For an hour he led her and Mahogany on a circuitous route, dropping down toward the harbor, circling away on some cramped, crooked lane where piles of garbage rotted beside coal bins and stacks of firewood blocked doorways, then winding eastward through alleys and passages too narrow for any vehicle larger than a handcart. Amelia fussed over Mahogany, leading him cautiously through those places
for fear his wings might be hurt by some jutting nail or broken board.
Amelia had never seen such neighborhoods, where people lived in cramped buildings jumbled together without apparent plan or measure. She was used to boulevards and avenues where trees and flowering shrubs created graceful landscapes. Here, the famed White City was not so much white as it was gray, and everything she saw seemed to be broken.
Jimmy peered around corners to be certain no one was about, a few times holding his arm out to keep Amelia and Mahogany hidden in an alleyway until a deliveryman or a woman with a market basket had passed. There were not many such instances. Mostly the streets were empty.
Amelia’s skirt was soon damp from the melting puddles of snow, and she felt more than ever as if she would never be clean again. The smell of refuse and offal rose around her, and she saw Mahogany’s nostrils twitch, as irritated as her own. She fixed her gaze on where the sea must be and was rewarded by a glimpse of cold green here and there between slanting walls and battered chimney pots.
At last the three of them crept from a final noisome alley to find themselves on the docks. A long boardwalk stretched north and south, curving around the inner edge of the harbor. Slatted docks stuck narrow fingers into the water, with boats of every size and color tied up to great iron rings. Most of the boats looked empty, sails furled, ropes and nets and barrels stowed. One or two had men working on their decks, but they showed no signs of venturing out into the bay.
Amelia looked out across the water and saw the Marinan , blue flags flying from its mainmast, rocking peacefully in the morning sunshine. There was no sign of preparations for war. “Are you sure they said today?” she asked Jimmy.
“Oh, aye,” he said. “Today. Them Klee are itching for a fight, they said.”
Amelia turned to him. “Jimmy, do you understand it’s about me?”
He looked at her, his lips parted, his brow furrowed. He began to speak, stopped, and then said, “Nay, Miss, it ain’t about you.”
“I’m afraid it is, Jimmy.”
He merely gaped at her, no light of understanding brightening his eyes.
“Didn’t you wonder why I was hiding with a winged horse in that carriage house?”
“Aye. Well, nay. Not really. I was hiding, too, so . . .” His voice trailed off, and he scratched his thatch of brown hair. “But now that you say so . . . why do you want a boat, you and yon horse?”
Amelia drew a breath, and then said, as pleasantly as she could, “My name is Amelia Rys, Jimmy. I’m to become a horsemistress of Oc, but I was born in Klee.”
“Klee?” he repeated.
Amelia repressed a spasm of irritation at his dullness. She said gently, “Duke William has been holding me hostage, Jimmy. That’s why I need a boat. If I can reach the Marinan —my father’s ship—in time, there need not be a war.”
He bent his head, pondering this. Amelia waited, biting her lip with impatience. When he looked up again, he said, “And them extra taxes? They’d go away?”
“I don’t really know about that, Jimmy. It’s possible, I suppose. I only know that the Marinan is there in the harbor because of me, and if my father knows I’m safe, it can leave.”
He nodded, slowly, and at last his face brightened a bit. “And I can go home,” he said with satisfaction.
Amelia was not entirely sure this was true, but she let it pass. She said only, “Which boat belongs to your uncle?”
And Jimmy, grinning as if his cares had vanished all at once, pointed. “There it is!” he said. “The one with the ram’s head painted on the front.”
“The prow,” Amelia said absently, peering down the moorage to find the one he meant.
“Oh, aye? Do you know about boats?”
“I know about ships,” she said. “Not fishing boats. I arrived in Oc on the Marinan .” She lifted Mahogany’s lead and indicated to Jimmy that he should precede her. “Come, Jimmy, introduce me to him, will you please? And then, if I can persuade him to take me out to the ship, you can go home to your mother.”
