Not the lightest pack to hike with, but it’d do. I returned the rest of the supplies to the secret room, and added camouflage coat and black beanie, gloves, and scarf to my ensemble. No telling how cold it was going to get or how long I was going to be stuck out there.
Edenfield’s escape route wasn’t a multi-level masterpiece like Silvertip’s. Beyond the secret room, the tunnel split to run right and left, following the line of the hill. I jogged down the left-hand tunnel first.
As I’d rather suspected it would, after about a quarter mile, the tunnel let off in the woods behind a bush, a stone’s throw from an old dirt road. The diminished moon didn’t provide much in the way of light, especially through the trees, and I didn’t want to turn on my flashlight and be seen. I listened for several minutes, but heard nothing but the sounds of woods at night: the twitter-pated conversations of birds, the dancing swish of a light breeze through the fall foliage. Starlight rendered the magnificent leaves of flaming yellow and orange a study in grayscale, and cold froze the earthy, brown and green scents in my nostrils.
This . . . was a possibility. Gjerde’s train station might be watched, but the border station surely wouldn’t be, and if Edenfield prefects past had had any brain cells to rub together, that’s exactly where this road would lead. That might be beyond the phone outage; and if not, I could definitely take a train north to the capital and hope I wasn’t stopped at the Gjerde station when they realized I was gone . . . or I could take a pony to Akter or Vela, hope I could get in without a passport, hope I could get internet access, hope no one thought I was defecting, hope I didn’t get blown up by an apparently common landmine . . .
But if I went this way, I’d have to take the road—any further east, and I’d run into the mountains. And I didn’t trust the road not to be watched.
I stepped back into the tunnel and headed for the other end. Ten minutes returned me to my starting point, and another ten led me to a second split. A very narrow, rough tunnel ran due south, presumably to let out in the howling wasteland that was Plisp. It struck me as horribly claustrophobic and not very useful to my present situation, although terribly useful to any Velan or Akterian spies who stumbled across the exit. Which probably meant that it was full of booby traps. Bo would know the safe way to get through, but he’d neglected to pass that information to me.
I continued on along the side of the hill until the main tunnel ended, like the first, behind a convenient cluster of boulders and shrubbery. Then I clicked the flashlight off, pushed aside the weeds, and stepped out into the night.
I’d grown up under a sky decorated with spots of darkness between the stars. In books, I’d read about skies like vast cloaks of black velvet; but gazing up from a potato field with no artificial light for fifty miles, I hadn’t understood. The sky wasn’t coal-dark: it was dusky red, yellow, purple, blue. Not until much later, after I’d visited places cloistered in their own light pollution, had I understood why Carina’s flag was black with white stars.
Carina’s flag, by the way, is called the Keel, and its stars form the constellation Carina: nine nine-pointed stars in the shape of an old-fashioned ship’s keel. Carina is one of only three constellations visible from our country year-round. Along with Vela the Sails, and Puppis (which translates to Akter) the Stern, it makes up the compound constellation of Argo Navis.
There are a lot of stories of how our three nations took the names of constellations as their own, but there is something fitting about it. We are an island settled by sailors who became lost and could not escape our treacherous waters; and Argo is the ship sailed by Jason and the Argonauts. I like to think that we have treasures as fine as ever the Golden Fleece was.
But I was getting distracted. I shook my head and trotted north, ears perked.
The woods here were a lot easier to move through than the thick forests of Silvertip. The beeches—Northofagus carini, I’d learned over the past couple of days, along with more about their lumber than I ever needed to know—were massive and formed shadowy tunnels beneath crinkling autumn leaves and between their ancient trunks. Someone must’ve kept up the woods, because there weren’t the fallen branches and rotting logs you’d expect; there were only short, fragile weeds and dirt. Beneath the canopy, I got flashes here and there of vibrant sky, which was enough to make good time, and my feet had remembered how to traverse uneven earth, so that I hardly stumbled once.
