The Mage's Daughter: Book One: Discovery

by LeRoy Clary

  She held the painting close to her and cried. The chest did contain treasures, but only those meaningful to her, and her father. Instead of state secrets, the locked chest held his past, his personal treasures. She could believe the ordinary rock were picked up on a family trip from the shores of a favorite lake. The tears flowed as Hannah remembered her mother’s face, and now she had something that would remind her of the two as long as she lived. She cried until she fell asleep.

  “Hannah?” William’s voice called softly.

  She shot up in the bed and realized she had fallen asleep with the painting next to her. She could have rolled over and damaged it. The call of her name came again, soft but insistent.

  “In here, William. I think I fell asleep.” She put the linens over the paintings before he reached the doorway, but his eyes went to the chest before his first step into the room.

  “I see you found the key,” he said. “Your father and I believed the notch in the bedpost sufficient to keep it hidden, but I see you found it.”

  “You knew?”

  “That chest contains your family history. It is yours to do with as you wish.”

  “Can you tell me about the people? I mean, the ones in the paintings?”

  William perched on the edge of the other trunk. “I can, but those diaries will provide more information—and in your father’s words. You should wait until you can read it for yourself.”

  “I worked on writing until my hand got sore.”

  He shrugged, “Nothing of value comes easy. Right now, you are the talk of the Palace, and the rumors are flying about the deaths of Sir James and the Old Mage. You may be hidden in here for longer than we planned. Either that or we will find another way out.”

  “They won’t leave me alone?”

  “The King has agreed to seal these rooms—for years if necessary.”

  “Years? I can’t stay here for years.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “The King? Does he know where I am?” Hannah asked, a touch of fear adding a chill to the room.

  Willian said, “I have spoken to him briefly, but there were others about, others with ears like field mice, listening to all. I will again speak with him, and in doing so, I must tell him of you in private, unofficially. The intrigue in this Palace is intense. Guards often sell their ears to Royals. Servants spy. Minor Royalty sells secrets for gold or favors to those closer to the throne.”

  “Is everyone here, after power?”

  “Yes.”

  His short and sad answer stunned her. The Old Mage had made a similar comment, but at the Earl’s Castle, she had never seen the same sort of intense jostling for power or position. No, that was not true. She had seen it, but not realized it for what it was. Even in her kitchen, similar quests for power took place daily. The nasty old woman who baked the hard bread for the servants smiled and tossed out false compliments to other cooks when the Overseer made his rounds. Another over-salted a stew that a cook prepared, then stood aside wearing a small smile of satisfaction as the first received humiliation for the poor food preparation. A day later their jobs were reversed as the perpetrator received an undeserved promotion.

  Hannah had watched it happen from her woodpile outside where she could peek around the edge of the door unseen. The maligned cook never knew what happened. There were other instances, too. Royals, men, and women, as well as servants and slaves, told lies, whispered hints of misdeeds and shared secrets. She had never understood why making someone else look bad helped them. Others always knew the truth.

  “Is it always about power?” she asked.

  William shrugged as he took a final longing look at the painting of the couple with the child. “The details are different, and some call it something else, but yes, it is always about power, money or sex. Now, let’s discuss the contents of this chest. I suggest you explore it in private then close and lock it again. You can return to it after you learn to read, or whenever you wish.”

  “Why did you know about the key?”

  “Your father trusted me.”

  William seemed to have a habit of taking complicated subjects and reducing them to a few simple words. Hannah appreciated the short insights. “Want to see my writing?”

  He chuckled, “I guess learning a single letter can be referred to as writing, so show me.”

  Hannah took him to the desk and showed him her progress. However, now that time passed, and she looked over his shoulder critically, the results were not as good as she remembered. A sigh escaped.

  “No,” he said quickly. “Look here. Your first attempts were too large, and the letters were slanted and misshapen. Half way down the page they become more recognizable and uniform. “What is the name of this letter?”

  “A.”

  “Do you understand the concept of writing?”

  She shrugged. “So others can read it?”

  “I should have phrased my question differently. That A is the sound you hear in words like acorn, angel, and air. Do you hear the A in each of them?”

  “That’s the sound I wrote. I get it. My mother was teaching me when she died.” She felt the smile on her lips shrink to nothing.

  William lifted the pen and scolded her for allowing the ink to dry on the tip. “Have to trim a new nib each time, then slice it for the ink to flow.” He cut the feather and examined it critically then demonstrated the strokes to make the letter. He told her that each mark had an associated sound. Her first two tasks were learning to print the letters and make the sounds.

  She said, “I thought it would be harder.”

  It was his turn to smile. He was not telling Hannah all, but she understood he had his reasons. Still, she didn’t wish him to think her silly or stupid. “There are things I’m supposed to learn. Four of them. Besides reading and writing, there are royal manners. There is learning what is in this room, my father’s library. And there is protecting myself.”

