“Into that bath,” said Amina.
“What should I do with the Heart?”
“Oh.” Amina thought for a while, and then left the room, returning with a small linen pouch. “Put it in this. It has charms against being lost and for good fortune.”
Pip took the pouch and vanished again. It was a long time before they heard him getting into the hip bath. He had to unpeel a lot of clothes.
While Pip unwillingly immersed himself in the hot water, Amina combed the nits from El’s hair. El leaned against Amina’s knee, her eyelids drooping. She remembered when she was little, when she still had a mother to brush her hair. She didn’t think about that often because the memories hurt, and it wasn’t worth thinking about the old days if they only made you sad. Tonight, she didn’t feel sad.
Pip came out from behind the screen a few minutes later, clutching a towel around him, dripping and sulky. Amina looked up and inspected him.
“You’re still dirty,” she said. “There’s a scrubbing brush in there, and soap. Use them. If you don’t, I’ll come in and scrub you myself.”
Oni giggled. Pip threw her a filthy look and disappeared again. This time he took longer, brooding as he scrubbed himself. His pride was hurt by this humiliating and unnecessary ritual, but it would be even worse if Amina bathed him, so he was thorough.
When he finally passed Amina’s critical eye, he tied the Heart around his waist and dragged on the nightgown. The linen was pleasantly rough against his skin, and the Heart felt warm again, like it was happy. The Heart belonged to him: he felt this very strongly. He hadn’t liked putting it down on the floor where it would be all alone.
He watched Amina combing El’s hair. It was spread out in a golden fan across Amina’s lap.
“You got pretty hair, El,” he said. “It’s as pretty as Georgie’s.”
El opened her eyes and smiled. “You think so, Pip? Really?”
“If you had dozens of flunkeys like she has to make it into curls and things, it would be much prettier than hers.”
“You’d never say that about my hair,” said Oni.
Pip was going to retort hotly that he had never said it about El before, either, but after the meal Amina had given them earlier, he felt unusually generous. He studied Oni’s close-cropped, curly head. “Your hair’s really pretty too,” he said. “I bet if you had lots of ladies putting gold in it and that it would look like you was a princess.”
“I wish I could have dresses like Georgie’s,” said El dreamily. “And golden necklaces and everything.”
“No, you don’t,” said Oni. “Remember she said that they all stick into her, like pins?”
“You kids,” said Amina. “You’re like a bunch of magpies. Anybody would think you were five years old.”
Oni grinned. “That’s just Pip,” she said.
El turned to look at Oni. “You never said you knew Princess Georgette,” she said, trying to keep accusation out of her voice, but not quite succeeding.
“You both knew Georgie. Don’t you remember?”
Pip frowned. He did vaguely remember a blonde-headed girl, one of the many children Amina had helped over the years, who might have been a scruffy version of the Princess. They had never become friends.
He saw El’s face shift from recognition to outrage. “But she was a princess. A real princess! I can’t believe you never said. Why didn’t you tell me, Oni?”
Oni was quiet for a while. “Georgie was just one of us,” she said at last. “Mostly. She was around from when I was a baby; she was my milk sister, and then she went to be a princess and I didn’t see her again until today. And anything to do with the royals… Well. It’s better not to talk.”
“Seems there’s a lot you never talk about,” said Pip.
“For good reason,” said Amina. She ran the comb one last time through El’s hair. “Your turn, Pip. And, Oni, get the clippers.”
“I don’t want my hair cut,” said Pip quickly.
“All the Cardinal’s spies are hunting someone who looks like you,” said Amina. “So the less you look like you, the better.”
Pip had to admit the sense of that, but he watched sadly as his pigtail fell to the floor. His neck felt chilly without its oily clump of hair.
“What happens now?” he said. “El and me can’t go home. And that’s all we got, those rooms. Everything we own. What if someone breaks in and steals all our stuff?”
“It’s not like we got anything to steal,” said El. “Why would they bother? Aside from Missus Pledge’s will.”
