“Ask your daughter if she has any ideas,” Harrow said calmly. “She is more intelligent than you might realize.”
Faolan wished Harrow would share in his frustration. “I know she’s bright. But I don’t want to encourage her! Oh, fine. I’ll speak to her now.”
Gripping the rail, Faolan stomped down the stairs, barely managing to regain his composure in time to face the builders. Many of the men were drinking sour ale or eating boiled potatoes whole, lazing around with no concern for their host. Hardly any looked Faolan’s way when he approached. Without greeting any of the men, Faolan sidled around the back of the hall and through the dining room until he reached the kitchen. As he had expected, Laina sat in what had become her customary chair beside the door, this time peeling turnips and tossing them into a nearby canvas sack. He had the feeling she was listening in on everything that went on next door.
“Good afternoon, Father,” Laina said complacently, sparing Faolan a brief smile. “Any news?”
“What sort of news do you want to hear?” he asked dully. “More troops are on their way, I assume. And Harrow says the rains are meant to cease tomorrow.”
“What then?” Though Laina did not cease her relentless peeling, he could tell she was paying close attention.
Faolan shook his head. “I was hoping you might give me an answer to that. By all the gods of sin, how are we supposed to be rid of these builders?”
“Give them work,” Laina said. “It doesn’t have to be construction work.”
The immediacy of her answer suggested that she had spent many of her kitchen-work hours in thought.
“Send a scouting crew first. They can sort out a good place for the men to camp.” Laina brushed a stray hair off her cheek with one wrist. “Then hire a Lostporter who knows the forest back to front, and give him a crew of men to help fish and gather food. That way, no one will have grounds to complain that they’re inadequately fed or sheltered.”
Faolan was impressed. “And if the stones do not arrive? What will you have the men do then?”
“Go home,” Laina said. “If the materials don’t show up soon, winter is going to ruin Port Emerald anyway.”
She was right, Faolan had to admit. As much as he wished to pretend otherwise, he knew this project balanced on a very delicate set of scales. Tip it too far in one direction, and the whole endeavor would collapse. “I should have sought your advice sooner,” he said. “You are truly becoming an admirable young woman.” He gave Laina’s shoulder a brief squeeze.
* * *
After her father left the kitchen, Laina set aside her peeling knife and let the half-naked turnip rest in her lap. She did not know whether to be hurt or pleased by his remark. Without Doran around, Laina could see more vividly than ever that she was as much a disappointment as her brother. Her father had wanted a powerful son and an obedient daughter, and had gotten neither.
Laina glared at the turnip, digging her fingernail into one of the triangular bulges where a root had begun to sprout. If she was to sit indoors and dream up strategy for days on end, she would wither and go mad. Yet it would please her father.
A movement in the corner of the kitchen drew her eye. Jairus and Swick, never far from her father’s manor since the rains had begun, emerged from the rear stairwell and strode to the doorway where Laina sat.
“The rain is slowing,” Swick said, by way of greeting. “If you wish to start planting obstacles, now is the time, while your dear father is distracted.”
“You mean we should ride down to the gypsy camp now?” Laina asked warily. “What of the mudslide?”
“We discussed this with one of the men who helped build the road,” Swick said. “It cannot be entirely impassable, unless an entire mountain turned to mud. Those useless Whitlanders are simply trying to swindle your father.”
“Would you not be happy to leave this foul-smelling house behind?” Jairus asked. “I could not so easily put up with the noise and the stench.”
Laina threw her unfinished turnip into the heap and stood. “I was trying to do right by my father.”
“Does that mean we leave you behind?” Swick raised an eyebrow.
Laina fought with herself for a moment. Her father would be terrified if he found her missing. Worse, he would never trust her again. Yet if her scheme worked, the Whitish troops would be rooted out before it was too late.
“No, I’ll come,” she said at last. “Nine plagues! Father will be furious.”
“I’m so—so tired,” Laina told Mylo as they passed, pretending to fight a yawn. “I’m sorry. I think I must be coming down with a cold. Sorry I couldn’t finish the turnips.”
