The Palace of Lost Memories

by CJ Archer

  "I will. Thanks for the cray."

  I left the concourse and the noisy taverns behind, quite certain I was being followed by the same man as before. I couldn't make out his face, but it was obvious from a distance that his skin wasn't the color of a Zemayan's.

  I doubled my pace and ducked around corners, crossed courtyards, and hurried down narrow alleys. A quick glance over my shoulder confirmed he was still there and closer than before.

  I ran. My basket bumped against my hip and my skirts snapped at my ankles but I didn't slow. I turned every corner, no matter where it led, hoping he wouldn't follow. Every inch of Mull was familiar to me, although some areas I hadn't been to in years.

  I recognized the area known as The Row as soon as I entered it. The air was fouler, the smell of excrement and sweat oozing from the packed dirt beneath my feet. People looked out from the buildings, if the lean-tos and derelict structures could be called that. Most were made of wood and canvas scraps sewn together. The few stone walls along the street struggled to hold up sagging roofs, and in some places, failed altogether. It didn't stop the residents from making their homes within the confined, hollowed-out spaces.

  People slept on the streets, even now in the late afternoon. Children didn't seem to notice, playing beside the sleeping bodies in the dirt. They stopped to watch me pass, their vacant eyes and thin limbs telling the story of their desperate predicament.

  Another glance behind me confirmed I was still being followed. I picked up my skirts with my free hand and rushed further along the main street, the original Row, but quickly diverted at the first intersection. The buildings were closer here, the stench stronger. The children wore little more than rags, their feet bare, and their hungry eyes watched me as if I were the source of their next meal. There wasn't an adult in sight.

  Or so I thought. The unmistakable grunts of coupling came from behind makeshift curtains hanging over what could be considered doorways, but were merely openings in the walls. One of the curtain flaps was flung wide and a man lurched out, fumbling with his breeches. He saw me and grinned. His tongue slithered over blackened, broken teeth.

  "You there!" he hailed me. "How much?"

  I rushed on but the street suddenly ended. My heart stopped. I was surrounded on three sides by hovels, and behind me, the man following still advanced. I could clearly make out his face now with its black goatee beard and sharp cheeks. More men had emerged from behind the curtains, and women too. Some simply watched on, but others advanced, sensing sport.

  My heart kicked back to life, hammering against my ribs.

  "She's a ripe one," one of the men said, licking his lips.

  "Oi!" a woman shouted at me. "This is our turf and we don't share."

  "Especially with no fancies," cried another woman. "You got to pay to come through The Row. So what you got in that basket, eh?"

  "I…I don't want trouble. That man is after me." I indicated my pursuer. He paused, uncertain.

  "He's a man, ain't he?" said the first woman. "What d'you expect? Flowers?"

  That set off the other women in fits of laughter, but the men still came, their intentions clear in their hungry eyes.

  "Give us yer basket," said one.

  "Give us your cunny," said another.

  My pursuer stood behind them, watching. Waiting. Perhaps he thought it best to let the locals deal with me and keep his own hands clean. I swallowed but the fear remained, a tight, hot lump in my throat. They would deal with me, all right. No authorities would pass in time to rescue me here. The sheriff's men had given up on The Row. I had to fend all these people off on my own.

  Or succumb and hope they spared my life.

  Another quick look around confirmed there was no way out except past them. And there were too many to outrun.

  I was trapped.

  Chapter 7

  "Come 'ere, sweetheart," sneered one of the men. "Stop moving off." He lunged and grabbed my shoulder. His fingers dug through my clothing and into my flesh.

  I screamed then threw my basket, cray and all, past him. He and the others dove on it, tearing it apart like ravenous dogs. It bought me precious moments.

  "Is there another exit?" I asked the cluster of children nearby. "There'll be a coin in it for you."

