“A wooden board. You know, because of the prodders.”
It truly was as if the two boys spoke different languages. But Beau could only ask for so many explanations without giving himself away. So instead he simply nodded.
“Last time I tried this, I got all the way down to the wagons, but there were seven guards on duty. Three of them checking papers and the other four all prodding.” Nate winced at the memory. “I had to turn back. That was before I got the idea for the plank. I bet if I had one then, I’d have made it out.”
Beau counted three guards now, all of whom were busy inspecting the three inbound wagons.
“I think luck has decided to follow along,” Nate said. “See that second outbound crate?”
Beau spotted a dray cart loaded with sheepskins parked behind a hay wagon emblazoned with the Manor’s seal. By comparison, the dray cart was small and rickety. The wheels hung at a strange angle, and the driver, a haggard man with a tall shock of hair standing at all angles, looked to be ninety years old if he was a day.
“That’s our ride.” Nate looked at the run-down cart as if it were a golden carriage. “Driver looks old. Maybe even deaf, and prodders rarely bother with sheepskins—too heavy to move more than the top few. If I’m right, he’s headed for the Upper Middlelands, probably delivering to a fuller or a weaver. It’s not quite the Bottom, but it’ll get us at least halfway there.”
Nate spoke with such confidence; Beau couldn’t help but trust his every word.
The boys remained tucked into the shadows at the edge of the field as the guards finished inspecting the first inbound cart. They’d been giving the driver a hard time, throwing the bolts of cloth he was carting to the ground and demanding he empty his pockets.
“The poor sap should just offer the bribe up now,” Nate said. “They’re never gonna let him get through ’til they get theirs, though that never stops some Middlelanders from trying.”
No sooner had Nate said that when the driver, shaking his head in disgust, pulled out a small purse from deep inside his vest pocket. He began counting out a few coins when the tallest of the guards grabbed the purse. The driver’s protests and the guards’ ugly laughter echoed all the way up the hill.
With the stolen coins in hand, the guards soon got bored, leaving the driver to retrieve his fabric from the ground while they turned their attention to the first outbound Manor cart. The tallest guard started what looked to be a friendly chat with that driver while the other two guards picked up long poles and started ramming them deep into the hay piled on the back of the cart.
The prodders and the need for the plank made sense now.
With a large plank in hand, Beau and Nate would be able to make the prodders think they’d reached the end of the wagon. Nate was really the one who should be called Crafty.
“This is it,” Nate said. “We’ve got to get behind the shed while the guards are on that cart. You ready?”
His heart pounding to burst, Beau readied himself for the sprint. After a silent countdown, Nate gave the signal. The boys dashed out of the field, zigzagging their way around the broken shards of glass and rusted barbs, down the slippery slope, and finally behind the outbuilding. The run was both terrifying and exhilarating, but they’d made it without the guards spotting them.
Now came the hard part.
Nate pulled a small knife out from his boot and began prying at one of the boards that lined the bottom edge of the shack.
While Nate worked, Beau kept an eye on the guards, but no one even glanced in their direction.
“Got it!” Nate soon whispered in triumph, holding up a plank of wood. “Now we wait until the guards move on to the other inbound wagon, then you’re up.”
“Me?” Beau balked. “What am I supposed to do?”
“You’ve got to hold that horse on the wool wagon steady without the driver seeing. Make sure he doesn’t move or whinny while I climb in and set up our spot. You’re a cordwainer’s boy, you’ve got a way with horses, right?”
Beau knew exactly what a spooked horse could do to someone who was trying to control them, especially a workhorse. They might be slow, but they were strong and could break a man’s back with one hoof. “I do,” Beau said.
“Good. Wait for my signal before you come around to join me on the wagon. I’ll make like a peeper frog. You know the sound, right?”
Beau nodded and Nate tucked the wooden board under one arm while they waited for their chance.
And then it happened. Like a flock of carrion birds, the three guards converged on a large inbound wagon covered by a tarp. They set to work tearing it apart, pulling every box and crate off the back, piling up what they favored and casting aside the rest, all while the driver stood by helpless.
