She smiled to herself as she started on a beetroot. All right, then, I now have five separate ways to get up to the tower wing. And she reviewed each one, right down to how many stairways and where the guards were. Only one of these routes was direct, but she knew it would the hardest to use. It certainly had the most guards—two at every single stair landing.
The thing that really worried her—besides getting caught spying—was how to let Blackeye know where she was, and that she was getting ready for her part in the plan.
Nan frowned down at her bowl of beetroots. What was the name of that girl who Blackeye said was employed at the palace? She wasn’t one of the bond girls, that was all Nan could remember. If only there was some way to find her! Nan didn’t dare ask anyone. She’d have to figure out some other way to find out.
With a sigh she lifted her bowl and carried it down the long length of the kitchen to the preparation area. Light was just beginning to glow in the narrow slits they had for windows. Sometimes the cook let the girls glance out the windows if the work was momentarily all caught up, but going to a window and looking out without permission was a sure way to get the attention of Olucar’s many toadies.
The best she could do was alter her steps a little, so she passed close to the one window without a table or storage below it, and turn her head a little, and peek out. She saw in the strengthening light the mighty cliffs below the castle, and the city in a little crescent round the harbor. Golden lights still glowed in the jumble of tiny houses.
Nearer, the service road to the castle zigzagged its way up to the back. Visible far below was the cart that brought the daily supplies, pulled by a patient donkey. What a horrible job! No matter what the weather, that cart came up every day—sometimes two or three times a day, if Todan and Olucar wanted extra things. And if the load was too heavy for the donkey, the kids who tended it got to carry the extras. Of course it was kids who got stuck with that job, Nan thought sourly. No one else would want it.
Only the toffs got to use the more gradual, pleasant road directly below the castle—a road very heavily guarded. Nan couldn’t see that road from the kitchen, but she didn’t need to. Joe would never be able to come up that road...
She realized her steps had slowed, and she turned away before someone noticed, set her peeled beetroots next to the appropriate prep table, and returned to her seat.
The morning light was stronger when she finished her second basket. She glanced out the window again, but this time the cart was hidden by a curve, though she could hear the creak of the wheels and the slow plodding of the donkey. The air outside was still and she knew it had to be hot. At least the castle stayed cool inside, though the nights were damp and cold.
She had just started on the potatoes when one of the girls in charge of deliveries came toward her. “They want you to check these potatoes before they offload,” she said in a quiet voice.
“What’s the problem?” Nan asked. “If they’re rotten, we can’t take them.”
“They might be too small,” the girl said woodenly.
Nan opened her mouth to say that was stupid, and they should just leave the potatoes, as by the time they were cooked no one would know if they’d been the size of marbles or watermelons. She drew in a breath to speak—and caught a faint whiff of something pleasant: an apple tart.
No bondservants ever got apple tarts, unless someone had stolen leftovers from a plate, or had gotten one in trade.
Or in bribery.
Nan looked up at the girl’s face. She was one of the older girls, a quiet, plain person who never spoken unless she had to. Bribed with food?
Something was going on, and Nan wouldn’t find out unless she did as she was told. So she walked back toward the delivery door. The girl went back to her station without another word or look Nan’s way.
The delivery platform was drenched in strong sunlight. For a moment Nan’s eyes were dazzled. She stood blinking, then she heard a vaguely familiar voice.
“Can you look at these spuds?”
She opened her eyes.
Standing by the cart were Mican and Shor.
Sixteen
Nan stared, horrified. Were they about to expose her to Olucar?
Shor held up her hands. “We’re here to help,” she whispered.
Mican frowned. “The spuds,” he said loudly. “They want to know down below if these are too small.”
Nan knew someone was behind her, listening. She stepped down the stairs to the cart and started rummaging through the potatoes, but her mind whizzed with questions and she scarcely heeded what she was doing.
“Meet us at midnight?” Shor murmured, so low Nan barely heard it.
