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At least the ground was soft and easy to dig today. Emil had levered two chunks of broken pavement out of the way and dug where they’d been. Now, there was an acceptable latrine: close to the tank but screened by debris, with a good pile of dirt (well, mud) beside it to throw in for sanitation. After a month, he was well-practiced in digging latrines.
Emil shouldered his shovel. He should go back to the tank and find out what other chores Mikkel had for him. Or maybe Sigrun would want to take him hunting. That was fine — better than fine — but he felt so inadequate around her. He’d learned a lot on this expedition, but he still knew less about troll-hunting than a child half his age in her clan. He didn’t think he was entirely ignorant, but nothing he knew seemed to apply to his current life.
Except the explosives. He did get to blow things up now and then, and he was very good at that.
He glanced at the nearby tumbledown house. If there were a grossling in there, just a little one that he could deal with alone, he could show he was useful for more than digging latrines. But, of course, there were no grosslings anywhere around here. Lalli always checked campsites in advance. Emil sighed and dropped his gaze to the ground, turning away towards the tank.
But … wait.
Emil turned back. Had he really seen … Yes, there was something green in the snow and dead weeds. Not that it mattered, but it wouldn’t take long to examine it.
A few rather tattered green leaves remained in a clump of similar dead leaves. Something about their shape was familiar. Laying down his shovel, Emil knelt to study them more closely, but the cause of the familiarity danced just out of reach. What were these plants?
Emil looked around at dead weeds, leafless saplings, a sickly holly bush, and a weather-worn post. Beyond it, another post. In fact, posts surrounded this area, remnants of a square fence. But if it was once fenced, then it was once a garden. And if it was a garden …
Before the fire, when Emil’s family was still rich, they’d had a beekeeper and gardener, Viveka Johansson. On some of the many days when his father didn’t come home, Emil visited the gardens. He had to be careful not to step on the plants, or Viveka would shout at him. Though he’d learned from his father that servants were beneath them, Emil knew the vegetable garden provided fresh food for the table, and he obeyed her orders. Sometimes, Viveka would even look up from her work and offer him a taste of the raw plants: mint, chives … and sorrel.
Emil stared at the green leaves. Sorrel? Mikkel did his best to make their food palatable with salt and mint and what few herbs he could find in the winter. Sorrel would help. But this might not be sorrel, might even be something poisonous.
He pinched off a bit of green leaf, and it didn’t burn his fingers. When he held it to his nose, it had no strong smell. Greatly daring, he put it in his mouth and bit down. And Viveka laughed in his memory: “Sour, isn’t it? That’s sorrel for you. Good for adding a bit of flavor to your supper.”
This plant didn’t have many green leaves, but if it would grow in a pot, they could have sorrel for every meal. Emil pressed his fists against his temples, searching his memory for Viveka’s words about sorrel. It was sturdy stuff; she could transplant it easily, though it had a taproot that you had to be careful of.
With a quick glance at the tank — no one was looking to assign him another chore — he took up his shovel and dug around the clump of leaves. Carefully, carefully, don’t break the root … Lacking human care, it was small, and he soon had it out, root-ball and all. Leaving the shovel behind, he lifted it in both arms and carried it away. He made a note to remember to return for the shovel, for Mikkel would be annoyed if he lost a tool. Especially if this plant wasn’t sorrel.
Emil winced at the thought. Mikkel would know what the plant was. If it wasn’t sorrel, he’d make a joke about Emil’s ignorance. That thought was enough to make him want to drop the thing, grab the shovel, and go find a chore. And yet, and yet … if it was sorrel, Mikkel would be pleased with him.
“What is that thing?” Sigrun asked as he made his way to Mikkel, now scrubbing clothes in a tub beside the tank.
“Sorrel, I think.” Emil held it out to Mikkel, who dropped a shirt in the tub and jumped to his feet.
“So it is! This is excellent, thank you, Emil.” As Mikkel took it from him, Emil thought the man’s expression was almost greedy. “Plant it in a bucket, keep it watered, it’ll perk up,” Mikkel said, not looking at the others. Perhaps he was talking to the plant. “Lots of vitamin C in these leaves to stave off scurvy. I’ve been worried about that. Makes the food taste better, too.” Still talking, he disappeared into the back compartment.
Sigrun gave Emil a delighted smile. “That’s my right-hand man!” She clouted him on the back, staggering him. “Kills trolls and captures plants!”