“What about yon winged horse?” he asked.
She looked at him in surprise. “Mahogany stays with me, of course,” she said. “Don’t you know that?”
“Know what?”
“Winged horses stay with their bondmates,” she said. “Always. More than a day or two will send them mad.”
His eyes widened, and he took a step backward, as if afraid Mahogany might exhibit signs of madness even now. “Come on, then,” he said. “Let’s see if he’ll take you.” He set off, then stopped abruptly. “Do you have any money, Miss? My uncle Vinny’s that fond of money.”
Amelia had been worrying over this all during their trek. She asked, “You don’t think stopping a war is enough persuasion?”
Jimmy shook his head. “Nay,” he said sadly. “ ’Tis money Vinny likes.”
“Well, then,” Amelia said with feigned conviction. “My father will pay him. When we reach the Marinan
.”
Jimmy set out again, but he gave her a doubtful glance over his shoulder. “I don’t know, Miss Amelia.
But Vinny’s the only one I know what has a boat.”
“Well, I will have to convince him.” She touched the icon at her breast for reassurance.
“Aye,” Jimmy said. He looked around to check that the street they were about to cross was empty, then led the way down the dock. The boat didn’t look promising. Its cabin was little more than a shack stuck onto the deck, and everything was a dingy gray, except for the white ram’s head with its curling horns.
Poles stuck out on every side, for fishing, Amelia assumed, though her education had not run to the mechanics of that profession. Mahogany’s hooves made a hollow clacking sound on the boardwalk.
When they turned onto the dock where Vinny’s boat was moored, he pulled back, fearful of the slatted surface. Amelia urged him forward, but slowly, fearful he might slip. Cold salt water splashed the underside and cast faint fans of spray between the boards. Everything smelled of salt and fish and oil.
But then, Amelia thought wryly, she smelled strange herself, having had neither bath nor bed for more days than she cared to count.
She followed Vinny to the end of the dock. She waited with Mahogany as he climbed aboard to knock on the cabin door. The sun glittered on the watery horizon and gleamed on the buildings of the White City. Amelia tipped her head up and closed her eyes for a moment, letting the sun warm her eyelids and her cheeks. She leaned back into Mahogany’s warmth. He dropped his chin over her shoulder and blew gently through his nostrils.
“It’s almost over,” she said softly. “One more step, Mahogany. My father is right over there . . .”
She opened her eyes to look out across the bay at the Marinan . She imagined her father’s composed face, his quiet demeanor, his air of calm authority as he ordered his men to their duties. A surge of longing made her throat ache. She swallowed and straightened her back. Her father would be disappointed if he saw that her eyes were swollen or her cheeks tear-stained. She would compose herself just as he always did. “One more step,” she said again. Mahogany whuffed near her cheek.
Jimmy emerged from the door with its round, iron-barred window. A man came after him, a man not much taller than Jimmy himself. He must at one time have had the same red-brown hair, but it had faded to a kind of brownish pink. His unkempt straggle of beard was thin and pointed. He looked a bit like Lark’s Uplands goat.
He clambered onto the dock, and stood beside Jimmy, squinting at Amelia and Mahogany. Jimmy said,
“This is her,” and his uncle nodded. His
beard waggled, reminding Amelia even more of Molly the goat.
He took a step forward, and Mahogany snorted and backed away. Jimmy said, “Them horses don’t like men,” and his uncle stopped where he was.
Amelia stood as straight as she could, smoothing her drooping tabard, and hoping her hair was still more or less contained in its rider’s knot. “I’m Amelia Rys,” she said. It seemed better not to use Master. She would need her father’s name.
“Klee girl?” the man asked.
“That’s right, Master—Master Vinny. I’m a daughter of Klee, now a student at the Academy of the Air.
And I need to get to that ship.” She pointed to the Marinan , and all three of them turned to it as if they hadn’t seen it before.
Its white sails and neatly painted blue hull reproached the shabby boat bobbing at Amelia’s feet.
