“Why? Because of the stupid guards this morning? They’re irrelevant. I ran from them today. I’ll be running from them next week.” Which is not wholly accurate. I think I’ve only been chased by soldiers twice, and both times they’d had good cause. Rafiki was right when he called me a thief, though I only steal when I run out of the odd jobs that keep me fed.
The Ghost mutters something under his breath, glancing away from me. My brow furrows as I lean forward, trying to catch his words. Did he say something about a promise? That’s impossible. How can he know anything about my Promise? I’ve never let him see my magic workings, have kept everything secret—even my parents’ names. He can’t possibly have guessed …
“What?” I ask, my voice sharper than I intend.
He shakes his head. “Promise me you’ll take no unnecessary risks.”
“Fine,” I say, a little too quickly. It’s not a bad oath, anyhow. Who would want to risk more than necessary? I have no intention of dying to help the Degaths. But I understand that if Blackflame destroys all of his political opposition, Karolene will not escape his grasp without a long and bloody battle. And the Degaths are a family; I don’t want to see that destroyed. I look down at my hands, wondering what drives me more: love for my adopted land or loneliness.
The Ghost nods, standing up. “I’ll get Rafiki and Kenta. We’ll need to plan.”
“Thanks,” I say. As he reaches the door, I add, “I mean that.”
“I know,” he says, pulling his hood back up to shadow his face. “But it’s I who should thank you.”
Suggesting that Rafiki is pleased by my inclusion would be like claiming none of the Eleven Kingdoms ever fought a war. Kenta sits beside me while we discuss different options, doing his best to bait Rafiki with sly comments about open doors and thieves. I try to ignore them both, since I have no intention of making the Ghost regret including me.
Our first course of action is simply to alert the Degaths. If they have a contingency plan, then we need not worry. After we spend an hour of discussing what we’ll do if they don’t, the Ghost departs. It’s still the full heat of the day—the markets have closed and everyone has gone home to rest. It’s the best time to visit the Degath residence without drawing notice.
I know the Ghost will drop his disguise and take the rooftops part of the way, only donning his cloak again once he’s actually inside the residence walls. Part of me wishes I could run the rooftops with him, but he doesn’t need me tagging along.
Rafiki had provided us with lunch—an unexpected treat the likes of which I haven’t had in a long time. After I polish off my meal and take care of the remaining pineapple, I head out as well. It’s a long walk and the heat has turned muggy, the sea breeze sluggish. In this weather, home isn’t much better than the streets. I share a two-room apartment with eight other women who range in age from my own fifteen years to at least twice that. At four women per room, we have more space than many places I’ve stayed, though the lack of windows makes even pleasant nights stifling.
Most of the women are already home and resting on their mats. A few murmur greetings as I pass, lifting their hands briefly. I make my way to where I keep my sleeping mat rolled atop the small wooden crate that holds my few belongings. Despite the fact that the box has neither lock nor properly fitting lid, I have no worries about anything going missing. No one ever touches anyone else’s property here. It’s a strict rule, and breaking it means you’d better find a new place to sleep. So far it’s worked well, though I think we all have our own secret emergency stashes hidden somewhere in the city, or with someone else. Kenta has mine, such as it is: a palm-sized book my father used to jot notes in, a hair comb adorned with pearls that my mother left behind when she disappeared, and a few precious coins.
I lay out my sleeping mat and lie down, listening to the soft rustles and occasional snores that permeate the room. It seems like I’ve barely nodded off before the women begin to rise. I remain on my mat, feigning sleep, and they let me be. I don’t want to answer any questions right now. If they notice I breathe too fast for slumber, they don’t let on. My worries are my own. I sometimes feel like they think of me as some sort of exotic mistake. Maybe it’s because I try so hard to fit in, or maybe it’s because my features make it clear I never will.