Mylo waved her away. “Take care of yourself, my dear. And don’t worry about us. You’ve been a brilliant help already.”
Halfway up the narrow back stairwell, Swick turned and nudged open the hidden door that led into the garden. Jairus hurried on ahead to fetch Laina’s horse as Swick bent his head against the rain and started downhill.
“How did you find this entrance?” Laina asked with some amusement. “Half of the servants don’t even know it exists.”
“That was Jairus,” Swick said with a grin. “He had a bit too much to drink a few nights back, and when he escaped the kitchen to empty the contents of his stomach, he happened to lean against that exact stretch of wall.”
Laina snorted. She could hardly imagine Jairus getting inebriated; she had a feeling Swick was not telling her the whole story.
When they reached the base of the hill and the border of the front lawn, Swick glanced quickly at the entrance of the manor before sidling into the stables. No one was watching; even without checking, Laina was sure of this. Any man forced to brave the wind and sleet to relieve himself would be far too interested in returning to the warmth to notice anyone unusual around.
“I’d rather walk,” Laina said, though Jairus had already saddled Feather.
“Not in that mud, you wouldn’t,” Swick said. “You’re the princess. You ought to have some small comforts.”
“But what about you two?”
Swick shrugged. “Bloody shame we don’t have a wagon, but we’ll have to make do.” He patted Feather’s sleek neck. “It’ll be brutal out there, I’m sure of it.”
Breathing in the sweet smell of hay, Laina felt the muscles in her neck relax. It had been so long since she had been outside. “I’ve lived here all my life,” she said. “I can stand a bit of rain.”
Swick nodded. Laina swung her leg over Feather’s saddle, and without speaking, all three drew their hoods tightly about their faces and ventured into the storm.
All down the winding path, rivulets of water had carved narrow gouges in the usually-smooth gravel. No one was about in town—glowing orbs of candlelight shone through the curtains on most windows, and the scent of woodsmoke curled about the rooftops, but every shop was closed and every door tightly sealed. Jairus ducked briefly into the Seal’s Roost and returned wearing a sturdier pair of boots, and then they left the town behind and made for the woods.
Beneath the trees, the silence seemed heavier than usual. The leaves trapped and muffled the rain, releasing only the occasional heavy drop; even Feather’s hooves seemed hushed against the sodden earth. Pools of water had collected at every low spot along the track, to the extent that some stretches of track were nothing but water. More than once Laina watched Jairus—who forged ahead, while Swick followed more cautiously—stumble in muddy water that rose to his knees. Meanwhile, Swick would pause, search for a better route, and gingerly skirt around the puddle. Though she felt guilty for leaving the other two to suffer alone, Laina was grateful to be riding safely above the mud.
Soon after they had reached the end of the inlet and the track had turned inland, Laina caught sight of what looked like a deep river stretching before them. Jairus was about to trudge on through when Laina called, “Wait! This could be the slip. For all we know, the path might be completely gone.”
Swick tugged at a
spiraling vine until a good length broke free, showering Laina and Jairus in rain. “Here, have a go with this.”
“I notice you have not offered to help,” Jairus said stiffly. Laina thought he might be jesting.
Rolling up his sleeves, Jairus waded into the first section of the flooded path and jabbed the stiff vine ahead. It struck solid ground, so he took another step forward.
“Don’t you think there might be a better way through the trees?” Swick asked, still hanging back.
Laina peered left and right, but could see nothing aside from the expanse of muddied water. “I trust the path a bit more,” she said.
“Besides, the trees are too tight a fit for your horse,” Swick said. “Augh, I suppose I’ll be going for a bit of a swim before the day’s up.”
Several more steps forward, Jairus’s vine nearly disappeared beneath the water when he tested the depth.
“Uh-oh,” Swick said.
Jairus turned and looked back at Laina and Swick. “It will come up to my waist at least. Should I continue on?”
