As the shouts and whoops of joy filled the air, Beau too felt his spirit soaring, getting carried away with the promise of freedom. A better life for all was possible. But then the flames reached the heir-faced snake, and the cheers turned to jeers. People shouted obscenities and threw rotten fruit, hastening the snake’s destruction. Their hatred of the heir burned with a passion as bright as the flames.
Beau shrank away from the bonfire, certain every pair of eyes in the crowd could see straight through to the truth of who he was. Those all too familiar feelings of shame and worthlessness began to rear their heads, but Beau beat them back. He had no time, no use for them.
Already determined to find his ace to free Cressi, to put an end to Mastery House no matter what it took, Beau’s search took on ever more urgency. He needed an ace, but so did the Land, and neither of them had much time.
Chapter Seventeen
Welcomed
Beau wove in and out of the food vendors and mead stands, searching for Nate. He checked by the parked caravans, peered into every cluster of people. Nate was nowhere to be found. His hunt was further frustrated as the crowds began to flow away from the vexing man and toward the back corner of the gathering where the high-stakes games of Hazard, Chess, and Fist were being played out.
Pulled along like a log on the waves, Beau thought he caught mentions of Doone’s name, and of Torin’s, but it was too hard to hear anything specific. Only when he reached the games corner did the crowd grow quieter in respect for the players. Under any other circumstances Beau would have been the first in line to watch a real Fist match, but not now.
Beau was about to take another run through the gathering when he heard his name called out.
“Crafty!” Nate raced toward him, wild with excitement. “There you are!”
“I’ve been looking all over for you too! We have to go, Nate. Now—”
“We can’t leave now!” Nate panted. “Just follow me.”
Nate pulled Beau through to the front row of spectators until they had a view of two players hunched over a Fist board. Carved from a glistening slab of wood, the game board was inlaid with copper to delineate the squares. And the keep—the square at the very center of the board where the king sat—was encrusted with tiny verdigris-colored stones.
It had to be the most beautiful Fist board ever made. Beau loved his mother’s and Fledge’s sets, but they paled in comparison—with the exception of his mother’s verdigris pawn, which glistened with a light all its own. Nothing could ever match it.
“Look.” Nate nodded toward one of the Fist players. “It’s him!”
Beau tore his gaze from the game and looked up at the player. It was him, the stranger who’d saved them from Grater. From the looks of the board, he was only a few moves away from victory.
“Good for him, but we need to find—” Beau began but was summarily hushed by people on every side as the stranger’s opponent made his next move.
Like a fool the opponent shifted his king back one square. He’d left the stranger the perfect setup. In one fell swoop, Beau and Nate’s rescuer captured a total of three guards then scooped up the verdigris pawn, ceremonially replacing his rival’s king on the keep.
The spectators erupted in a rousing round of applause for the victor and jeers for his bested opponent.
“Now, now,” the stranger playfully scolded as he pocketed his winnings. “We should always be gracious in victory. No gloating.”
“Ready for a better challenger?” someone in the crowd shouted.
“Another time, perhaps.” The stranger tipped his head at a man who’d been busy packing up the board to follow him as he strode away, cleaving the crowd in two.
“Come on. This is our chance!” Nate shouted as he sprinted off to follow in the stranger’s wake.
“What do we care about him?” Beau asked.
But Nate was gone. Beau had no choice but to race to keep pace with Nate as he ducked and dodged, beating a line through the crowd until finally he caught up to the stranger, planting himself in his path.
“You’re Doone, aren’t you?” Nate blurted out.
The stranger laughed. “Am I?”
Beau had been certain he’d recognize Doone the instant he saw him. That the meeting would be momentous, that it would hit him like a strike of lightning.
Had he really mistaken his ace for a kind stranger?
“I’ve been trying to run from Mastery House for the last four seasons to come and join you!” Nate was nearly breathless with excitement as he pulled the WANTED poster from his sleeve and thrust it at the stranger. “I can’t believe I didn’t realize it was you.”
The stranger looked the poster over.