I’m not sure what made me stop. Some instinct, I suppose. Some sound or lack of sound that stuttered my feet and prickled my skin. I strained my eyes into the many layers of shadow that swathed the woods and clustered into tree trunks and hanging branches, softened my breathing, and waited.
A chill breeze ruffled my hair, blowing wisps across my nose, but I didn’t pull them back. I stood and breathed in the peaty air and waited.
The sound of footsteps rewarded me. Not Theodora’s heels or boots: faint, patting steps. Not stealthy, just lightweight. One shadow detached from the others and a small, thin, warped figure padded forward until it stood a scant five feet in front of me.
Under a clear patch of sky, its pale skin glowed gray-white and contoured its features. But I didn’t have to be able to see it clearly. I knew it by the way its emaciated arms bent to press bony fingers against its eyes. Ignorance, Theodora had called the boy. But where was his sister?
“Hello,” I said, injecting my voice with the cadence of adults speaking kindly to young children. “We’ve met before, although you probably don’t remember me. My name’s Mercedes, but you can call me Mercy, if you like. It’s easier. I’m Prefect Edenfield. You’ve been staying in my manor, and these are my woods.”
The boy didn’t answer. Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe he didn’t understand Plishan . . . or any other human language. Maybe he couldn’t hear me past his closed ears.
“Have you wandered away and gotten lost?” I asked. “Do you need someone to take you back?”
He still didn’t answer. I shifted from foot to foot, pretending I wasn’t unnerved, and glanced around for his feral sister. She could be hiding behind the nearest tree, and I’d never spot her unless she moved. I didn’t dare use my flashlight, not until I was much further from the manor.
“I can see you’re happy standing there,” I said. “I’ll stop bothering you. Have a nice night.”
I planned to circle him, give him a wide berth before continuing on my way. I walked to the right, and he followed me: step for step, five feet away, facing me, altering his position only to circumnavigate tree trunks. He stumbled over shrubs and must’ve scratched up his bare feet—but it was so cold, I doubt he could feel the injuries. Beyond that, he stayed in a line parallel to the manor, in between me and escape.
I said, “Excuse me. I need to get past.”
He didn’t respond. By that point, I’d have been surprised if he could. So I didn’t bother talking to him again. I feinted backward and forward, side to side. He continued moving with me. When I went toward the manor, he followed five feet away. When I tried to move further from it, he blocked my path.
Herding me back, I thought. Like a sheep.
The thing about sheepdogs is, though, they don’t just have pointy teeth—they’re also faster than the sheep they herd. And there was no way this shrimpy kid with his hands covering his eyes and ears and nose could run more quickly than I could.
I took a few steps toward the manor to lull him and then bolted away at an angle, staying parallel to the manor until I’d gotten well ahead of him and then veering north. I didn’t look back to check on him: I put my head down and sprinted, ducking around trees, arms and legs pumping.
The boy came out of nowhere. One moment, a clear path before me. The next, a boy standing calmly, hands dangling by his sides. I threw myself aside to avoid running into him. I must’ve tripped over a root, because the next moment I was sprawling forward, grunting as unhealed flesh tore open again and bruises redoubled.
The boy bent over me—in concern, I thought—and t
ook my hand to help me up, and—
And why was I running away? To save the king? To stop the prefects? None of that was any of my business. Why had I stuck my nose in? I’d only made a fool of myself. I was nobody, a personal assistant in a dead-end job, a woman whose life revolved around whether her boss wanted tea or coffee. I should’ve left that job months ago, when I’d had the chance, but I’d clung to him instead. How utterly pathetic.
I shriveled to think of it. I cringed. I wished I could just forget the whole thing.
Could I forget? I could, now that I considered it. In fact, it would be easy: I would simply convince myself I knew nothing. Then no one would want to hurt me and no one would expect anything from me. That sounded excellent: I’d forget what I knew, return to my bedroom, and put my head under my pillow. Before I knew it, I’d be home again.
