by Julie Berry
I darted off in the direction I'd seen Peter go, relieved to get away from the staring eyes that surrounded the prince. Then it hit me. I'd been rude to him on my first, my second, and undoubtedly my only encounters with him in life, and I'd run off with all the grace of a buffoon.
I turned back for one last look. It was too late. All I could see was the nodding crown of his hat over the cluster of people that surrounded him. I turned back. There was no sign of Peter.
How could I lose everything, everything in one instant?
A trumpet fanfare rang out from the platform. The crowd grew quieter, and an announcer bellowed, "Hear ye, hear ye! The next song is a tribute to the Princess Beatrix of Hilarion, composed at his majesty Prince Gregor's special request! It will be played again tomorrow night at the royal ball celebrating their betrothal. Ladies and gentleman, I give you, 'The Pearldrop Concerto!'" 98
Applause rang out, and the lines of dancers collapsed into the crowd, all but where the Prince stood, his guards keeping a protective space around him. "And here to grace the first public performance of the piece is the lady herself, Her Royal Highness Princess Beatrix!"
The applause went wild.
A guard dressed in green and yellow, the royal colors of Hilarion, ascended the platform, followed by a retinue of ladies in billowing gowns and fur stoles. They parted like flower petals to reveal an even more glorious lady, obviously the princess. She was petite, with white-powdered cheeks and a tower of flaxen hair elegantly arranged, with a peacock feather swooning over the top and brushing her forehead. Her furs were white, and they parted to reveal a sky-blue gown with skirts and flounces billowing widely from her tiny waist. All around me were gasps and whispers.
"Ain't she beautiful?"
"Like an angel!"
"She's no bigger'n my ten-year-old daughter!"
"Aye, but she's full bloomed, ye can see that!"
The princess waved a gloved hand to the crowd and blew them kisses. Roses landed miraculously at her feet, though where anyone got roses at this time of year, I couldn't imagine. Her ladies gathered them up and presented them to her. She inhaled deeply from the bouquet and smiled prettily at the crowd. 99
Like an angel. Like a fairy princess. Like something sculpted from spun sugar to adorn a wedding cake. I hated her.
"They'll make a handsome couple, those two," my tormentors continued. "I hear tell the prince is so much in love he can scarcely sleep nights." Of course he was. How could he not be desperately in love with such an exquisite creature? Regal, beautiful, wealthy, destined for him. An irresistible combination.
Well? What did I expect?
Nothing! That was the worst of it. I was less than a nothing to someone like Prince Gregor, and I knew it. I'd only laid eyes on him twice, for the love of heaven.
But twice was enough.
At least I had danced with him--if my part could be called dancing. I turned my back to the stage and willed myself not to look back at the prince again. Princess Beatrix had clearly been groomed since the cradle to be a queen, and that was the kind of bride he needed. And deserved. Good luck to them both.
The orchestra struck up the opening chords of the concerto. I scanned faces, searching for Peter, and had all but given up, when suddenly, there he was, at the edge of the crowd, staring dumbstruck at the stage. No doubt he was estimating the value of the princess's jewelry and forming a plan to steal it. I sidled my way through the crowd until I was directly behind him. 100
He wore a tricornered cap with the point pulled low over his right eye. When he turned his head slightly, I knew for certain it was him. The mark snaking down his cheek confirmed it.
I never thought, after that day that he ransacked my bedroom and my breakfast, that I'd ever feel this relieved to see him again. I'd found him! And now here he stood, every brazen inch of him, and all my old anger smoldered. How dare he steal from me, after I'd helped him hide?
Perhaps the jewel was still in his pocket. If not, he could surely take me to it. A little money, a little persuasion, and my quest would be complete, my childhood home mine, forever.
His attention was still fixed on the princess. I stood on tiptoe so I could speak directly into his ear.
"You shouldn't let your guard down, Peter," I whispered. "No telling who might sneak up on you."
He whipped around, his hand at his pocket, and scanned me up and down. "And how do you know my name?"
