by Joel Ross
“You lying peasant,” Butler said, and kicked him in the side.
“Please!” Ji curled into a ball on the ground. “Please, don’t tell anyone! Don’t turn me in!”
“You insulted the Primstone family.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
Butler kicked him again. “You dragged your filthy self onto sacred ground.”
“I—I only went to the stairs. I never—”
Butler drew back his foot to kick Ji again, and Sally shouted, “Get away from him!”
Ji groaned. Why hadn’t Sally stayed hidden? Now that Butler knew Ji lied about being alone, he wouldn’t believe anything.
Sally climbed into the big room, brandishing her shovel. “You should be ashamed! Kicking him while he’s down.”
Ji appreciated that, though he didn’t see what was better about being kicked while he was up, to tell the truth.
“You’re still standing, stable girl,” Butler said, his thin lips drawing downward. “Maybe I’ll kick you instead.”
“Just—” She raised her shovel, her eyes wild. “Leave us alone.”
“You’re a shiftless little vandal like your mothers.”
With a howl, Sally swung the shovel at Butler—but his bony arm swept out and slapped it from her hands. The shovel blade hit the ground with a ringing clang, and Butler boxed Sally’s ears. She reeled. He knocked her around a little, but Ji didn’t watch. He was too busy staring at a faint pink dress barely visible at the top of the ramp, mouthing “No!” and shaking his head fiercely.
The last thing he needed was for Butler to discover Roz, too. Then he and Sally would be in even worse trouble—if that was possible—for corrupting the morals of a young lady. When the pink dress disappeared back down the ramp, Ji almost sighed in relief.
Except Butler was still shaking Sally and saying, “You’ll both dangle from the gallows. We’ll bring a picnic and watch you hang.”
Ji pushed to his knees. “Butler, sir! I need to tell you—”
“What?” Butler snapped, turning to him. “More lies?”
“Sally didn’t do anything. I did what you said, but Sally didn’t do anything wrong.”
Butler’s nostrils flared again. “She didn’t, did she?”
“No, sir.”
“Other than try to hit me with a shovel.”
“Well, yeah. Other’n that.” Ji rose painfully to his feet. “She just came along because I was scared of the crypt. She didn’t go where she’s not allowed.”
“So you admit that you went into the mausoleum?”
Ji swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
“So you’re the only one who needs hanging,” Butler said.
“Yes, sir,” Ji repeated.
“Ji!” Sally peeked at him from between her arms, which she’d raised to protect her face from Butler’s blows. “Shut your ricehole!”
“No, I have to tell him the whole truth this time,” Ji told Sally, trying to calculate exactly how little truth he needed to admit.
He’d claim that Brace gave him permission to sneak through the crypts and inspect the flower, to check how healthy it looked. But he found it dead and ran away in a panic. Yeah, that way he might get off with just a whipping.
As long as Brace backed him up. Which he would. They’d spent months together, playing with toy soldiers, reenacting battles, and killing ogres. They were almost friends. Brace definitely wouldn’t let him hang for this. Well, probably not. Well, maybe not. . . .
Still, it was his only hope. So Ji took a breath and told Butler, “The truth is, um, that I snuck in to look at the flower. But I didn’t touch it! And I had permission.”
“You did, did you?” Butler asked, his nostrils narrowing angrily.
Before Ji could answer, a figure stepped inside the pen. The bonfire flared, and the goblins dropped to their knees, belly-arms folded and heads bowed.
The figure peered toward Ji. “Is that the young gentleman?”
11
BEADS OF NERVOUS sweat trickled down Ji’s forehead. He looked toward the figure—and saw a familiar pair of walking boots, crafted by An-Hank Cordwainer. Oh, boy. What was Proctor doing here? Had things just gone from bad to worse? Or from completely terrible to unspeakably awful?
Proctor considered Ji, his eyes twinkling. “Surely this is not Master Brace.”
“This?” Butler cuffed Ji’s head. “This isn’t anyone, my lord.”
“There I must disagree with you,” Proctor told him. “Without our boot boys, the entire realm would find itself sadly unpolished. However, I was expecting Master Brace.”