  One of them pointed at the canvas structure leaning up against the end of the street, its frayed flaps open in invitation. I plucked my purse from my skirt pocket and tossed the girl an ell. The adults looked up from the destroyed cray as if they'd smelled my money. I opened the purse, pulled out all the coins and sprayed them from one side of the street to the other, the purse too. Children, men and women pounced, blocking my pursuer from getting to me.

  I passed through the canvas tent and prayed to Hailia that the girl hadn't lied. The tent covered a gaping hole in the wall of a building. I plunged through the hole and into a dim, stuffy room stinking of urine. It was empty. Better still, there was another door on the far side.

  The next room was even darker. It was also occupied. I could just make out the shape of a woman sitting in the corner, her legs outstretched. A small child lay beside her, his head resting on her lap. As my eyes adjusted, her desperation came into focus. The boy hardly moved despite being awake.

  Behind me, I heard the rabble draw closer, their scavenging finished. "Where is she?" one of the men shouted.

  "Get her!" cried another. "Before she escapes!"

  Escape. There must be another exit but I couldn't see one, only walls and pieces of wood nailed together to cover holes. The woman sat near a makeshift bed and I could now make out another bed on the opposite side of the wall. I man lay there, asleep or dead.

  Outside, the shouts grew louder.

  "I'm a healer," I quickly told the woman. "I'll give your boy the medicine he needs for free if I get out of here alive and unharmed. Please, help me."

  Boney fingers pushed aside a plank of wood nailed at one end to the wall, revealing a hole. "In there," she said. "Go. I'll tell them you went that way." She nodded at more wooden planks on the other side of the room. They must hide another hole, another exit.

  With my heart hammering in my throat, I pushed the planks further aside and climbed through. "You'll find me one street back from the market precinct, under the sign of Hailia's hands. Come tomorrow." I let the wooden panel slide shut and steadied it so that it wouldn't swing.

  "Where is she? Where did she go?" a voice on the other side demanded,

  I didn't wait to hear the response. A prick of light pinpointed the exit and I raced toward it, only to trip over the uneven surface and land on my hands and knees. It felt like I'd removed some skin, but I didn't pause to check. The light came from a crack between two boards. I pried them apart and peered out. Seeing no one waiting for me, I climbed through and blinked in the fading sunlight.

  I recognized the children playing in the dirt beside a sleeping man. I'd circled back and was once again on The Row's main thoroughfare. I picked up my skirts and ran.

  I didn't stop until I reached home. The sign of Hailia's cupped hands swung gently with the breeze. That same breeze brought with it the soothing, familiar scent of the sea. I breathed deeply. Halia, it felt good to be home. Safe.

  I sucked in two breaths and concentrated on letting them out slowly to steady my nerves before pushing open the door. "I'm home," I called brightly to Father. "The fishermen had nothing left tonight. Everything's earmarked for the palace."

  No answer.

  The front door had been unlocked but we rarely locked up the house during the day when one of us was home. Sometimes our patients let themselves in. The door to my father's workroom stood ajar, but no sound came from beyond, not even a snore.

  My blood chilled. I pushed on the door.

  My father sat at his desk, bent over a book, his spectacles perched on the end of his nose. He didn't even look up.

  "Father," I said heavily.

  "I heard you," he said. "No crays, all sold to the palace. Don't know why they ca
n't just magic up some fine food for themselves."

  I spluttered a laugh and felt my insides unknot. "Apparently magic food doesn't taste as good."

  He looked up at that and smiled. "Very amusing." The smile faded. "Are you all right? You look…" He waved a hand to encompass my length. "Disheveled and hot. Have you been running?"

  "Why would I run? It's warm outside and the wind is whipping across the bay, that's all."

  "Didn't you leave with a basket?"

  "No." The lies came easily. But I had to lie to save my father from worry. If he knew I'd been chased into The Row and worse, he would never let me leave the house again. "What are you reading?"

  "A book on poisons. I need to refresh my memory on the more obscure ones. If traitor's ease has made its way here, perhaps others will too, and I want to be able to identify them."

  "So do I."

  He hesitated then got up and pulled the second chair closer. "Supper can wait. I'm not hungry anyway."