My feet turned of their own accord, and I walked toward the manor, my mind a milky fog. And as I walked, I let go of what I knew. The present left first, fading into the fog. Then the past. Then understanding. Then basic skills. I forgot how to drink from a cup, how to control my bowels, how to walk—
My knees collapsed, and I toppled over. I had not yet forgotten how to breathe. I couldn’t; I had forgotten how to forget. So I breathed. I breathed in prickly shrubs, trees and earth, night air.
There I lay. There I might have stayed forever. There I might have died.
But though the milky fog clung thick and opaque, it wasn’t thicker or more opaque than scent. These smells were the smells of childhood camping trips, of wrestling with my brothers, of innocent adventures. My brothers’ voices came back to me first, shouting, intermingled. Then their faces. Then the feel of their hands, helping me up or pushing me down, grabbing me and letting me go. Remembering these things, I remembered how to squirm away from them, and so I successfully rolled onto my back.
My eyes were open—I had forgotten how to close them—and my glasses askew, so I remembered what it was like to see clearly even as I saw only blurriness and blobs. I remembered getting my glasses, putting them on for the first time. I remembered seeing the rows and rows of perfectly detailed, shining glasses frames and mirrors, and how I had never seen a sight so beautiful. I remembered how to cry.
I knocked my glasses back into place and looked up at the stars, marveling and marveling, for they too were beautiful.
I lay there for a long time, marveling at the wonder of vision and the gift of beauty, and maybe I would have lain there until I starved had I not suddenly remembered that I had pockets and put my hand into one. There was something tiny, hard, and foreign in there, and the edge of it bit into my finger. I brought it before my face and, in the starlight, gazed upon it.
Then I laughed. A micro memory card! How funny, to have forgotten a memory card. And in laughing, I remembered what laughter was and about the things that caused laughter—about jokes and jibes, playful antics and flytes, silly noises and sillier walks.
I no longer remembered why I had made myself forget, and I didn’t want to. I wanted to keep remembering, to keep discovering anew what I had once known. I remembered and marveled and examined until suddenly, with no more transition than between on and off, the fog dissipated, and beyond it gleamed in splendor everything I had thought I’d made myself forget.
I stood up, put the memory card back in my pocket, and saw Ignorance. His hands were back over his face, and he did not speak. I had somehow made it onto the main road leading from Gjerde to Edenfield Manor. The boy guarded one side of the road, and I was not so foolish as to again attempt to pass him. I swayed on my feet, looking to the manor and back to him, lost in indecision.
The boy turned slightly to the road, and I stepped sharply back. On the far side of the paved strip—hunched forward, stick-insect arms bent and wrists loose—stood the girl. Want. Unlike the boy, who reveled in stillness, she twitched constantly—reacting to the night sounds, watching me with hungry eyes. The belt had gone from around her head, freeing her jaw.
I stepped away, along the road toward the manor, and the children stepped with me.
“I am going back,” I said, enunciating around thick saliva. “I am not trying to escape. I am going to follow this road straight back to the manor. I was only going for a stroll to clear my head. You didn’t have to stop me. You don’t have to worry about me.”
The girl gnashed her teeth, but she approached no closer. Not through lack of desire or force of self-control, I thought: she’d been ordered to behave like this. The boy, too. The children stayed far enough away that if I reached out my arms and they reached out theirs, we would not quite touch.
I backed up and kept backing up, staying on Ignorance’s side of the road. The children stayed with me until we rounded the last curve and hump, and the manor came into view. Then they melted away into the woods, one guarding each side of the road.
Chapter 33:
Invasion
The manor loomed dark, vast, and formless against the night. Orange glowed dimly over the main door and again at the knighthouse. Beyond that, nothing. If there were any other lights on, they had been masked by curtains.
This was the dark before the dawn, not the dark before midnight. I had lost so much time.
