The courtyard was buzzing with murmurs as I gathered the castle staff. I stood on a low stone step to see everyone, trying to project confidence. The thought of explaining basic hygiene practices to medieval servants was a tad surreal, but I reminded myself of the countless lives I could help improve if this worked. Here, in this world, I wasn’t just another engineer—I was Lady Liana, daughter of Duke Aldric, and that title carried weight. If I was going to introduce something as foreign as routine handwashing, I’d need all the authority I could muster.

Taking a deep breath, I started, “Thank you all for coming. I have something to share with you today that may seem a little odd, but please bear with me.” I watched their faces, a mix of curiosity, confusion, and skepticism.

“I’m sure you’ve all noticed the soap we’ve placed in different areas of the castle,” I continued, gesturing to one of the little bowls on a nearby ledge. “Today, I want to talk about how we can use it to keep ourselves healthier.”

A few eyes narrowed with wariness, while others widened in interest. One young maid whispered to the footman next to her, but I ignored it and moved to the little wooden basin I’d set up with water. I scooped up a small bar of soap, demonstrating how to lather it in my hands.

“This might seem strange, I know,” I said with a small smile. “But when we touch things all day—animals, door handles, food—we pick up invisible things that can make us sick. By washing our hands regularly, especially before we eat, we can help stop the spread of sickness.”

A burly man, probably one of the stable hands, raised his eyebrows and folded his arms. “Lady Liana, no disrespect, but we’ve done things the same way for years. Why change now?”

I nodded, fully expecting this kind of reaction. “I understand,” I said calmly, looking him directly in the eyes. “But I’ve been watching closely these past few weeks, and I’ve noticed that people often get sick after certain tasks. Sometimes, it’s from handling animals or food, or even from being around someone who’s already ill. By washing hands with soap, we can stop these illnesses from spreading.”

I could see some of them considering my words, while others still looked doubtful. One of the older cooks, Gerda, spoke up. “But, Lady Liana, we’ve been just fine without fancy washing up until now.”

“Gerda,” I said warmly, “I understand this feels unusual. But think about last winter, when so many of us fell ill. I believe that simple habits, like washing our hands before cooking or eating, could make all of us healthier.” I leaned in and added, “And it might just help us avoid those miserable weeks spent in bed.”

Gerda’s expression softened a bit, and she gave a small nod. A few others looked at each other, exchanging murmurs and shrugs. No one seemed outright convinced yet, but I could tell they were starting to listen.

Over the next few days, I did my best to make handwashing easy for them. I placed small soap bars in strategic spots around the castle: by the kitchens, outside the stables, near the servants’ quarters. I explained that I wasn’t asking for long, elaborate rituals—just a few quick moments with water and soap before meals, after handling animals, or after using the privy. And, little by little, I saw a change. 

At first, it was the younger maids and the more curious footmen who took it up. They’d dip their hands in water and give the soap a quick rub, looking around self-consciously to see if anyone was watching. But as they went along, I began to notice subtle shifts in their habits. A few would stop and remind others to wash up before entering the kitchen or before handling food. The first time I heard one of them tell another, “Liana’s orders,” I barely held back a grin.

There was, of course, the matter of the soap’s texture and scent. My early batch wasn’t quite refined, and I noticed a few wrinkled noses as they sniffed the bar or felt the slightly gritty texture. But the more they used it, the less they seemed to mind. In time, the novelty of the soap itself began to fade, replaced by curiosity about its effects.

I kept a close eye on everyone, quietly watching for any hint of change. And after a couple of weeks, I began to see it. The kitchen maids’ faces looked brighter, and the usual coughs and sniffles seemed to lessen. There were fewer complaints of stomachaches, and Gerda mentioned in passing that she’d been feeling surprisingly well for “this time of year.” The stable hands, who once seemed perpetually coated in grime, showed slightly cleaner hands, with fewer cuts and scrapes turning into infections.

One evening, I was walking by the kitchen when I heard someone laugh, saying, “Well, Liana’s soap doesn’t smell too nice, but I’ll admit it works.” I couldn’t help but feel a small surge of pride as I walked on, feeling the success of these tiny, simple changes.

The turning point, though, came when Gerda herself approached me. She was not one to easily change her ways, and so when she caught me in the hall, I prepared for a lecture or some pointed criticism. But instead, she gave me an approving nod.

“You may be onto something with this washing business, Lady Liana,” she said, her tone gruff but not unfriendly. “The girls in the kitchen don’t seem as sickly. And I’ve noticed the boys in the stables haven’t had any of their usual troubles.” She folded her arms, her gaze steady. “Maybe your ways are strange, but I suppose they’re not all bad.”

I smiled, my heart light. “Thank you, Gerda. I know it’s different from what you’re used to, but I really do believe it’s worth the effort.”

In the weeks that followed, I felt a change not just in the staff’s health but in their attitude toward me. My “strange” methods no longer seemed so strange; they were becoming accepted, even respected. The stable hands nodded at me as I passed by, and the kitchen maids gave me warm smiles. They were no longer just following orders but had come to trust that I cared for their well-being.

Seeing this, my thoughts wandered back to the village we had visited. If something as simple as soap could make a difference here, maybe I could introduce these routines beyond the castle walls. The village’s filth and sickness weighed on my mind, and I longed to bring the same changes there.

As I walked through the castle one morning, taking in the sight of a cleaner, healthier staff, I began to dream. In my mind, I saw villagers, too, washing their hands, keeping their homes clean, living lives not haunted by the constant specter of illness. It seemed almost impossible—but so had my little experiment with the castle staff. And here we were, a little healthier and a little happier.