Amina’s hands stopped moving. “A will?”
“Missus Pledge told us the will says the rooms are ours, so nobody can take them away. She showed us the words and explained what they meant.”
Amina started combing again. “I would like to see that will,” she said.
“Missus Pledge said to keep those papers safe as safe,” said Pip. “So we put them under the floor. There’s a secret place. Nobody would find it.”
“If the Cardinal’s men have been through your room, I guarantee they have found it.”
“No!” said El. “It’s ours!”
“There’s nothing to be done now. We’ll think what to do tomorrow. Perhaps they haven’t found it.” She put the louse comb down on the table. “You can get up, Pip.”
“What’ll we do?” wailed El, wringing her hands. “If we’ve lost the deed, we got nothing. We got nowhere to go.”
“Hush, child. We’ll work it out. For now, as you’re free of pests, you can sleep in this house. And we all need to sleep.” She stood up, brushing off her knees. “You have the Heart safe, Pip?” He nodded. “I’ll get on with burning those clothes, then.”
Chapter Eighteen
GEORGETTE HAD BAD DREAMS THAT NIGHT. SHE didn’t remember any of them when she woke, but they left her with a residue of dread. She was sitting in her nightgown staring at her reflection in the mirror, wondering when Amina would help her escape from the palace, when Duchess Albria, her senior lady-in-waiting, sailed into her chamber. She was holding a gown of stiff cloth of gold that was usually reserved for high festivals.
“Not that one,” said Georgette impatiently.
“Oh no, Your Highness,” said the Duchess. “This is the only dress in our wardrobe that suits for the betrothal.”
“What betrothal?” For a moment Georgette couldn’t breathe. “No one has mentioned any such thing.”
“Your father informed me earlier that King Oswald offers for your hand today,” said the Duchess. “Sadly, your suitor’s haste means that we don’t have time to have another dress made up, as is proper, but this one is perfectly adequate to this occasion. There are orders in hand for your wedding raiment, of course…”
All Georgette’s ladies-in-waiting exclaimed out loud.
“He must be burning with love for you, dear Highness,” said Lady Agathe, clasping her hands to her breast. “He saw your face, and he fell. I knew it that evening, when we sent you out. How could any man resist such beauty?”
Georgette rather liked Lady Agathe, despite her silliness. She was kind, which was rare in King Axel II’s court, and would be hurt if Georgette snubbed her. All the same, it took all her self-control not to respond sharply.
“No doubt King Oswald has business that he must attend at home,” said the Duchess, who never missed the smallest chance to depress Georgette’s pretensions. “It isn’t good for a ruler to be absent from his realm for long.”
“Probably,” said Georgette, as lightly as she could. “So when is this ceremony to take place? And how will I know what to say?”
“My understanding, Your Highness, is that you need say nothing.” The Duchess picked up the bodice. “Allow me, Ma’am.”
Automatically the Princess held out her arms to permit the Duchess to fit the bodice around her chest, drawing it tight as she did up the tiny pearl buttons that ran down the back. Georgette hated this dress at the best of times. It was so stiff and tight that she coul
d scarcely breathe inside it, and the gold thread woven through the silk was so heavy it was hard to move.
Georgette had often thought that when she became Queen, she would start new court fashions: light, comfortable dresses that were soft against your body, and that never made you sweat like a pig in summer. The way things were going, she would never be Queen now.
Be obedient, Amina had said. Be good and dutiful. Georgette reminded herself that a royal wedding, even a rushed royal wedding, couldn’t happen in three days. It wasn’t proper unless there was pomp, and pomp takes time. Georgette forced a smile, but couldn’t bring herself to respond to the chatter and speculation. Her ladies-in-waiting put her silence down to anxiety, which was only natural, so handsome as her suitor was, and of course, having a new court far away in a strange city…
It was difficult to remain calm. Georgette had no idea how Amina planned to help her escape this marriage. She couldn’t help wondering if Amina had deceived her, to make her go home without protesting. Hurtful though that thought was, Georgette could understand such an action. She might have done the same thing herself. The Princess’s rank would be some sort of shield if plans went awry, but Amina would have no protection at all.
