."

"Once the lady is settled for a bit, I do second clean of the house, same as first clean though no scrubbing usually. Mid-morning by then, different tasks need doing. Some days it's polishing the woodwork, others are working in the garden, or a heavy kitchen clean, or other big jobs. No end to the work needing to be done."

"All this? In the morning?" one in the group asked.

"Before lunch hour?" another put in.

"Please," Wolser said over his shoulder then looked back. "Hunne, I must say, you're making very bold claims."

"Begging your pardon, sir?"

"The work you describe is immense."

"Huge to the point it would take a team of six."

"Impossible," an old man grumbled and waved a dismissive hand.

Hunne sat in shocked silence, struggling to process what she'd heard. They didn't believe her? They thought she was lying? Her?

"It's simply too much for one person to take on," Wolser said.

"Take her to the room." An old man flicked his fingers in a vague wave.

"Are you up for a challenge, Hunne?" Wolser asked.

"Sir," Hunne said through gritted teeth. "I'll take any challenge you have."

"Excellent." Wolser pushed to his feet and gestured to a door on the far wall. "This way, please."

A short walk led them to what Hunne supposed was a bedroom. There was a bed, a chest of drawers, cabinet, table and chair, the usual.

"This," Wolser said once they were all through the door, "is our testing room. It's just been cleaned by one of our top students. How long would it take you to clean it to this condition?"

"Sir?" Hunne said as her gaze studied corners and surfaces. "This condition?"

"Yes. If the room were dirty, how long would it take?"

"This room is a disaster, sir. Looks like some very poorly behaved guests threw a drunken party and abandoned it with only the blanket pulled up on the bed. If this room were in the house, sir, I'd be giving it the seven-step clean. To start."

"Disaster? This room showcases the high level of skill our students possess. It makes them supremely hireable at a surprisingly good wage."

"Not to disagree, sir," Hunne said, raising one hand to point along the joint at wall and ceiling, "there's two cobwebs there. Over there is a spider nest just about ready to burst. The paintings haven't been off the walls in months. The light under the dresser tells me the underside hasn't been dusted for ages. Whoever made the bed must be cockeyed for how poorly the sheets are set. There's a difference of near a quarter-inch side to side."

As men's gazes darted around the room, Hunne turned to face Wolser and gave her head a sad little shake.

"I could go on for a bit, sir. If you'd like the room brought to standard, I'd need about three-quarters of an hour, sir."

The cleaning took less than the allotted time. When Hunne was finished, the faculty were allowed back in. Every man stared about as if in the presence of angels.

"Not perfect, sir," Hunne said. "Didn't have my regular equipment, so had to make do."

Over the next hour, Hunne was thoroughly questioned, repeatedly offered tea, and, at the end, offered a position as a senior professor to teach the professors how to teach the students. Both stunned and flattered, Hunne had no interest in leaving her lady or her home and politely declined.

The next three days passed as they should. Hunne was kept busy, Lady Flouncette was kept happy, the carpets were given a good thumping, all was right with the world.

On the fourth day, right in the middle of second clean, a loud knocking sounded from the front door. Hunne rushed to answer and found two well-dressed men accompanied by four soldiers.

Lady Flouncette was quickly prepared and brought to the spotless sitting room to meet her guests while Hunne went to prepare tea and refreshments. Hunne was only a few minutes, but when she arrived in the sitting room, she found the guests departed and the lady fighting to hold back tears.

Hunne was informed word of her skills had reached the palace, and she was to work there starting the next day. Questions and answers flew back and forth. The lady explained one does not refuse a request from the king. Both women cried then the lady hurried Hunne off to prepare for her new position with the royalty.

On her first day at the palace, Hunne was assigned to scrub floors. She knew it was meant to let her know she was low on the pole, but … pfft. She scrubbed everything in her section and reported back to her superior only to be told she'd been too quick and to do it again.

This caused a disagreement which almost came to blows before those in charge went to examine the floors. Several went with her and every one of them stared at the stone floor in wonder. It wasn't tidy. It wasn't clean. It gleamed as if the morning sun struck it full on.

The next day, she was set to sweeping and another disagreement occurred when Hunne described the palace brooms as 'shoddy' and asked to use her own. Eventually, they'd shouted her down and she was stuck with a shoddy broom. The handle snapped within minutes, and she'd returned to ask, once again, to use her own broom. They came to watch her sweep with the third broom after a second broke. When it snapped, she'd been sent to fetch her own equipment.

Hunne's third day, she'd been sent to clean one of the royal children's bedchambers. On entering, she'd found a disaster fit to lift the heart of anyone who loves cleaning. She'd set to with ferocious energy, skipped mid-day meal, and, thankful to have her own gear, had everything perfect by early afternoon. The princess would gasp when she entered.

She stepped into the wide hallway and closed the door behind her. The first thing to meet her eyes was a tuft of white fluff on the red carpet. Tiny, but unseemly. It stood out like a burning house on a peaceful street.

Hunne had just drawn her broom when thumping sounded from her left. She turned to find two soldiers stomping towards her. Not regular soldiers, these were the personal guard of the king. The finest warriors in the land, said to be able to fight three foes at the same time. Sword hilts were visible on hips and other weapons dotted them.

The king himself strode behind the pair. Tall, handsome, distinguished, he was beautiful to look upon. His long hair was swept back and shifted gently with his step. He wore a white robe slashed with red, gold and jewels glittered upon his chest and wrists.

Hunne stood, in the middle of the hallway, clutching her broom and staring. She didn't move. She barely blinked. The soldiers marched closer. The one on the left reached forward to shove her out of the way.

A flick of Hunne's fingers sent a small dart between the soldiers and into the king's neck. She grabbed the hand of the reaching soldier with her own and crashed the heavy handle of her broom into the head of the other. While the head-struck soldiers staggered, Hunne hauled on the other man's hand and tugged him downwards. As he bent, she slammed her knee into his face hard enough to spray blood, then threw him against the other wall.

Two swings of Hunne's broom disarmed the staggering soldier. The third shattered a raised arm. The fourth cracked his skull and sent him to the floor.

Ignoring the sword the standing soldier was drawing, Hunne leapt at him and drove the tip of her broomstick into his mouth, shattering teeth. A thrust and a twist dropped him to the floor as well. Hunne pulled a dagger from the fallen soldier's belt and used it to open both throats, then turned to the king.

Like the coward he was, he'd tried to run. The taint on the dart loosened his muscles and he'd struck the floor after three or four steps. He lay on his belly, twitching arms flopped to the sides and looking the other way.

"Whew," Hunne said, loosening her belt then dropping the heavy skirt to the floor. Beneath she wore a tight pair of pants. "Finally rid of that and glad to see it gone."

She heaved the king onto his back and sat on his chest.

"Been on you a long time, kingy. Seventeen years I've been in your city, patiently waiting. Then I get word to stick a blade in your eye. Can't tell you how much I'm going to enjoy it."

Hunne wiped the bloody dagger on the king's fine robe.

"The poison'll kill you eventually. Probably. I don't like probablys, don't trust them. I'm going to make sure it's done right. Take my time."

The poison made his eyelids droop. A smaller target for her dagger, but not too small.

"The Jij are stronger than you know. Stronger than you can understand. We could destroy your kingdom any time we like." She waggled the dagger above his head. "But we enjoy killing you Arrans. It's so much fun I can't even explain it to you. I got fourteen of your maids before someone came to hire me."

Hunne steadied the dagger, the tip an inch from the king's eye.

"I'm for you and your oldest boy. Your youngest will rise to take the throne."

The dagger started downwards.

"His killer is already in the city."