The Verdigris Pawn

by Alysa Wishingrad

  “Lead on,” Beau said.

  They skirted the edges of the yard, hugging tight to the towering hedge. Luck was on their side—for even though it was midday, there was no one else around.

  “Through here.” Cressi pointed out the narrow passage in the thicket, then watched as Beau stepped through, his nerves clamping his jaw tight.

  From the Manor side, the hedgerow encircling the grounds appeared lush, green, and thriving, the thorns obscured by the foliage. But on the far side of the thicket the colors bled out into dull shades of gray, brown, and black. Balding branches gazed upon a barren landscape and a molding heap of rotting wood and crumbling brick and stone. The ghastly pile stood two stories high, with a roof of hastily laid shingles. Small uneven paned windows squinted through thick metal bars, casting a curse over anything that dared step within its dark shadow.

  Oblivious to the danger, Beau started to walk through straight into the yard when Cressi pulled him back. “This is as far as we can go.”

  “But where’s Mastery House?”

  “What do you mean, where?” Cressi whispered. “It’s right here in front of us.”

  “This pile of rot?” Beau looked as if she’d slapped him. “It hardly looks habitable for pigeons.”

  Standing in the shadow of that horrid building again, Cressi tried to beat back the memories of all her years there. But how could she ever forget the bitter tang of urine clinging to cracked floors that threatened to swallow one up with every footfall? Cressi’s sleep was still haunted by those unanswered cries echoing from the second floor, made all the louder by the hush of too many bodies holding their breath from fear. The powerful waft of orange oil, the scent Matron doused herself with from head to toe, would forever be associated with despair. If Cressi thought she was finally free of Matron’s ability to inspire dread, returning now proved the stink of the place would never wash out.

  Cressi was about to usher Beau back to the laundry yard when the side door swung open, sending a jolt through her hotter than a strike of lightning. She pulled Beau deeper into the protection of the hedge just as the ragged line of children emerged. All dressed in dull brown Mastery House uniforms, the children lined up in the dirt, silently arranging themselves in height order from the tallest twelve to the smallest two.

  Matron had called for a surprise inspection.

  Cressi scanned the line, carefully taking in each and every dear face. Even though she’d only been gone one season, they’d all grown so much. Sweet, funny Bea, who was only a two when Cressi left, stood next to Rory among the threes and fours now, her hands caked with dirt and mud from hole-digging duty. And Pervis, who stood at the top of the line, even looked to have some facial hair blooming.

  But where was Nate?

  “They’re from the Badem?” Beau whispered. “They’re so young and innocent looking.”

  “Of course they are. Did you think they’d be different just because they’re poor and born in the Bottom?” Cressi hissed. “Your own mother was of the Badem. Or did you not know that either?”

  “She rejected the Badem when she married my father,” Beau replied. “It’s different.”

  “Is it? So, you think—” Cressi bit back the rest of her thought as Matron stepped out of the house.

  Dressed in her customary long black habit, her hair arranged into a high helmet held in place by a fortune of pins and netting, Matron strode up and down the line, slowly scanning each child from their matted heads down to their poorly shod feet.

  Even safely hidden away in the hedge, Cressi felt as if she were back in the line, enduring Matron’s scrutiny, waiting for her to level her judgment and deliver some unwarranted punishment.

  “I’ll ask again,” Matron said, her pacing as slow and menacing as a panther on the prowl. “Who will tell me the truth?”

  None of the children moved, except for Bea. She’d spotted Cressi and Beau in their hiding place in the hedge and was doing her best not to break out in a wide smile. Thankfully Rory gently squeezed her hand, forcing her attention back on Matron.

  “You mean to tell me not one of you knows where he’s gone? Surely he bragged about his latest scheme to one of you,” Matron growled. “I told him, the next time he tried to run, instead of punishing him, I’d punish all of you.”

  Nate.

  A wave of fury flowed over Cressi. Why couldn’t he just obey the rules?

