The Verdigris Pawn

by Alysa Wishingrad

  “The very best.”

  “And you knew her?” Cressi pressed.

  “She’s why I’m here and not serving in the pits, or worse, and why I have the benefit of this charmed kitchen. She did everything she could to see we were protected.”

  “We?”

  “The young ones. Me, Fledge, a few others.” Anka pulled her hair back and splashed her face with cold water from the wash basin.

  Cressi balked. This information was coming a bit too fast for her to digest. “You know Fledge?”

  “Of course I do. We were all hidden together during the war until Annina married Himself. Only reason any of us lived was because she made him promise to see we were protected. Always. He agreed as long as we were kept separate from each other. Fledge was apprenticed to the master of the stables, the others were scattered around the Land. And I . . . Well, they didn’t know what to do with me, so they sent me here. Even so, we’ve found our ways to keep in touch.” Anka dried her face and tidied her hair. “Fledge has been telling me about you for seasons and seasons now. He saw it in you when you were very young, younger than it should have been noticeable. He said that spoke to the depth of your talents.”

  “Fledge knew about me, about this . . .” Cressi bit back the words she really wanted to say. He knew about her abilities, yet he did nothing! “Why didn’t he tell me? Help me?”

  “He was waiting for your talents to bloom.” Anka pulled out a loaf of bread and began slicing off thick slabs. “Besides, he’s no more a charmer than I am. The best any of us can do is fill in a few gaps in your knowledge. But I see you’re well on your way.”

  “I don’t know about that. This could all be soup or weak tea for all I know. I just listened to the plants is all.”

  “Oh, is that all?” Anka set a plate of bread and cheese in front of Cressi. “That’s everything. Listen, you’re no longer at the Manor. You’re free to rely on your own good judgment. Now, what’s this one you’re working on for?”

  “It’s meant to evoke memories long buried or lost to time and pain,” Cressi explained. “The plants guided me there. It felt like a wise thing to bring out.”

  “I agree. And this one? What is it?”

  “I was trying to rework a brew Barger intended me to use on Beau.”

  “You made a brew for Barger?”

  “Not exactly. Cook made the combination, but I was made to tell them if it would work or not, then cook it up. I didn’t mean to, but they clearly read it on my face. I never intended to use it, certainly not on Beau. It wasn’t so much a loyalty brew as a soul-crushing killer.”

  “Loyalty.” Anka let the word roll around in her mouth before asking, “That’s what Barger wanted you to use on Beau? Loyalty to who?”

  “Well, to Himself, but also to Barger. He wants to rule as Beau’s regent one day.”

  “I see.” Anka began stirring and sniffing at the loyalty brew. “But why remake it? For what use? Far too many people in the Land have been raised with the single purpose of serving the Manor. Why enhance that in anyone? I should think you’d work on something less nuanced, something to crush the souls of those who’ve crushed us.”

  “I could never do that!” The very suggestion made Cressi feel oddly protective over her brew. She took a clean spoon and began stirring as if to remove Anka’s negativity. “Blind allegiance isn’t the only kind of loyalty there is. There’s also knowing what’s right. What could be simpler than that?”

  “What if the truest beliefs of the person you charm are that Himself and the Manor are the rightful rulers of the Land. That they deserve dominion over everyone else? There are those who think like that.”

  “They might have convinced themselves of that to survive,” Cressi replied, “but everyone knows no one’s life is less worthy than another. Especially when that other is so very cruel.”

  “I wish that were true. And I appreciate, even after all you’ve been through, that you believe that,” Anka said. “But there are plenty of people, not only those of means, who willingly exchange their freedom for safety. And they’re more than happy to let someone else bear the brunt of that exchange.”

  Cressi stopped stirring the pot. “Someone like the children of Mastery House?”

  “Exactly. I think this is too personal. You’ve bitten off more than you know how to chew.”

  Of course she had. This entire endeavor was more than Cressi knew how to manage. But that wasn’t reason enough to stop. Especially not as she was just beginning to understand what these powers could do.

