The Verdigris Pawn

by Alysa Wishingrad

  Anka shook her head as if terribly aggrieved. “It’s not my place to tell you what to do, you’re both far wiser than I. But I won’t lie, I’m worried about you.”

  Boz hadn’t taken his eyes off Anka once, and that’s when Cressi realized Anka very well might be the first woman, aside from Cook, to pay them any attention. “You made it, not her?”

  “It’s how I’ve survived this long out here with all these sick guards.”

  “Well . . . if you says to . . . maybe we should. All right, girlie, give it to us.”

  Cressi handed the brew over to Boz and watched as he drained half the vial before passing it off to Keb.

  “I never had medicine like this. Tastes like bamberries,” Boz said.

  “No, it don’t,” Keb said, wiping his mouth. “Tastes like Cook’s apple cake.”

  “Apple cake?” Anka clasped her hands in surprise. “I have some in the kitchen. You wouldn’t want to come have a slice before you leave, would you?”

  Boz and Keb exchanged another of their looks. It was clear they both were desperate to follow Anka.

  Had the brew really begun to work that fast? Or was it Anka’s charming manner at work? Either way, this was a better outcome than Cressi had dared hope.

  “Thank you for the offer,” Cressi replied. “But we can’t spare the time.”

  “We decide when we go, not you,” Boz snapped before turning to Anka and smiling.

  And with that, the two guards jumped off the wagon and followed Anka to the barracks, two oversized ducklings fighting to keep up with their mother.

  Anka locked the kitchen door and smiled sweetly at Keb and Boz. “I’ll cut you both a nice slice of apple cake, but first, would you mind going out back and bringing me more wood for the fire?”

  “Whatever you need!” Boz moved faster than Cressi had ever seen, and Keb was right on his heels.

  “What did I do wrong?” Cressi asked as soon as the guards had gone. “I expected them to disavow the Manor, to start talking of liberation, not apple cake.”

  “It’s working perfectly,” Anka replied. “I just inserted myself, so they felt loyalty to me. It’s better they stay here. Redosing them will only slow your progress and hamper our allies’ trust.”

  “But how am I to travel? I’ve never driven a wagon, and even if I did, I might as well ride the whole way shouting ‘I’m a runner!’”

  “No wagons, no horses, no main roads. You’ll have to continue on foot. It’s the only safe way to go. Here.” Anka handed Cressi a bag fitted with shoulder straps. “I’ve packed you some food and several vials of each of your brews. Blue bottles are your fever remedy, yellow the truth, clear is loyalty, and green is your memories potion. I also stitched your packets of loose herbs into the lining; you never know what you might need. And here’s a blade. It’s not large, but it’s sharp.”

  “But I don’t understand, how am I to find Beau on foot? I only have a day and a half before Barger comes after us.” Cressi paused to let Anka strap a sheath for the knife around her waist. “And what of Nate? You still haven’t told me anything I can use.”

  “I’ve told you all I know. Fledge, me, and a few others know only part of the story. It’s safer for everyone that way. It’s for you, Beau, and Nate to put it all together. As for going on foot, that’s the only way you’re going to find them. Here, cover your uniform—it makes you quite the mark.” Anka wrapped a shawl around Cressi’s shoulders before opening a small hatch positioned next to the hearth. “This leads down into the cellar. Go all the way to the back and behind the pickling barrels, you’ll find a door into a tunnel. Follow through that and out onto a path in the woods. Keep to it, no matter what. It will lead you to Gerta before nightfall. A friend and trusted ally, she knows everything that happens south of here.”

  “Gerta,” Cressi repeated. “How will I find her?”

  “You won’t. She’ll find you.” Anka kissed Cressi on the forehead and handed her a lantern. “Travel safely and bring back good news.”

  There was every possibility that Cressi was walking into a trap, but there were pitfalls aplenty no matter which direction she went. She might as well die trying.