At Nate’s signal, the boys sprinted across the road. Heart pounding, eyes wide, Beau split off from Nate and slid into place just between the work horse’s front legs. The horse flinched, but just as he was about to lift a hoof Beau grabbed hold of the bottom of the harness, stilling him.
From there he could see Nate’s feet approach the back end of the wagon, then disappear up and out of sight. He was on!
Beau expected to hear Nate’s signal at any moment, but it didn’t come.
“Come on,” Beau whispered to himself. “Where are you, Nate?”
Precious minutes passed and still no signal came from Nate. It was just as Beau thought about releasing his hold on the horse and making a run for it that he heard it.
“By the Goodness of Himself, wake up, old man!” a guard shouted all too close by. “We got no guards to spare to ride with you. You get yourself robbed again like you did last time, you won’t live to see another day. Now get on with you.”
With the sound of a smack, the horse lunged forward. Quick as he could Beau let go his hold and rolled away, narrowly missing the fall of one of those heavy hooves on his neck. Once he was clear of the wheels, Beau jumped to his feet and made to climb into the back of the cart, but it was moving too fast!
He stumbled back, bewildered, the all-too-familiar twang of disappointment ringing in his chest, when Nate popped up from behind the sideboard. His arm extended down; Nate waved for Beau to run and grab hold. Beau sprinted forward, running faster then he’d ever moved before, finally managing to grasp onto Nate, who pulled him up into the cart. In the split second before the cart passed under the gateway, Nate pushed Beau into a hole he’d created in the front corner of the wagon and covered them over with sheepskins.
They’d made it! They’d actually made it!
As the cart slowly picked up speed, Beau sat stunned in disbelief. He was truly on his way to finding his ace, riding away from everything he’d ever known—hopelessness, inaction, lies—and onward toward possibility, help, and hope.
Chapter Eleven
Topend
After what felt like half a lifetime Nate pushed the sheepskins back, exposing their hidey hole to fresh air and a view of the open road.
“We did it,” Nate whispered, a smile blooming on his face. “We actually did it.”
“I don’t know how to properly thank you,” Beau whispered back. “I could never have gotten this far without you.”
“Don’t go thanking me yet.” Nate set the plank aside. “It’s a long way to the Bottom, and we still have plenty of other gates to get through. We’re found out along the way, our next stop will be the gallows. But for now, we feast.”
Nate pulled two grayish lumps out of his pocket and held them out toward Beau. “A roll and a hunk of dried mackerel. Which one you want, or should we split even?”
“You have them,” Beau said. He had no stomach for food. He was still too wrapped up in disbelief.
When he awoke this morning, the day promised to be no different from any other. Yet dropping the pawn had set in motion a chain of events that landed him in a wagon running away from the Manor in search of a man he’d always been told was his greatest enemy, but who might just be his savior.
“Yo
u’ve got to eat.” Nate broke one of the gray lumps in half.
“I don’t want to take your food.”
“There is no yours or mine.”
Nate pushed the lump into Beau’s hand, but one small bite of the roll was all Beau could manage. “What is this?” he asked, spitting it out.
“Awful, isn’t it?” Nate chuckled. “I pretend it’s one of those scones they give the upper servants. I’ve had one of those before. The memory helps the sawdust go down.”
“Sawdust?”
“Sure, Mastery House bread is lousy with it. They mix it in with the flour; makes the provisions go further. It’s not bad for you, but if you’re not careful you wind up with some nasty splinters.” Nate stuck out his tongue, revealing a painful-looking mess riddled with tiny white scars.
Beau tried not to cringe, but he couldn’t imagine such a thing. His own food was so carefully prepared, the worst he’d ever suffered was a burned tongue on a bowl of soup.
“It doesn’t hurt if you choose not to feel it.”
It was clear, though, that it had hurt. Sadness lurked in the shadows behind Nate’s eyes as he pulled a small knife from his boot and cut a slice from the second gray lump.