  “You told me to rely on my own best judgment, to listen to the plants. That’s what I’ve done,” Cressi said. “Yes, loyalty can be self-serving, but reading people is the one part of charming I understand down to my bones. Even Keb and Boz, who are the picture of loyalty to Barger and Cook, truly only want to be safe.”

  “That may be. Still, you’re young. You don’t know what you can do.”

  “That’s true, I don’t,” Cressi said. She had no idea what she was doing, but for the first time ever, rather than that being a problem, it was the source of her strength.

  It all fell into place then.

  Cressi pulled a small bottle down off of the shelves and filled it with her loyalty brew.

  “What are you doing?” Anka pressed.

  “If I can turn Keb and Boz’s loyalty away from the Manor, I can do anything. Please, let me out.”

  “I don’t think this wise.” Anka planted herself between Cressi and the door. “What if it doesn’t work? What if they figure out what you’re trying to do?”

  “They already know I’m a charmer, and they’ve made it quite clear they’ll drop me where I stand if I even look like I’m betraying Barger. I’m well past being worried about what they’ll do to me.”

  Anka remained immovable. “I don’t like it.”

  “You don’t have to,” Cressi countered. “But you can’t keep me here. I’ll find my way out even if I have to charm you.”

  “You’d do that?” Anka challenged.

  “Without a second’s thought.”

  They stood there, silently facing off, each daring the other to blink, until finally Anka’s grimace slowly began to melt into a bemused smile. “I’d hoped that’s what you’d say.”

  Cressi had to stop herself from snapping. “So all this was some kind of a test?”

  “More a test of Fledge.” Anka extracted the kitchen key from her pocket. “He was absolutely right about you. You are as powerful as he hoped you’d be.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Magic of a Kind

  There was only so long that Beau could stall. He’d already gathered every tool that looked remotely appropriate for the task. He’d even soaked the leather in hot water for a good long time—he had Nate to thank for that idea. But every moment of delay meant it would be that much longer before they could get to Cressi and the children of Mastery House.

  There was no more time to waste. “Well then,” he said tentatively. “I guess we’re ready to begin.”

  “Do you think I could do the cutting?” Nate asked. There was a new kind of uncertainty in his voice, a shy almost tentative questioning.

  “Sure, I guess that would be all right.” With relief cascading off his brow, Beau handed Nate a razor-sharp tool with a short handle. There was no way he’d have been able to cut the leather without butchering it or his own hands. And so, after sketching the outline of a sling from the Manor’s collection, Beau watched as Nate cut out the pieces for the cup, then the strap.

  Even Beau’s unpracticed eye could see Nate had a gift, an almost innate familiarity with the tools. Thankfully, he was also stubborn and insisted on doing everything himself. After a while he’d even stopped asking for Beau’s council, instead charging ahead with his own ideas on how to perfect the design.

  While Nate worked on stitching the cup to the strap, Beau stepped outside to get some water from the rain barrel. If their luck held out, they’d be riding back to th
e Manor with Doone before nightfall. Beau closed his eyes against the sun and breathed deep of the air, relishing the smell of meat roasting over an open fire. For the first time since Doone assigned him this task, Beau’s shoulders began to unwind.

  He remained outside, enjoying the quiet until Nate shouted for him. “Crafty! You’ve got to see this!”

  Beau stretched and went back inside, but Nate wasn’t at the workbench, and neither was the sling.

  “Out here!” Nate called. “Hurry!”

  Beau stepped out into the forge to find Nate cradling one of the small metal balls in his hands while Doone stood close by, examining the nearly completed sling.

  “You’re never going to believe what these are!” Nate’s cheeks were flushed with excitement. “Tell him, Doone!”

  “How about I show you instead and give your sling a test in the doing. Crafty, you see that barrel?” Doone gestured to a barrel in the corner of the workshop. “Take the scoop hanging on the side, fill it halfway, and bring it here. And Nate, go back into the workshop and fetch me one of those waxed cotton braids on the shelves and the brown jug next to them.”