"You took something of mine," I said, "and I want it back."
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Chapter 13
Peter took off faster than an eel through bulrushes.
Perhaps startling him wasn't the shrewdest way to announce myself. But I hadn't come this far to lose now.
I lunged after him. He was quicker than me, but whereas he had to plow a path through the crowd, I merely followed his steps in the path he'd just cleared. In a footrace I'd never have kept up with him, but in all the bustle of the Winter Festival I managed to keep him in my sights, barely. Once, I came close enough to clutch at his arm, but he squirmed free.
"Come back!" I yelled. "Stop him!" But nobody listened.
Men hollered as we barreled past. Others joked loudly about a girl sprinting after a boy. Should be the other way around, they said. As if I'd ever chase Peter in that way!
Still, Peter ran away from the city center, elbowing his
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way through festival goers. The sky had deepened from blue to purple, and the dying sun left an orange gleam at the edge of the world, just enough to throw long shadows across my path.
My chest cramped from the cold. As the crowds thinned, Peter began pulling away from me. Despair nearly choked me, but fury made me push each foot forward.
But I was losing. I couldn't stop my feet from slowing down. His legs kept pumping, though, and I felt a sob rise in my throat.
I could think of only one more thing to do.
"You stole something from me, Peter Thief," I yelled, "but I've come to buy it back!"
He stopped and turned, eyeing me suspiciously. "Buy?"
I nodded. That would get his attention. Well done.
My legs throbbed, my chest burned. For half a penny I'd have laid down in the gutter. Not a pleasant place in the shabby part of town our chase had led us to, where kitchen waste and worse were dumped into the streets. Slowly Peter approached, tacking back and forth as if undecided, keeping me firmly in his sights. He reminded me of Perdition, Aunt's cat, closing in on a mouse.
He frowned. "Who are you?"
I pulled off my hat, which was skewed from running, and worried the pins from my hair. "Don't you know me, then?"
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He shook his head, but slowly this time, less sure of himself.
"Lucinda;' I said. "From the goldsmith's shop? On Feldspar Street?" His eyes widened.
"Two nights ago you slept in my bedroom," I said, irritated. "I should think that would leave some impression on you."
Now he knew me, it was plain. Just as quickly, he slid into his old lazy, mocking manner I'd seen in my garret. "Another night, another stop, another girl," he said. "After a while they start to blur together."
"What rot!"
Peter looked me over from side to side, circling behind me like a buyer inspecting a donkey. "Hallo there," he said, grinning, "so it is you, isn't it? I'd never know you in all that frippery." He rubbed his forehead with a dingy kerchief. "You could have told me who you were back there, and spared us both the exercise. How was I supposed to recognize you? You didn't have these fancy duds yesterday, I can say that." He fingered the woolen sleeve of my dress.
I yanked it away. "You're soiling my cuffs."
Peter ignored me. "Who's your friend?"
I felt a bony prod at my legs, and looked down to see that Dog had managed to follow me on my chase through the crowd.
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"You're a miracle," I said, scratching between his horns. "This is Dog," I told Peter.
"Obviously," Peter said, rais
ing one eyebrow. "Now, what's this about buying something back from me? I have plenty to sell, and I'm always happy to talk with people with cash."
I jingled the bag at my hip. "I've got cash."
Uh-oh.
A foolish slip. The gleam in his eyes confirmed it. I wrapped a hand around the mouth of the little money sack and squeezed it tight. A thief was a thief, and that was why I was in trouble in the first place. All my anger bubbled up once more.
"You stole something valuable from my pocket," I said. "Right out from under my nose, after I'd helped you and kept you as a guest in my room." A group of drunken men spilled out the door of a public house close by, which had just lit its lamps. The evening air chilled my sweat and I shivered. Peter moved to my side and steered me by my elbow a little farther down the street, for all the world as though he were my beau.
"A word of critique," he said. "You have a tiresome way of rehashing old obligations and favors. A gentleman will grow weary of it. I feel as though we've had this conversation before."