“Now, this you’ll like.” Nate pierced the piece of fish with the tip of his knife and offered it to Beau. “Nicked it from Matron’s pantry. Go on, might be the best grub we get for a while.”
Beau slid the piece of dried fish off Nate’s knife, but he was more interested in the blade than the fish. A sharpened stone strapped to a wooden handle, the knife was nothing like the finely honed pieces of steel in Himself’s collection. Yet it cut with a nice clean stroke.
“Not bad, huh?” Nate beamed with pride. “Go on, take a look.”
Beau took the knife, playing with the weight, admiring the sharp edge. “The spine is nice and straight, and the swag point is perfectly rendered.”
“Took me nearly three seasons to hone that edge.” Nate took another bite of fish. “Almost got caught with it once or twice too. There’s a price I’d never want to pay.”
Nate slowly ran his thumb over the sharp edge. “You have to break rules if you want to survive, Crafty. Everyone does it.”
“They do?”
“Sure. At least the rules they know they can get away with. Well, everyone except Cressi. She never stepped over a line in her life.”
“Cressi?” Beau fought not to wince at the mention of her name. “Who’s that?”
“Someone I came up with,” Nate said between bites of fish. “She’d like you.”
“I doubt it.”
“No, she would. She’s got this thing where it’s like she’s seeing right through you. It’s creepy. Still, she knows a good sort when she sees one.” Nate flicked a fish bone off the side of the cart. “But if she doesn’t watch herself, they’ll have her tending to that dog-hearted heir.”
“Maybe he’s nothing like Himself though.” Beau tried to throw the idea out as almost an afterthought. Odd how he felt the need to defend himself—a self he never wanted to be.
“Only someone with eggs for brains would think he’s not exactly like his father. The only thing that spoiled rat-swallow cares about is becoming the next Himself. That’s how they work, to stay in power at any cost. Keep people cold, hungry, and stupid and they’ll believe anything you tell them. No, we need a leader who can bring us real change.”
As Nate spoke, a heat rose in Beau’s throat. He was right. Even if Beau believed he could, he’d never liberate the Land, let alone free Cressi or the Mastery House children on his own. That’s what an ace was for. An ace that just might be Doone.
“You look like you saw the skunk in the flesh,” Nate laughed. “Don’t worry, Crafty, we’ll find Doone soon enough. All we got to do is look out for the runner’s code.”
“What’s that?”
“They say runners leave messages behind for each other, symbols that tell them where it’s safe to go, when to turn back. And where to find Doone.” Nate flicked his knife into the sideboard of the cart, but when he pulled it back out, he moved too fast and cut his finger.
As a fine ribbon of blood trickled onto the white sheepskin, Beau started to rip a piece of his shirt off the way Cressi had earlier.
“Leave your togs intact.” Nate wiped the blood off on his own jerkin. “It’ll be fine. I’ve had worse. But then again, I used to have Cressi to tend to me. She could heal anything.”
Beau tried to mask his surprise—did Nate know about her? “You mean, like she’s a charmer?” he tested.
“No!” Nate laughed. “Cressi just knows what to do for cuts and maybe a fever. Charmers were more than healers. They were listened to, respected, and relied on by great leaders. They were special.”
“You don’t think she’s special?”
“Well, I guess to me and the others at Mastery House she is. But there are no charmers left, Crafty. The Manor killed them all. Even Himself’s own wife. They say he killed her himself when he found out she was one. Don’t you know that?”
“That’s not tr—” Beau began to protest, but what did he know about the truth anymore.
“No,” he corrected himself, “I’d never heard that before.”
“Well, they say that’s what happened.”
Beau turned away, for if Nate saw his face right now, he’d know Beau was lying. But Nate had taken a sudden interest in the view as they passed the first of Topend’s enormous houses.
“Whoa, look at that!” Nate exclaimed.