  I managed to hide my skinned palms from my father but not the woman who came to the door the following morning. It may have been semi-dark inside her home the day before, but her hollowed cheeks and distrustful eyes were instantly recognizable. She was alone.

  I invited her into the kitchen, where I gave her what was left of the bread. She squirreled it away beneath her ragged shawl. As I poured her a cup of ale in the larder, I whispered to my father that I'd met her on the concourse, scavenging for scraps.

  He patted my shoulder. "You're a kind soul, Josie."

  Guilt pinched my chest. I wouldn't be giving her charity if she hadn't helped me.

  "Tell me your son's symptoms," I said once my father left us to see to a patient. "So I know what medicine to give him."

  The woman—Dora—described the rash and fever, and I knew there was little to be done except allow the disease to run its course. It wouldn't kill a healthy child, but a malnourished one might not pull through. I gave her medicine to keep the fever in check as well as give her hope. Sometimes hope could be a more important medicine than the ones we sold in bottles.

  "Don't drink the water from any wells in The Row," I added. "I know it's further to walk, but you must draw from the cleaner wells in the village's center." I hoped her thin arms and shoulders could manage a heavy pail over the extra distance. "Your son will need food, too. Good food. Luckily fish is cheap in these parts. Fruit is necessary too, or vegetables."

  Tears welled in her eyes and at that moment, I realized she could be younger than me. Too young to be a mother all alone in The Row. "I'll do what I must to get enough money to buy them," she said through cracked lips.

  I glanced around the kitchen and spotted a fine jug painted white and blue that we kept for good occasions. Father rarely glanced up to the top shelf and probably wouldn't notice it missing if he did.

  I stood on my toes and plucked it off. "Sell this and buy him some proper food."

  Her fingers twitched and she adjusted her shawl, not taking her eyes off the jug. "Are you sure, miss?"

  "Quite sure. Take it to the Buy Or Swap shop. Peggy'll give you a good price."

  "She'll think I stole it."

  "Tell her I gave it to you for a service you did for me. No need to tell her what. She'll come and check with me if she still doubts you, but she won't be able to resist having that in her shop."

  Dora clutched the jug to her chest. "Thank you, miss. You're kind. I'm sorry what happened to you yesterday. We ain't all like that."

  "I know. Tell me, did you recognize the man who was following me?"

  She shook her head.

  "Have you ever seen a Zemayan in The Row?"

  "Aye. Sometimes." She described him to me, but the braided hair and coloring were typical of all Zemayan men and she couldn't be more specific.

  I saw her out and settled down to more reading while my father attended his patients. I wrote up his notes for him between each one, so knew precisely what ailed them, then picked up his books on poisons.

  By the time the palace carriage came to collect me, I had a thorough understanding of the most common poisons found on The Fist, and their antidotes.

  "Straight there and straight home again," Father said to me through the carriage window.

  I waited until the coach moved off before I replied, "I'll stay for as long as I'm needed." I waved. He scowled back.

  Captain Hammer met me inside the palace gate. He looked tall and important, standing there in his black uniform with the gold braid gleaming in the sunshine. He nodded at the guards who closed the gate and a footman opened the carriage door for me.

  "Welcome back, Josie," Hammer said, taking my pack from the footman. "I'll escort you to Lady Miranda's apartments."

  "Afraid I'll get lost again?" I said, striding alongside him.

  "Just trying to stop you from wandering into the garrison and distracting my men."

  "How is she?"

  "I haven't seen her, but the king informs me she is looking much better. He wants you to tell him if she's well enough to join him this evening for a musicale."

  We passed the pavilion where faint music drifted from an open window. The musicians must be practicing in there. "I'll know once I've seen her."

  "Of course."

  "Have you considered that she might not want to leave her rooms until the poisoner is caught?"

  "Lord Claypool has already told me he doesn't want her to leave her apartments. Whether that is Lady Miranda's wish or his, I can't be certain. I can't blame him," he added quietly. "If I were in his position, I wouldn't allow her out. It's too dangerous."