  “In that order?” he laughed. “Seriously, you need to learn all those and survival. By that I mean, you must survive the palace intrigue which today will be at the top of your list.”

  “You’re trying to say people are trying to kill me, right? Am I not safe here? Don’t you think I know that?”

  He turned his eyes away as if trying to find the right words. When he looked at her again, there were tiny tears in the corners. “Already I am suspect in hiding you. Two different people followed me. I saw them and managed to slip away, but their scrutiny will increase every moment you are missing. There are hints of rewards for information about you. Soon the entire staff will be searching.”

  “It’ll be impossible to hide me or bring me food.”

  He hung his head. His voice took on a defeated tone. “I am just a manservant. I do not know how to do half of what is needed to protect and educate you, but if I fail, I also fail Sir James and the Old Mage, not to mention the King.”

  Hannah went to him and placed her arm on his shoulder as he sat and looked at his feet. She said, “This is my problem. I will ask two things of you.”

  “I fear I cannot do any, but ask.”

  “These you can do. Help me pack. I cannot stay here. We both know that. Next, meet with the King and have him seal these rooms until my return.”

  He turned to her, fear on his face. “Where will you go?”

  “To the tree where the sorceress lives. It’s better for you if you do not know exactly where it is, then you cannot lie.”

  “I feel guilty that you are running away, and I cannot help you.”

  “Help me pack for a journey.”

  William stood and wiped his eyes dry. “You cannot return to your old life, or even go near the Earl’s Castle. They will be watching it. I am going now to request an audience with the King. When I return, I’ll help you.”

  Hannah watched him leave, knowing that each time he opened or closed the door to the apartment he risked discovery. If only one passerby or one servant happened to see him, the word would spread that Si
r James’ manservant visited the Old Mage’s quarters, and her enemies would draw their conclusions and know her location.

  She stood beside the desk, trembling and fearing a knock would come that would be enemies. However, it didn’t sound. The sun sat low in the sky and sent slanted beams of light shooting across the study. Hannah made a full turn, seeing all the valuables in the room and knew the bedroom still held more. But her father was very good at hiding things.

  She walked toward the bedroom while looking at everything in the room when a small protrusion under a workbench drew her attention. It was the only bump under a table she saw, and it drew her. It had a purpose, and was built to appear part of the underside of the table, yet it looked odd and out of place. She ducked her head and looked underneath the table top and at the gouged and pitted working surface of the table. The top was a slab of wood thicker than any top of the workbenches in sight.

  She tapped the underside with her knuckles. In only one area, it sounded faintly like a drum. Besides the leg, the head of a single nail drew her attention. The head was above the surface, and as she looked closer, it had a slight color of brass or bronze, instead of iron. Her finger touched and pushed it. It depressed and a concealed drawer opened a finger’s width.

  Hannah pulled the drawer open and found coins inside, gold, silver and a few coppers, along with more keys to unknown locks. A small parchment was rolled and tied with a red ribbon. A scabbard made of leather thinner than parchment held a long thin black blade that almost did not reflect the light. She withdrew a blade as long as her hand. Along the back of the blade, a thin design of leaves went from hilt to tip. The design had been carved from the black blade and filled with gold. She had never seen black-iron or the dull reflection of the light from it.

  Instead of a belt to hold the scabbard, there were two belts, thin and short. She lifted the oversized maid’s skirt and placed the blade against her calf. Almost, but not quite right. The bulge, though slight, could be seen when she lowered the skirt. She moved the knife to the inside of her thigh and pulled the two belts snug.

  The knife helped her calm down. She had left the large knife in Sir James’ room when she changed clothes to see the King. The new knife sent a surge of confidence through her. She scooped up the coins without looking at them and noticed only a few were silver, the rest gold; many small ones, others larger, and two as large as full copper slags. If the little scroll was important enough to hide, she should take it, also.

  The bedroom still called her name. She stood in the doorway, letting her eyes and mind do her work. Her father had carved a groove for the key to the chest, and a hidden button opened a drawer. She felt she was beginning to have an understanding of how his mind worked. He hid things where you looked last.

  Yes, he was a mage. A magician. But he relied on the purely physical, too. A sorceress would have put a no-see spell on the important items, but he was a mage and didn’t trust a sorceress to do his work. The bed was the obvious place; and of course, the first any sneak thief would search. Therefore, it held nothing of value. She had already searched the two trunks, inside and out, although she wished for the time to examine the one with his personal effects closer.

  That left the room itself. He was old and wouldn’t like bending over. She went to the nearest corner and moved her hands along the stone wall, from waist high to her head. They followed a pattern, touching every stone and pushing. The first wall held nothing, but the next ran along one side of the bed with only enough room to move beside it.

  Her instincts said it would be on that wall. She slowed her search and moved more carefully. When she touched a single stone, it moved the smallest amount. She touched it again, and it did not. She pushed harder. Nothing. She looked at it closely and saw nothing unusual, but she had felt the click. She knew it.