  Unlike the tunnels Cressi had traversed at the Manor, those with solid walls shored up by large wooden beams, she now found herself in something that more closely resembled a burrow. Cut straight through the earth as if by some magnificently oversized mole rat, the sides and ceiling of the tunnel were nothing more than tightly packed dirt. A tangled web of roots, bulbs, and rocks were all exposed as if intended for display. Like someone out of a fairy story, Cressi felt transported to another world where anything was possible—animals could talk, mountains could walk, and the monsters were always defeated.

  Where there was always hope.

  But as in most fairy stories, there were unknown enemies lurking just out of sight. Doubt, distrust, and the ever-present possibility of failure.

  Even if she did find Beau and Nate safe and well, that didn’t mean Beau would be willing to return to the Manor to face down the greatest monster of them all—Himself. As for Nate, well . . . she had no real idea. He’d always hated the heir, vowed to see him brought down. Was it even possible for him to recognize the promise in Beau? Proud and unpracticed in admitting his mistakes, Nate would sooner charge into a fight blind than admit he’d been wrong.

  But there was the pawn, gently purring in her pocket, spurring her along. Keep walking, it seemed to whisper, the truth lies just ahead.

  As Cressi continued on, the confines of the burrow soon began expanding, opening out farther and farther, until finally she realized the tunnel had indeed given way to the woods, a solid path unrolling ahead, clearly marking her course.

  Cressi shuttered the lantern, leaving the flame just enough air to survive, for who knew how long it would be before Gerta came to find her.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  A Swollen Head

  Doone might have defeated Beau at Fist, but for the moment Beau was still a few moves ahead of him. Now all he had to do was make certain it stayed that way long enough for him to get back to the Manor before Doone could find Cressi.

  After making up an excuse about wanting to get back to making slings, Beau set out to look for Nate.

  He looked in the cookhouse, but the only person there was Trout, still tending to his roast and fire. Nate wasn’t out by the wood pile either. Nor was he in the workshop or upstairs. He couldn’t have made it back inside already—they’d have crossed each other.

  So where was he?

  Beau raced around the house and was about to head out into the field when he spotted Nate by the barn, half a load of wood balanced in his arms, the rest scattered at his feet next to an overturned jug, cider slowly filtering from the mouth.

  “There you are!” Beau tried to sound cheery and open. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  “Why? So you could gloat about what a clever Fist player you are?” Nate was fighting to keep his armful of wood balanced as he slowly squatted to try and retrieve the rest.

  “I told him you should play first. You heard me, didn’t you?” Beau asked. “And besides, I lost.”

  “Am I supposed to feel bad for you, while I’m out here doing scut work?” Nate managed to add one more stick of wood to his pile, but there were still many more to retrieve.

  “No,” Beau said. “But you can’t be mad at me for it either. I wasn’t trying to show you up, I—”

  “Couldn’t help it,” Nate grumbled in disgust. “You apprentices are all alike. Think you’re so clever because you’ve got a trade.”

  “That’s not fair.” Beau recoiled from the sting. “I don’t think that.”

  “You did everything you could to show me up.” Even obscured by anger, Nate’s pain was clear to see.

  “I didn’t mean to do any of that, I promise.”

  “Sure, whatever.” Nate was still angry, but there was a softening. “If you’re so sorry, help me pick up this wood.” />
  Beau added a few logs to the pile in Nate’s arms, then gathered some in his own. “I’ve been thinking. I think we should go.”

  “You mean with Doone to the Manor?” Nate asked. “He told us to stay here.”

  “No.” Beau fixed his shoulders. “Away, to be free.”

  “What are you talking about?” The softness vanished. “We’ll never be freer than we are with Doone. Stop talking and get the rest of the wood.”

  “Fetching wood and carrying cider for someone else—that’s your idea of freedom?”

  “That’s just for now,” Nate said. “He’ll see my worth soon enough. Probably put me in charge of the raid on Mastery House.”

  This was going to be harder than Beau thought.

  “Look.” Beau lowered his voice to a whisper. “You should know, if your friend proves to be a charmer, Doone means to use her to charm the heir and make himself regent. Rule the Land from the Manor.”

  “As he should!” Nate beamed. “That’s brilliant!”