Once the room has emptied, I sit up and rifle through my crate. At the bottom, I’ve folded my thieving clothes: a set of boy’s pants and a faded blue tunic. I change quickly, using a cloth to bind my chest so my figure doesn’t accidentally give me away. A traditional embroidered cap completes the outfit. I’m not sure what we’ll end up doing tonight, but I’d rather not look like myself. There’s not much chance of hiding my fair skin and strange eyes, but at least this way, if people come searching, they’ll be looking for a boy.
I check my pockets to make sure I have everything I need and strap a small knife to my leg. Then I head for the door.
“Where you off to, girl? Goin’ ta pick something you shouldn’t?”
I pause, turning towards the two women in the outer room. They lounge on their mats, one of them clicking through her prayer beads. They watch me with sharp, hungry eyes.
“Bring it home and we won’t say a word,” the second woman says.
“I’ll bring you some soldiers,” I promise, making for the door. “I bet they’ll want to hear about that chicken you ‘found’ last week.” They’d been so pleased with their catch, they’d forgotten to save me a piece. I had come home to laughter and a platter scattered with bones. Even if I do manage to thieve something, I won’t be sharing with those two. I head downstairs to the sound of insults and threats being thrown after me. I don’t worry, though. They have as much to lose as I do.
I reach Rafiki’s house before the Ghost. Kenta winks at me as I enter the meeting room, as carefree as ever.
“Do you ever worry about anything?” I ask him, dropping into a chair. I eye the table sadly. It has been cleared and no further refreshments have been set out.
“My next bottle of wine,” Kenta says with mock seriousness. “When I’ll meet my heart’s companion.”
I snort. “Aren’t they the same thing?”
Kenta just laughs, glints of gold flickering in the brown of his eyes.
When the Ghost arrives a few minutes later, I can tell at once from the focused intensity of his movements, the purpose with which he sits, that the Degaths have no plan at all.
“We are going to have to be careful,” he says as Rafiki shuts the door. “And fast.”
“Why didn’t you just bring them with you?” I quip.
“They plan on living, not just surviving,” he says, unamused. “Lord Degath is making a few discreet arrangements for money transfers. His wife is ensuring that their most valuable belongings will not be found.”
“And the kids?” There are three children, though the eldest two are probably older than me.
“They know nothing,” the Ghost says. “And they’ll continue knowing nothing until we meet them tonight.”
My job is to rent a carriage and drive it to our agreed meeting place at the edge of the waterfront, near an esplanade frequented by the nobles. The walkway and gardens were built to offer the best views of the sunset, unmarred by the docks located farther south, and the fishing dhows that pull up on the open beaches further north. It’s the perfect place for the Degaths to walk out, and to get into an unmarked carriage without eliciting interest.
While I get the carriage, Rafiki will arrange a safe place for the family to spend the night. Between the two of them, the Ghost and Kenta will keep a watch on both entrances to the Degaths’ residence. If either sees the approach of soldiers, they’ll evacuate the Degaths as quickly as possible. Hopefully, though, the family will merely leave for an after-dinner outing as planned. Once their carriage departs their house, the Ghost will join Rafiki and me at the waterfront. Kenta will trail the Degath’s carriage in his tanuki form, assuring no one and nothing else follows.
Once they take their w
alk and transfer to our carriage, we’ll transport them to a place for the night. Come morning, the Degaths will depart on one of the fishing dhows—the last thing Blackflame will expect. The sultan’s soldiers are sure to freeze all activity at the docks serving the shipping merchants and passenger boats once they realize their prey has escaped. But the dhows are only used by local fishermen. Many are merely pulled up on the beaches once they return from their night fishing. Not only is a noble family unlikely to arrange passage on a dhow, but monitoring the dhows is near impossible.
“The best plans are the simplest,” the Ghost says.
I try not to consider all that might go wrong. We’ve accounted for various contingencies, but the most ominous possibility is that Blackflame won’t wait for full night to arrest the Degaths. Part of me wishes that the Ghost had simply collected the family when he saw them earlier, planning for their future be damned. But the Ghost seems certain that we’ll have enough time to implement our strategy.