Longboats hung in ropes, ready to be lowered into the bay. The black shapes of the carronades faced out toward the city. There were at least a half dozen of them, dark reminders of the ship’s purpose.
Vinny spat into the water beneath the dock. “Klee,” he growled. “Been firing on our patrol boats for two days. We can’t fish, can’t take cargo in and out. The Ram’s Head just sits here. Can’t do nothing.”
“I know, Master Vinny,” Amelia said. “If I can get to her—to my father’s ship—he will open the mouth of the harbor, and all of this will be over.”
“Oh, aye? That important?” He looked her up and down, and flicked his eyes over Mahogany. His eyes were small, his lips full above the wispy beard. “ ’Twill be expensive,” he said. “You have money?”
“You will have your reward when we reach the ship,” she said. “You have my word.”
“Heh. Your word,” he said. “Can’t spend that, can I?” His lips parted in a goatish leer. “But mayhap there’s a reward due from the militia for a girl and a winged horse. Especially if the Klee wants you.”
“Uncle, please,” Jimmy began, weakly.
Vinny said, “Shut up, Jimmy. The Ram’s Head is my business.”
“This is about far more than business,” Amelia said with asperity. “It’s about war, and peace. And this war can be prevented.”
Vinny said, “By a slip of a girl? Who would believe that?”
“Uncle,” Jimmy said.
“Shut up,” his uncle answered.
Amelia looked up and down the dock. There were two or three boats with some activity on them, though none was going out into the bay. Blessedly, Jimmy’s patrol had evidently gone to another part of the docks.
She tried to imitate her father’s air of dispassionate authority as she said, “There are no militia about this morning, as you can see for yourself. If you are not interested in the fee for ferrying me to the ship, I will go and ask one of those other boats. I would have expected you could use the money, as you haven’t been able to fish for some days.”
When he didn’t answer, she said, “Decide now, if you please, sir. I want to be across the water before there’s any more shooting.”
She tried not to hold her breath while Vinny considered this. He scowled and tugged at a strand of his pinkish hair. Jimmy fidgeted, but Amelia stood very still. When several moments had passed, she said,
“Very well, sir. Thank you for considering my request.”
She turned her back, lifted Mahogany’s lead, and took a step back down the dock toward the boardwalk.
“Wait,” Vinny said in an uncertain tone.
Amelia stopped, but she didn’t turn back. She looked over her shoulder, raised her eyebrows, and waited.
“So,” Vinny said. “How much?”
She shrugged. “It will be sufficient. The Klee are known for their generosity.”
“Known for making war,” snapped Vinny.
Amelia looked at him for a breath, then said, very evenly, “It was not our Viscount who took a hostage and who refuses to give her up.”
He eyed her. “That you, then? The Duke’s hostage?”
“Of course.”
“Aye. Heard something about that. Thought it was rumor put about by the rebels.”
“I am she.”
“And how are you going to stop that ship from firing on my poor fishing boat?”
“You may trust me on that, as well. I can let my father know it is I on your boat.”
He nodded. Without another word, he stepped back and pulled something long and heavy from behind a pile of nets. He grunted with effort as he lifted it, and Jimmy leaped to his side to help him extract it and carry it across the deck. It was made of boards and cleated for traction, a walkway of some kind. He laid it across the port side of the boat, with one end on the deck and the other on the dock. He secured it
with an iron bolt, then moved well away. “There you go,” he said. “You and yon horse can come aboard.
Let’s get on with it. I’d like to get the Ram’s Head back out to where the cod run.”
THIRTY-FOUR
WILLIAMturned in his bed, his eyes still closed. The light through his eyelids seemed much brighter than it had the day before. He sat up and looked out the window to see that the weather had cleared.
Beyond the slate roofs of the Palace the sky was a clear, empty blue. He threw back his covers and went to pull the curtains aside. The last of the storm clouds had retreated into the west, leaving Osham and its surrounding fields and pastures basking in cool winter sunshine.