“Here? I beg your pardon, my lord . . . I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
Proctor stroked his bushy beard and looked toward the wall shrines above the kneeling goblins, who watched with frightened eyes. He chuckled and strolled closer. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. A silence fell, broken only by the crackle of the fire.
Oh, and the terrified pounding of Ji’s heart, which was beating loudly enough to make a scarecrow wet his pants.
When Proctor plucked the clothespin from its nook, the goblins chuffed mournfully, shoulders drooping. Probably horrified by his rudeness. For all Ji knew, clothespins were sacred to them, and they worshipped laundry lines.
“And why,” Proctor asked Butler, “are you here?”
“I heard that a servant was trespassing in the bone crypts, m’lord. We take violations very seriously at Primstone Manor.”
“As well you should.” Proctor gestured toward Ji and Sally. “And what are the names of our two miscreants?”
“This one is Jiyong,” Butler said, cuffing Ji’s head again. “He admits that he entered the mausoleum.”
“And is he aware of the punishment?”
“He is,” Butler said.
Proctor ambled closer and inspected Ji with a razor intensity.
The blood rushed to Ji’s cheeks. He couldn’t remember why he’d ever thought that Proctor looked friendly. Roz was right about his eyes: black and icy. Ji looked down, biting the inside of his cheek. The stitchery on Proctor’s boots was neat, and the toe cap was embossed with a delicate design.
Finally, the boots moved away and Proctor asked, “And the girl with the . . . enthusiastic hair?”
“She’s the daughter of petty criminals,” Butler told him. “Dishonest servants who fled upon discovery of their crime.”
Uh-oh. Sally didn’t react well when people talked about her mothers like that. Ji raised his head to stare at Sally, like his gaze could keep her from vanquishing Butler directly in the nose bone. But she didn’t notice, because she was too busy glaring.
“And what dark crime was that?” Proctor asked Butler.
“They stole valuables from the manor.”
“They took an old tablecloth,” Sally snapped.
“They purloined linen,” Butler said.
Sally’s eyes narrowed. “To make diapers!”
“Stolen from the charity bin,” Butler said. “Which her ladyship had very generously set aside for the deserving poor.”
“You were going to hang them,” Sally said. “For a worn tablecloth.”
“Not for a cloth,” Butler said. “For a crime.”
“Quiet,” Proctor snapped, and quiet loped into the pen and sat at his feet like a loyal hound. The goblins stopped woofling, and even the fire settled down. After a moment, Proctor turned to Ji. “You are a boot boy. You clean, you stitch, you scrub.”
“Yes, m’lord,” Ji said.
“And you were in the corridor when I spoke with the baroness.”
Ji hesitated for a heartbeat. “Yes, m’lord.”
“You overheard us talking.”
“Yes, m’lord.”
“Curious as a monkey. What happened next? You told Master Brace that he couldn’t study with me if the lotus blossom still bloomed?”
“Yes, m’lord.”
“So you tiptoed into the mausoleum to pluck it for him.” Proctor scratched his beard with the clo
thespin he’d taken from the goblin shrine. “Why didn’t he come himself?”
“I—” Ji swallowed. “I don’t know.”
“Is he a coward?” Proctor asked, his eyes twinkling dangerously.
“No! No, my lord. Um, Master Brace wouldn’t disobey the baroness, that’s all. He’s too honest. And honorable. So I came instead. As his, um, y’know . . .”
“Squire,” Sally said.
“Servant,” Ji said.
“Is that so?” Proctor pointed the clothespin toward the ramp. “And who, pray tell, is the other girl?”
“What other girl?” Ji asked, keeping his eyes on Proctor and not even thinking about Roz. “Other girl? There’s no other girl. Where? Girl?”
“The one lurking in the dark like a timid shadow.” Proctor turned toward the ramp. “Come out, my child! Show yourself!”
For a second, nothing happened. Then a pink shape appeared from the darkness . . . and Roz stepped into the light of the bonfire, her cheeks flushed but her back straight.
