by C. J. Archer
"You must question the servants more thoroughly," he called out. "I want to hear of your progress next time we speak. Otherwise, you know what will happen."
I heard him leave in the opposite direction. I followed the path through the forest until it met the village road, only to be stopped again by another rider. This one was a much more welcome sight.
"I see you're taking the long, slow way home," Dane said, dismounting.
"Not that long or slow," I said.
"We parted hours ago." He frowned. "Your hair's damp."
"I stopped for a dip in a pond."
His gaze raked my length and back up again. "Your clothes are dry."
"Not all of them."
His brows rose and his gaze roamed over me again. It felt warm enough to dry me completely. "Did anyone see you?"
"Only Lady Miranda Claypool."
His brows shot up higher. "How did you convince her to go into a pond?"
"I didn't have to. She convinced me. She's more wicked than she lets on."
He smiled—a good sign considering the dark mood I'd left him in. He also didn't seem in a hurry to leave. Whatever had taken him from the palace must have been dealt with.
"Have you been to Mull?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"That's confidential," he said.
"Ah, so I will assume it was very important work to keep everyone safe," I teased.
"Just everyone at the palace. The village is out of my jurisdiction." His horse tossed its head and stomped its hoof, eager to be off again. "If I tell you to be careful, will you become angry with me again?"
"Again? Dane, I wasn't angry with you ever. Frustrated, perhaps, but not angry."
He didn't ask me why I was frustrated. Part of me wished he would so we could bring the situation to a head, but mostly I was glad he didn't. It was better for my heart if I didn't hear the reasons for his rejection.
"Good," was all he said.
"I'm glad to see you here," I told him. "It saves me a journey back to the palace to report on my meeting with Lord Barborough. I saw him just now, on my way out of the forest." He didn't seem surprised so must have known the Vytill representative was nearby. Perhaps that was why he was heading back to the palace from the village—he'd followed Barborough. "He pressed upon me the need to question the servants."
"Pressed?" he echoed.
"He reminded me of the consequences if I fail."
"Damn it." His horse shifted and he stroked its neck to calm it. "Next time, tell him one of the maids told you she was born in Freedland and came to Glancia for a better life. She applied for a job as maid, when she heard the palace was being built, and was accepted. A week later, she started here. The palace had just been completed."
"Where did she apply?"
He thought for a moment. "Tilting."
"I mean, at an office? How did she hear the new palace needed staff?"
"A friend told her, and she had heard it from another friend. Be vague so he can't verify your statements, but give him enough to make it believable."
"I'll try to sound convincing."
"Hopefully his threat to tell the king about your visits was an idle one, but I don't want to test him."
"Have you been following him?"
"That's also confidential."
"Fine, I won't ask again, although I will assume you've been following him to learn his movements and who his friends are."
"People like Barborough don't have friends," he said. "They have associates, people they use to get what they want." He must have thought me troubled because he added, "Don't worry about him, Josie. You feed him your false information and I'll feed him mine."
"All right." I stroked his horse's neck too, my hand close to Dane's. His fingers stilled. I felt his gaze on me, but when I looked up, I realized he was the troubled one. Despite his attempts at a lighter mood, something worried him. "What is it, Dane? What's wrong?"
He hesitated then said, "I found out that Barborough has been stirring up the locals, whispering in certain ears to fuel the dissent that's been simmering for some time. If we're not careful, it'll boil over and Mull's sheriff won't be able to contain it. That'll play nicely into Vytill's hands."
"What can we do?"
"You can stay safe in your house, especially at night. I'll find a way to curtail Barborough's influence. Understood?"
"Understood. I have no intention of leaving the house at night anyway."
He eyed me carefully. "That was surprisingly easy. Are you sure you're Josie Cully and not a sorceress?"
"Ha! If I were, I'd choose to be a princess and look like Miranda."
His eyes brightened with his smile. "If you're fishing for compliments, I'm not giving any out today."
Perhaps I had been. He could have obliged by giving me just a small one. Once again, we were back to being awkward when everything had begun to return to normal. I could have kicked myself.
"Speaking of the king," I said, very aware that we had not been. "I saw him with Lady Morgrave. They came to the pond as we were leaving. They didn't see us."
One side of his mouth lifted in a smirk. "Let me guess. They were swimming naked too."
"I was not naked. Nor was Miranda."
He pressed his lips together but couldn't quite dampen the smile.
"Yes, they removed their clothes to go swimming," I said with a lift of my chin. "Miranda and I crept away before we saw much. But it does prove that they are now enjoying one another's company in private. You suspected, didn't you?"
"I knew. Theo discovered them together last night. He was annoyed that he had to find somewhere else to sleep."
"Poor Theo."
"Don't feel sorry for him. He slept in the room vacated by the Claypools. It's a very nice suite and he had it all to himself."
"What do you think will happen now that the king has a mistress?"
"Difficult to say. I'm not familiar with the protocol, nor am I sure how attached he is to Lady Morgrave. The relationship might be fleeting, or it might be serious enough that she chooses his wife for him."