  “Very well.” Matron’s toothy grin cracked her white powdered face in two. “You’ll have reduced rations for three days. Let’s see if hunger doesn’t loosen your memories and your tongues.”

  Matron scanned the line, her head turning like a peacock in the sun. She was always at her happiest when making a child cry. Yet none of the children had broken yet—not even Bea—so she fixed her upper lip and waved them off.

  “Get to work,” she sniped. “I don’t want to see any of you again until nightfall unless you bring me news of Nate.”

  As the children went scurrying back to their work assignments, Cressi turned to leave, but Beau was just standing there, his mouth agape.

  “My father can’t possibly know about this. Can he?” His voice came hardly above a whisper now. “They’re so young. That little one that smiled at me, she . . .”

  “That’s Bea. We should be grateful Rory was there to keep her from giving us away. Now, come on, we have to go. You ready?”

  Beau nodded slowly, somehow looking more certain than she’d seen since they’d first met. Maybe this terrible gamble would be worth it after all.

  After checking that the laundry yard was still empty, Cressi signaled Beau to follow her back to the tunnel. She knew the terrain well, zigging her way through the maze of laundry poles, easily jumping over several broken-off tree stumps littering the yard. But Cressi forgot the heir didn’t know his way as well as she.

  Until she heard it.

  The unmistakable sound of a body hitting the ground.

  Chapter Four

  The Red-Throated Napper

  It wasn’t the dirt stuck between Beau’s teeth, the metallic taste of copper pooling on his tongue, or even the excruciating pain in his nose that kept him facedown on the ground. It was the cold slap of utter humiliation.

  Cressi made jumping over the stump look so easy, like a stag clearing a fence. It never occurred to Beau that he wouldn’t make it over too. But arms pinwheeling and legs flailing, he hung suspended in midair for what seemed like an eternity before his own feet got in the way, sending him crashing to the ground.

  Beau wanted so badly to jump up, brush off his knees, and make believe he’d never stumbled, but the pain was too intense.

  “I’ve got you.” With a steady grip, Cressi helped Beau across the yard to the back of a small outbuilding and sat him down on a wooden crate. Cupping his chin in her hand, she inspected his nose from all angles.

  Her touch was gentle and careful, that is until her fingers brushed past the bridge of his nose. She might as well have punched him.

  “Sorry.” Cressi winced along with him. “I just want to check to see if it’s . . .” She shook off the last word.

  “Broken?” Beau struggled to keep the rising dread out of his voice. “How am I going to explain this? I wasn’t even supposed to leave my apartments. Barger will kill me. What do I do?” Panic took hold and started squeezing.

  “Just breathe.” Cressi’s voice was soothing, but her hands kept nervously hovering over her apron pocket—one moment about to dive in, the next retreating like it was a bad idea. Finally, she made her decision and pulled a small blue pot from her pocket.

  “I could try this balm I made.” Her uncertainty was clear.

  “I’ll take anything you can do.”

  Beau braced himself as she began applying a salve to his nose.

  Any time Cratcher, the Manor’s apothecary, had come to treat Beau, the ancient medic used the foulest salves and poultices, all of which burned Beau’s skin and smelled of sulfur and misery.

  But Cre
ssi’s ointment immediately began to soothe.

  “No sting or stench.” Beau sighed in relief. “I’d rather have you tend to my ailments than old Cratcher any day.”

  “Just rest for a few moments.” Cressi quickly sealed the pot and tucked it back into her pocket. “I think you’ll be more than fine soon.”

  A warm kind of stillness began washing away the shock of the fall, taking with it the throbbing pain. But along with a return to ease came visions of what true pain looked like.

  Mastery House.

  How could he have forgotten, even for one moment?

  “I’m sorry for not knowing about Mastery House,” Beau said. “I could never have imagined a place as horrid as that existed.”