“Diamond!” William whispered. “This is the day.”
He rang for his breakfast, and while he waited for it, pulled on a full-sleeved white shirt, a pair of light trousers, and the boots he had ordered for just this purpose. They were glove soft, made with the lightest calf leather, with soft soles and low heels. He tied his hair in its queue and pulled on his vest. He forced the bone buttons into the buttonholes, straining the fabric across his chest. He paused briefly, running his hand over his swollen bosom. Perhaps, once he and Diamond had flown together, he could reduce the amount of the potion he was taking. It would be good to feel like himself again.
When the maid knocked at his door with his tray, he was just pulling on his riding coat, wondering if it would do for flying or would flap and blow about his legs and distract Diamond. He didn’t realize Constance had come in behind the maid until he turned from his wardrobe to reach for his coffee cup.
“Constance! Ye gods, you gave me a start.”
She was still in her dressing gown, an elaborately embroidered affair with a long, sweeping hem, and her mousy hair hung loose down her back. She looked, he thought, like a child wearing her mother’s clothes.
It was hard to believe she was older than Francis by at least three years. “William,” she said in her breathy voice. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to—” He stopped himself from saying “going to fly.” He wouldn’t say the words, not until he had actually done it. He finished, “—to ride. What did you think?”
“But, William, they’re saying . . .”
“Damn it, Constance! What are they saying? Are you listening to gossip again?”
“I know we lost a winged horse the other day. It drowned in the bay.”
“Blame that on the Klee.”
Her eyes slid up to his, then away. “And something happened last night. On the New Bridge, someone was killed. I heard two of your—that is, two guardsmen talking about the Klee.”
William blew out his lips in irritation. He wanted her out of his room, out of his sight. He wanted to go to Diamond, to have this great event done, achieved, accomplished! And here was Constance, whining and whimpering about things that could not possibly concern her.
“I don’t know what you’re worried about,” he said. He sipped his coffee and watched her over the rim of his cup.
She twirled a lock of hair between her fingers, avoiding his eyes. “Don’t you think you should do something? Stop this, or send someone to talk to the Klee . . .”
William put down his coffee cup. The tray hel
d a boiled egg and a rasher of bacon, but he ignored them.
The lighter he was today, the better for Diamond. “I am doing something,” he said, buttoning his coat. He retrieved his quirt from the bureau and tucked it into his belt. “There’s no need for you to trouble yourself, Constance.” He walked to the door and held it open for her. “I must say, it’s unlike you to take an interest in public affairs.”
She said obstinately, “You should do something. You’re the Duke.”
He stiffened and glared at her. “I don’t need a woman telling me my duty.” His fingers itched for his quirt.
Her eyes flickered up to his again, then away in that maddening way she had. “My lord husband,” she said, “Clarence tells me you’ve had a message from Prince Nicolas. It seems he’s out of patience with
you. Why should that be?”
It was true, of course, and Clarence would pay dearly for revealing it to anyone, much less a foolish woman with no understanding of state affairs. Nicolas had sent a message by courier—a horsemistress, of course, one of Oc’s own—that William was to do everything in his power to pacify the Klee. He hadn’t said anything specifically about the Fleckham School, and the issue of the winged horses, but he had implied a great deal. William had allowed Clarence to read it to him. He regretted that now, but it could not be undone. Unfortunately, the Prince had also seen fit to send a copy of his message to the Council of Lords, and the horsemistress had delivered that one first, before William could order her not to.
But he had no intention of discussing any of this with his wife.
“Go away, Constance,” he snapped. “Find something to occupy your mind—if you have one—and let me get on about my work.” He spun about and marched out of the room, letting the door fall shut behind him. He had no time for her nonsense this morning. In fact, he thought, when he moved to the Fleckham School to help the lads begin their own preparations to fly, he would send Constance back to her family.
Barren as she was, she was useless to him, and she irritated him like a sliver under a fingernail. Thinking of her mewling on about the Prince and the Council—it made his blood burn.
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