The Spy Princess

by Sherwood Smith

  “Did ya see that one with the purple nose?”

  “I got three of ’em!”

  Bren poked me. “You’re sure bad with a rock, Larei. Couldn’t hit a fence at two paces.”

  “I was sick for a long time, remember?”

  “Oh, that’s right.” As Deon and the girls flopped down nearby, Bren asked, “Did they get him away?”

  “Yes,” she said, grinning. “The big girls hobbled the guards’ horses. I heard Prince Greedy cursing just before I hopped the stable fence.”

  Everyone cheered, sending the birds perched on a roof pole flapping skyward. I listened to the excited chatter as they either bragged or praised each other. We had been the decoys for some adults rescuing the condemned man, who was one of Derek’s followers.

  Then everyone raced down to the river and jumped in, clothes and all. The cool water felt delicious, though I had to be careful my cap did not come loose or even get wet.

  After a time we climbed out and lay on the bank, some talking—mostly about food—until a patrol rode along, imposing in their fine blue battle tunics and shiny weapons.

  “You brats.” The leader reined in his horse. It was the captain of the day guard, uncle to one of the stable boys.

  “Any of you near the guardhouse today?”

  “No, sir,” a little boy said. Everyone else shook their heads.

  “Liars,” another Blue Guard snarled. “We ought to hang ’em all.”

  “We will,” the leader said, scowling as he mopped his brow. “If we catch you worthless rats anywhere near there.”

  Catcalls and scorn were the result—when the patrol was well out of hearing.

  Bren shook his head. “Don’t strut too much. Remember what Derek said. Most of the Blue Guards here are the stupid, lazy ones, or the ones whose families work for Prince Greedy. The smart ones get taken into the king’s army. If they send them here, we’ll catch it hot.”

  “Aw, quit nagging,” another boy said, and the rest made rude noises.

  After another game, the sun began to sink beyond the distant mountains. The shadows melted together, hiding the ugliness of the houses and the hungry, underfed look of my companions. The smells of supper drifted on the air, mostly corn mash fried with wild olives. The gang gradually left, until finally it was only Bren, Deon, the twins, and me.

  By now I had figured out that Bren and Deon were the leaders. Though I was ravenous, I wanted to meet Derek. If they could endure hunger, then so could I.

  We walked through the village. The twins took turns skipping rocks down the dusty path until we reached the bridge. Bren hitched himself onto the creaking rail.

  “I don’t know how many more times the roof plan will work,” Deon said finally.

  “Probably none.” Bren shrugged. “That’s what Derek said, ‘Surprise only works once.’”

  “It might be one of our parents next.”

  Bren said nothing.

  Tim poked Deon. “Sing for us.”

  “Something good, not mushy,” Tam added.

  She drew in a deep breath, and launched into an exciting ballad. She had a good voice and brought the story to life. Her next song I liked even better. She’d taken the melody to a soppy love song and put new words to it, all about Derek’s adventures. She sang several more songs, mostly ones she’d made up.

  I leaned back, enjoying the soft night air, the songs, the success of my disguise. I had—for the first time—friends. They didn’t pretend to like me because my father was a prince and my uncle the king, like the young courtiers in Miraleste. In fact, if they’d known that, they would have hated me. Still, I wished that this moment would never end.

  But it did. Deon finished the last song, and Bren pointed at the moon, which hung low over the rooftops.

  We listened. Water chuckled over stones in the river below; one of the twins fidgeted, making the bridge creak. I could heard Deon’s quick breathing.

  Then came the sound of hoofbeats.

  four

  The rider dismounted at the foot of the bridge and handed the reins to Tim and Tam.

  Derek was difficult to see in the darkness, until he looked up and moonlight illuminated his face. He was about Peitar’s size, and he walked soft and wary. He had light brown eyes, a short nose, a mobile mouth. His dark hair was ragged, as if it had been cut with a knife.

  “Deon.” He had a fine voice. “Timrei, Tameos, Milord Sharadan—”

  “Hey!” Bren protested, and the tension vanished.

