The Verdigris Pawn

by Alysa Wishingrad

  But barely was better than not at all.

  Beau eased the hatch door closed and the dumbwaiter began its descent, plummeting him into a darkness so complete it had a weight all its own. With each revolution of the crankshaft, Beau’s heart pounded harder, for there was every possibility he was descending right into danger. But it was also possible that luck might be on his side.

  Might.

  When the lift landed, Beau braced himself as he slowly eased the hatch door open and slid out into the empty alcove.

  An excellent beginning.

  But the door to the kitchen was open, and from where he stood, Beau could see at least two maids at work at the long wooden table occupying the center of the room. One of the maids, thin and rangy with a scar across her cheek, was standing at the head of the table peeling potatoes while the other, a small, squat woman with deep crevices creasing her face, stood directly across from the door kneading dough.

  Seeing the kitchen again made Beau homesick for the days when he’d sit for hours reading by the large open hearth. Soothed by the whistle and hum of the cooking pots, it had been one of his favorite places in the Manor. He used to spend as much time as he could with Perta, the old, kind kitchener. She’d sing him songs and feed him a perpetual bounty of freshly baked biscuits, pudding pots, and delicate pastries.

  Then one day, Perta died, Cook arrived, and Barger banned Beau from the kitchens. He said there were too many dangers—open cooking fires, large knives—to let the heir roam freely. He hadn’t been allowed back since.

  Beau waited until the maid facing the doorway left her station to get more flour before slipping past the kitchen. From there he crept down a narrow, winding corridor lined with an endless succession of doors. There was a room for nearly every purpose along these halls: cheese storage, meat storage, meat salting, meat brining, wine storage, wine decanting. There were also several other doors that led to stairwells offering discreet entry to rooms on the upper floors, such as Himself’s library, the salon, the dining room. The chamberlain’s office.

  But even Beau knew Barger didn’t use his office for his real business. A dank cavern leading to the dungeons served that more nefarious purpose.

  Beau followed the corridor as it snaked around until he came to a dead end, or so it appeared to the unknowing eye. The first time he’d watched Barger disappear behind the wall, Beau thought it was some kind of magic. Then he’d seen the trick.

  He’d never before dared to press the right side of the panel, easing open passage into a cavernous anteroom, but there was nothing he wouldn’t dare now to save Cressi.

  Lit only by a single torch, the room gave way to two gated doorways. One was locked with an enormous padlock. Beau pressed on through the other one. Halfway down the passageway, he heard Barger’s voice ricocheting off the walls.

  “Oh, she’ll talk,” he said. “I’ll make her talk. I’ve no doubt that she knows. There’s not a servant in the Manor who hasn’t heard the rumors about Annina.”

  “She’d be lying if she said she hasn’t,” Cook replied, that croaking rasp unmistakably hers. “My maids tell me some even think Annina is alive and hiding out in the Bottom waiting for her boy to come of age.”

  Beau’s knees buckled. They did not just say his mother was still alive, did they? He had to have misheard.

  He eased a few steps closer.

  “Oh, she’s dead, believe me. I saw her buried myself,” Barger bragged. “As for this maid, though, where did she come from? How did she slip through? Why didn’t Matron see her charming ability early on?”

  “Don’t blame Matron. Those charmers are clever as snakes.”

  “That’s one thing our heir isn’t. The idiot didn’t even realize he’d betrayed the girl until it was too late.”

  “But this is what I’ve been wanting to tell you.” Cook lowered her voice. “Friedan told me she’s been hearing stories about the girl. Rashes disappearing before the eye, coughs drying up under her care. Then this morning, that girl tended a guard after he cut his thumb. Friedan said the others told her as soon as the charmer girl put some salve on his wound, it closed up. No scar, nothing. But then he started weeping, couldn’t stop. Kept asking for forgiveness, saying he was only following orders. They had to carry him away, confine him. And this was a captain of the elite guard, a man as tough as they come.”