  While Nate went back inside, Beau fetched the powder.

  “Good. Now hold this.” Doone handed Beau the metal ball and took possession of the scoop and poured the contents into the ball. “Stand still. Try not to move. Nate! You coming?”

  Nate ran back in with a coil of waxed cotton about the length of his forearm and a small brown jug. “I wasn’t sure how much you needed.”

  “This is fine.” Doone worked one end of the braid deep inside the metal ball, leaving a few inches hanging down the side, then poured in a measure of the liquid. “Now, it’s important you move slowly, Crafty, or it could get fiery around here.”

  “Fiery?” Beau repeated, the word sticking in his throat. “What exactly are these?”

  “Magic!” Nate crowed.

  “Of a kind,” Doone corrected. “I discovered them in my travels out beyond the seas. Just one of these marvels has the potential to change the Land forever.”

  Beau’s stomach quivered. How could something so small have so much power?

  “Come, I’ll show you.” Doone turned to lead the way to a large field out back. “Nate, go fetch a torch and meet us out there.”

  “I’ll be right back!” Nate exploded into action.

  “Enthusiastic, isn’t he?” Doone asked as he led Beau away from the workshop.

  “He’s . . . we’re devoted to you and to freeing the Land,” Beau replied, trying to keep every footfall slow and careful.

  “It’s impressive that a child of Mastery House was able to hold on to his spirit, his fight. Gives me hope for our future. Don’t you agree?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But for an apprentice like you to risk everything? It makes little sense for you to run. Unless there’s something you’re not telling me. Some secret you’re hiding?”

  Beau desperately tried to will his mouth to remain untwisted, his brow unwrinkled, and his hands steady.

  It didn’t work.

  “I knew it.” Doone clapped, looking as pleased as if he’d won a bet. “You’ve been lying to your friend.”

  Beau’s marrow curdled as Doone threw an arm around his shoulder.

  “You weren’t really remanded to the Manor, were you? You chose to run, didn’t you?”

  Relief flooded over Beau, bringing back with it his beating heart. Doone might have spotted some cracks in Beau’s facade, but they weren’t wide enough to let the light out.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t tell him,” Doone soothed. “He doesn’t seem the forgiving type. But why would a boy guaranteed a position care about anything other than protecting his future, one with a home, a trade, coin. Yet you seem determined to . . . well . . . blow up the entire system.”

  “Because it’s not fair,” Beau said. “It’s not right for some to have so much, while others have nothing at all.”

  “High ideals.” Doone ruffled Beau’s hair just as Nate arrived, waving a small torch.

  “I got it!”

  “Perfect,” Doone said. “We’ll go out just a bit farther. I don’t think Crafty can cradle that grenade much longer.”

  “Grenade,” Nate repeated. “It’s such a good word. I’d never heard it before.”

  But Beau had.

  Volume III, Chapter 18, Section 3 of The Histories: Defeating the Terror, in which an account was made of everything confiscated from the Badem after the last Battle of the Bottom. Among the artifacts of the demolished culture was a detailed drawing of a pile of small metal balls with thick rope wicks sticking out the top. They were labeled grenades, with no explanation beyond that. Beau remembered thinking at the time they must have belonged to some kind of game.

  “This is far enough.” Doone halted the procession in the middle of the large, overgrown field. “Crafty, set the grenade in the sling. We’ll see if this design of yours works or not.”

  A surge of anticipation filled Beau’s veins as he placed the metal ball inside the leather cup. It held, at least it actually held.

  “Now light it up, Nate,” Doone ordered. “Then both of you run back to the tree line. You should probably cover your ears too.”

  The fuse lit with a crackle and hiss, sparking and sputtering as a tiny flame moved up the cotton cording.

  “Go!” Doone pulled the sling over his shoulder then flung it, launching the grenade in a high arc out into the field. A high-pitched whistle sang out triumphantly as the metal ball hurtled through the air.