  “I was wondering if you’d notice.” Derek laughed. “Remember last time?”

  “I couldn’t help falling asleep! We’d been on watch for days.”

  Derek laughed again, joined by the others. “I know. I can’t help teasing you—you’re so easy to get a squawk out of.”

  “Hmph,” Bren mumbled, embarrassed.

  “Another recruit?” The brown eyes turned my way. “Name?”

  “Larei,” I said, self-consciously pitching my voice low.

  “You’ll be a good asset.” The way Derek said that, I got the feeling he knew who I was. He must have talked to Peitar.

  Bren gave me a questioning look. That good feeling I’d had earlier, the sense that I’d found some friends, had vanished. I remembered Lord Cripple and Lady Fluffbrain and Prince Greedy. I was afraid that if they found out who I really was, this time the stones would be thrown at me.

  Derek seemed to notice the renewed tension, for his tone changed. “Listen. To business, for I have to be quick. The guards are on the prowl, and I have much to discuss with Number One before I can leave the area.”

  “They’re prowling because they’re mad. At us,” Deon said proudly. “Did you hear about the rescue?”

  “I spoke with Selenna Leader just a while ago,” Derek responded in a tone of approval. “Good job. But that won’t work again. I’ll tell the adults, too.”

  “Better the grown-ups don’t get caught in the first place,” Deon said sourly.

  “Sometimes that’s harder than it seems.” Unlike Deon, Derek sounded mild. “We’re all taking risks these days. We must.”

  I was still thinking about something Derek had said. My family name, Selenna, also belonged to the principality. Maybe “Selenna Leader” was a kind of regional leader. Obviously an enemy of my father’s. Or—could it be my brother?

  I looked up at Derek. “Is your leader—” It was out before I thought.

  “No,” Derek snapped.

  Bren looked from one of us to the other.

  “We haven’t met,” I said.

  “Remember what I told you.” Derek lifted a hand as Bren groaned, looking from Derek to me and back again. Deon crossed her arms and glared. “You’ll find things out when you need to know them, and until then, don’t go looking. It will only add to your danger, and you’ll be in enough before long. We’ve moved up the date of our strike for freedom.”

  I could feel the others’ excitement.

  “I want you to find a way to spy at the estate,” Derek said to me. “Tim. You and your brother are to continue as messengers for Selenna Leader.”

  “Right,” Tim said, and from the grass came Tam’s voice, “Messenger it is.”

  “Deon. Bren. You two are going to have the toughest jobs of all.” Deon grinned, straightening proudly. Bren hunched, all elbows and shoulder blades. “Bren, you first. You’re going to have to make friends at the guardhouse.”

  “What? We can’t betray the cause by being friends with them.”

  “I already told Selenna Leader. We desperately need someone on hand to hear their talk and report anything important. And Deon: if your mother still wants to send you to your aunt to work at the royal palace in Miraleste, don’t refuse anymore. I have to have eyes and ears there—ones I can trust.”r />
  Deon’s frown vanished. “You don’t mean to work for those court scummers. You mean to spy.”

  “That’s exactly what I mean. While you are working.”

  She danced around. “A spy! A palace spy! I’ll go tell Ma I changed my mind.”

  “And that’s all for this time,” Derek said.

  “Tell us a story,” Bren demanded. “About one of your adventures.”

  The others drew close, and Derek mused for a moment. “I had a real close call up at Obrin,” he finally said. “I was meeting Obrin Leader, and she nearly got nabbed because her horse went lame. So it was raining, and there we were . . .”

  As the tale spun out, I began to wonder if Derek spent all of his time running from Uncle Darian’s considerable army. And I noticed the parts that he emphasized. Not his own deeds, but the people who worked together to keep their information secret, to protect each other. He made it sound so exciting—hidden codes, everyone with secret jobs, all loyal to the cause. By the end, Deon, Bren, and his brothers were grinning, breathing fast. Me, too.