My task, at least, should be easy. The Ghost has provided me with a small change purse filled with enough coin to rent a carriage for the night, as well as the name of a merchant who I can claim sent me. There are two establishments that rent carriages, both attached to inns. I feel a twinge of unease when I learn that both carriages have already been rented from the first. But what’s the likelihood that all the available carriages will have been taken?
It turns out the second inn does indeed have one available.
“How do I know you’ll bring it back?” the proprietor demands, eyeing me with suspicion and disdain.
“This is an island,” I say, trying to reason with him. “Where could I possibly take your carriage that the sultan’s soldiers couldn’t find it?”
“Forget the carriage. You could book passage and take the horses with you, make yourself a pretty penny. You want a carriage for your master, tell him to send me a man who looks like he serves a merchant. Not a boy in rags.”
“But—”
“Now get out, or I’ll call the sultan’s soldiers on you myself.”
I stalk outside, furious with myself, wishing I’d argued with the Ghost. Rafiki should have come for the carriage—although I have to admit that the Ghost was right: he does stand a higher chance of being recognized. Still, better that than not managing to get a carriage at all. Or we could have hired an errand boy to pick it up for us. I know a few young men who would do an odd job like this, no questions asked. I let out my breath with a sigh, knowing that wasn’t a valid option either. If they ended up being questioned, they’d have no concern turning us over. No, I was the best choice for this job. And now I’ve failed.
I stand for a long moment, surveying the street. It’s roughly cobbled, once a major thoroughfare but now falling into disrepair. The street lies quiet, only a few people passing by on their way home to dinner. I watch them absently: a tall, elderly gentleman with a kind face and a slight limp; two children skipping along, hand in hand; a young man hurrying by, his gaze distant.
I shake myself. I’m only prolonging the inevitable. I’d better get moving. The more time we have to change our plans, the better. If only I’d been better suited to the job the Ghost had given me—I nearly trip over my own feet. Better suited? I’m a thief. If the man won’t rent me a carriage, I’ll just have to ‘borrow’ one for the night.
Kenta would howl with laughter if he knew how long it took me to figure that out.
With renewed purpose, I start down the street, never looking back. If Master Khalid, the proprietor, is watching me, I want him to feel confident that I’ve given up. At the next corner, I turn and walk on. I circle around by the smaller alleys to the back road that services his stable. It’s narrow and edged with refuse, dirtier than the paths between the backs of the stalls at the fish market. But then the fishmongers take pride in their market, working together to keep it clean. It’s clear neither Master Khalid nor his neighbors take ownership for the alley that serves the back of their buildings.
The inn stands just two buildings down from where the alley comes to an abrupt end at a wall. There’s only one way out. I’ll just have to hope no one is coming in when I need to get out.
There aren’t too many good niches to observe the inn from. I settle for scaling a boundary wall across the alley and hiding among the branches of a small, sickly mango tree. I pat the tree trunk in apology before picking the only edible mango in sight: a pock-marked, yellow fruit hardly larger than my palm. Despite its appearance, it smells delectable. I use my knife to carve off slices to eat, licking the juice that dribbles down my fingers as I ostensibly observe the inn.
The length of the stables doubles as the boundary wall of the alley. A derelict metal gate, hinges hanging loose, has been left propped against the wall, leaving the entrance to the yard wide open. I tilt my head, but from my vantage point I can’t spot where the carriage waits. I’d guess it’s inside the yard, probably parked alongside the small stable.
I watch the kitchen door and windows as I finish my mango, gauging the movement within. They haven’t yet lit a lamp, so I can’t tell from here if anyone’s looking out. It must be close to dinnertime, which means the kitchens will be busy. It’s not a good time to try to sneak past them. The plan, then, is to sneak as little as possible.
Climbing down from my perch, I cross the alley and peek around the corner of the stables. The doors must face the inn yard; not unexpected but certainly not what I would have liked. A glance skyward tells me that I don’t have time to waste on wishful thinking.