Nan held up two small potatoes, then shook her head. “Can’t get out. Before dawn—”
“Quiet.”
Nan knew without looking that Ilda had stepped out onto the platform, her long nose twitching suspiciously.
“I’ll have to take them,” Nan said in a loud voice, sounding as irritable as possible. “But tell Master Rompol we can’t have these small ones next time. There’s more peel than potato, and I don’t think the flavor is as good.”
“They’re afraid of pirates.” Shor gestured toward the bay, her skinny fingers trembling. “Master Rompol is afraid the pirates will get our goods next. He’s especially afraid at night.”
“Can’t be helped,” Nan said, hoping she understood what Shor was hinting at. “Pirates always sail around at night when everyone else is locked up in bed.”
Shor bit her lip.
“Hurry along there, Nan,” came Ilda’s unpleasant voice from behind. “Unless you’d like to explain to the Mistress why you need to stand about all day chattering?”
Nan hefted the heavy sack of potatoes and climbed back up onto the landing. She passed by Ilda, not daring to glance back.
For the rest of the long, tedious day she puzzled over the conversation. Shor had said they wanted to get her out. At midnight, was that what they meant? Did they understand when she tried to hint about how the bond servants were locked up at night? More important, did they understand her when she said the only time she could safely try to meet them was just before the day’s work began, when everyone was still sleepy and cold? That was the time she’d done her explorations of the upper levels, just a few minutes each day.
By afternoon Ilda appeared to have forgotten about the potato delivery, because when Mistress Olucar came in, Ilda tattled on one of the older girls who (she said) was hoarding sugar. Nan kept her head low during the ensuing terrible scene. Her hands were busy with their job.
When the Beast had rewarded Ilda with a month off her bond-time (and had give the girl she accused an extra three years) she swept out again, yelling at them all to get busy—she was entertaining important people, and dinner had better not be late.
Nan slept badly. She kept dreaming of escape, of being caught, of those endless bags of vegetables. She finally gave up trying to sleep, and lay awake listening to the breathing of the other girls, the creak of the beds as someone turned over, the patter of rain on the roof.
If what Shor said was true, she could escape. For a while the thought of disappearing from that room, of never again looking at a potato, made Nan almost laugh out loud. But the practical worries soon set in. She couldn’t possibly escape in the morning; she’d be missed right away, and there were only two roads to the harbor. The guards had horses and could search them fast. Nan had heard about what they did to bond-servants who tried to escape, and shivered, pulling her thin blanket up to her chin.
Night was out as well—they counted the girls before locking the door, and the door wasn’t unlocked until the night guards made their last round, just before First Bell. She might be able to manufacture an excuse. Twice she’d gotten away from the peeling, but those times were because the Mistress’s main toady rushed up, yelling, “You there! Tell Cook you’ll have another job!” The girls had reported to Cook, who only shrugged, and grumbled about getting
the work done, then they’d been sent to scrub floors on one of the days, and to help take down, brush, and rehang tapestries clean on another occasion.
What if she lied, saying she’d been sent to scrub somewhere? She could be gone the entire day before they missed her.
Except... how would she get back in when it came time for the Plan?
The answer was obvious, and it made her roll up into a tight ball, her head buried under the blanket. Sleep came at last, but the dreams were worse than before.
It was a relief when the distant bells chimed once, signaling the dawn wake-up for the day servants. She slipped out of bed, already dressed, and while the girls rose, rubbing eyes, complaining, quarreling, muttering, she dodged quietly through them and slipped out of the dorm.
When she reached the kitchens, she was alone. She picked up one of her sacks of vegetables and carried it outside—and there they were, waiting in the dark. The rain had dwindled to a mist, but the air was cold and damp.
Still clutching her sack, she leaped down the steps.
“There she is,” Mican whispered. And to Nan, “We’ve got this big basket here—”
“I can’t go with you,” Nan said swiftly, before she could be tempted.
“How about at night, then?” Shor murmured.