  Derek said, “I’ll be back when I can. I’ll want full reports. The kingdom is counting on you, not just me. So do your jobs, and remember to keep practicing your reading and writing.” He clapped Bren on the shoulder, brushed his hand over Deon’s head, and flicked Tim’s ear. He sent a smile my way, then took the reins of his horse from Tam.

  As soon as he rode off, Bren yawned. “I’m desperate hungry. Even boiled beans will taste good.” But he gave me a funny look.

  I ran off, looking back frequently. No one followed.

  • • •

  NEXT MORNING, I took a bath and came out to the welcome smells of hot oatcakes and eggs. As I ate I thought about what had happened—and that’s when the Idea struck me. I would write everything down.

  But how? I couldn’t ask Father for paper, much less a blank book. He’d demand to know why, as paper was expensive. I could ask Peitar, who wrote a lot of letters—but it was clear to me now that he needed every sheet. Writing letters was as important to him as being able to escape out into the garden was for me.

  Well, maybe it was a bad idea. Derek had talked about the importance of keeping secrets, and if I wrote everything down, what happened if the wrong person read it?

  Books . . . my eye strayed to the shelf above my ladylike desk, which mostly held old lesson books. Then my eye was caught by the gleam of gilt—the binding of a volume I’d never opened.

  On my last Name Day, my bossy Great-Aunt Tislah had sent me a set of court fashion drawings as a hint about what a young lady in my position ought to concern herself with. The right-hand pages of the small, thin book were illustrated, with the name of the court and the particular fashion lettered below. The left-hand pages were blank.

  Blank pages! And who would ever think to check a fashion book? Not even Father’s nosy, disapproving valet. If he did . . . supposing I used some code words? No one would know what it was about. They’d think I was talking about clothing and court.

  I opened to the first drawing, smoothed the page opposite, and dipped my pen. Using my tiniest handwriting, I put in everything I could think of, from the way my father admired his new shoe buckles while dropping hints about my future to Peitar’s tense forehead when he was thinking, Deon’s quick movements, Bren’s way of turning into knots and angles when he was worried. At first I made up code words, but by the time I finished half a page, I realized I wasn’t using them. So I started abbreviating and drawing tiny pictures as symbols. Just as I finished, there was a knock at the door. I hurriedly put the book in a drawer.

  Peitar entered and smiled absently at me. “How was your day in Riveredge?”

  “We saved somebody from hanging! And we saw Derek, and he said I’m to be spying here.”

  “That’s to get you in and out, in case Bren or one of the others spots you.”

  “So you did know! Are you Selenna Leader?” I asked.

  Peitar made a curious grimace. “No. He calls me Number One. Selenna Leader is someone else, someone in Riveredge.”

  I tried so hard not to yell my voice squeaked. “You are Number One?”

  His cheeks reddened. “Does that seem so impossible?”

  “No! It’s just that I thought—well, isn’t part of revolution a lot of sneaking around? Like in Derek’s stories.”

  “I cannot sneak, it’s true,” he said almost apologetically. “So I have to get my information in other ways, and I must use it to outthink the—the enemy.”

  “Enemy,” I whispered. “It’s so strange. Being Number One means you’re even more important than these leader people.”

  Peitar moved to my window seat. “In a way. We’ll see. What do you think of Derek?”

  “He tells good stories,” I said, suspicious that he was trying to distract me. “I want to know more about what it means to be Number One.”

  After too long a pause, he said, “I don’t want to tell you that. I am uneasy enough telling you this much, but I confess I’m glad to have an ally.”

  “I’m not a baby! Do you think I’d blab it to Father? Or anyone else?”

  “You would under torture.” His face was grim. “And don’t think our uncle would hesitate.”

  “Oh, I believe that. So why do the village boys and girls get to know more than I do?”