I averted my eyes from the orange glow to preserve my night vision and scanned the area. I knew where the guards outside my window were, if they hadn’t changed their routine since evening, but I hadn’t planned to come back this way—and I suspected that haring off into the woods to try to find the secret passage entry would be an exercise in pointlessness, even if the children didn’t appear again. So it’d have to be a frontal approach.
I had one major advantage—or, rather, the knights had made one major mistake: they had driven to the manor. Lindo Manor no doubt had plenty of pavement for a hundred knights to park on, and the knights could’ve come and gone with the absent king none the wiser. But the Edenfield parking loop was barely large enough for a dozen cars, and so the knights had crowded their vehicles onto the grass on either side of the loop and down the road.
I crawled among the vehicles until I’d come right up to the gravel loop, and no one saw me. In fact, I didn’t see a single knight stationed further out than the edge of the loop. Not how I would have positioned my guards.
Maybe not how Lindo had positioned hers, either. If those children . . .
It was easier to spot the knights while creeping along like a caterpillar, because their greatest movement was in their legs. They paced or rubbed one foot along their shins or adjusted their weight to keep off cramp. Movement alerted me to guards at each corner of the building, at the edges of the woods, and in the regular patrols going two by two like animals into Noah’s ark. The patrols themselves helped me spot the stationary knights, because they stopped to check in and receive an all-clear. There might, I reminded myself, be more knights watching through the windows. The lights above main door and knighthouse would not work in my favor if I aimed for them.
If I could see the knights best when they moved, it stood to reason that the same was true in reverse. If I went very, very slowly, it was remotely possible I’d be able to snake my way through the grass to the edge of the building, but what then? I wouldn’t be able to get through a door or window without being spotted. It’d also look terribly suspicious. If all I wanted was to get inside, my best bet was to simply walk in. The knights were there to prevent people leaving, not coming back, and I was a prefect. There would be questions, but none I couldn’t bluff my way through.
Unless they searched me, which would be bad.
I was looking at this the wrong way around—what was possible rather than what should motivate me. What was my number one priority?
Warning the king.
How could I do that?
Either digitally—in which case I’d need access to a working phone or internet—or personally—in which case I needed a car plus Want and Ignorance out of the way. I did not have to do it myself, if I had a competent ally.
&n
bsp; I grinned. I knew exactly where to find one.
There were plenty of knight vehicles around, but I didn’t trust them not to have alarms. Besides, they might have ammunition stored in them, and I wanted to cause a distraction, not a slaughter. I likewise dismissed most of the prefects’ cars as being too likely to be locked or alarmed. I trusted Batata not to lock or alarm a car, but I didn’t remember which of the rentals was his. That left Hemmel’s as my best bet: an ancient, beaten brown truck with as much pride taken in it as a neglected dog takes in its fleas. It didn’t matter if Hemmel had remembered to lock it, because he’d left the window cracked a couple of inches. The crack might have looked small to Hemmel, but I could’ve stuck my arm far enough in to unlock the door.
Creating a diversion wasn’t the reason I’d brought the flares, but I couldn’t think of a nobler way for them to die. I popped the caps off all three, struck them alight, and shoved them through the crack. One after another they tumbled onto the seat. One rolled and stayed there, and the other two bounced to the carpeted floor, already catching the material alight.
If the knights hadn’t heard that, they’d see it soon. I scuttled and ducked to the eastern tree line, where I could wait for the fireworks.
It took about four minutes for the knights to realize something was horribly wrong and another four before the truck’s interior had transformed into a glorious blaze of sound and light. In between all the running and shouting, I could’ve probably waltzed across the green without any of them giving me a second look. But frankly, I had better things to do.
I made straight for the knighthouse, yanking my pepper spray from my belt. The door had opened, and a turquoise-and-gray-clad Lindo knight run out, but another knight inside had pulled the door closed behind her—I’d been watching carefully. So I whipped the door open, shoved my scarf over my nose and mouth, and burst in. Three knights stood in a clump, speaking in low, worried voices. They turned toward me as one, but I already had the pepper spray aimed and activated.
Bargaining Power Page 36