“I believe you are a guest at Primstone Manor?” she asked Proctor, her voice barely trembling. “I am Miss Rozario Songarza, and while I regret that I haven’t yet—”
“Very polite,” one goblin woofled. “Eka-cellent manners.”
“While I regret,” she repeated, crossing toward Proctor, “not having been introduced before this awkward encounter, I am pleased to finally make your acquaintance.”
Proctor eyed her with amusement; then his merry gaze flicked to Ji. “You dishonest little dissembler! You claimed there was no other girl.”
“Yes, m’lord, sir, you see, um . . .” Ji cleared his throat. “There isn’t.”
“You gormless idiot,” Butler muttered.
“Miss Roz isn’t a girl,” Ji explained to Proctor. “She’s a young lady.”
Proctor’s laughter echoed in the big dirt-floored room. “Oh, you’re a fine young liar!” He turned to Roz. “I’m pleased to meet you as well, Miss Roz.”
“Thank you, m’lord,” she said, with a quick curtsy. “I wonder if—”
“And now”—Proctor drew a dagger from a sheath hidden in his sleeve—“to business.”
“M-m’lord?” Butler stammered, eyeing the blade.
Proctor whittled a strip of wood off the clothespin. It fell to the ground, a skinny curl on the dirt. “The boot boy eavesdropped on my conversation,” he told Butler, “when I was speaking about the desert lotus.”
“That was wrong of him, my lord.”
“Then he repeated it to Master Brace.”
“And he will be punished.”
“The boy did precisely as I intended,” Proctor said.
Butler’s mouth opened and closed like a trout that had just stubbed the toes it didn’t know it had.
Ji knew how he felt. Proctor had wanted him to tell Brace about the flower? At least that would explain the wink.
“And Master Brace took decisive action,” Proctor continued. “Knowing that he needed to destroy the flower if he wished to train with me, he did not hesitate.”
“I—I see, my lord,” Butler said.
“He chose to destroy the only obstacle between himself and his goal. However, in an excess of loyalty, the boot boy decided to act in Master Brace’s place.” Proctor chuckled merrily and looked to Ji. “Do you understand me, lad? You came here to destroy the flower, as a service to Brace. Is that correct?”
Agreeing with nobles was usually safest, so Ji said, “Yes, m’lord.”
“To ensure that Master Brace could join me in the city, yes? Because you are a good and loyal servant?”
“Yes, my lord.”
With a flourish, Proctor whittled another strip of wood from the clothespin. “And that is why you destroyed the lotus flower.”
“Yes, m’lord.”
“Except you didn’t.”
Ji cocked his head. “I didn’t?”
“Absolutely not,” Proctor told him.
“Oh, uh . . .” Ji frowned. Did Proctor want him to lie? “Huh?”
“I am going to ask you a question, boot boy, and I expect you to answer with utter scrupulousness.”
“Er,” Ji said.
“Honesty,” Roz said. “He means honesty.”
“Oh! Right. Yes, m’lord.”
“I want nothing less than the truth, Jiyong,” Proctor said. “Raise your right hand and tell me, once and for all, did you kill that desert lotus blossom?”
Ji raised his right hand. “No, my lord. I did not.”
12
SALLY DREW AN alarmed breath at the lie, and Roz pressed her hand to her chest.
“In fact, my lord,” Ji continued, “I’ve never even set foot inside the goblin pen.”
Of course, he was standing inside the goblin pen as he said those words. But he was betting that Proctor wanted him to lie, because Proctor wanted Brace to visit the city. Which meant he wanted the lotus blossom killed—as long as the baron and baroness never learned that it hadn’t died of natural causes.
“You worthless mutt!” Butler hissed, grabbing Ji’s arm again. “How dare you? How dare you trespass on holy ground and despoil—”
The clothespin bounced off Butler’s forehead, and for an instant he glared at Proctor. Then the polite, subservient expression returned to his face.
“The boy didn’t pluck the flower,” Proctor told Butler. “The boy was never here.”
Butler released Ji roughly. “I, um . . .”
“None of us were. The lotus flower shriveled and died by itself.”
“But my lord—”
“This is a sign,” Proctor told him. “Do you understand? The death of the lotus blossom indicates that Brace must accompany me to the city, to train for the Diadem Rite.”
