A Broken Queen

by Sarah Kozloff

  He woke up to a clamor of young voices. “Did you bring us anything today?” Opening his eyes, he saw a stout older woman with a white lace collar and a blue feather on her cap.

  The ragamuffins crowded round her basket as she pulled out scraps of food to feed them. She clucked over them while doing so. “Dovey, you’ve got to keep that cut clean, or it will fester. No, son, don’t short yourself to feed your brother: I’ve got enough for all today. Sweetie, let me see if your eye is better? Ah, much better, right? Now don’t forget to keep using them drops I got you from the Sorrowers.”

  When her basket was empty, the children dispersed and the woman came to sit on the Fountain’s edge. The Bracelet gave Gunnit a sharp pinch then release, painful enough to make him jump to his feet.

  “Excuse me. Dame?” He moved to stand in front of her. “I’m Gunnit. I wonder if I am supposed to meet with you?”

  The woman looked at him in astonishment. “Meet with me? I don’t understand you, boy. I’m sorry, I’ve already handed out all the food I carried today.”

  “I’m not hungry—well I am, but that’s not the point. I’m not one of those kids. I’m from Alpetar. They tell me I’ve been ‘kissed by the Sun.’”

  He rolled up his sleeve to show her Saulė’s Bracelet. She traced the golden circle and stared at the dangling Sun charm, then quickly pulled his sleeve down.

  “Who sent you?” she asked with narrowed eyes.

  “Gardener and Peddler,” Gunnit answered. “And the Bracelet itself made me stay here to wait for you.”

  “How did you know who I am?” she asked.

  “I don’t know who you are; I just know I can trust you. Who are you, dame?”

  “I’m Water Bearer. Why did Gardener and Peddler send you to me?”

  “Because I’m brave,” Gunnit answered, pulling himself tall and puffing out his chest (just a little). “Because I can do things they can’t. Because I’m awfully fond of Finch. She saved us after the Oros raided Sweetmeadow, and I want to protect her.”

  “Sweetmeadow? Finch? Lad, are you addled? Who’re you talking about?”

  “They tell me she has a lot of names. But if you know Gardener and Peddler, you should know who I mean.”

  The woman patted her own chest with a fluttering hand a few times and blew out a loud puff of air. “Ah, glory be to Nargis. An ally would be so useful. Especially one brave and favored by a Spirit.” She smiled and held out her hand. “I’m really called ‘Nana.’”

  “Gunnit.” They shook hands.

  “Do you have parents, Gunnit?”

  “I have a ma, back in Cloverfield. Dame Saggeta and Aleen promised to watch out for her. But I’m here on my own.”

  “Are you, now? Kind of young to be on your own, ain’t you?”

  “No,” Gunnit contested. “Gardener said I’m grown beyond my years.”

  “I’m sorry you had to grow up so fast,” said Nana. “Happens all the time”—she nodded toward the group of ragamuffins—“but it’s always a pity to miss a childhood.”

  She cocked her head to one side. “I’m trying to think of a way to keep you close to me so we can work together. Are you good with horses?”

  “Not really, Dame Nana. I learned how to ride, sort of. But I don’t know much about caring for them or training them. I’m very good with goats.”

  “Unfortunately, we don’t have any goats at the palace.” She paused and looked him up and down. “You’re a likely-looking boy, though. Or would be, dressed up. I might be able to convince Vilkit to take you on as a page.” Her voice got lower, as if she was thinking aloud, and she tapped her lips with two fingers. “He owes me for ferreting out that silverware thief. Aye, a page boy actually would be even better than the stables, because then you’d be inside the palace.”

  “Inside the palace, Dame Nana?” said Gunnit. “Why would I want to be there?”

  “Because that’s where I work.”

  “Wouldn’t everybody be able to tell I’m unlettered? That I don’t know anything about fancy palace customs?”

  “We train our pages; no one would expect much of a newcomer but listening hard and a smart hop when you get an order. And the palace, well—for sure—that is where ‘Finch’ will be coming, when she returns.”

