by Hilari Bell
The bottom drawer was full of papers too. Arisa helped Weasel carry them to a small table so the papers on the Falcon’s desk would remain undisturbed. He was a very good burglar. Justice Holis had done the world a considerable service when he’d converted Weasel into a law clerk.
She picked up a handful of loose papers while Weasel opened a big book that looked like a ledger. The first paper in Arisa’s stack was a receipt for four bags of raw oats. The next was a letter describing weather patterns in the islands off the western shore.
“This is about hunting for the pirates,” Arisa said, relieved. “Here’s a set of tide tables. Maybe all this stuff is about the pirates, and that’s why she locked it up. What are you reading?”
“A ledger,” Weasel said, his eyes still scanning columns. “It doesn’t have page titles, which is odd. Especially since it just lists people in her employ, and how much they’re paid.”
Arisa suddenly made another connection, and her heart sank. “Is one of them a groom named Henley?”
Weasel flipped a page. “Yes. Why?”
Betrayal, everywhere she turned. “His name isn’t Henley; it’s Sammel. He’s one of my mother’s men.”
“From the bandit gang? But Justice Holis…” Weasel’s startled confusion gave way to thought. “Do you know if she’s infiltrated more of her men into the staff?”
“No one I’ve recognized,” said Arisa. “But there are a lot of servants I never see. Cooks, gardeners. Even a footman, if he took care to avoid me.”
Weasel turned another page. “Katrin is listed here too.”
“She did employ Katrin! As my maid. Her name should be on a list of my mother’s employees.”
“The prince’s household account pays the grooms’ salaries,” Weasel told her.
“Maybe Sammel needed a job, and they didn’t need another groom, so she made some agreement to pay his salary herself,” Arisa said fiercely. “It isn’t proof!”
“What have you got there?” Weasel asked, ducking the argument.
“Nothing much. Some letters and a bunch of receipts. I think they all have to do with the search for the pirates, and that’s why they’re locked up.”
“Could be,” said Weasel. “Let’s sort the receipts out of the pile, and concentrate on what’s left.”
When they’d been separated, the letters and other documents formed a far smaller pile.
“I’ll take these,” Weasel told her. “I can go back to the ledger when I finish.”
Arisa eyed the huge stack of receipts with dismay. “These won’t tell us anything. Why can’t you finish the ledger while I read the letters?”
“The receipts have to be done,” said Weasel firmly. “You can learn a lot from receipts. They’re used as evidence in trials all the time. So unless you want to read the ledger…”
Evidence in trials. But she didn’t want to read the ledger. She didn’t really want to read the letters, either. She didn’t even want to be here, prying into her mother’s secrets. If the Falcon wasn’t guilty, Arisa would gladly accept any punishment her mother set, even a lifetime of boring balls.
But if the Falcon had betrayed Justice Holis, then Arisa had to know. And then, somehow, she had to stop her.
She sighed and turned to the receipts. Hay, to go with the oats. Dried fruit, salt beef, and ink. Eight coils of rope, for some incomprehensible purpose. She was almost finished with the stack when she found it—a receipt from Prentice and Stubbs: Fine Tailoring and Costumers. Several parts of her shepherdess costume had come from them, but… Two hundred gold blessings? That couldn’t be right. Two hundred blessings would keep most families for a year! Besides, this receipt was for a young gentleman’s coat and britches, with a full-head mask in the shape of…
Arisa’s heart began to pound. “What’s Edoran’s costume for the ball?”
Weasel grimaced. “A wolf in sheep’s clothing. The clothes are all right, though anything that white is bound to get dirty before the night’s out. But the mask is the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever seen. I think the idea was to hint that Edoran isn’t as meek as people think he is, which you can’t do with a costume anyway, and it looks…”
His voice trailed off as he saw her expression. “What?”
“I’ve got a receipt here for the prince’s costume,” Arisa told him. “But it costs too much, even for a costume for a prince. And I don’t know why my mother would have paid for it. My mother…” Her throat ached. She had to swallow before she went on. “My mother told me that Edoran wanted to partner me at the ball tonight.”