  “That’s just it—they don’t. They only know their portion of the plan.” Peitar paused. “It was a promise I extracted from Derek. He’s been fomenting revolution ever since I first met him, when we were boys. He’s used to risk—he and his brother, Bernal, both. He wants to give the young a chance to participate as much as the adults. But I don’t think they really understand the risks, or the cost. So I made Derek promise to tell them only as much as they need to know. That way, should things go wrong, it might buy their lives.”

  “You say you’ve known him since you were boys, so that means that you were a boy when you started being Number One, right?”

  Peitar glanced at my time-candle, then struggled to his feet. “Lilah. The point is, I am just trying to keep you safe.”

  “Which is why you’re suddenly too busy to answer questions?”

  “As long as you act like that, I’m reluctant to tell you anything,” he retorted, and swung out the door, crutch thocking on the polished wooden floor.

  I fumed. Something was going on. Then a thought struck me. Why would he glance at the candle? Because he had an appointment?

  I returned the fashion book to the shelf, capped the ink bottle, then raced out, silent on bare feet. No one in sight. I ran downstairs and crossed the great hall, just in time to see Peitar walk out into the garden.

  He skirted a neatly clipped hedge and made his way to the front of the house, where he stopped at the fountain and glanced around, though the lower windows were curtained.

  I’d never seen Peitar act sneaky before. He leaned against the rim of the fountain and reached toward one of the cherubs, the one with the harp. His hand turned. He bent farther—shifted—and disappeared.

  five

  A secret passage!

  I dashed outside to the fountain. Now it was my turn to check over my shoulder. But if I wanted to find out what was going on, I’d have to take the risk.

  Peitar had fiddled with the little cherub with the harp. I patted the cold marble face, then pressed, poked, and tweaked its little round nose. Something gave slightly.

  When I tweaked more firmly, one of the shallow pools moved silently beneath the central statue, sending ripples through the water. A wedge-shaped gap opened, just large enough to slip through. I had to see where it went.

  I clambered down the stairway, and when I trod on the seventh step, the marble rumbled, closing over my head, leaving me in cool darkness.

  My eyes adjusted as I descended. Cleverl
y placed slits in the fountain let in air and a dusty, bluish light. I reached a floor of hard-packed dirt and looked around. I was in a small circular room lined with a jumble of chests and dully gleaming carved objects.

  A treasure room? A second treasure room—we had one in the house, but it was empty. I could explore later. Right now I was more interested in where Peitar had gone.

  There were passages on either side, and from one came the rise and fall of voices. I followed the sound, walking down an incline. Something moist brushed my face—tree roots. Then the tunnel turned sharply—light glowed on the rough walls—and the voices were clearer.

  “. . . from where?” That was Derek!

  “Yes,” Peitar said. “No one pays attention to the rag pile.”

  “Then she suspected us. How did we slip up?”

  They were talking about me!

  Peitar said, “Lilah came up with her plans for investigating the village on her own. She had no ideas about revolution. I’m sure of it.”

  “She did show surprise last night, but I have been lied to before.” Derek sounded tired.

  “Well, I’ve put her off again.” Peitar sighed. “Just now. So, to business. Why have you moved up the date for your uprising?”

  “My uprising,” Derek repeated, sounding displeased. “You keep quoting the wisdom of the greats. Wasn’t it your favorite, Adamas Dei of the Black Sword, who said, ‘A ruler can only govern by the consent of the governed—’”

  “‘—and when the interests of the governed are replaced by the ruler’s own interests, that ruler has become a tyrant.’ Yes,” my brother replied calmly. “But right after that he said, ‘This is why education is a necessity, so that the governed may enlighten the ruler.’ He never advocated violent overthrow. Derek, I will help, as I promised. But I will tell you again and again, until the very end, that I think violence is the wrong approach.”

  “I see no other solution. The nobles will not give up their privileges without bloodshed. To think otherwise is to dream, safe in this big house—ah, Peitar, don’t give me that look! We both know that your father’s valet spies on you, and there are your own tensions with the king. But you’ve never starved, or been forced to sleep out in the winter cold, or felt the desperation that drives people to murder just to feed their families!”