  “When will she be coming?”

  “I don’t know,” said Nana, suddenly quite cross but not—Gunnit guessed—at him. “Here I am, here you are, both of us favored by the Spirits, and neither of us knows the only damn thing worth knowing. If you ask me, ’tis a damn foolish way to run things.”

  She shook her fist at the Fountain. “You keep yer Agents in the dark and they’re liable to bump into things! Do you hear me, Nargis?”

  “I serve the Spirit of the Sun, Dame Nana.” Gunnit loyally stood up for Saulė. “It makes light and sends darkness away. Gardener told me that Alpies are known for their ‘Optimism.’” He pronounced the last word carefully, proud of having learned it.

  “That’s right,” she smiled. “Don’t mind me; I’m just old and kind of fretful. But the Spirits don’t give us sort any Magic; they just give us knowledge. Course I guess that knowing is a kind of Magic, but then they dole even that out like misers. Sometimes that makes me mad.”

  Gunnit was trying to puzzle out her meaning when she spoke again.

  “You hungry, Gunnit? Silly question, I know. What growing boy ain’t hungry? And then I’ve got to think of how to introduce you to Vilkit.… Can hardly be a country cousin with that shock of yellowish hair.

  “Tell you what. Let’s stop by the abbey. I’ll give you a close haircut so it’s not so noticeable. And there’s someone there I want you to meet. I can already foresee how having you to run messages between us might be a Spirit-send.”

  27

  Salubriton

  Cerúlia’s body ached after her ride into the barren countryside, and she would have loved a long massage, but she didn’t allow herself to rest. Early the next morning she used her dagger to pry the rest of the gems out of the amethyst headband, arriving at the jeweler’s shop when it opened its shutters. Now she had enough knowledge of Wye currency and the stones’ value to drive a fair bargain.

  She headed toward the river district. Salubriton was a large city and her destination far off. Walkers and their parasols made navigating the sidewalks tricky and tiring.

  But what impeded her progress most was that her Talent now linked her with the minds of the gamels.

  Yoo-hoo, Queenie! they called to her, craning their lengthy necks to stare at her. Yooo-hooo! Over here! Dost thou want to stroke one’s soft coat? Why hast thou been so quiet? Stuck up? Yooo-hooo! Thou hear one now! Come scratch one’s forehead! One wants to smell thee close.

  So many gamels called to her that Cerúlia felt under assault.

  Queenie! One is right here! sent a gamel waiting by the sidewalk in front of a carriage. It nipped at her shirtsleeve for attention.

  “Sorry, damselle,” said the driver. He flicked his whip at the animal. “Don’t know what got into him.”

  Cerúlia shrank away from the forward animal and forced herself to resist the blandishments coming at her from all directions.

  I’m sorry I’ve been uncommunicative. You are all bewitching, but I can’t stop to get acquainted today. I’m in a hurry.

  Most people she asked had never heard of the tavern she sought. When she finally located it, around midday, she understood why. Shipmates tavern was a dark, small establishment, on a side street, with a battered sign missing the “a” in “mates.”

  The tavern looked so still that Cerúlia suspected it was closed, but when she tried the door, it swung open easily enough, leading her down three steps into the main room, a dingy place that was larger on the inside than it had appeared on the outside. The room smelled of unwashed wool and fried fish. A bald, middle-aged barkeep stood behind the counter. Several customers, each sitting alone, were already drinking their midmeals. A fiddler, playing tunes in a foreign scale, sawed away in
a nearby room.

  Cerúlia approached the barkeep. “I am looking for a man named ‘Ciellō,’” she said.

  “What’s your business with Ciellō?” he asked without warmth, glancing at her quickly and then going back to drying bar glasses.

  “My business with Ciellō is my business,” she said.

  “Hmmpf. Go away, little girl, you bother me.”

  “I’m not overly fond of you either, but unless you are Ciellō that hardly matters.”

  “I’m not Ciellō,” he said. “You don’t even know what he looks like, do you?”