“Which is why you’re dressed as a shepherdess,” said Weasel. “But your mother didn’t pay for the prince’s costume. They had only three days, so his own tailor modified a coat he already had. The costumers just made the mask. And again, that would have been paid for out of the household budget.”
“The costumers who made the mask had to see the rest of it, right? So the mask would match?”
“I guess so.”
“Weasel, my mother told me that she thought Edoran was planning some prank tonight. That whatever he was up to, I should go along with it. I said I would.”
Weasel reached out, plucked the receipt from her hand, and read it with a clerk’s expert eye. “Your mother ordered a duplicate of the prince’s costume. That’s why it’s so expensive. She’s paying for secrecy and speed. It specifies a delivery date this afternoon.”
“But it’s almost on the bottom of the stack,” Arisa protested. “If it came this afternoon it should be on top!”
“Hang me for a fool!” Weasel hissed. “When we sorted out the letters and receipts, we reversed the order. The top of the pile, the most recent receipts, ended up on the bottom. That receipt probably arrived this afternoon, along with the costume. An exact duplicate of Edoran’s costume for this evening.”
They stared at each other, stunned by the magnitude of it. Arisa finally found the courage to put it into words.
“She’s going to kidnap the prince. That’s why she told me to go along with whatever he did. So when someone who wasn’t Edoran showed up in his costume, I’d think it was part of some prank. She’s using me to shield her imposter, to give her, her men, time to escape with Edoran. Because no one would ever believe that she’d leave me behind.”
She couldn’t continue—her throat was too tight.
“She’d know you weren’t in danger,” Weasel said quietly. “Justice Holis would never harm you, and he’d know in a minute that you were innocent. If she’d told you, you’d never have been able to bring it off. You’re not as bad a liar as some people think, but you’re not that good.”
“She didn’t tell me,” Arisa’s voice grated, “because she knew I’d refuse to help. I do refuse! We have to stop this. We have to stop her before she commits herself, before she incriminates herself completely. We have to get to Edoran. Now!”
The prince’s valet answered the door, looking down his nose at the prince’s flushed, panting friends.
“His Highness is dressing,” he informed them. “If you’d care to wait and… compose yourselves, he’ll be out shortly.”
Arisa’s palms were damp. She wiped them on her fancy skirt, trying to think fast. The prince’s old valet had been in his enemy’s pay. Was this one?
How could her mother do this? And how dare she try to involve Arisa without telling her? Without asking her?
“We’re going in,” Weasel told the man firmly. “Now.”
While the valet grappled with Weasel, Arisa slipped past them, dashed across the sitting room, and threw open the bedroom door—if Edoran was naked, tough. At least she’d be certain it was him.
He wasn’t naked. He was sitting on his bed in his costume coat and britches, gazing gloomily at the full-head mask that sat on his dressing table. The wolf’s muzzle emerging from the sheep’s white wool was grotesque, and the one wolf ear sticking up though the fleece made it look silly as well.
Edoran gave Arisa a rueful smile. �
�I know my princely authority won’t stretch to canceling a costume ball on the spot, but there must be a way to get out of wearing that. Maybe a footman could walk behind me and carry it, or something.”
No matter how ridiculous it looked, it would completely conceal the face of whoever wore it. And disguise his height, to a certain extent. It might even have been made to look like that deliberately, to distract anyone who spoke to the so-called prince if his muffled voice, or his manner, seemed a bit off.
Arisa suddenly realized that she was furious with her mother. A hard, slow anger that cleared her mind and steadied her nerve.
“You won’t have to wear it,” she promised. “I’ve got an ide—”
Weasel and the valet burst into the room, still grappling.
“Your Highness, he—”
“Edoran, get rid of this—”
Edoran raised his brows. His mild expression reminded Arisa of Justice Holis, and it had the same effect. Weasel and the valet stopped shouting and stepped away from each other.