  “No, it’s not!” Beau fought hard not to shout. “He’s no better or different than Himself. Don’t you see? He’s not who you think he is.”

  “Really?” Nate’s glare was hard enough to crack glass. “Maybe you’re not who I thought you were.”

  “You know exactly who I am.” Beau tried to laugh it off.

  “Just get out of the way.” Nate was as close to done as Beau had seen him. “I’ve already dropped this load once and kept him waiting longer than I should. You wanna be useful, go fetch more cider.”

  “Useful? That’s all you aspire to be?” It was getting harder by the moment to keep from exploding. “You do know what that means, don’t you? Used.”

  “Don’t get all wordy. I’ll do whatever Doone wants me to do.”

  Suddenly there was no more room inside Beau for all he’d been holding in. “Whatever he wants?!” he snapped. “Like forcing your friend to do his bidding? Blowing the Land to bits?”

  “Not the Land, the Manor.” Nate’s face revealed its dark edges and angles. “And if people die, it’s for the cause. We have to make sacrifices if we want change.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “How can you not?” Nate shot back. “Which side are you on, Crafty?”

  “I’m on the side of what’s right!”

  Nate shifted the pile of wood in his arms, shaking his head as if taking pity on the ignorant and lost. “You know, I figured you were sheltered, hadn’t been around much. But you really are just stupid.”

  “I’m stupid?” A flaming heat shot though Beau. “That’s funny, because that’s what Doone thinks of you!”

  “You lying, rump-faced skunk!” Nate spit at the ground by Beau’s feet as he pushed past.

  That was it. Before he knew what he was doing, Beau dropped his pile of wood and pushed Nate hard enough to send his burden flying. “Better that than a blind bootlicker!”

  “You reeky maggot!” Nate lunged at Beau with the full force of his weight.

  Easily toppled, Beau fell flat on his back, an open mark for Nate to land his first punch square on Beau’s jaw. The second punch sent Beau’s head snapping to the side, the taste of blood seeping into his throat.

  “Get off me!” Beau bucked up, throwing Nate off balance. But a life spent scrapping and fighting made Nate fast and flexible. He quickly scrambled back to his feet and was reaching for a piece of firewood when Beau threw a leg out and tripped him, sending Nate to the ground.

  “Just stop and listen to m—” Beau began, but Nate flew at him again.

  “Rotter!” Nate shouted, his face twisted by rage.

  Beau tried to roll out of the way, but Nate was faster. He caught Beau by the hair, easily dragging him back up to his feet. Nate then delivered a swift punch to Beau’s ribs, sending him staggering backward as the shriek of a loud whistle broke the air, stopping both boys dead in their tracks.

  And there he was, Doone, clapping and cheering on the fight as if he were ringside at a wrestling match.

  “Don’t stop, I haven’t placed my wager yet,” he said as he threw a fistful of coins on the ground at the boys’ feet. “Ten on Nate!”

  Beau backed away.

  How had he let himself go that far? Forget his purpose? His friend?

  “I didn’t mean for that to happen.” Beau threw his hands up. “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s right. Start a fight then walk off before it’s done,” Nate taunted.

  “Crafty started it?” Doone looked impressed. “I’d have put ten more coins on you having thrown the first punch, Nate.”

  “It was him.” Nate stared daggers at Beau. “I asked him to help me with the wood, and he lost his mind, knocked everything out of my hands.”

  “You’d already dropped the wood and spilled the cider. Don’t blame me for that.”

  “You spilled my cider?” Doone’s mood flipped, all traces of amusement evaporated. “Have you any idea what that costs me?”

  “I . . . I’m sorry.” Nate grabbed the jug, brushing it clean as if it were a priceless heirloom. “Look, it’s still half full! I’ll fill it up.”

  He looked so hopeful and yet so lost at the same time. Even as angry as Beau was, he couldn’t bear seeing Nate grovel that like.

  “Give it here,” Beau said. “I’ll fill it, you do the wood.”

  “I don’t need or want your help!” Nate cradled the jug as he stepped to Doone’s side, his obedience on display like a peacock in full bloom. “I’m sorry. I’ll do better.”

