One Friday evening a man came to the door at Spinners' Hall. Behind him she could see Trop, his face busy showing no emotion. At first she thought it was the man who followed her, but then she recognized the Duke's livery. He was holding a piece of paper in his hand.
"Are you Meeral?" he asked, though he obviously knew who she was.
"Yes."
"I have a letter for you"
She reached for it, but he pulled it back. "I'm supposed to read it to you."
"I can read."
"His Highness instructed me to read it."
Meeral couldn't decide if she should be outraged or amused as he opened her letter and began to read.
"My dear Meeral." He continued in a mocking singsong. "Will you do me the honor of having lunch with me on Sunday? My carriage will pick you up when the town clock chimes twelve times."
The man looked at her haughtily and said, "It's from Prince MorToak. I'll tell him that you received the message and are delighted to go."
"You will not!" Meeral now knew she was outraged. "I will write him my refusal."
The messenger's mouth flew open. "You can't do that! Women are always delighted to go."
"Meeral!" Rephna was running toward her, her curls flying. "Don't tell him that"
"Of course I will. Did you hear the message?"
"Oh, Miss," the messenger said, "I can't go back and tell him you won't go."
Rephna took Meeral's arm, led her into her room, saying, over her shoulder to the messenger, "You wait." Inside she said, "You have to go. I never knew anyone who had lunch with a prince. I want to hear everything that happens."
"I won't go. I'm going to write him and tell him I'm not interested, thank you."
"You'll always be sorry, Meeral. Don't let that snooty messenger make you do something silly."
"Did you hear what he said about all women wanting to go with him? Well. I'm not like all women." As Meeral held her head high in righteous indignation she pictured how Shejani would say the same words.
A sly look came over Rephna's face. "You'll never get another chance to return his handkerchief if you don't go. You'll have it on your conscience for the rest of your life, always thinking, 'If I'd only gone that day I wouldn't have to look at it.' You'd get to hate it." Rephna kept pleading with her with long, exaggerated tales of how the hanky would haunt her.
"You make it sound terrible," Meeral said, letting a giggle escape her.
"But that's why I told Pudbot -- because you told me you wanted to give it back to the Prince. Do you really think you'll have another chance?"
If she rid herself of MorToak's handkerchief perhaps she could rid herself of her longing for him. She could put her fantasies behind her.
She told the messenger she accepted the invitation. He looked immensely relieved, but she had a warning twinge and started to call him back. But she didn't.
"You have to have some new clothes," Rephna said. "You don't have anything suitable. Don't tell me you're going to wear an old-lady-dress when you go to lunch with a Prince."
Meeral laughed. "No, not any of the dresses." But before Rephna could voice her approval Meeral said. "I'll wear my nicest skirt and blouse."
"But you can't," Rephna wailed. "It's indecent to go dressed like that. Go out and buy something tomorrow after work."
Meeral shook her head.
"I'll lend you something -- my red lace blouse. It'll make him really look at you."
"I just want to return that handkerchief with the money in it."
"You're in love with him."
Meeral felt the warmth of her blush. How did Rephna know? All she had told her was that she wanted to return the onics. If Rephna knew, who else knew? MorToak? That was hopeless. She wished she had not accepted his invitation. She felt too vulnerable.
"I'll wear my own clothes, Rephna. Tell me which one you think would be best."
"I'll bring you my blouse tomorrow."
"I won't wear it," Meeral said.
She did put on the blouse the next evening, just to please Rephna. Rephna said it was stunning, and her pendant looked lovely with it, but Meeral took the blouse off saying, "It's not me."
Rephna left her fancy blouse, but Meeral wore her own linen one that she had embroidered with blue flowers down the front.
The carriage was waiting when the town clock struck twelve. Meeral wore her wool shawl around her shoulders and the handkerchief with the one hundred onics in her pocket. She held her cane in her hand. She had looked longingly at the exquisitely stitched handkerchief. It would be a lovely keepsake, but she would not be able to explain why she wanted to keep it.