“I can’t blame you—it’s a terrible resemblance,” he said. “But I’m not sure I understand why you’d be looking to join me.”
Nate checked over his shoulder before leaning in close. “To be part of the rising.”
“Is that so? You hear that, Trout?” Doone turned to his companion, who gave an indifferent shrug.
Trout cut a stark contrast to Doone. His misshapen nose collided with narrow-set eyes and sunken cheekbones that looked like they might slip off if not for the great wedge of a jaw holding it all together.
“Everyone says you’re the only one who can make it happen.” Nate was trying to remain calm, but his enthusiasm was seeping out the edges. “I . . . I mean, we want to be part of it.”
“Sorry, boys, not sure what you’re meaning. Trout and I travel light, but I wish you the best. Stay safe out here.” Doone patted them both on the head and walked off.
Beau’s stomach twisted in on itself as he watched hope walk away, but Nate wouldn’t be deterred. He sprinted after Doone.
“We’ve got valuable things to offer you!” Nate panted as he trotted alongside Doone. “Crafty here has skills, he can make you things. And me, well I’m clever and as slippery as you need. I know ways in and out of the Manor no one else does.”
That was enough to stop Doone’s progression. “You say you ran from the Manor?”
“Yes, slipped out in the back of a wagon,” Nate boasted.
“These are fine togs for children of Mastery House.” Doone was clearly dubious.
“I stole them from the laundry.” Nate tossed his head with pride. “Kept them hidden in a barn. Only put them on days I tried to run.”
“And you?” Beau’s heart threatened to stop dead as Doone felt the quality of the cloth of his sleeves.
“Crafty’s not from Mastery House. He’s the cordwainer’s boy. See the shoes?” All of Nate’s coolheaded composure had evaporated in Doone’s presence. “Who else but a cordwainer’s apprentice would have such a fine pair?”
“Yes, who?” Doone studied Beau, taking his measure. “Healthy, aren’t you? You’ve got fat on your bones, teeth in your head, and a craft to support you. Why run?”
“He was remanded by the Manor,” Nate said. “Sent to tend to the calves. Terrible waste of talent.”
“They would’ve given you back to the cordwainer. Eventually. Yet you gave up the promise of a comfortable life to run.”
“A life of comfort isn’t always worth the price you have to pay,” Beau replied, a truth he knew all too well.
“Wise words from a boy who spends his days cobbling shoes.”
“Not just shoes!” Nate volunteered. “He can do anything you need. Repair saddles, fashion sheaths. He can make one for you. You’d do that, Crafty, right?”
“Sure . . . I could do that.” Beau fought to make the lie sound easy.
Doone looked impressed. After a quick glance around he gathered the boys into a huddle. “This talk of a rising is dangerous business,” he warned. “Trout here and I are dedicated to helping the people of the Land, to right the wrongs so that one day, instead of burning their woes in a straw effigy, everyone will be free. We’ve seen it’s possible, out there across the sea. Life is different in other lands, freer. But what we do is not the stuff of stor
ies. It’s real, hard work. Is that what you two are looking to join?”
Beau felt a burst of energy rise from the bottom of his feet and rush up to the top of his head. He might not have recognized him for who he was at first, but only the ace would think like this, dare like this! Doone was the one to save Cressi, liberate the children of Mastery House, and free the Land.
Beau and Nate both nodded fervently.
“Good.” Doone smiled. “Then we welcome you.”
Beau thought he knew what it was to walk in the wake of power. To feel its effects on a crowd of people. Power was palpable. And so was the fear it incited. He’d seen it compel otherwise pompous men to bend and arrogant women to demure in Himself’s presence.
Power was cruel, absolute, and unbending.
Or was it?
For even as the crowds parted for Doone and people stopped to watch him pass, there was no fear or trembling. Only admiration and hope. Lots and lots of hope. But as they walked through the crowd, basking in Doone’s shadow, Beau realized something else. He’d been so focused on finding his ace, he hadn’t yet considered how to actually get Doone to free Cressi or the children of Mastery House.