I shook my arm free from his grasp.
"Tiresome? Because I don't think hospitality should be
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rewarded with stealing someone's most valuable treasures?"
"See, now, there you go;' he said. "What treasures? Where's the evidence? How often do poor servant girls like you have anything worth taking?" "Servant girl?" He was more right than not. Still, I made a point of throwing back my shoulders and preening a bit in Mama's fine clothes. "It doesn't matter why I had it. The fact is, I had it, until you stole it." "Baseless accusations. You have no proof that I took something from you." I felt as though my veins would burst.
"Why, you ..."
"Shh," he said, indicating the curious glances of people passing by. "This is my proof," I hissed. "It was in my pocket until you came. You stole bread from my apron. You were the only person with access to me. I didn't lose it--the thief substituted a pebble for it."
Peter's lips twitched ."A clever touch."
"I caught you in the very act of stealing my aunt's things!"
He waved that away. "Mere rubbish," he said. "She should thank me for ridding her of old refuse. It was hardly worth my bother."
"But my treasure was worth the bother," I said. "You stole it." 106
"No, I didn't."
I wanted to stamp my feet. "Yes, you did!"
"Didn't."
"Did."
He folded his arms across his chest. "Didn't."
My hands tingled with desire to shake him until his teeth rattled. It's what came of growing up with Aunt. Always quick to try violence before reason. But he'd be too slippery to grab, that was sure.
Instead, I made as if to leave.
"Why you persist in this idiotic charade, I don't know," I told him, with all the condescension I could muster. "I know the truth, you know full well I do. But never mind. If you didn't steal it, then you won't be able to return it to collect the reward money."
I walked away, jingling my pouch. It didn't merely tinkle, like a bag with a few coppers. Its hefty chunk, chunk proclaimed its authority. Would Peter take the bait?
I hadn't gone five steps before I heard Peter's footfall behind me. "Hold a bit," he said, cajoling. "Supposing--just supposing--I had an idea of where your gem might be found. Then what?"
He rested a would-be friendly hand on my shoulder.
I turned and jabbed my finger into his breastbone. "Who said anything about a gem?"
His Adam's apple bobbed.
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"You knew it was a gem because you took it, you light-fingered bandit! You take everything good that isn't bolted down."
He rubbed the spot where I'd poked him. "And some things that are, to be truthful."
"Oh, why start being truthful now?"
"Because you've got a sackful of money," he said. "I'm a practical man. Not above telling the truth when it's the most profitable course."
"Tell it, then," I pleaded, "and we can be rid of each other forever." "What, when we're getting on so well?" he said. He took me by the arm and started leading me back toward the heart of the festival. "The truth'll cost you supper, and I know just the place."
* * *
Twilight continued to fold into night, and the sky grew blacker and deeper. We had only a patchwork of lamplight thrown from curtained windows to light our way back. But soon fires greeted us, built right in the center of the stone streets, and in rusty kettles beside buildings. Men carried torches, and every stage and stall was lit with lamps and hanging lanterns that swayed. Night threw the festival into strange relief. Children had been scurried off to bed, and horses and carriages put to rest in stables. Now the streets were fair game for dancing, and
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the revelry took a turn as shadows crawled out from hiding to join the carousing. Laughter louder, music wilder, faces bolder. I was actually glad of Peter's arm in mine.
"See she caught you, lad," said a large man, appearing from the darkness like a ghost. His booming laugh made me jump.
"Aye." Peter grinned. "Sometimes it's better to be caught."
"Not by the constables, eh?" The man roared at his joke, smelling strongly of ale. I shied away from him and pressed forward.
"Here we are;' Peter said, gesturing toward a glowing mountain of coals. Beside it a sweating one-legged man stood cranking the wheel of a curious apparatus that rotated several spits at once. Each spit held half a dozen plump, browning fowl, their juices dripping and sizzling on the embers, smelling deliciously of gravy and woodsmoke.
"Dinner for two, Poke," Peter said, with an affected wave of his hand. "Use the fancy china, will you?"