When the driver opened the carriage door Meeral looked inside expectantly. The carriage was empty. She looked questioningly at the driver.
"The Prince will meet you at the Harbor Inn," he said. Meeral had never heard of it, but then she didn't expect to know the names of fancy eating-places. The carriage wound around the typical unplanned streets of Pactyl. Meeral had no idea where she was until she got a glimpse of the harbor with three large ships in the distance. Macy House wasn't in sight so the inn must be further along the shore.
At the inn a handsomely dressed man with a high collared jacket conducted her through the dining room. She noted that both the tables and the ladies wore fine linen. A few women eyed her cane with affected expressions of pity. She kept looking expectantly at each table for the prince, but the man escorted her to a door in back of the dining room. Meeral stopped.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked.
"To a private dining room, Miss."
Meeral held the doorframe. Why had she come? She started to turn back. The man in his high collared jacket said, "The Prince is waiting for you."
He took her firmly by the arm and steered her into the room where the Prince sat with a glass of yellow liquid in his hand. He rose slowly and measured her with his eyes, noting her cane, while she noticed his height. She, who literally looked down on many men, look up at him. He seemed to find her lacking, but he smiled when she managed a curtsy. Meeral wondered if everything would have turned out differently if she had remembered to give him back his handkerchief right away, as she had planned. Instead she was lost in a whirl of rich sauces, fine wine, and MorToak's smiling eyes.
She wanted to resist those blue eyes, so when he asked her about Cyrtuno, she told him about crops, harvest and plow horses, expecting him to be bored. It didn't work. Instead he excitedly asked her what kinds of wheat grew in Cyrtuno and which ones were hardiest. He wanted to know the length of the growing season and how the peasants rotated their crops.
She was captivated by his boyish enthusiasm. When he reached forward with his hand and let his long fingers stroke the line of her jaw she leaned toward his lips. He was so close she felt his breath against her cheek. Suddenly she remembered Shejani and pulled back.
He laughed and almost had an arm around her waist when she stood up, knocking over her chair. He rose, too, towering over her. She retreated, looking around to plan her escape. Her cane lay out of reach. Her hand reached up to touch the hard surface of her pendant that lay under her blouse.
"Am I moving too fast for you, my dear? We have plenty of time," he said. "Sit down." He picked up her chair and placed it close to his.
Taking a deep breath, Meeral said, "I just came to give you something." She fumbled in her skirt pocket.
"Pudbot told me you had something for me and I want to collect it." His face had the expectancy she had seen in other men but never understood before. He held out his hand, inviting her to come to him. For a moment Meeral pictured herself accepting it and imagined the feeling of his arms wrapped around her. But when she visualized herself reaching up to kiss him, she did not have her own face but the face of her mother. Drawing back, she knew she must empty her head of anything that would lead her in the same path Shejani had taken. She pulled his handkerchief out of her pocket.
She would have liked to remain cool and distant, but she
was afraid her face gave her away. All she could say as she dropped the onic filled bundle into his open hand, was, "This is what I have for you."
Puzzled, MorToak looked at the bundle. He noted his crest on the hanky, and recognized the content when he closed his fingers over it and heard the clink of coin against coin.
"I gave this to you?" he said in a voice. He seemed both puzzled and annoyed.
"I didn't need it, but thank you."
He dropped the bundle on the table and held out his hand again. "I hope you have more for me than that," he said.
She shook her head and said in her most emphatic voice. "If you give me my cane I'll get myself home. Thank you for the dinner."
MorToak gave her the cane. Her walk through the dining room was reminiscent of walking through the tavern in Cyrtuno. She held her head just as high, even though she expected to get the same insignificant attention that she had received when she came in. But all the women turned to stare at her with eyes of envy, not pity. Meeral turned her head slightly and saw that MorToak was close behind her.
"I'll take you home," he said softly.