Gathering my confidence, I stroll into the yard, following the wall of the stable and turning at the corner. The carriage waits in the yard just before the stable, directly opposite the kitchen. It appears to be nothing more than a box with a door mounted atop a set of wheels. Who would want to rent that? I’m beginning to think Master Khalid is quite the penny-pinching, close-minded lizard-brain.
Breathing a prayer, I saunter up to the stable doors and let myself in, leaving the door cracked behind me. I pause in the semi-darkness, listening for sounds of alarm, but none come. If anyone noticed me, they must have thought I belonged.
On my left, a horse whuffles. I blink a few times, letting my eyes grow accustomed to the dark. The interior smells overwhelmingly of manure and damp. The humidity has gotten into the walls, and apparently Master Khalid hasn’t taken it upon himself to care. I let my breath out slowly, unclenching my hands. Not my concern. I just need to select a couple horses, harness them, and get out.
The Ghost has no idea how fortunate he is that I’ve worked odd jobs for four years now. For a short time, dressed in boys’ clothes, I’d gotten work at a rich man’s house helping in the stables. That lasted until they realized I was a girl, but it was long enough for me to learn everything I needed to know about harnessing a horse to a carriage. And even a little about how to recognize carriage horses.
There are three horses left in the stables, though there are stalls for six. Upon inspection, one of them seems much finer than the other two. He stands a couple hands taller at the shoulder, his coat gleaming in the shadows. Probably a riding horse, I decide. I bring out the other two, leaving one tied to a ring just within the door. They stand of a height, and their builds are similar. I have no doubt they’re the horses I need. Now comes the hard part.
“Work with me on this, okay?” I whisper to the chestnut gelding. He swivels an ear towards me. “Quick and quiet, that’s what I need.”
There’s no telling what he thinks of me.
I push the door open gently and lead the horse out to the carriage, acting as if I’m only doing my job. The whole time I’m harnessing him, I expect to hear shouts erupt from behind my back. But there’s nothing. As I walk back to the stable, I discreetly glance over my shoulder. There’s movement inside the kitchen, but that’s all I can tell. Either they’re so used to the horses being taken out that they haven’t even bothered to look, or they’re smart enough to know they’ve got time to catch me if they
’re quiet about it. I sincerely hope they’re not that smart.
The second gelding, a bay, appears as disinterested in me as he is in pulling the carriage. Once I get him outside, he stands there, unwilling to move an inch, while I yank at the straps and try to get him to move over just a little.
“Come on, mud-brain,” I say, almost done with the buckle. “Just shift a little.”
He huffs and holds his ground.
“Hey! Hey, you!”
I don’t look up. Instead, I smack the gelding’s side with my palm and, when he steps sideways, jerk the strap with all my strength. The gelding twists his head around to snap his teeth at me, but he’s buckled in now.
“You—with the horses! What are you doing?”
I look up with a smile. A man steps out of the kitchen door, crossing the dirt yard with long strides. Two more men spill out of the door behind him, followed by three young girls. The whole kitchen crew, it would seem.
“Just getting them harnessed,” I call, throwing the reins up to the driver’s bench.
The man hesitates, taken aback. “I don’t know you.”
“I’m Hamidi,” which is not at all what he meant. I clamber up to the driver’s bench. “Master Khalid knows I’m taking the carriage out.”
He stands in the middle of the yard, frowning slightly. The rest of the workers stand about at his back. “He normally has—”
“You!” Master Khalid roars from the window above the kitchen. “Stop that boy! Stop him! Thief!”
I shout to the horses, snapping the reins. The chestnut gelding leaps forward, dragging the bay after him. I keep a tight hold on the reins, letting the gelding do the work to turn the carriage while the bay dithers. The man from the kitchen sprints towards the carriage. He’s moving a lot faster than the horses.
The carriage lurches forward as I shout again, the bay clearly uninterested in breaking into a trot let alone a gallop. If only I had a whip, a stick, anything to prod him with! The man leaps for the driver’s bench, his hands closing on the edge as he tries to pull himself up.
Sunbolt (The Sunbolt Chronicles) Page 3