  “No, I don’t. But I promised Sezirō of Zerplain I would speak with him, and I don’t care whether that pleases you or not.”

  One of the customers called out in slurred speech, “How is old Sezirō?”

  Cerúlia kept her eyes on the barkeep. “He’s dead. Two days ago.”

  The barkeep flinched and made a gesture she had seen Sezirō make, blowing air into his hands and then setting it free.

  “All right, you’ve told us. Now git out of here, little girl, afore I lose my temper.”

  “For the third time, I want to speak to Ciellō,” she said, unyielding.

  “I am Ciellō,” said a male voice behind her. Cerúlia turned. She saw a man of mid height; his dark brown hair, with two prominent magenta streaks at his temples, was meticulously braided. She found it hard to gauge his age; he might be in his early thirties. He held a fiddle bow. “Come.” He motioned with the bow toward the inner room where he’d been practicing. “We can talk in here.”

  She followed him into the room and closed the door behind her. They sat opposite one another at a small, scarred table holding only a burned-down candlestick. For a few moments they regarded one another without speaking.

  Something he saw made Ciellō address her with more respect than the barkeep. “What must I do for you, damselle?” he asked in a low tone.

  “Sezirō suggested I hire you as a bodyguard. I promised Sezirō I would consider the idea.”

  A sad smile played across Ciellō’s lips. “Did Sezirō braid your hair, damselle? That pattern has a name—did you know that?”

  Cerúlia touched the elaborate plaits, which were starting to come unraveled since Sezirō had braided them days ago. “No, I didn’t.”

  “The pattern, it says, ‘Beloved of the Zellish.’”

  “Sezirō was my friend. I tried to comfort him as he lay suffering from the wound you inflicted on him.”

  “Yes, I stabbed him,” said Ciellō without noticeable remorse. “Did Sezirō tell you of the fight?”

  “No. Only that it was his fault, and that you were more skilled than he was.”

  Ciellō nodded. With restrained exactitude, he moved the candlestick on the table just a tiny bit so that it was perfectly centered. Cerúlia noticed the grace in his movements and the ripple of muscle in his arm and his neck.

  “Excuse me, damselle, but you dress like—like a boy who works with donkeys. You no look to be a woman needing protection.”

  “If you don’t understand that looks can be deceiving you are of scant use to me,” Cerúlia replied. “What good is a bodyguard who is fooled by a manner of dress?”

  “I no say fooled I was. At your waist you wear a dagger. So sharp that it already cuts his new sheath. You keep it sharp because you are frightened, no? And it is gold because you are no a stable boy, though you hide as one. I see that too in your eyes.”

  Cerúlia just nodded, considering.

  “And you carry a sack of gold coins above your left hip.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “The coins make the purse sag. But you are wise to put it to the left to keep your right hand free for the dagger, no?”

  “How do you know I have coins and not rocks or candies?”

  “When you walk they make a very small sound.”

  She nodded and smoothed her hand across the empty tabletop. “I need to book passage to a destination hundreds of leagues away. I don’t want to worry at night about sailors’ lusts or greed. How would you ensure that I could sleep well?”

  “I would hang my hammock in front of your stateroom door, damselle. No one would dare bother you.”

  “How much do you charge for your services, Ciellō?”

  “It depends. If you want me only guard the body, I charge two hundred gold pieces. If you want me as manservant and advisor too, I charge one hundred fifty.”

  “You charge less for doing more jobs?”

  “Aye, because on your own you make the mistakes foolish. If you take advice, it is easier to keep you alive. To keep me alive.”

  Cerúlia found his cool assumption of superiority irritating. “Don’t you want to ask me how long the job would last?”

  “Already included. We sail to Cascada, no?”

  “How did you know that?”

  “I hear your accent. Also, word has passed all over town of the generous reward for news of the young woman from Weirandale.”

  Cerúlia recalled all of Healer’s warnings, and her heart sped up. “Circulated by whom and where?”

  “Among the river folk and pickpockets.”