  “Well, it does,” Cressi said. “Still, I truly don’t understand. You’re the heir to the Land, next in line to rule. How can you not know what goes on?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. I guess if it’s not written about in The Histories, if my father or my tutors don’t tell me, then . . . You have to believe me, I had no way of knowing. Now that I’ve seen it, those faces, the horror of the place, I’m . . . What’s worse than horrified?”

  “Then you should see inside, the conditions are twelve times worse,” Cressi said. “Those rations Matron threatened to withhold? A thin soup made from potato peelings and kitchen scraps. The entire building is riddled with holes. There’s not a single fireplace, except for a ridiculously large one in Matron’s quarters. The walls are covered in mold, the floors are rotting, and there’s barely a blanket to be spared except for the very youngest ones. Until I was sent up to service, I’d sleep in the nursery so I could make sure the babies got some measure of warmth and comfort. Who knows what they’re suffering from now.” Cressi cut herself off and looked away.

  But Beau couldn’t look away.

  “It’s not right, it’s not fair. I wish there was something I could do. Had some way I could help.”

  Cressi shifted her gaze back to him, the look on her face as if she’d been stuck with a pin. “You are probably the only person in the Land who can do something about it!”

  “You’re wrong. I wish I could. But I can’t. I have no power.”

  “You have all the power of being the heir.”

  “But I don’t. It’s just rotten luck that I was born me.”

  “Oh. So, you don’t like the fate you were born into?” Cressi mocked. “Neither do I. But how can you ignore that you have more power and privilege than anyone else?”

  “That’s what you don’t understand. My father—”

  “Exactly!” Cressi broke in. “Your father. You’re the one who will inherit the Land.”

  “Maybe one day. Maybe.”

  “Well, we can’t wait for one day,” Cressi said. “The other children, the sick, the dying, none of us can wait for some day when you decide to claim what’s yours. Begin now. Use what you’ve been given.”

  Beau had always thought of his title as a burden, a responsibility he wanted nothing to do with. He saw his father as someone to be appeased and avoided. He’d always been so careful to not anger Himself, it never occurred to him that he could have any influence over his father. But something about Cressi made him almost believe he could.

  Almost.

  “I’m not like you. My father would never listen to me. I can’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to.”

  “I believe you can.” There was something about the way Cressi was looking at him—at, not through or past or above him—as if she saw something in him no one else did.

  Beau laughed nervously. “I mean, it would be something if I could walk straight up to my father and tell him what I think, what needs to be done. That the cruelty has to stop. If I could do that, then I’d be able to do something, something real—” Beau stopped. Cressi was crumbling into a deep curtsy, her eyes glued to the ground.

  “What are you doing? Why are you—” he began. Then he felt it, a hovering shadow.

  “What is . . . this?” Barger waved his hand in disgust as he stepped in between Beau and Cressi.

  Beau’s insides melted into a swirling cesspool of dread. He wanted to run, to flee, but he couldn’t do that now; he wouldn’t do that now.

  “I was coming back from the stables when I fell,” he said, pushing his voice to sound authoritative. “This girl saw what happened and she helped me.”

  Barger sniffed. “Is that so?”

  “Yes?” Beau’s bravado wavered.

  “How helpful,” Barger said. “In that case, she should run to the laundry as fast as those boney legs can carry her and not leave until every last linen in the Manor is washed clean. And if she’s still standing here after I’m done speaking, she’ll be doing the washing without her boney legs to prop her up.”

  Cressi began backing away when Beau stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. It was a risky move. Barger didn’t make idle threats. He made promises. But now it was time for Beau to make some of his own.

  “She doesn’t work in the laundry,” Beau challenged. “She’s a nursemaid’s assistant, a talented healer, and I want her to be my personal apothecary. Look at what she did for my nose. It feels so much better already.”

  Barger leaned in. “Your nose?”

  “I know it looks terrible, but as soon as she put a salve on it began to feel better.” Beau gently patted his nose.

  No pain.

  Then he gave a tentative squeeze. Still nothing.