  The boys raced back to the trees, arriving just as a clap of thunder shook the ground. A flash of light—or was it darkness?—exploded overhead, sending them reeling back. Stones, dirt, and debris soared high into the air hovering for the briefest moment before raining back down.

  A shower of destruction.

  As the air slowly began to clear, Beau swiped away the mist of dirt from his eyes and nose. But nothing could clear the confusion and awe of what he’d just witnessed.

  “What was that?” he asked, but his own words were swallowed by the hum and thrum of white noise.

  Beau looked around for Nate. He should have been right next to him. Where was he? But just as a wave of panic began wrapping itself around Beau’s shoulders, Nate emerged from the dust with Doone. Jumping wildly, his arms flung wide, joy and excitement unbound, Nate looked like he’d just seen the future.

  Maybe he had, for Doone had harnessed a plain black powder and transformed it into pure power.

  Back in Doone’s sitting room, the hum slowly faded and Beau could once again hear ambient noises—the creak of floorboards, squealing door hinges, Doone’s satisfied sigh as he sank into his chair by the hearth.

  “What did you think?” Doone prompted.

  “I know you said it isn’t magic, but that was magic to me!” Nate bellowed.

  “No need to shout. I can hear you.” Doone tapped at his own ear. “Pour yourselves some cider. It’ll calm you.”

  While Nate poured two goblets of cider, Doone turned to Beau. “What about you, Crafty? You like what you saw?”

  “I don’t even understand what it was,” Beau said, all pretense of being a rebel gone. “Why would we need that?”

  “Why wouldn’t we?” Doone said. “If rumors are true and the Manor plans to once again ally with Torin, we can meet their northern fire with some heat of our own. It’s the means of our liberation, beginning with the children of Mastery House.”

  The buzzing in Beau’s head returned, but this time it wasn’t the explosion rendering him hard of hearing, but rather deep foreboding. “But if you use them at the Manor, people . . . the children . . . could get hurt, or worse.”

  “Do you think I’d let that happen?” Doone winced as if hit by a barb. “The grenades are simply diversions. They’ll deflect attention in one direction while we do our work in another. No harm done.”

  Like a true ace, Doone had a complete tactical scheme for the mission—ac
counting for every possibility in order to liberate the children of Mastery House. Maybe it was as Nate said—sometimes you have to risk it all to win.

  But Doone’s plan didn’t include saving Cressi. At least not yet. Beau would to have to find a way to change that.

  “I think that’s—”

  “Brilliant, Doone!” Nate crowed. “So when do we go? Today? The sling worked, so we can go now, right?”

  “We’re going to need more than one sling,” Doone replied. “How soon can you boys make ten more?”

  “A day, maybe less. Two tops,” Nate said. “Come on, Crafty, let’s get back to work.”

  For once Beau was grateful for Nate’s impatience—the sooner they could go the better, even if Beau had no plan in place yet. But as the boys made for the door, Doone caught Beau by the shoulders and pulled him back to the table.

  “First, you take a break.”

  “That’s all right,” Beau replied. “We’ll just get going on the—”

  “You deserve a little enjoyment.” Doone retrieved a box from the mantel above the hearth and planted it on the table.

  Though the box was made of simple, unadorned wood, there was nothing ordinary or unfamiliar about it. Beau might as well have been standing in the center of the blast zone, for it was all he could do to not fall back as if he’d been hit between the eyes.

  The box was an exact replica of the one that housed his mother’s Fist set. How was that possible?

  “Pull your chair up, Crafty,” Doone said. “We’re going to play a little game.”

  “Oh,” Beau faltered. “It’s all right, I’ll watch. Let Nate play.”

  “He will. After you.” Doone’s usual beaming glow burned a bit cooler now.

  “Sure, I’ll go second.” Nate smiled at Doone, but shot Beau a look of warning. “I’ll learn from your mistakes.”

  “I’ll play king side, you’ll attack,” Doone explained as he set up the board. “Your goal, with the aid of your ace and your mage, is to capture my king. Mine is to destroy all your blue guards. Yet neither side can win without winning control of the pawn.”