Imagine his poor wife having to contend with her husband's mistress. I felt sorry for the future queen. At least Miranda was safely relegated to a small room with the other lesser nobles, although she must be careful not to attract his attention again. She was beautiful, kind, and witty enough that she could do it without really trying.
"I'd better go," he said, gazing over my head in the direction of the palace. "I'd give you a ride home but—"
"I know, it would be awkward."
"Actually I was going to say I have to get back for a meeting with my men."
"Oh. Right. That'll teach me to open my mouth."
He laughed softly. "I know it's a little strained between us right now, but I don't want it to be."
"Nor do I."
"Can we still be friends?"
"Of course," I said. "Nothing need change."
"I agree."
The thing was, I wanted it to change. I wanted to take our relationship from friendship to something more. Clearly, Dane did not.
The problem with living alone was that an entire day could pass without speaking to anyone. I could have spent hours making medicines in the kitchen, if only I hadn't run out of spices. There were enough locally grown plants in the larder from my foraging expeditions, but the more exotic required a trip to the market.
I checked my purse and counted out enough ells to cover the expense—no more. I then added another five ells for food. It left my purse precariously low.
The day had begun hot and promised to grow hotter without a cloud in the sky or a breath of wind. Another dip in the palace's pond would be nice, or a paddle in the shallows at Half Moon Cove. Thinking of that beach only brought back memories of meeting Dane there and seeing the scars crossing his broad back. That pleasurable time would forever be tainted with the sickening sight and the pain of discovering my father's body afterward.
&nbs
p; Some of the food stalls were beginning to close before the heat ruined what little produce they had left. I should have come earlier before the best fruit and vegetables were sold. What remained were the bruised, the wilted, and yesterday's leftovers. I picked the freshest and paid the exorbitant asking prices. The grocer couldn't even look me in the eye as I handed over the ells. I'd known him all my life and he must be aware that my livelihood had diminished after Father's death, yet he still charged full price for a handful of nuts and a collection of vegetables beginning to turn brown.
"Ridiculous, ain't it?" rasped a voice in my ear; the voice of someone I didn't want to meet today.
"What's ridiculous, Ivor?" I asked, moving away.
"The cost of this filth." He picked up a limp leek from the cart and waved it in the air.
The grocer glared at him. "Put that down, Morgrain."
"You should be ashamed of yourself, charging Josie those prices."
"She pays the same as everyone else. I don't discriminate."
"You're greedy."
"Get going, Morgrain. Stop stirring up trouble."
I walked away, not wanting to witness an argument between them and not wanting to be anywhere near Ivor. He followed me to Mika Tao's spice stall, however, hovering like an annoying fly as I made my purchases.
"What do you want, Ivor?" I finally asked as I placed the parcels in my basket.
He removed his hat and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "Can't I just have a friendly chat with a friend?"
"Shouldn't you be at work?"
"I'm on my break, and if my employer doesn't like it, he can shove it. A man's allowed to have a break on a hot day and not lose his job."
True, but I doubted his break was long enough that he could wander around the market. I wasn't interested in hearing Ivor whine about the problems Mull faced, but I was interested in hearing more about the meeting he attended with Ned Perkin in The Anchor. Perhaps I'd encourage conversation, after all.
"I agree," I told him as we walked slowly together through the market. "I hope your employer is a reasonable man."
He snorted.
"Speaking of which, there's someone new that I've seen lately in Mull who seems to be important." I stopped beneath a large tree at the edge of the market. Its shade offered welcome respite from the heat. "You know everybody and everybody knows you, so I thought you could tell me his name."
Ivor's chest swelled. "What's he look like?"
"Mid-thirties, brown, windswept hair. His right arm doesn't seem to work very well."
"Aye, I know him. He's a lord, advisor to the king."
"King Leon?"
He chuckled. "Well it ain't King Alain, is it? Course, he might have advised him at the old castle in Tilting before he died. I don't know the lord's name. He wouldn't say." He glanced around then leaned in. "He says he wants to be anonymous on account of his position."
"How did you meet him?" I asked.
"He came to The Anchor and started asking around about the palace and servants, where they're from, that sort of thing."
"But if he's an advisor to the king, shouldn't he already have that information?"
"Because he's a lord and one of the king's men, most won't tell him their problems. He says he wants to help them by getting to know their struggles—and ours too—and he can't do that unless he knows more about them and us villagers. He seems like he wants to help, like he really wants to understand the working man and woman and improve our lot. Everything he learns, he passes onto the king and the other advisers in their policy meetings."
"What have you told him?"
"About the servants? Nothing. I don't know anything about them. Me, Ned and others have told him about our own troubles, and the problems Mull is facing right now since The Rift cut off The Thumb. He seemed real interested, so we invited him to sit in on a village meeting. Why do you want to speak to him?"
I considered telling him who Barborough was really working for, but decided to leave it to Dane. It might not be a good idea to let Ivor know that I was in Dane's confidence.
"I want to petition him about allowing women into the colleges, specifically the medical college," I said. "Since he's an advisor to the king, perhaps he can suggest it in a meeting with the king."
Ivor laughed and shook his head. "That ain't never going to happen. You should worry about what can be changed, not what can't."