Edoran turned to the valet. “I’ll finish dressing myself, Jenks. You may go.”
“But Your Highness, this is your first masked ball since I began dressing you,” the valet pleaded. “I must assure that your appearance is perfect!”
Edoran grinned. “In that thing it can’t be perfect. If I need assistance, my companions will provide it. You may go.” He said it even more gently, but Jenks closed his mouth and went.
“You’ve got to get to Justice Holis,” said Weasel, going straight to the point. “The Falcon plans to kidnap you tonight. Or maybe you should go to the guard, but I don’t know which of them we can trust, so Holis it is.”
“No,” said Arisa tightly.
Edoran’s eyes were wide, his mouth an O of astonishment. He looked like a fish.
“If Justice Holis learns about my mother’s part in this, she’ll hang,” Arisa went on. “I can’t allow that, and you promised to do everything you could before you told anyone what we discovered.”
“But we can’t—”
“You promised,” Arisa snapped. “I’m holding you to it.”
“But we can’t let her kidnap Edoran!”
“No, and we won’t. But the whole point of this monstrosity is that no one can tell who’s wearing it,” Arisa said. “If I put it on, they’ll kidnap me instead of Edoran. Then I can talk with my mother. Talk her out of this.”
Talk her into running for her life. The Falcon would never be able to hold any position of authority after this, not even be allowed to live in Deorthas. But she would live, and be free. Traveling in other lands, working as armed guards, even as soldiers, would be better than being a lady as far as Arisa was concerned.
If her mother forgave her enough to take Arisa with her when she ran. Even if she didn’t, Arisa couldn’t allow her to succeed at… treason. Treason against a just regent, and a prince who had in no way deserved it.
Weasel and Edoran were both staring at her critically.
“Do you really think you can wear this costume and pass for me?” Edoran asked. “It would be nice if someone explained what in Boraldis’ cold hells you’re talking about!”
“I’ll explain,” said Arisa, “while you strip. I’m only a little taller than the two of you, and my breasts aren’t that big. In a coat, I’ll be able to pass.”
Weasel shrugged. “Let her try. It’ll be faster than arguing.”
Arisa went behind the privacy screen and twisted her gown around so she could unlace it and slip free. Thank the Lady she wasn’t wearing corsets!
She and Weasel explained matters to Edoran in chorus. Weasel had reached the part of the story where they’d found the locked drawer, when Edoran’s britches flew over the screen.
Arisa pulled them on. The waistband was three inches too small.
“Rot!”
There was a moment of silence.
“We did warn you they wouldn’t fit.” It was Edoran’s voice, very polite.
“I don’t think you could even have managed the coat,” Weasel added. “But there was no way Edoran’s britches were going over your hips.”
“My hips aren’t fat!” Arisa snapped, pulling the treacherous garment off of her feet.
“Of course not.” There was a suspicious quiver in the prince’s voice. “I’m the scrawny type.”
“They aren’t fat,” Weasel added soothingly. “They’re just girl hips.”
Arisa growled and sent the britches sailing back. “We have to think of something else.”
“Don’t worry,” said Weasel. “I’ve got an idea. You get dressed while I tell Edoran the rest of it. He can’t help us if he doesn’t know what’s going on.”
By the time Arisa had struggled back into her gown and petticoats, he’d almost finished.
“I understand why she’s angry that Holis got the sword,” Edoran said, as Arisa strode around the screen. “And I suppose a celebration ball would give her an opportunity to get hold of me. But why insist they be put together in the old throne room? She already had the shield in her possession. Why give it up?”
Arisa stopped in her tracks. Edoran was wearing Weasel’s drab clothes, the dark kerchief concealing his hair. Weasel was half-dressed in Edoran’s gleaming white.
“No,” she said. She shouldn’t have been surprised—she’d already seen that Edoran could fit into Weasel’s clothes. “It’s too dangerous. My mother’s men won’t hurt me, but most of them won’t even recognize you!”