“So how do we do this?” Beau whispered to Nate. “Do we just come out and ask him to help us free Mastery House?”
“No!” Nate snipped. “We have to prove ourselves first. Let him see we’re worthy of his trust.”
“But how long will that take?” Beau pressed. He’d already been gone for over a day. He only had another couple of days at best before Himself returned to the Manor.
“Knowing me and knowing you, no time at all.” Nate tossed the hair out of his eyes, exposing that all-too-self-assured grin of his. “Don’t worry, Crafty. The hard part is over.”
“I hope you’re right,” Beau sighed. He’d better be right.
By the time they reached Doone’s horses, Doone had flipped countless coins into waiting children’s hands, helped a mother find her lost son, and broken up a fight. With each act of generosity Beau felt himself calming. Doone was worth a short delay, he knew it.
“Nate, you’ll ride with Trout. Crafty, you’re with me.” Doone adjusted the saddle on his dappled gray stallion, then lifted Beau up as if he were no more than a sack of flour and placed him atop the horse.
Without thinking Beau hooked his feet into the stirrups, fixed his back and shoulders, then took hold of the reins, thumbs tucked, and hands crisply creased at the wrist—exactly as Fledge had taught him.
“You look like one of Himself’s guards up there. All you’re missing is the helmet and armor!” Doone laughed.
Beau chuckled weakly, collapsing his back into a half-bent curve. “I used to see them ride by the cordwainer’s. Bunch of pillocks.”
“That they are,” Doone agreed. “Now make room for me up there. You’ve not earned your own horse yet. Nate, up with Trout.”
While Nate figured out how to climb up onto Trout’s horse, Beau kept his head down to hide the red streaks of horror burning into his cheeks. He’d nearly given himself away! If he was going to enlist Doone’s help, he’d truly have to be Crafty.
Chapter Eighteen
Anka
By the time Keb and Boz returned to the wagon the sun was beginning to fade, and so were they. They looked exhausted, and their courier uniforms were smeared with sticky fingerprints, crumbs, and stains.
“What happened to you?” Cressi asked as they stumbled into the driver’s seats.
“We ate,” Keb grumbled. “Lots.”
There went her plan. In their absence, she’d added large quantities of sleeping herbs to their food thinking she’d suggest they stop to eat once they were nearing the Bottom. But from the looks of them, neither guard was likely to want to think about food again until morning.
Time for a new plan.
Feigning a sore neck, Cressi asked if she could sit in the back of the wagon. Fortunately the guards were so overfull they were glad to have the driver’s bench to themselves.
Cressi had just settled into the back of the wagon when she spotted a throng of townspeople led by the apothecary proprietress heading across the square. Some were on foot, several others were on horseback, and they were all heading straight for the wagon.
Cressi’s blood turned cold. Had the proprietress found her out?
“Let’s go! Drive now!” Cressi urged, but the guards were too busy arguing about who would drive and who would sleep.
“We don’t take orders from you.” Boz turned back to snarl at Cressi when his eyes grew wide. “What’s this? Hang you, Keb! I told you not to take that coin!”
“It was your idea,” Keb shot back.
“You stole coin?” Cressi pressed. “From who?”
“We didn’t steal,” Keb protested. “We took back what was ours after the sweets lady wouldn’t sell us any more.”
“Stop yattering and drive, Keb.” Boz shoved Keb into the driver’s seat, but it was too late. The riders surrounded the wagon on all sides, while the rest of the horde, led by a man dressed in bright red robes, closed in.
The proprietress, marching in step with the man in red, pointed up at Cressi. “That’s her! Gave her four and one-half coins’ worth of remedies to use on the guards at the barracks.”
The crowd rumbled.
Cressi girded herself, preparing to be ripped away from the wagon, when the man in red threw his arms open wide. “By the Goodness of Himself, I bid you welcome!”
Welcome?
“I’m Master Woolever, wool merchant and mayor of this humble corner of the Land. I told the good people of the Upper Middlelands not to worry, that the Manor would send help. And no sooner had I said it than you arrived.”