  Leaning closer to peer at the cracks, her hand touched the next stone, and it clicked, a minute sound that was more felt than heard. She touched it again and nothing. She touched each of the surrounding stones and felt nothing. But there had been two clicks.

  She touched the first stone and again felt the click. Then the second and it clicked. Back and forth. One then the other. Why?

  She had it. One opened and the other closed. But what? It was not magic. It was a switch, but what did it operate? Her eyes went up to the ceiling. The Mage wouldn’t climb there. She looked down. She stood on a small rug over the floor made of large paving stones. She kicked the rug aside. The stone she stood on looked just like all the others, but it was the only place to stand. Or was it?

  Hannah took a step backward and bent to push the first stone on the wall. It clicked, and the paving stone on the floor rose up, via a mechanical connection. It cleared the floor enough to allow her to see a compartment underneath. She went to her knees and slipped her fingers under the paving stone and lifted. It raised higher on metal tracks. Below were only three items.

  She removed a round glass bead, a thin leather-bound book so old the pages tried to fall out, and the tooth of an animal with teeth the size of her small finger. Nothing else. Her fingers felt around the space, and it was empty.

  She pushed the flagstone down until it seated. Then she touched the second stone on the wall and felt the click as it locked closed. She placed the rug back in place and considered the three items she had placed on the bed. All three were unimpressive but for the fact that her father had placed them in the most secure location in his room.

  If they had value to him, the held value to her. She found a small leather bag meant for hiding loot around a man’s waist under his clothing. It gave her two ideas. She placed the contents of the secret drawer and those from under the flagstone into it, but looked down at herself and knew more had to change.

  The chest of drawers held the Old Mage’s clothing. All of it intended for a small man. She found a pair of trousers and used the knife she wore to cut the legs shorter. She located a thin rope and cut enough to tie around to hold the trousers up. She found two small shirts that almost fit.

  They’re still going to be on the roads looking for a blonde girl. She closed her eyes and made a choice. The knife was still in her hand. She sliced off a handful of straw-colored hair and was reaching for another handful when the door opened, and William slipped inside.

  He was breathing hard, his color was pale, and he kept an ear to the door before speaking softly. “I saw the King.”

  “Will he do it?”

  “You must have impressed him when you met. Yes, these rooms will be sealed and guarded beginning in the morning. Nobody will be allowed inside without his permission. He was so upset; he said that it if takes you fifty years to return, the rooms will still be as they are today.”

  “I will return and study here; you know that? There is much to learn here.”

  “I believe you. And I will be here as your personal servant. Your King agreed to that, also.”

  “I didn’t ask for you to do that.”

  “It will be my pleasure.”

  Hannah debated what the right response to his generosity would be. She wanted to hug and kiss him, but held back, thinking he might be offended.

  William said, “He also formally recognized your place in the Royal line. Not only did the King recognized your rank, but published the finding with his seal. This was a most unusual step, one that makes your rank official and cannot be changed. The royal scroll of succession holds all the names of the first fifty in order, as well as hundreds of lesser Royals. It constantly changes as people die or are born. You are number four in line, so it is now public, and nobody can change it.”

  “Two of those four in front of me are so old or ill, they will refuse the crown. That makes the King’s only son the next King—if he lives.”

  “Sir James explained that to you?”

  “Well, yes. Also my father.”

  “What are you doing to your hair?”

  “The rewards are for the capture or death of a girl who is described as eleven. I’m
turning myself into a boy of ten.” She held up the knife and a fist full of hair.

  His face paled. “Where in the name of all six water gods did you get that?”

  “The knife? I found it.”

  He held out a shaking hand and spoke softly. “Give it to me. Carefully.”

  She started to turn the blade to herself to hold, as is normal, but he drew back and shouted, “No. Just put it on the table.”

  Confused, she hesitated. “What’s wrong?”

  Holding up his hands in front of him to show his open palms and try relaxing her, he kept his voice calm and soft. “I believe that black knife is enchanted or whatever you call it when a mage puts a spell on something. I’ve heard of them and their black-iron curses. What those blades cut remains cut. Forever. The cuts never heal. Please place it carefully on the table without touching the blade and back away.”

  The knife slipped from her fingers and made a tinkling sound as it struck the stone floor and bounced. She leaped to one side. “I didn’t know.”

  “Of course not. How could you? Did you cut yourself anywhere? Even a little?”

  She examined her hands. “Just my hair.”

  William picked the knife up from the floor and examined it. “Was there a scabbard?”

  She lifted her skirt and removed it.

  He slid it in place and said, “Where did you find this?”

  She went to the drawer and showed him how it opened.

  “I see. Very clever of him, and more so of you to find it. Tell me, is there a glow or something similar to the poisoned grapes that you noticed to tell you where the drawer was?”

  “No. The table top just seemed too thick.”

  He squinted in concentration and asked, “Then you just happened to notice the head of the nail protruded?”