“I meant a figurative swim, not a literal one,” Swick muttered. Raising his voice, he called, “The water is barely moving, but don’t put yourself in danger. You haven’t even reached the middle of the flooded section.”
Laina didn’t dare blink. What if one of the streams had overstepped its banks and now flowed through here, with an undercurrent that would rip Jairus from the path and hurl him toward a thundering river?
Moving forward, Jairus eased himself into the water until it was level with his chest; then he began stroking smoothly but quickly along the path. From his pace, Laina could tell he was nervous. As the path swept around a bend, she held her breath, waiting for the current to overpower him.
It never did. Instead Jairus seemed to find his footing and began rising from the mud like a tadpole, all glistening and coated in muck.
Turning, he cupped his hands around his mouth. “It’s safe! But you can turn back, if you like. I would not blame you.”
“Is that meant to be a challenge, you impertinent boy?” Swick called after Jairus. “Watch me. I’ll show you how a proper man crosses a wee puddle.” He took Feather’s reins and guided Laina along beside him. Feather balked at stepping so deep into the mud, prancing back a step, but Swick held her firm. When he reached the deepest bit, though, he gasped.
“Nine plagues!” Shivering, he backed up again and shook his head at the water. “Jairus is a brave little scorpion. How did he plunge right in like that?”
“We could turn back,” Laina offered. She did not want to, not now, but it was not she who had to swim through chest-deep mud.
“Fah,” Swick said. This time he turned and marched straight into the puddle, until his chin was bobbing in mud and he had to loop Feather’s reins around his shoulder so he could use both hands to swim. “Come along, you bloody horse!”
With an indignant nicker, Feather wallowed into the mud behind Swick and began struggling forward. Her hooves still touched the ground, but Laina could tell the mud was trying to trap her. Her head bobbed with each step, and the water lapped at Laina’s waist. She raised her hands to keep them dry, pitying Jairus and Swick more than ever.
Halfway through the puddle, Feather’s hooves slipped, and the sudden drop jolted away Laina’s feeling of safety. Sweeping her head side to side, Feather fought to regain her footing while Laina clung to the saddle, her nerves on fire. If she fell, would she be able to swim with her skirts weighing her down? She would sink. Now the lapping waves seemed menacing, little fingers trying to yank her from her safe perch and drag her under.
One wave struck Laina in the waist with such force that water splashed over her shoulder. It was the current! Now she could feel the water moving, swirling about her waist in subtle yet insistent flurries. She and Feather were drifting toward the edge of the path; soon they would be slammed against a tree, and she would fall—
At last Feather righted herself and heaved herself forward with a surge. Laina gasped and remembered to breathe. A few steps farther along, the water seemed to be receding. Soon they would be on dry ground.
“That wasn’t so hard,” Swick said, stepping gingerly from the puddle and standing beside Jairus, who was covered in goose-pimples but refused to shiver. “And you thought we’d turn back!”
“Are you injured?” Jairus asked Laina softly. He must have noticed her expression.
“No, of course not.” Laina tried to shake off the lingering unease that Feather’s misstep had brought about. It was not the cold or the filth that had scared her, but her own helplessness. It would have been too easy to drown. “I’m fine. Though I’d rather not cross that again until the rains have slowed.”
“Tonight,” Swick said. “We’re counting on the storm blowing over tonight.”
It was dark by the time they neared the gypsy camp. Swick and Jairus had brought sleeping rolls, food, and a tent, but everything had gotten soaked in crossing the puddle, so they had to count instead on the generosity of the performers.
“Conard would find us a place,” Laina said. “His performer friends may not like it, but he would not turn me away.”
“What a sweet boy,” Swick teased. “Perhaps he can sing love ballads by the firelight while we dry off.”
“Oh, hush,” Laina said. Now that they were here, though, she was no longer so sure of herself. Conard had begged for the chance to come visit her, but would he be equally receptive to her own sudden appearance? Refusing to voice her misgivings, she nudged Feather forward and led the way through the camp toward the back of the clustered tents. She did not know where Conard had set up camp, but she hoped she would stumble across him.