They all looked around quickly. Nan whispered, “You don’t understand. I can’t go with you at all.”
“Why?” Mican said, his voice sharpening. “Look. I’m sorry about what happened. This is no trick.”
“I can’t,” Nan said. “It isn’t—”
“So you’re a wart now?” Mican sneered.
“Why should you care?” Nan snapped. “You almost got me killed.”
Shor laid a hand on her brother’s thin wrist. The gloom was still too strong to see her face, but Nan could tell by her posture that she was upset. “Please, Nan,” Shor said. “We’re sorry. But Blackeye won’t let us back until you come with us.”
Nan sucked in a deep breath that quivered in her throat. So they weren’t really sorry after all. Again, it seemed, she had no real friends, no one who cared about her. “Well that’s just too bad,” she said, her voice shuddery and high. “You should’ve thought about that before you got me caught. I never did anything to you. So you think I like being here? You really think I like sitting on a hard stool with no back, peeling potatoes all day, and never getting enough food, and getting spied on and yelled at by creeps? You’re stupid—” A huge sob made her chest heave, and she gulped it back down. “You’re stupid and selfish and the biggest jerk in the world. But I’m staying here because this is where I have to be if we’re going to get the prince back.”
Mican said nothing. His eyes were dark pits, his shoulders angry and tight.
Shor touched Nan’s arm with a soft, timid movement. “I’m sorry.”
A thump and rattle from inside made them all jump. Fear burned through Nan. “Gotta go.”
Shor said quickly, “We’ll go back. Report. Nan, if—if Blackeye sends one of the others, will you tell them we offered to get you out?”
The word NO shaped Nan’s lips. A hard, bright fire burned inside her chest as she thought about how nice a revenge that would be on Mican—except it was so much like Ilda, and McKynzi, and Mrs. Evans—Them. She wouldn’t let herself act like Them.
Her breath whooshed out. “Yes. You offered. Fair and square.”
Mican moved to the patient donkey’s head. For the first time Nan realized they must have toiled up the long road during the night, and she told herself she didn’t care about that, either.
“We’ll be back,” Shor whispered.
“Thanks,” Mican said, then he turned his back.
They started away, and Nan stood where she was. Not ten seconds later the door behind opened, and Giula came out, carrying a candle, peering around avidly. “Oh, Nan, there you are!”
“Potato delivery,” Nan said in her dullest voice.
Giula sounded disappointed. “Well, you are such a good worker. I hope Cook notices and gives you a reward. I’m so glad there’s nothing wrong...”
Nan hardly heard Giula’s chatter as they went back into the kitchen. She carried her sack to the storage shelf, then sat on her stool, and picked up the peeler. As she picked up her first carrot, her neck, her back, her whole body twinged with ache and tiredness.
In spite of those outer aches, she felt just a little better inside.
o0o
The next morning, Joe was woken by noises below his window. The clopping of hooves on cobblestones, yells, clanks...
For a moment he couldn’t remember where he was, then he remembered the long tramp through the rain the night before. The gang had all crowded into the attic of one of Noss’s friends.
Joe sat up, and saw by the weak light slanting in through a tiny slit in one eave that he was alone except for Kevriac, who lay on his stomach reading a book that was positioned squarely where the light fell.
Joe said, “Tarsen gone?”
Kevriac turned his head. The light angled sharply on his thin face, showing a strange kind of smile. “He’s off with Liav.”
Joe shrugged, feeling awkward. He knew Kevriac didn’t like him, but he hadn’t gotten around to that talk yet. Not that there’d been much time, for the last few days had been filled with activities to get ready for the Plan.
The Plan. He stirred restlessly, unsure what to do. So far, every morning had begun with Tarsen waking him, or waiting for him to waken. Tarsen always knew what to do.
Since there wasn’t anything, maybe it was time to get it over with.
“What’s your problem?” Joe asked.
Kevriac carefully closed his book and sat up.