"A stroke of a pen on a piece of paper can change it," I said hotly.
He held up his hands. "Don't get mad with me. It ain't my fault. Besides, what's wrong with being a midwife? Why do you have to be a doctor too?
I opened my mouth, to tell him everything that was wrong with his statements, only to close it again. Debating with Ivor Morgrain about a woman's right to study at college was like trying to make water flow upstream. It was a wasted effort.
Ivor squinted into the sky. "I have to get back to work. Meet me for a drink later at The Anchor."
"I can't."
"Why? It ain't like you got anything better to do."
"There's an expectant mother I have to look in on."
"Come after."
I sighed. "Ivor, I'm not meeting you for a drink. Not tonight or any other night. I'm sorry but—"
His hand whipped out and grabbed my wrist. I gasped as pain shot up my arm. "You owe me for telling you about that lord."
I tried to pull free but his grip was too tight. With my blood circulation strangled, my hand began to throb. "I owe you nothing. You gave me that information willingly."
"Nothing's free, Josie," he snarled, teeth bared. "Not around here. Merdu, you're such a naive fool."
"You're the fool, Ivor," I snapped. "If you wanted payment, you should have negotiated beforehand. Oh, and by the way, the lord with the limp arm is Lord Barborough and he's not an advisor to King Leon, he advises King Philip of Vytill."
The shocked look on his face was worth the cost of revealing what I knew. Dane had wanted to tell Ivor, Ned and the other Mullians that Barborough wasn't on their side anyway. I no longer cared if Ivor knew I was in Dane's confidence. I no longer cared what Ivor thought about anything.
"Now let me go," I snarled. "You're hurting me." This time when I pulled, he released me. I shook out my hand to re-invigorate the circulation and hurried back through the market, where people still milled about, hoping the prices would drop on the older produce.
A glance over my shoulder proved Ivor had left. I slowed and let out a shuddery breath. That was twice he'd become angry with me and lashed out, hurting me. There would not be a third time.
I was still shaking with fury and indignation when I received a visitor soon after arriving home. Remy, the child from The Row, blinked up at me on the doorstep. He looked healthy yet very thin, like most children from Mull's slum.
I invited him in for tea and a bite to eat, hoping the flat oat cakes in the tin were still edible. I kept them for visitors, but I'd had so few callers lately that they were probably stale.
"Thank you, Miss, but I can't. I got to bring you back with me." He took my hand and tugged.
"What's wrong? Is it your mother?"
"No, Miss, it's our neighbor. She's having a baby but it got stuck. My Ma says you can get it out."
"I'll fetch my pack."
The women of The Row usually delivered their own babies with the help of neighbors, or sometimes with no help at all. My father had attended a difficult birth there on at least one occasion in my stead. He'd not liked me going anywhere near the lawless neighborhood. I had not told him about the time I'd been chased into it, when I'd met Remy's mother. It had been better for his peace of mind that he remained ignorant.
Despite the bright sunny day, the light was duller in The Row, and the thick air smelled fouler than usual, as if a blanket smothered the houses—if the lean-tos and derelict buildings could be called that. Remy led me along the main thoroughfare, the original row, where the whores eyed me with barely disguised animosity. Last tim
e, they'd driven me deeper into the complex web of lanes, but this time they didn't threaten me. Remy's determined step seemed to reassure them that I wasn't going to steal their trade.
We passed few men, but those we did see watched me like they either wanted to have their way with me or steal my pack. Two followed us. They were big men, built like they were hewn from rock, certainly not starving like the others.
"I'm a midwife," I told them, clutching my pack to my chest. "There are only forceps in here and other tools of my trade. I deliver babies," I added, because they showed not a flicker of understanding.
I followed Remy into a familiar lane. It was the one in which I'd lost my money and a crayfish that I'd intended to cook for dinner. Remy climbed through a hole in the wall of a building that looked as if a strong breeze would shatter it. I squeezed through and continued on through another hole to a small room where the air was so putrid I gagged.
I covered my nose and mouth and allowed my eyes to adjust to the darkness. What I saw made me want to immediately leave again. Going by the two mattresses and a trunk, the room was a home, but there was no other furniture. Two children, younger than Remy, sat beside a heavily pregnant woman lying on one of the thin mattresses. Their clothing hung off their thin frames and their hands, feet and faces were filthy, their hair matted. Some of the smell probably came from them. They watched me through frightened eyes until Remy spoke to them in soothing tones.
Remy's mother, Dora, sat with the woman, holding her hand. She was about to speak when the woman screamed and writhed on the mattress.
"Remy, take the children outside," I told him, kneeling near the pregnant woman.
Once they were gone, I lifted her skirts and felt her protruding belly. The baby was in the correct position, thank the goddess. With such poor light, I couldn't see if it was crowning, but I could feel.
"My name is Josie Cully," I said when her pain subsided.
"I'm Marnie," she said between pants.
I smiled to reassure her. "You haven't dilated much, Marnie. How close are the contractions?"
"Not very, but they're painful." She spoke well, as if she'd had a good upbringing with some education, unlike many in the slums. "My back and hips are sore."