  “Are you going to claim this reward?” asked Cerúlia, staring straight at the man, hoping she could read the truth.

  “No,” he answered.

  “Why?”

  “Money matters to me little. And, I told you, the braid says ‘Beloved of the Zellish.’”

  “Take your payment now,” said Cerúlia, making her decision.

  “Why, damselle?”

  “Sezirō would not have sent me to a man without honor. If he was mistaken, better I should know that now; better that you abscond with the money now, rather than later. Besides, as you say, the coin weighs down my purse.”

  She counted out the gold pieces. She noticed he laid out his palm so that the coins didn’t clink on the table, and he separated the coins into three pockets with a sleek motion.

  “Now, what do you advise, Advisor?”

  “I want that you, a lone Weir woman, do not inquire about the ships; you leave such to me.” He looked her up and down. “I advise also that you purchase clothes fit for the daughter of a merchant so wealthy, or peoples will question why you employ a manservant. I think—the parasol with white fringe; that is the emblem of a trading family from north Wyeland; they have the long feud with dangerous rivals. Your parents would never permit you travel without protection.”

  “A white fringe,” she assented.

  “Where are you lodging?” he asked.

  “The Bread and Balm Recovery House.”

  He raised his eyebrows high. “Ah. Not a public house. That is why you haven’t yet been spotted. I will send you a message when passage is arranged. You must not come back here.”

  “All right. Do you need money for the tickets?”

  “Not now. You will pay me back and for the manservant costume when I know an exact amount.”

  “Agreed,” she nodded.

  “Now, you slap me hard—as if I to you make rudeness—and you leave the tavern angry, so angry. We will not want men in here to guess we make this deal.”

  “Agreed.” Quickly, she concocted a story. “I came to tell you about Sezirō; you were fresh with me; and now I never want to see you again.” She placed her hands on the table edge, preparing to push her chair back. “But one more thing. When you book passage, bribe the seamaster so I can bring my dog.”

  “You have the dog?” he asked, eyes opening wide. She had succeeded in surprising him.

  “Not yet,” she answered, “but I will.”

  Cerúlia stood up abruptly, making the chair screech against the wooden floorboards. “You murdering pig!” she shouted, in a carrying, furious tone. Then she slapped him as hard as she could across the face and strode out of the tavern.

  Drought damn him! My hand stings so.

  But that was very satisfying. I am tired of rude catamounts and ruder men telling me what I can and cannot do.
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br />   28

  Jutterdam

  Gustie chafed at her orders. Although Mother Rellia hadn’t publicly committed to Norling’s plan for the siege of Jutterdam, she had issued directives for a great gathering of materials capable of constructing barricades on the bridges. And she had sent squads to reconnoiter Kings Bridge and Electors Bridge, both of which the Oros patrolled with confident negligence. But, frustratingly, Mother Rellia had barred Gustie from involvement with either mission. Instead, she assigned Gustie to organize the blockade of Jutterdam Harbor and the covert survey of the city’s food supplies. An important task, surely, but one removed from the main field of action. Besides, Gustie had no experience with boats.

  Gustie found four men and two women who knew the city well and who claimed skill with watercraft and swimming. At the moment these six sat with her in the barn adjacent to the farmhouse, planning the expedition.

  “The key is we need to row into the harbor without being spotted,” Gustie said.

  “Muffle the oars,” said one grizzled fishing boat owner, as if any fool would know this.

  “Low moons, tomorrow,” said the youngest woman, to all-around nods. “We’ll wear black clothes. Your face”—she pointed to one of the younger men with a more sallow complexion—“is rather light; use some charcoal.”

  “Good,” said Gustie. “We’ll need a small group to land on the wharf, avoid any Oro guards, and check on the warehouses. I’ll be one. Who else knows that neighborhood well?”

  The older woman and the eldest man raised their hands.

  “All right. We three will check on the warehouses and granaries. The rest of you will count the ships and boats in the harbor. And sink as many as you can. How do you sink or disable them?”

  “Stave in their bilges,” said the grizzled man, as if any fool should know.