She acknowledged his words with a faint smile that was a deliberate imitation of the smile she'd seen her mother use with men and was glad that her performance did not cause her to blush.
In the carriage, except for one brief glance at him, she stared out the window. She knew he was sitting, his body turned toward her, his knee touching her skirt, and his eyes fixed on her face. She was distracted from his silent hold on her by the sight of three large ships out in the harbor. They were much closer to the shore than they had been when she had seen them as she rode to the inn.
Suddenly she saw a flash of fire from one of the ships, then smoke, and then, an instant later, a loud bang.
"Look!" she said, grabbing MorToak's arm as she pointed at the ships. But the carriage had made a turn, hiding the view of the harbor. There was another loud boom. The driver shouted something as the road turned again, giving them a full view of the harbor, dominated by three Drarie warships.
CHAPTER 12
"Cannons! They're firing cannons!" MorToak said. He leaned out the window and shouted to the driver. "Stop the carriage."
MorToak sprang out of the door and climbed up onto the carriage box. He scanned the coastline.
"Have they hit anything?" he asked the driver.
"I can't tell -- maybe that big, gray house over on the bluff."
Meeral, standing next to the carriage, craned her neck in the direction the driver pointed but could not see over the trees.
"Yes." MorToak said. "I see smoke." He jumped down and flung himself back into the carriage. He shouted to the driver, "Get over there. Fast! Take the shortest route."
Meeral, afraid they would leave her behind, reached out her hand. He grabbed it and pulled her in, letting her tumble awkwardly next to him.
"Hurry," he shouted, then, almost to himself, "How could Kaldoat have prevented this? I'm supposed to see that Pactyl is defended."
"Did they hit the Duke's Palace?" Meeral said, not sure where the Duke lived.
"No. They might think they did but it's further down the bluff. They hit a large house that looks like a private home or boarding house. Lucky shot for them, unlucky for us. They don't have good aim with a cannon."
The horses slowed down as they began climbing a hill. MorToak stuck his head out the window but pulled it back quickly when the branches brushed the side of the carriage on the narrow road.
"Perhaps I should have picked a more experienced commander than Kaldoat," he muttered. "He spent all that time training enhancers to make arrows go further, but what good will that do? They couldn't even get near those ships." He hit his fist against the palm of his hand and leaned forward as if to hurry the carriage.
"Isn't Colonel Kaldoat's responsible for defending the city?" Meeral asked.
"Yes, but King ParToak sent me. I'm in charge. I picked Kaldoat because he was highly recommended."
"Isn't he doing a good job? Could he have known this would happen?"
"He's good with his men, has them well under control, but he's young -- not comfortable around anyone who isn't a soldier -- gets a bit bullheaded." MorToak's eyes met Meeral's as he added, "as you know. Maybe if he listened to more people . . . That woman enhancer that died . . . " His words trickled off.
He sat back in the carriage as if he realized he could not make it go faster. Meeral dismissed the idea of enhancing the pull of the horses on this narrow winding road. They were already going dangerously fast.
"A more seasoned commander might have anticipated this," he said. "Though I have no idea how we can stop being target practice . . . "
Suddenly the driver shout "Whoa! Whoa!" The carriage lurched from side to side and came to a halt.
"Why are you stopping?" MorToak shouted. As he opened the door Meeral saw the look of dismay on his face. He spat out the words, "Gurkon's Gut"
He reached the horses in rapid strides. Taking hold of the bridle of the lead horse he held it until it stopped prancing and tossing its head.
Across the narrow road lay a tree. It was not a very large tree, but the abundant growth of its long branches spread out from the trunk, blocking the road. There was no room to turn around.
The three of them stood looking at the tree accusingly. MorToak walked a few yards behind it. He pointed with the toe of his shoe to a round, black ball, its diameter a little smaller than that of the tree.
"That's what did it. A cannon ball. I bet they couldn't hit a tree like that again if they tried a hundred times. Turning to the driver he asked. "Do you have an ax?"