  “That’s perfect!” Barger cackled.

  “Why’s that?”

  “There’s our proof. I told Himself his suspicions were wrong, that his boy is no charmer,” Barger said. “He has no spine, no spark. He could never have been responsible for the fever. But the girl is different. I knew the moment I saw her that she’s the one behind everything that’s been happening—including last summer’s flood and the wheat blight. And look what I found. Finally. It was right there in his chambers, under his reading chair!”

  The verdigris pawn.

  Knowing it was in Barger’s possession burned Beau like salt to a wound.

  “It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen such a vibrant color,” Cook gasped. “You turned her apartments upside down three times over looking for it. How’d he get it?”

  “I don’t know,” Barger replied. “All that matters is I have it now.”

  “You gonna try and use it? See if it works like it’s supposed to?”

  “No, there’s time for that. First we deal with the charmer girl.”

  “Are you going to do it the same way as the last time?” Cook asked. “Oh! You should bring back the iron shoes. I’d pay good coin to see a charmer do that dance.”

  Beau’s stomach lurched. He’d read about the iron shoes—one of the countless unthinkable Badem forms of torture. After a victim was strapped into red-hot metal boots, their futile attempts to save themselves was referred to as a dance to the death.

  Beau shook out his trembling hands, readying himself to march in and strike his bargain. His life for Cressi’s. He would promise to name Barger High Chancellor once Beau became the next Himself, all but making him Beau’s regent—granting him nearly equal power. All in exchange for Cressi’s release.

  “You’re thinking too small!” Barger reprimanded Cook. “What’s important is that Himself returns to find the Land in impeccable order, his heir dealt with, and the charmer who’s been causing floods and fevers captured. It’s for him to decide whether she dies or is put to good use. And how to reward me for my good work.”

  “That’s easy,” Cook cooed. “He’ll name you High Chancellor, for sure. First one in three generations, most powerful man in the Land behind Himself. You deserve it.”

  “I do,” Barger practically sang. “Now let’s go see that charmer.”

  Beau slumped into a puddle on the floor as the sounds of Barger and Cook’s retreat echoed through the dank hall.

  His one bargaining chip was made useless. Barger had already won the game. He had a clear path to power under Himself. He had Cressi. And he had the verdigris pawn along with a plan to use it against Beau. Even if Beau raced after him right now demanding Cressi’s release, Barger would only laugh. Then he’d see Beau locked into his apartments for as long as it served his purposes.

  Beau had no moves left to play.

  Just like all the games of Fist he’d lost, he’d failed to strategize. Except now he’d lost more than a game—he’d lost Cressi.

  Chapter Six

  Cressi In Deep

  As Cressi sat huddled in the cold, dark cell, she realized she’d been right about one thing: this day was going to end with her neck on the chopping block. While she was used to her life being in peril every day she was in the Manor and wasn’t surprised it had come to this—to be accused of being a charmer was absurd. And a death sentence.

  But it was also a truth she’d been trying to run from for as long as she could remember.

  She’d always had a healing touch. Back in Mastery House, she’d been able to remedy the other children’s ills faster than anyone else. Then, when she was put into serv
ice and Friedan taught her about herbs and how to make remedies for everyday maladies, it was as if somewhere deep in her bones Cressi already knew so much. Even Fledge used to tell her there was something special in her.

  “In time it will make sense,” he’d say.

  But all along she kept denying it, telling herself she was simply a gifted healer.

  How stupid she’d been!

  If only she’d gone to seen Fledge sooner, he might have been able to help her, tell her what to do. The stories circulating about her abilities would never have started, and she certainly never would have met the heir. She’d simply have gone on living the life of drudgery fate had handed to her.

  Or would she?

  Cressi was never one to allow anyone else to indulge in denial, to run from the life she knew they were meant to live. She constantly called Nate out on that very point, drove him crazy. She’d stepped way out of line to tell the heir who he had to be. What if this was her destiny? Who was she to try to dodge it?