“All the better,” said Weasel. “That means it will be longer before the switch is revealed, which gives you more time to get to your mother and put a stop to this. And they won’t kill me, even when they discover the truth.” His smile was strangely serene. “I’m not as valuable a hostage as Edoran, but at that point they’ll need all the leverage on Justice Holis they can get. They’ll need me alive.”
The hanged man. Voluntary sacrifice, for the greater good. Arisa’s heart ached.
“I won’t let you do this.” It was dangerous, whatever he said.
“You don’t have a choice,” Weasel pointed out. “There’s no one else who can get into this costume, who wouldn’t go straight to Justice Holis the moment you explained what’s going on. We’re out of time.”
He was right. Her plan to find some footman’s son of the right size, to try to pass it off as a prank, might have worked if they’d had several days. In the time they had, there was no chance. If she went to her mother, without telling Holis first, the Falcon would find some way to press ahead. Arisa knew what her mother was like when she committed herself—obstacles that would have stopped most people cold were simply challenges to her. It had made her a magnificent rebel leader. It made her dangerous.
“Maybe we should go to Justice Holis,” said Edoran, worry plain on his thin face. “If there’s a chance Weasel could get hurt… I could issue a royal pardon for your mother, in consideration of… of… Um.”
There were no grounds for pardon, for forgiveness of this crime.
“Justice Holis would never pardon her,” said Arisa. “And he’s the one who’s really in charge.”
Edoran scowled.
“So this is the only way,” said Weasel, wiggling into Edoran’s coat. It fit him, Arisa noticed.
She couldn’t let her mother kidnap Edoran. She couldn’t turn her mother in to Justice Holis to be hanged. Sacrifice didn’t always end in death—it usually didn’t! Weasel was right. If she wanted to save her mother, from both the law and herself, this was the only way.
“All right. We go with this. Edoran can hide himself away, and when I get to the ballroom, I’ll tell my mother that we’ve made our own switch. She’ll have to abort the plan if she can’t find Edoran. Then she’ll have time to warn her men and we can run. They’ll have an escape plan in place.”
Weasel nodded, but Edoran was still frowning.
“You know, you’re basing some big conclusions on very little evidence. I admit the costume receipt is suspicious, b
ut to kidnap me? How could this Katrin have been working for Ethgar against the Falcon, and for her against Justice Holis? It’s too far-fetched! And if she is making a play for the throne, then why did she give up the shield? It was the shield that made the army accept her command in the first place.”
“I don’t understand that myself,” Arisa admitted.
“I do,” said Weasel. “Katrin did it for the money, plain and simple. She probably adored being paid by both sides. And the Falcon’s not letting go of the shield; she’s making a grab for the sword as well. Justice Holis’ office is on the same corridor as the palace guard commander’s, and there are always guardsmen hanging around. It would be really risky to steal the sword from there. Now the sword and shield are both in a room in the old wing, where hardly anyone goes. Much easier to steal.”
“They’re on display in a public room,” Edoran objected. “It’s open tonight, so anyone who wants to see them can leave the ballroom and go there. People have been popping in to look at them all day.”
“Which means there won’t be as many there tonight,” said Weasel. “Can you think of a better distraction for her imposter than the news that the sword and shield have disappeared? No one would pay any attention to your substitute after that.”
“And if she gets the sword and shield,” said Arisa, “after a few years have passed she might not even need you. It wouldn’t take much to convince the country folk that Regalis wasn’t Deor’s descendant—even you believe that! If he wasn’t the true king, then there is no true king, not anymore. Someone who had Deor’s sword and shield in their possession would have a stronger claim than anyone else. Especially someone the country folk already consider a rebel hero.”
She was cold to the marrow of her bones now, and even Weasel looked worried.
“Then we can’t let her take the sword and shield either,” said Edoran.
“So go get them,” Weasel ordered crisply. “I’ll play Edoran as long as I can. You two get the sword and shield out of that room and hide them. If she can’t find them, she might give up on kidnapping the prince!”