  Amazing! There was no swelling, no tenderness. All evidence of the fall vanished, gone as if by some kind of magic. . . .

  Beau’s blood turned to pudding as he watched Barger’s expression turn from ire to understanding, leaving him practically salivating at the realization.

  “Wait.” Beau wedged himself between Barger and Cressi. “It’s not what you think. She’s not a—” But Barger sprang before Beau could get another word out.

  The chamberlain pushed Beau aside, drew his knife, and grabbed Cressi, pinning her against the wall with his blade to her throat. With his free hand, he pulled a whistle from his pocket and blew it loudly.

  “No, stop! I demand you let her go,” Beau yelled as three guards rushed in.

  But his words were lost to the wind as one of the guards threw Beau over their shoulder—as easily as if he were a bag of rubbish—while two others took hold of Cressi.

  “Escort our young master back to his apartments,” Barger instructed. “See to it that he remains there, safe from fevers and other undesirable forces. We’d hate to see him suffer a similar fate as his mother.”

  “No! You can’t do this!” Beau struggled to get away, but he was hardly strong enough to make the guard flinch. “She’s not what you think. I command you to leave her alone!”

  “You couldn’t command a flea not to bite,” Barger scoffed as he turned to the other two guards. “Bring the girl and follow me. I believe we’ve found our charmer.”

  Chapter Five

  That Horrible Thing Called Hope

  Time had never been a friend to Beau. When he was with his father, time dragged when Beau needed it to fly. Then when he was with Fledge and needed it to linger, time broke into a sprint. But the instant Beau opened his mouth and accidentally betrayed Cressi, time did something new; it froze in that single moment just before understanding set in. Then after the guard carried Beau back to his apartments, bolting every door and window in his wake, time revealed its greatest trick—it split clean in half.

  From that moment on, time would forever be divided into the Once and the Now.

  Once, Beau would’ve thought being locked in his apartments the worst thing that could happen to him. He’d have sulked that he couldn’t go see Fledge or take a ride. He’d have sunk into a gloom, unable to escape how unfair his life was. After a while, he’d begrudgingly surrender and try to find some small measure of happiness. He’d disappear into a game of Fist or weave stories in his head about a life lived traveling beyond the borders of the Land—a life where he hadn
’t been born into a fate he neither wanted nor could ever live up to.

  But not Now.

  Now, as he stood in the center of his sitting room, his bones aching with rage at the depth of his stupidity, Beau knew better. Being locked in his apartments wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to him, it was the worst thing that could happen to Cressi.

  And it was all his fault.

  He’d been so eager to prove he could stand up to Barger, be the person Cressi thought he could be, he’d ended up walking her straight into the hangman’s noose.

  By the time day began its slow turn toward afternoon, Beau had already tried forcing open every door and window, but it was useless—they’d been bolted from the outside. He’d shouted himself hoarse, demanding to be released. He’d rung the bell so hard the pull cord ripped free. But no one cared, no one came.

  Still, there had to be a way to save Cressi, to undo the terrible damage he’d done.

  Beau was trying to pry out the hinges on the door to the balcony when he heard the chime, an announcement that a meal, clean linen, or an emptied chamber pot had arrived in the dumbwaiter.

  The dumbwaiter.

  Of course! How had he not thought of it?

  Beau raced to open the sliding hatch in the dining room wall.

  When he was younger, he’d been certain the hole in the wall had magical properties—how else could meals appear out of nowhere? Then as he’d gotten a bit older, he realized the dumbwaiter possessed another kind of magic, the power to drive his tutors mad. After discovering he was the perfect size to fit inside the lift, he’d ride up and down, teasing and taunting them until they figured out where he was hiding. It took one tutor half the day to find him. Himself ordered it sealed up after that, reopening it only after Beau had grown too big to fit inside.

  But had he really?

  Beau pulled out the chamber pot that had been sent up and squeezed inside, practically folding himself in half. Even with his knees pulled up tight to his chest and his head tucked down tight, he barely fit.