As it turned out, everyone in the camp must have recognized her instantly—the horse probably helped, she thought ruefully—because whispers began following them through the tents, and before long Conard himself appeared before them.
“Laina!” he said, blinking in surprise. “I thought they were joking.”
“Sorry; I should have sent word.” Laina realized for the first time that he was wearing a brightly-colored tunic and a string of bells atop his exile’s band; apparently the gypsies had begun integrating him into their troop.
“How did you make it?” Conard asked. “The road is blocked. Which means—how did you get here, anyway? Did you bloody well swim?”
“Yes, we did,” Swick said, gesturing down the length of his sodden, muddy clothes.
Conard frowned at him, as though he had just noticed Laina was not alone. “Who are your friends?”
“Swick is a cartographer from Dardensfell,” Laina said, nodding to Swick. “In fact, he’s the one who gave me my horse. And his assistant is Jairus.”
Conard nodded. He gave Jairus an odd, sideways look, sizing him up. “Well. What are you doing here?”
“Can we discuss this somewhere private?” Laina said quietly.
Glancing around at the crowd of onlookers, all wearing expressions of studied innocence, Conard beckoned stiffly. “This way. We can talk at the camp.”
Laina could tell they had reached Conard’s troop when they were accosted by performers who were far less subtle in their curiosity. At once she, Jairus, and Swick found themselves surrounded by colorful people—an old man with long, graying hair; a striking black-haired woman who looked Ruunic; and a young couple with their arms around each other’s waists. There were three children trailing at the heels of the old man, giggling and whispering to one another.
“What’ve you gone and found?” the old man asked, grinning at Conard. “That’s the princess there. Is this finally an explanation for what you got up to that night you vanished on us?”
Laina’s cheeks went hot at the mention of that night in the hot pool. It was so strange to meet Conard like this, surrounded by other people, after such an intimate moment alone. There was so much she wanted to say, and none of it she wanted overheard.
“Don’t overwhelm them just now,” Conard said, elbowin
g the gray-haired man and the young couple out of the way. “They’ve just swam through a bog, it looks like. They’ll want fresh clothes and a warm drink.”
Laina dropped stiffly to the ground as Conard joined her. “Who is he, again?” he whispered, pointing his chin at Jairus.
Conard was jealous! Somewhat flattered, Laina whispered, “I told you. He’s Swick’s assistant, the Varrilan who won’t stand for my father’s meddling. We’re helping him coax the Whitish army away from Lostport. And no, I’m not interested in him.” She shook her head at Conard’s expression.
He grasped her hand briefly, hidden behind Feather’s flank. “Good. I was worried.”
By the time Swick led Feather to a tree and tied her beside one of the tents, the young woman had already produced a new dress for Laina. “This should fit! It might be a bit short, but Conard will appreciate the cut.” She winked at Laina.
“That’s Ladybird,” Conard said. He lowered his voice and added drily, “Entertainer extraordinaire.”
Laina looked from Ladybird’s loosely plaited golden hair to her rouged lips and plunging neckline and guessed exactly where her specialties lay.
“I’ll help you get dressed, if you would like,” the girl added. “Unless Conard wants to.”
He rolled his eyes at Laina; clearly he would love the chance, if he could get rid of the audience. Laina bit her lip and tried not to grin.
Ladybird led the way into the tent, while Laina clutched her skirts about her knees and tried not to drip mud onto the mounded rugs.
“Conard does nothing but talk of you,” Ladybird confided as soon as they were alone. “He never speaks of you by name, though. I think Grandfather is the only one who knew his secret lover was a princess.”
“I’m not his lover,” Laina said. “Not exactly.” She held up her arms obediently as Ladybird tugged the muddy dress over her head.
“Well, give it a few days trapped in this camp, and that might well change.”
Laina snorted. “You haven’t been plying your charms on Conard, have you?” she asked, her voice muffled beneath the dress.
The Fall of Lostport Page 18