"No, your Highness," he said reaching down and grasping the trunk of the tree. MorToak grabbed one of the larger limbs and pulled. The two men were tugging at the tree, hardly moving it, when Meeral said, "If you do as I say, we can move it quickly."
MorToak ignored her and continued pulling, but the driver said, "Are you an enhancer, Miss?"
"Yes."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Pull exactly as the Prince does -- in the same direction and at the same time." Turning to MorToak, she said, "Your Highness, please start pulling slowly. Don't use all your strength."
MorToak gave her a look of annoyance, then turned his back on her and continued pulling at the tree. It resisted him with every tug.
This is not the time for him be so stubborn, Meeral said to herself. "Now, who's being bullheaded?" she said in her Shejani voice. "Don't you know that you couldn't have moved that timber in the river -- when Kaldoat was trapped -- if I hadn't enhanced your arms?"
As she spoke, MorToak's expression shifted from anger to amazement. Then his eyes narrowed, challenging her to see if she would prove her worth. She would have liked to return the challenge with her own steady gaze, but instead she watched them move the tree, enhancing the pull of both men, just as she had enhanced the twins' spinning. They dragged the tree forward and laid it at the side of the road. Then they led the horses past the fallen tree.
Back in the carriage MorToak said, "I wonder if Kaldoat knows that enhancers move trees?" With a look that indicated he did not want to give her more of the credit for rescuing Kaldoat he said, "And you claim you had more to do with pulling Kaldoat out of the river than I realized? That was the day you hurt your ankle so badly." He glanced at her cane lying on the floor of the carriage. She had not used it since they entered the carriage at the inn.
She had more on her mind than to bother convincing him that she had helped him, or to defend her pretense of a sore ankle. She asked, "Do you remember the Macy House -- where we went after Kaldoat's accident? Was that the house that was hit -- that you said was on fire?"
He shook his head. "I don't know. It was dark then. I should have been paying more attention -- to many things. I've left too much for Kaldoat to do."
He sat with his shoulders slightly hunched and a frown on his face. Seeing his discouraged mood, Meeral said, "You must have thought you
made a good choice when you picked him."
"I'm learning a good deal from the Colonel, though he doesn't think I know anything. My training is in strategy and actual combat. I'm learning logistics, tactics and troop discipline from him. I have more confidence in him than he has in me."
"King ParToak had confidence in you. I've heard you're the King's favorite." Suddenly she recognized the neighborhood through which they were driving distracted her. They were very near Macy House.
"Your information is out of date, my dear," he said, his face flooded with bitterness. "I am no longer . . ."
But Meeral did not hear him. Her eyes were on the red flames that darted out of the windows of a huge gray-stone house. Macy House.
MorToak was out of the carriage before it stopped. She saw him talking to a group gathered a safe distance from the burning house. He stood near a woman in a gray dress and bent down, attentively absorbed in what she told him. Then he snapped to his normal height and looked in Meeral's direction.
"Meeral,Ó he shouted and gestured for her to come to the woman. Before she started hurrying across the grass he sprinted towards the burning building. Walking with a feeling of freedom, Meeral was conscious that this was the first time in weeks that she had walked without a cane.
Meeral gasped as she discovered that MorToak had been talking with Thera. Her face was streaked with black soot. The sleeve of her gray dress bore a gaping hole, the edges blackened by fire. The skin of the exposed arm was blistered. Standing near her were six or seven children. Meeral recognized that they were children of women who had been living on the second floor of Macy House.
"Rephna!" Thera said. "She hasn't come out"
"Where is she?" Meeral asked.
"She went back to get something. I don't know what was so important."
Some clothes, Meeral wondered. Perhaps one of those blouses that plunged between her breasts. Or money. Thera must have been thinking the same thing for she was shaking her head and said, "She didn't have to go back."
Near the house MorToak instructed men to place a ladder to reach the top floor, but the flames threatened it and the ladder was not tall enough.
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