Lit up with enough candles to turn night into day, the fifteen-room manse belonged to the Parvenues, one of Topend’s wealthiest, most powerful, and nastiest families. Beau had been there several times when he was younger. Himself and Mr. Parvenue, a bore who never passed up the chance to try and impress Himself on subjects as fascinating as the oat tax and why Himself should award him a title, had tried to force a friendship between their sons. But the meetings thankfully ended after Kender locked Beau in the servants’ outhouse.
“That one’s even bigger!” Nate pointed to the next house down the road. “And look, they’ve all got private guards stationed at their doors. Unbelievable! Give me a two-room cabin and I’d feel like the richest man in the Land. And look at that one! It’s bigger than the last two put together. Wait, are those statues of Himself planted in front of them all?”
Topenders designed their homes with only two things in mind—outspending their neighbors and trying to impress Himself with ever larger, grander, and more costly monuments in his honor.
As Nate continued commenting on every house they passed, Beau lay back in the sheepskins. He’d be happy to never see Topend again. But no sooner had he begun to slowly unwind when the bells began tolling nine.
Nine bells was when Beau was expected to go to bed. What if Barger had decided to check on him? Just because he ignored Beau for three days last time didn’t mean he’d do it again. And if he did, having found the heir gone, he’d raise the alarm, waking the entire Manor to begin an exhaustive search. Riders would take off in every direction, tearing the Land apart. They wouldn’t stop until they found Beau.
What had he done?
“What if they send riders after us?” Beau pressed. “What do we do then?”
“They wouldn’t waste the metal to shoe the horses on the likes of us,” Nate laughed. “Worst case, they’ll post notices. But by the time they do that, we’ll be safely with Doone. Don’t worry, Crafty, we’re not worth the effort to them.”
If only that were true.
Or maybe it was.
Beau tried to picture Barger admitting to Himself that he’d lost the heir.
He couldn’t see it. Barger would never admit to having failed in his duties, for to do so would condemn him to the same fate he’d walked countless others to—pain, shame, and a cruel and merciless death.
No, the chamberlain was too ambitious to ever expose himself that way. He’d handle Beau’s disappearance the same way he handled everything�
��with coercion, bribery, and deceit.
That meant they probably had a bit of time before Barger sent someone after them. At least enough time to find the ace and get back to free Cressi and the others.
“Lay back and enjoy the ride,” Nate yawned. “Try to sleep. I’m thinking we won’t hit the border with the Upper Middlelands until well after sunrise. I’ll wake you if anything happens.”
“But if you’re asleep, how will you know?”
“I don’t know what it was like sleeping at the cordwainer’s,” Nate yawned again, “but in Mastery House if you don’t sleep with your ears wide open, you might never wake up.”
Tucked in between the sheepskins, Beau slowly allowed himself to unwind. The world outside the cart was dark and quiet, no sign of guards or trouble of any kind. For the first time ever he could simply be. He’d always been expected to be busy studying, answering, groveling. Never just being. And so, even as he knew he should try to stay awake and vigilant, the rocking of the wagon soon lulled him into a deep sleep.
Chapter Twelve
He’s Gone
Tray in hand, Cressi dutifully followed Barger out of Cook’s pantry on a silent march past the kitchen, through a succession of triple-locked doors, and up three flights of stairs. It seemed the heir was confined behind nearly as many barriers and bars as the Mastery House children.
When they’d arrived at yet another triple-locked door at the top of the stairs Barger stopped.
“This will be the first test of your abilities and loyalty. The heir will be preparing for bed,” Barger explained. “I’ll tell him I was wrong about you, and that as a gesture of goodwill, I’ve placed you in his service. He’ll be suspicious of me, and that’s where you come in.”
“You want me to use the brew to . . . rob him of his will?” Cressi had prepared herself for this moment, but that didn’t stop the very thought from turning her spine to ice.
“No!” Barger said. “You and your brew will simply make him want to become the heir his father deserves. To come to see me as his mentor and role model. And on the day he is named the new Himself, he will name me as his regent, requesting I rule in his stead.”
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