  "You'll catch the poisoner," I said. "Speaking of which, I may have some information that will help."

  We passed several servants in the breezeway between the pavilion and the service commons. A pretty maid leaned her shoulder against the wall, pushing out her chest, and fluttered her eyelashes at the captain. He didn't seem to notice.

  "I'll tell you after I've seen Lady Miranda," I said. "In the privacy of the garrison."

  Quentin rushed toward us from the palace servants' entrance. "Captain! The king is going for a walk."

  "Escort Josie to Lady Miranda's rooms." Hammer handed him my pack and turned to me. "Wait for me in the garrison." He strode off.

  Quentin slung my pack onto his shoulder. "What have you got in here? Rocks?"

  "Mostly tools used for birthing."

  He wrinkled his nose. "Is it as bad as they say? Giving birth, I mean?"

  "I don't know, I've never given birth. And never fear, you won't have to."

  He chuckled.

  "Is the king afraid someone will attack him while he's walking in his own gardens?" I asked. "Is that why the captain had to go?"

  "The captain goes everywhere with the king when the king leaves the palace. If he walks, the captain walks a few steps behind. He always has. It isn't because of the poisoner."

  "Day or night?"

  "No matter the time. Luckily, the king doesn't go out much. He doesn't hunt or ride, and he only walks occasionally. He's done more walking since the ladies arrived." He flashed me a boyish grin. "He wants to impress them with the gardens and fountains."

  "I haven't been on the other side of the palace," I said. "Are the gardens quite beautiful?"

  "Spectacular."

  Quentin stayed in the sitting room while I saw Lady Miranda alone in her bedchamber. She was sitting at her dressing table when I arrived, inspecting her reflection in a hand mirror.

  She greeted me with a smile. "Josie, how lovely."

  "Good afternoon, my lady." I offered a curtsy and her smile widened.

  "You don't have to curtsy for me, just the king and the dukes and duchesses. We lesser nobles barely even rate a nod."

  "That's a relief," I said. "I'm hopeless at it."

  "I can teach you, if you like."

  "I don't think I'll have many more opportunities to perform one, now that you're well. I doubt I'll return to the palace again soon." I set down my b
ag and inspected its contents so she couldn't see my disappointment.

  "What do I need to do?" she asked, rising. "Stand? Lie down?"

  She was a similar height to me, which wasn't tall for a Glancian woman, but taller than most of the palace servants. She was far more graceful than me, however, seeming to glide across the carpet in her slippers and long blue silk gown. The sun streaming through the window picked out all the shades of pale gold in the loose braid of hair that fell to her waist. She settled on the bed as I directed and lay back against the pillows, her dark lashes framing big eyes and her skin glowing with health. It was easy to see why the king admired her.

  I checked her pulse, her temperature, her eyes and inside her mouth. I asked her how she felt and more unsavory questions about her bowel movements. She answered them all without hesitation or pomposity.

  "You're well enough to resume your daily routine," I told her.

  Her gaze slid to her hands, folded on her lap. "Oh."

  "Apparently the king wishes you to attend a musicale tonight. You're well enough to go." She slumped against the pillows. "Or I could tell him you require more time to recover," I added carefully.

  She lifted her gaze to mine. "Would you mind? It's not really a lie. I do feel…"

  "Tired?"

  "Yes, lets call it that. And another day will give the others more time."

  "Others?" I asked.

  "The other ladies at court. It's only fair they have an opportunity to spend time alone with the king, as I have done. I did try to tell him that he shouldn't ignore them, but he said he didn't care. He laughed it off, in fact, and told me I should be honored that he's taken a liking to me." She didn't look honored. She looked like a mouse cornered by a cat.

  "I think it's wise not to expose yourself while the poisoner remains at court," I said. "I'm sure Captain Hammer will catch him very soon, but until then, you should take particular care when near those you dined with that night."