  Cressi gathered her thin skirt and ragged wrap closer around her. The damp had seeped into her bones, making her shiver and quake.

  At some point she drifted off into a kind of cold-induced stupor. Thoughts of Nate, the heir, the guard whose hand she’d healed swirled around, hovered along the periphery of her dreams, tugging at her. It was as if all their voices were pushing in, begging to be heard, to be healed.

  Then the sound of a key tumbling in the heavy lock punctured the dark, reminding her exactly where she was. Where she was headed.

  A thin stream of light filtered into the dank pen as Barger entered, inevitable as the night.

  “Get up,” the chamberlain ordered as he hung a small lamp on a hook.

  Cressi had always been able to read people, to see behind the masks they wore. A gift and a curse, it made it almost impossible for her to truly hate anyone. Even Matron, whose own pain and suffering roiled under the surface of her cruelty. But Barger was different. He wore no mask. The guile and greed he projected were his truest essence.

  “You don’t look like a charmer,” he said, a combination of disgust and delight wetting his lips.

  “I’m not a charmer, nor would I know what one looks like, sir,” Cressi replied.

  “I do. I’ve been deceived by one before. Saw the Manor nearly destroyed until we recognized her for what she was,” Barger said. “How long has it been since you were sent up from Mastery House and put into service?”

  “One season.”

  “Which is exactly how long the Manor has been plagued by one calamity after another beginning with the infestation that ruined half the wheat crop and the flood that followed.”

  Cressi clamped her jaw shut. Crop blights were sadly not uncommon. And whoever thought it wise to create a bridge across the river out of piled-up rocks rather than build a proper span was responsible for the flooding, not magic.

  “Now we have a fever that’s afflicting our guards,” Barger continued. “If that’s not the work of a charmer, I don’t know what is.”

  “I don’t either, sir.”

  “Don’t think yourself clever. I know what you are and everything you’ve done. The maids with the hacking cough, the heir’s nose. But reducing one of our bravest guards into a sniveling shadow of his former self was going too far. Who are you working for? The heir?”

  At the mention of Beau, Cressi felt a kind of protective ferocity ignite in her bloodstream. She ought to hate him, but she didn’t. Beau was willfully innocent and dangerously ignorant about the Land; still she saw something in him, something hiding under the surface. A tiny spark that needed to be protected, kindled, coaxed into a flame.

  “I know nothing of the heir. I only found him lying on the ground then attended to his nose as I’ve been trained to do,” Cressi insisted, fighting to keep her expression flat and clear.

  “You expect me to believe that? He wanted you to replace the apothecary. Why? Because he knows what you are. Doesn’t he?”

  “If he does, he knows more than me. On my bond, I know nothing of the heir. I simply helped him as is my duty.”

  Barger rubbed his chin, his fingers making a shushing sound as they brushed against his afternoon stubble. Then he broke into a smile, a viper ready to strike.

  “According to both Matron and Friedan, you have a clean record,” Barger said. “No trouble, no punishments. Matron almost spoke well of you when she sent you into service. Said you were helpful in containing the unrulier children when you were in Mastery House.”

  “I do as I’m told, sir.”

  “It’s too bad I’ll have to kill you.” Barger tutted. “Although there’s always a place for servants who understand loyalty, particularly those with special talents.”

  “On my life, my loyalties are yours.” Cressi bowed in deference.

  Barger’s nose twitched, a hare sniffing at a snare. “Yet you still refuse to admit to your powers.”

  “I know nothing about charming. Although, given the chance there’s no knowing what I could do.” Cressi locked on Barger’s greedy gaze before adding, “For you.”

  “You know, I can end you any time I please.” Barger sneered as he reached into his coat pocket.

  Cressi went numb. She’d played this all wrong. He was going to kill her right here.

  Yet the chamberlain did not pull a blade from his pocket.

  “You might yet prove to be of use to me.” Barger held a small object up to the lamp, turning it this way and that, allowing the light to play off the iridescent blue and green hues.