“You haven’t noticed that Tarsen has been following Liav around like a shadow since we got him out of that castle?”
Joe thought about Liav, who seemed all right. Bron had made some goop with nuts and dyed his hair—after cutting it. Liav’s blond hair had been longer than Warron’s, and now it was shorter than Joe’s. Also, the kid had given up his nice clothes and was wearing a stained old shirt Bron had found somewhere, and a pair of baggy pants with patches on the knees and seat. They were tied up with a rope. Liav seemed to think all this a very good joke, and he didn’t mind the others teasing him and bowing and saying, “Your Dukeness,” and “Your Gracious Highness.”
“So?” he said to Kevriac. “If I’d woken up earlier, I’d be with them, too, horsing around somewhere and having some laughs. Is that a big deal?”
As he said it, though, he realized what Kevriac meant. They hadn’t waited for him to wake up. Tarsen was spending all his time with Liav, in the same way he’d spent it all with Joe.
Joe was about to shrug it off when another thought occurred. Kevriac never seemed to hang out with anyone. Had Tarsen been his bud before Joe came along, and now he was sour about it?
Joe scratched his head, trying to figure out what to say. He’d known guys who had trouble making friends. Did Kevriac feel left out when Tarsen started hanging with Joe, was that why he’d been so sour?
Should he say something? He pulled on his shoes, straightened his clothes, and looked up. Kevriac was waiting.
“Had breakfast yet?” Joe asked.
Kevriac shook his head. “Stayed here. Wanted to go over these spells. When we start the Plan, I’ll have to have them ready. It means a lot of reviews to make certain I remember them.”
It was the first time Kevriac had ever spoken so much to Joe.
“Well, let’s look for some grub,” Joe said.
Kevriac gave a nod, stored his book in his knapsack with reverent care, and followed Joe down the narrow ladder. The upper storey was empty, and smelled of roasting chicken and onions and fresh bread. They went down another floor and Joe poked his head into the kitchen. A tall girl was there, making pastries.
She looked up, smiled. “Bread’s there. Cheese next to it. Greens in that crock.” She pointed with floury fingers.
In silen
ce Joe and Kevriac made themselves sandwiches. The girl didn’t speak again, so they sat on the hearth near the warm fire and started eating. Halfway through his sandwich, Joe was about to ask where the others were, when the door banged open, and Sarilda danced in, her hair wet, her face shining with happiness. “Look what I found!” She flung the door wide—and Mican and Shor came in.
Mican jerked his head this way and that. He and his sister seemed skinnier than ever, their thin faces pinched with tiredness. Kevriac started up, his sandwich forgotten. “Do you have her?” he asked, his voice hopeful.
“She wouldn’t come,” Shor said.
“Where’s Blackeye?” Mican asked shortly.
“They went to see the Falcon,” Kevriac replied. “They ought to be back very soon. They left before dawn. Has something happened to Nan?”
Brother and sister shook their heads. “She’s at the palace, right enough,” Shor said. “But she won’t try to escape. She says she wants to stay in place for the Plan.”
“Is she in a good position?” Kevriac asked.
“I don’t know what you consider good,” Shor said soberly. “She was scared—kept looking behind her. And she peels potatoes all day, she says, and I believe her, because her hands look nasty. Like they’re always in water. Except for the finger she uses to pull the knife, that’s all red and raw.”
Joe felt a wave of admiration—and jealousy. Once again, it seemed, Nan was a hero. Except this time she hadn’t made up any stories. She really was one. Would I sit in that place and peel potatoes all day? He wasn’t sure if he could stand it.
“The thing is, we’ve got our way in,” Sarilda said happily. “Don’t you see it? I don’t have to pester Noss to ask those others. Just wait till Blackeye gets here—”
“Blackeye is here,” spoke their leader from the doorway behind them.
Everyone turned.
“Nan?” Blackeye addressed Shor and Mican.
“Wouldn’t come,” Shor said.
Mican’s lips pressed in a line, but he didn’t speak.
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