"Anything for your majesties," the man called Poke replied, with a mock bow. "But first, let's see your metal."
Peter elbowed me, and I opened my pouch, turning as far away from him as I could. I gave Poke a gold piece, and his eyes grew wide.
"The lady pays, does she?" He bent low and whispered in my ear. "I've known that Peter since he was a tot, and I warn you, he'll have that gold off of you in two shakes.
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How's a nice young lady like you come to take company with the biggest rascal in Saint Sebastien?"
"Grim necessity," I said, and he roared with laughter.
It took most of his pocketful to give me change. Then he unhitched a spit from his strange machine and deftly slid off a bird onto a wooden board already shiny with grease. He cut the bird in half in one swift slice, skewered two steaming potatoes from a pan in the coals, and served us on trenchers of questionable cleanliness.
"Compliments to the chef," I said, breathing in the warm vapor. Poke grinned. I could grow accustomed to regular hot meals, I decided. If all went well with Peter, I'd have them forever, with clean plate and cutlery, too. Mama's plate and cutlery. My plate and cutlery.
Peter steered me toward a watering trough, and we sat on its broad edge while Dog drank noisily. My day of searching and my chase after Peter had left me ravenous, and for a moment neither of us spoke, but took full advantage of Poke's skill. The hot potato burned my tongue then melted in my mouth, and the chicken... suffice it to say I did not eat it in a manner befitting the elegant lady I was dressed to be. Mama would not approve. Mama would never know.
People passed by in twos and threes, laughing loudly, their breath making frosty clouds before their faces. Groups of women began to appear, dressed in gaudy clothes. Their
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lips and cheeks, I was astonished to see, were painted with rouge, their eyes rimmed with black, and they wore large earrings that hung down to their nearly-bare shoulders. With a shock I realized what they must be, something I'd only encountered before in books.
"Evening, Maud," Peter called to one, a young blonde.
"Go on, you ruffian," she called back, laughing.
He'd called her by her first name! I watched her pass with a pair of comrades. Their shoulders, so white against the dark night, looked terribly cold. I forced my attenti
on back upon my food. At length, my energy restored, I remembered my purpose. Peter was still working on a drumstick when I asked, "Do you still have the jewel?"
I could see him calculating. He chewed and chewed, and licked his lips. "Not on me."
"Do you know where it is?"
"Approximately."
I snatched at his half-finished plate. "I'm weary of your games and lies. 'Supper for the truth,' you said, and I've paid my price. Now do you know where it is, or not?"
He shrugged. "Approximately, I said, and I meant it."
Dog sniffed at Peter's plate. It was tempting to give it to him. Instead, I willed myself to think coherently.
"Do you know who has it, then?"
"Most likely." He made a grab for his dish, but I held it at arm's length behind me.
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"How can you most likely know who has it?"
"I know who had it when last I saw it."
"And when was that?"
"Last night. Late."
I'd rather interrogate someone who spoke a different language than try to wring the truth out of Peter. I took a deep breath, and spoke slowly and distinctly.
"And who had it last night, late, Peter?"
"My customer."
"Your customer. You sold it?"
"'Course."
He did a tidy turnaround, that one. If Uncle had done half as well, perhaps Aunt wouldn't have harangued him so much. Already sold it! Was there any hope now?
"How much did you sell it for?" I knew I'd get no honest answer. He pursed his lips and scratched his head. "Can't say as I recollect exactly." "Your razor-sharp brain's gone suddenly soft, has it? And I suppose you've already forgotten who your customer was?"
He reached a long arm over to snatch back his chicken. "I remember that well enough."
One last hope. "Then will you for the love of heaven tell me?"
"Not for that, but possibly for the contents of your bag." His feral smile made me clutch the purse tighter.
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"You'll have this bag and all its contents once you've stolen my gem back from whoever you sold it to," I said.
He put up a flat palm. "That would be unsporting," he said. "When Peter sells, Peter doesn't take back. My clients would never trust me."