On the other hand, Amina had never lied to her before. It was one of the reasons Georgette trusted her.
The betrothal was to take place in the throne room immediately after chapel that morning. The Princess had enough time to collect herself, and by the time she was escorted to the throne room, pacing slowly towards the royal dais past rows of solemn nobles, she had perfected an icy, expressionless exterior: the blank face suitable for a baby-making queen, that gave nothing away. After she curtsied before her father, she looked up and briefly caught Queen Theoroda’s eye, and realized that her stepmother wore exactly the same expression.
Georgette’s betrothal was likely a death sentence for the Queen: King Axel had no reason to be married to her, as he no longer needed the alliance she had brought with her. And the King, still desperate for a male heir, could only marry again if he were a widower. Even in the midst of her own distress, even though she heartily disliked the Queen, Georgette felt a pang of pity.
The Duchess had been correct: she needed to say nothing. King Axel, after making a short and pompous speech about the peace that would reign between two kingdoms and the union that would seal it in the bodies of these two young royals, took her hand and placed it in King Oswald’s. His hand was as cold as a pane of glass on a winter morning. The dread of her nightmare returned, thick in her throat: now the trap was closing, and she had nowhere to run.
King Oswald stepped out to the front of the dais and held their linked hands high. The courtiers and officials stood and applauded. And that was it. Now she was betrothed, there was no getting out of the wedding. She hadn’t even been given the chance to refuse. She wasn’t permitted to say anything at all.
Georgette numbly received the congratulations of the important nobles who were seated with the King. Cardinal Lamir smiled, if a mere curve of the mouth could be considered a smile. Queen Theoroda had turned pale to her very lips. Then the Duchess escorted the Princess back through the throne room. The lesser nobles all bowed as she passed, like a field of grass before a breath of wind.
Nobody watching would have thought that Georgette was in complete despair.
I’m nothing more than a cow for sale to the highest bidder, she thought bitterly. I’ve never been anything else. Why did I ever think I was?
For the first time, she understood why the other suitors had failed in their petitions for her hand. It wasn’t because of her cleverness at all. It was because the most powerful men in the kingdom had other plans.
Chapter Nineteen
“NO. AND THAT’S FINAL.”
“But, Ma…”
“Oni, I swear if you don’t listen to me on this, I will…”
Pip, watching from near the kitchen stove, thought that Amina was going to explode with rage. It was a bit frightening when Oni and Amina fought, and they’d been quarrelling for almost an hour now.
“Ma, you can’t tell me what to do. I’m not five any more.” Oni was at the door, already lifting the latch. “I have my own house. I make my own money.”
“That’s not the point. It’s too dangerous.”
“It is the point, Ma.” Oni opened the door. She was about to pass over the threshold when she turned around and smiled mischievously. “I know how to hide, Ma. I know all the tricks. I know because I was taught by the best in the business: you.” She blew a kiss, and then shut the door gently behind her.
For a few moments there was a charged silence while Pip and El sought uncomfortably for something to say.
To their surprise, Amina started laughing.
“She’s my daughter, all right,” she said. “Damn it.”
Oni left the Old Palace the same way they had come, darting through the cover of the overgrown gardens. It was just after sunrise. Pools of mist gathered in the hollows, wisping up into nothing where beams of sunshine pierced the trees. When she reached the broken fence, she checked carefully before she crept out, then drew her hood over her head and walked briskly down the deserted street.
It took her an hour or so to make her way to Pip and El’s building. By then people were out, hurrying to the bakeries for their morning bread or opening stalls in the marketplace. The sky was a clear, pale blue, letting fall its light like a blessing on the narrow lanes of the Choke Alleys. The tenements and peeling shops and taverns looked almost pretty, although it would take a lot more than sunshine to do anything about the smell in this quarter. It was going to be a perfect summer day.