  “I’m sure you will.” Doone took a full sweep of Nate before cracking a smile, the signal that Nate was safely back in his good graces. At least for now.

  That was all Nate needed for his spirits to be reignited as he took off to the cookhouse.

  Beau fought back the urge to follow after him, to make things right, but Nate needed time to cool off. He’d come around. He had to.

  “See?” Doone said. “That’s why we can’t have him coming with us. He’s hotheaded, temperamental. I won’t have him blowing up our mission.”

  Beau nodded solemnly as if he were in complete agreement with Doone. But really it was the only way he knew to keep his tongue from taking over and telling Doone exactly what he thought about his deceitful act as the people’s champion. As false an ace as ever there was.

  Instead Beau simply replied, “I’ll get to work on some of those slings.”

  “Fine,” Doone called after him. “But then go get some sleep. We leave with the dawn.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Tastes So Sweet

  Beau headed back to the workshop, but it wasn’t to craft slings. He was waiting for Nate.

  Pig-headed Nate.

  Why couldn’t he see Doone for who he was? Especially after the way Doone had treated him—shaming him over something as petty as spilled cider.

  But he also understood the impulse to refuse to see the truth in front of his face. To stay, to take it, to not fight back. He’d lived it for most of his thirteen years, right up until the moment he met Nate.

  Nate, who’d believed in Beau long before he even thought to believe in himself.

  No, he wouldn’t leave without him. He’d find a way to help Nate come around to the truth whatever it took.

  Beau kept to the workshop as time wore on. It might be late, and Nate might still be steaming mad, but he’d never pass up the chance for a lie-down on that feather-filled mattress upstairs.

  He’d be back. It was just a matter of when.

  When it got too dark in the workshop to see, Beau went in search of a light for his lantern. He finally found a lit one in the tidy bedroom upstairs. Yet he could hardly force himself over the threshold. Nate had been so excited about the prospect of sleeping in a proper bed. The room was going to be their sanctuary, their home once they’d returned triumphant from freeing the children. From saving Cressi.

  But like everything else, appearances had been deceiving.

  Beau was linge
ring in the doorway, too sad to go forward, too angry not to, when Nate came running up the stairs clutching a heavy wool blanket.

  “What are you doing?” he snarled, pushing past Beau into the room. “You’re in my way. Move.”

  “I was waiting for you,” Beau replied softly, kindly.

  “Why?” Nate threw himself facedown onto one of the beds. “I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

  “Then I’ll talk,” Beau said. “I’m sorry I lost my temper. I know you think I tried to take all of Doone’s attention. That I showed you up on purpose. I didn’t. I told him how brilliant you are. That you’re devoted to him, would do anything for him. You have to believe me. He only sees you as a servant, someone to carry his wood and cider. You deserve so much more.”

  “Just shut your face hole, before I punch you again,” Nate growled into his pillow. “And this time things will break.”

  “You can be angry at me; you can even hate me. But you can’t stay here. Everything he’s said is a lie.”

  “You’re the lie!” Nate sat up, fuming. “Everything about you is a lie!”

  Beau fought to keep himself from falling back, for the truth had come out. “Listen, you don’t understand. I thought Doone was—”

  “He told me everything.”

  Beau’s throat ran dry. “Everything?”

  “You told him I was afraid of fire! And some story about how you had to rescue me from a wild boar! Lies, dirty lies.”

  “I never said any of that!” Beau vowed.

  “And then you know what he did?” Nate pulled back his anger, allowing an eerie calm to overtake him. “He asked me to draw up the plans for freeing Mastery House. Where the doors are, how to divert the doorkeeper and Matron. Me! Not you. He also said next time we fight I should finish you off as if you were the heir himself.”

  “You’d do that to me?” Beau stood his ground, even as it was crumbling underneath his feet.

  “Might be a good time for you to learn to sleep with your ears open.”

  Beau’s head pounded with the thrum of his heartbeat, his throat so tight he could hardly breathe. He wanted to scream, throw something. Cry. Yet none of that would have moved Nate.