“Except, my lord . . .” Butler shifted nervously. “The boot boy trespassed in the mausoleum. He must be punished.”
Proctor sighed sadly. “And if I say that these children were never here?”
“I’m sorry, my lord,” Butler said. “I cannot tell an untruth to the baron and baroness.”
“If the baroness learns what happened, she’ll raise a fuss,” Proctor said. “And I’ve been instructed to handle this quietly.”
“I cannot betray the trust of my employers, my lord.”
Proctor smiled warmly at Butler. “You are a brave and loyal servant and should be rewarded with great riches and with much praise.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“However, instead you’ll be rewarded with”—Proctor flicked his wrist, and his dagger flashed through the firelight and thunked hilt-deep in Butler’s chest—“the afterlife.”
Without a sound, without a gurgle, Butler collapsed to the dirt floor.
Unmoving. Unbreathing.
Dead.
Roz gave a shriek and Ji swayed, looking at the wilted heap of Butler’s body on the ground. He’d always hated Butler, but he’d never wanted this. Not dead in an eye-blink. Not lying pathetically on the dirt floor inside a goblin pen, his face slack and his arms outstretched.
Darkness rushed toward Ji, and he almost fainted.
Sally grabbed his arm. “Ji!”
“He—” Ji stared in horror at Proctor. “He killed him.”
“Long as he doesn’t kill us,” she whispered.
Proctor pulled his dagger from Butler’s chest and told the goblins, “Bury this unfortunate man in the deepest chambers.”
Three big goblins turned toward the one-eyed goblin, who barked at them in Goblish, gesturing with both belly-arms.
“Ka,” one of the big goblins coughed. “Yes, my lord.”
“As you ka-mmand,” another said, hunching toward Butler’s body.
“J-just like that,” Ji stammered. “Alive. Dead.”
The goblins dragged the body down the ramp into the bone crypts. Butler’s leather shoes jounced on the dirt floor, and Ji felt tears on his cheeks.
“Surely you don’t mourn him,” Proctor said, wiping his dagger with a handke
rchief. “He intended to see you hanged.”
“One cannot—” Roz’s voice trembled. “One cannot simple kill people. They matter. They’re not nothing. You cannot simply kill them!”
“Sadly, I had no choice,” Proctor told her. “However, I’d much rather not kill you and your friends as well. I never sleep well afterward.”
Sally raised her trembling fists. “G-get away! Get away from us!”
Ji made himself breathe, he made himself think. He made himself stand there instead of running away. “We w-won’t tell,” he promised Proctor. “We won’t tell anyone.”
Proctor slid his dagger back into its sheath. “I am sure that you won’t.”
“Nobody would believe us, anyway,” Ji said.
“They wouldn’t believe you or the stable girl.” Proctor’s twinkling gaze drifted toward Roz. “But the young miss is a different matter.”
“If you l-lay a hand on her,” Ji said, feeling dizzy again, “I swear by the crown I’ll, I’ll . . .”
Proctor raised his bushy eyebrows. “Yes?”
“I’ll something,” Ji finished.
“And when he’s done with that,” Sally said, “I’ll crack your head open like a boiled melon.”
Proctor raised his hands and smiled like a nonmurderer. “There’s no need for threats. Let’s think this through in a calm, measured manner.”
“C-calm?” Sally sputtered. “You just killed Butler!”
“You should thank me. I saved your lives.”
Sally scowled. “Only because you want the baroness to think the lotus died by itself.”
“There’s only one good option now, I’m afraid,” Proctor said.
Ji’s vision shrank into a pinprick. He wanted to sink into the ground, but if Proctor reached for his dagger, Ji promised himself that he’d jump him. He’d grab his legs and never let go. No matter how scared he felt or—
“I’ll take you to the city with me,” Proctor finished. “Along with Master Brace. Now that the flower is dead, there’s no reason to delay.”
“What?” Sally blurted, while Ji gaped. “Us?”
“Every last one of you,” Proctor said with a low chuckle. “Master Brace will need servants, after all.”