Oni’s pace slowed when she reached Omiker Lane. It was a tiny street the length of six buildings, all in varying states of decay, and the sun hadn’t reached it yet. Oni wondered if it was just the coldness of the shadows that made her shiver as she sauntered along, pretending she was just another passer-by.
Pip and El lived in a building in the middle of the street. Most of the windows were shuttered and the doorways were empty, aside from a cat that studied Oni balefully as she passed. She might have felt less uneasy if she had spotted someone who looked like an assassin. If watchers weren’t outside they were likely to be inside, and they would be more difficult to avoid.
She turned down Hangers Alley at the end of Omiker Lane and slid into a gap between two shops that was scarcely wide enough to admit even her slight body. The stench hit her like a wall: the buildings leaned in close together above her head so there was nowhere for it to escape.
This ground was slimy with every kind of refuse, making her very glad of her boots. Oni drew her scarf over her mouth and nose, in case some filthy winged thing flew in by mistake, and grimly pushed on. There was nothing she could do about the smell, but if you breathed through your mouth it was easier to ignore.
After a few yards the gap between the buildings broadened slightly. She was now treading on bare, sour earth and the stink wasn’t so bad. On one side the noisome, stained walls were pierced with shuttered windows, which once had looked out on something other than another wall less than two feet away. The other side was completely blank. A tiny slit of sky above permitted some indirect light, but it was hard to see. At last Oni found what she was looking for: a copper pipe, green with age, trailed uncertainly down to the ground from the roof. Oni studied it dubiously. This, apparently, was Pip’s emergency back door.
She tested the pipe and found it was surprisingly stable, though slippery under her hands. She was about the same weight as Pip, so she figured it would probably hold. She took a deep breath and started to scale the pipe.
As Pip had said, it wasn’t a difficult climb: there were plenty of gaps in the stonework to hang on to. The higher she got, the narrower the gap became between the buildings. By the time Oni reached the third-floor shutters, the opposite wall was little more than a foot away. Her hands were aching and she leaned back, letting the other wall take her weight, and wiped he
r forehead as she studied the closed shutters. According to Pip’s instructions, this was the window to their bedroom.
She took out a knife from her belt and slid it up the gap between the shutters, lifting the latch that held them closed. And then, cautiously and slowly, she pulled one leaf open. This was awkward as the shutters opened outwards and she couldn’t pull it all the way. To peek in the window, she was forced to climb down a little and twist herself around the shutter. She tried not to look down. It was a long way.
Pip and El’s bedroom. Two pallets, for sleeping. Some pretty things El had collected – a piece of floral material pinned up on the wall, a chipped china dog, three cups painted with roses. She could see the short hallway that led to the main room. She pictured it in her head: the chest and stools for eating, a fireplace with a hob for cooking. On the mantelpiece, a silver sauce jug with a curved handle that had once belonged to Missus Pledge.
Oni studied the shadows dubiously. Was the left corner a little darker than it should be? Or was that her imagination? She dared not climb inside without first ensuring that the room was as empty as it seemed.
It was going to be difficult performing magic when she was hanging by her fingernails three storeys up, but she had no choice. She shifted herself around so she was squarely facing the window and then, making sure her feet were firmly lodged into crevices in the stonework, let go of the pipe, leaning all her weight on the opposing wall. When she was sure that her feet were stable, she drew out a little wooden box from a cloth bag that hung around her neck and flicked it open. Inside was a fine black powder that seemed to sparkle in the dim light. Oni dipped in her fingertip and put a little of the dust on each of her eyelids, and then carefully sprinkled a fine trail of it on the windowsill, mumbling the charm under her breath.
“Show these eyes what is hidden. Protect me from those who wish me harm. May all the beneficent spirits protect this child of light, who asks so humbly for their help.”
The Threads of Magic Page 7