  Fear for her life melted into a kind of deep yearning. Cressi had never seen an object like this before. She didn’t even know what it was. But it wasn’t the thing that she was drawn to exactly, but more the way it made her feel. Her hands itched to hold it, to protect it, shield it from harm.

  “Do you know what this is?” Barger asked, holding it out just beyond her reach. “This is a verdigris pawn. Part of a Fist set that once belonged to an enemy of the Land. You do know how to play Fist, don’t you?”

  Cressi barely shook her head, consumed by a gnawing hunger to snatch the pawn from his hand.

  “No? I thought all you servants yearned to play at overthrowing the Manor. No matter, you’d never understand the rules anyway; they’re too complicated. Let’s just say that whoever controls the pawn controls the board. And whoever controls the board wins.”

  Barger folded the pawn into Cressi’s palm, releasing a wave of relief. It was as if she’d been missing a vital organ or just discovered she had an extra pair of eyes. With the pawn in her hand she’d been made whole, connected, part of something far larger than just herself.

  Barger smiled. “I was right about Annina, and I’m right about you. Now the question remains if you’re willing to be useful.”

  Being useful to Barger could only mean serving his interests, all of which were dark-hearted. But to Cressi, being useful meant defending what was right. And now it also seemed to somehow include protecting the pawn—whatever that meant.

  “I am more than willing.”

  “You’re smarter than you look,” Barger said. “If you do well, you will live a long and comfortable life. If not, I will cut you down where you stand. Understood?”

  Cressi slipped the pawn into her apron pocket next to the small blue pot of balm. Although there was no actual movement, it felt as if the two objects started vibrating together, like some kind of greeting or dance between friends.

  “Agreed.”

  Barger reached one hand forward, the blade she’d been expecting earlier shining in the other hand.

  Cressi stumbled back, although there was nowhere for her to go.

  But Barger didn’t come for her, instead he turned the blade against his own hand. “Heal me, charmer,” he taunted, raking the sharp point across his palm, a thin red line rising in its wake.

  Cressi fought to contain her rising panic. She truly had no idea how to control whatever powers she did have. If they even were powers.
All she’d done was put a woodberry salve on the guard’s cut and Beau’s nose and fed phlegmatic maids a tincture of meadowspur and willow bark. There was nothing magical about those herbs at all.

  Or was there?

  Cressi pulled the blue pot out of her apron and quickly slathered on a layer of salve.

  Seconds, minutes slowly ticked past as she waited to see what would happen. Barger was watching, too, anticipation slowly morphing into impatience.

  And then it began. The blood that had been slowly pooling around the gash stopped and began receding like the tide at midday. The gulf of flesh the knife had created started closing up until finally Barger’s hand was as it had been before.

  Cressi’s insides uncoiled.

  “Very good, charmer.” Barger nodded in approval. “Now let’s go. We’ve got work to do.”

  Chapter Seven

  Torn Tethers

  Beau found the stables deserted. There were no trainers, grooms, or stable hands anywhere. Even the chestnut filly was gone. And worst of all, Fledge was nowhere to be found.

  How could that be? The stables were Fledge’s workplace, his home, his center of gravity. He was never not there. He should have returned from delivering the blankets long ago.

  Beau had been trying to keep his panic at bay, knowing that even when he got tangled up in the gnarliest of knots, Fledge would be there to unwind him. But without him, the knots tightened, leaving Beau immobilized.

  Then the hard, flat notes of the bugles rang out with the call to assemble and Beau snapped to his senses. Himself’s private guard hadn’t left yet.

  Fledge had to still be there, helping them ready for departure.

  Buoyed by hope, Beau raced out of the stables.

  As he approached the parade grounds Beau could see the first flank of the regiment slowly disappearing over the rise, Himself at the lead. With the danger of his father seeing him gone, Beau dashed over to the last of the guardsmen preparing to move out.