“What?” Boz was, as always, completely confused.
“You mean you ain’t mad about the coi—” Keb began, but Cressi stopped him with a sharp elbow.
“Please allow us to escort you to the barracks,” Woolever continued. “We want to ensure your safe arrival.”
“The barracks?” Boz repeated. “We ain—”
“That’s very kind of you,” Cressi called out over Boz. “Do you mind if we have a moment?”
“Not at all!” Woolever beamed benevolence and patience.
Cressi leaned in toward Keb and Boz. “They think we’re on our way to the Lower Middlelands barracks to tend to the sick guards.”
“Why they think that?” Boz gawped.
“’Cause that’s what you told the lady with the sweets,” Keb said. “She asked if we was here cause of the fever, you said, yeah—”
“I ain’t going nowhere near no fever.” Boz hunkered down in his seat, trying to make himself immovable.
“Too bad, we have no choice,” Cressi shot back. “You heard him, they’re desperate for the Manor to do something to help their guards. Unless you want to admit you stole back your coin. Best case it’ll land you in jail, worst case you hang.”
“What about finding the heir?” Keb asked.
“We’ll find him after we’ve gone to the barracks. I’ll do what I can for the guards. You can stay in the wagon and sleep, far from the fever. We still have two days to find him. All will be well.”
This couldn’t have fallen more perfectly if Cressi had planned it. The Lower Middlelands were close enough to the Bottom for her to make her way there on her own.
Cressi turned back to Woolever. “Thank you for the offer! We appreciate it.”
“Is there anything else you need before we go?” Woolever asked. “Name it, it’s yours!”
“Got any more of them sweety almonds?” Keb asked.
“Perhaps just some food or cider if you have it,” Cressi interjected.
“You heard her. Go!” Woolever clapped his hands and several members of the crowd ran to their respective shops. “I will be writing to Himself to commend you. He should hear all about your dutiful service.”
“No! Don’t do that!” Cressi exclaimed. “There’s no need.”
“Don’
t forget to mention me and Keb,” Boz shouted. “Boz and Keb, you got that?”
“Yes, of course!” Cressi could practically smell the relief emanating from the mayor’s pores. “And you, miss? Your name?”
“It’s not necessary, I assure you.” Cressi collapsed back into the wagon, hoping to put an end to the conversation. But no sooner had she begun to collect her thoughts when the proprietress appeared around the side of the wagon.
“Shhh! Make no fuss,” she warned as she reached into her apron pocket and thrust several small pouches at Cressi. “Take these. I would’ve given them to you at the shop, but you can never know who’s listening or looking.”
Cressi looked at the pouches filled with herbs, confused. “I don’t understand.”
“I hate delaying you by sending you to the barracks,” the woman whispered. “But it’s the safest way, trust me. When you get there, you tell Anka I sent you. Understand?”
“Um . . . no, I don’t.”
“You will. Now put those with the rest of your herbs. But keep this separate.” The proprietress pulled a small bottle from up her sleeve. A familiar flash of green and blue blinded Cressi for a hair of a moment before the woman pressed it into her palm. “Tuck it away safely on your person.”
Cressi started to open her palm when the proprietress covered it over with her own hand. “Don’t touch it, and do not smell it. Try not to even look at it or think about it, unless you need it. It’s the only brew that can be used against a charmer. But it’s also how I knew who you were for certain.”
“Why would I need it?” Cressi feigned innocence. “There are no more cha—”
“Just keep it.” The woman’s hand was soft and warm resting on Cressi’s. There was a kindness there, a reassuring calm.
“I truly don’t understa—” Cressi began when two merchants loaded down with a supply of cider and food approached the wagon.
“May luck follow you, and don’t forget to send my regards to Anka.” The proprietress snuck off and soon emerged around the front of the wagon, shouting orders to the others. “Hurry up and get those things loaded. The ill can’t be kept waiting!”
The Verdigris Pawn Page 11