He’s afraid she won’t believe them, Joe thought. And what if she didn’t? He felt kind of sick.
Sarilda drew Blackeye out into the hallway, her silvery voice low and rapid as she explained.
Blackeye’s face was blank when she came back in. She said, “You were ready to bring her back?”
“Yes.” Shor cut a fast glance at her brother. “We had a basket big enough to hide her in. She said she wants to stay in place for the Plan. She also said that if she—or anyone—escapes, it’ll be impossible to sneak anyone inside. And,” Shor took a deep breath, “she said if you want to send someone up there, someone else, she’ll tell them that we offered to help her escape.”
Joe held his breath, feeling the tension in the room. The only sound for a very long pause was the crackle of the fire, then Blackeye grinned. “I think we’re going to make it, don’t you see? All she has to do is get Joe in. This is a real break for us.”
No IF you’re telling the truth... No I said bring her back, and that’s what I mean. Joe found Blackeye puzzling, but one thing for sure, she was a leader worth following.
Mican’s face blanched, then flooded with red.
“So,” Blackeye said briskly. “I hope you’re here legitimately? You don’t want to do anything to draw attention, not yet.”
Shor’s eyes glittered with tears, but she grinned happily. “It’s all right,” she said. “This is Tova’s and Kendal’s day.”
“Good. Then get something to eat, and let’s go over our plans.”
Seventeen
“The wedding! The wedding!” Cook growled, looking around at the silent girls. “I’m sick and tired of hearing your chatter about ‘the wedding.’ I’m only to get a single helper, yet the castle is filling with guests and they all expect to be fed, and with fine, noble dishes and more courses. This means we’re going to be here until midnight for the next week, and you girls are going to be mighty tired of ‘the wedding.’”
“New girl won’t be here until Tula gets her into the proper clothes,” Ilda whined. “She’ll keep us waiting all day, because she’s so selfish.” When Cook didn’t answer, she flicked a smug look at Giula, then added, “The new girl will take over peeling, is that what you want, Cook?”
“That’s the rule.” Cook’s brow beetled as she regarded Ilda.
The blond girl only smiled—or sort of smiled. Nan realized Ilda didn’t really have a big nose. It was the way she made her upper lip long, and her mouth mean, that made a perfectly ordinary nose seem long and pointed. How much do we change our own faces just by our expressions? Nan thought as Ilda went on, with another glance at Giula, “Well, then, the old peeler can go on to vegetable chopper, and I suggest you move Giula over to pastries, because that’s what will increase most.”
Giula looked down at the floor, her attitude prim, but her half-hidden smirk hinted at an agreement between her and the Head Kitchen Girl.
“No.”
Ilda and Giula wore twin expressions of astonishment as Cook shook her head. “Giula’s too lazy. Maybe after the wedding—if she learns to work half as much as she talks. I’ll take the peeler soon’s the new one comes in, and she can learn kneading.”
Giula’s eyes narrowed in fury. Nan looked away quickly, lest Giula’s temper focus on her. Right now, she was maddest at Ilda. I wonder what she promised Ilda to get her to say that?
“So are you going to stand about all day?” Cook asked, raising her ladle threateningly.
Nan didn’t feel sorry for Giula. Neither did anyone else, it seemed. The other girls all went back to their chores, many hiding their own smirks. So maybe the others didn’t believe Giula any more than Nan did, in spite of Giula’s constant talk about her own friendliness, how much she cared about everyone, how she only wanted to help.
When the newcomer arrived at last, Cook beckoned to Nan, and soon her arms were buried elbow-deep in a huge squashy round of dough. Her back was going to ache in new places that night.
Telin, the nicest of the pastry girls, explained in a low, quiet voice what Nan needed to learn. If she forgot one of the many instructions, Telin repeated it. By afternoon Nan had gotten used to her new job, which was much easier on her hands than the eternal peeling.
Better, she soon understood why pastry making was so popular among the girls. The work was exactly as hard, or harder, than any of the other chores, but despite Ilda’s watchful eyes, the girls were able to sneak tiny bits of the good fruits, nuts, and spices.
Nan didn’t dare to move near the chopping and mixing tables, but she knew she’d figure out a way after a few days.
Busy as she was with her new job, she didn’t think until the day was almost done to see how her replacement was faring. When she got an opportunity to steal a look, she saw a vaguely familiar girl. Frowning, she shifted her position a little as she flipped a big wad of dough and plunged her fingers into it. Then she looked again. A short, stocky girl hunched over the familiar tubs and baskets, snuffling to herself. As Nan watched, Giula walked by, bent, and whispered something. The girl just hunched more.
Then Nan remembered—Taliath, the girl from the garrison!
Just then there was noise from the inner passageway, the one the girls were not allowed to use, which meant The Beast was on the prowl. Nan bent over her own work as the whispers ceased.
A yellow-pink blur erupted into the room, sailing around. “Lazy! Lazy!” the bird squawked.
“And here’s the preparation area,” Lady Olucar said in a sweet voice.
This was so startling that Nan risked getting into trouble by sneaking another peek. She caught a glimpse of the mistress, for once not dressed in a fabulous gown, but in something rather plain. She was smiling at a short, fat man with a long brown beard who frowned as he looked about. The man was dressed in velvets, and a great jeweled chain lay round his shoulders and on his massive chest.
Nan returned her gaze to her work, wondering who the man was. No one ever came to the kitchens.
“We’ve managed to get Cook another helper,” Lady Olucar began in that sugary voice. “But we are so shorthanded—”
“No one new, I trust,” the man cut in. “I don’t want anyone up here at all who isn’t well rehabilitated.”
“My husband sent her himself. One of his message runners, badly needed below, but he heeded your call for everyone to sacrifice, my lord.”
The man cut in again. “Cook, do you need more help here?”
Cook paused in stirring a sauce and bowed. “We’ll do, Lord Todan,” she said shortly. “We’ll have to work until midnight, but untrained help will only mean I lose a good worker in teaching them what to do. We can’t afford the time.”
Todan gave a quick nod. “I see. How about cooks? Lorjee is up here—he won’t need his town cook. Averann could spare his as well.”
“That would aid us nicely, Lord Todan,” Cook said. “Thank you, my lord.”
“Good. Olucar, you’ll see to it, won’t you?” He didn’t wait for a reply, but stalked out of the kitchen.
They heard Lady Olucar’s voice echoing back as she promised to see to it at once, though she was cruelly shorthanded and overworked.
“If she wants more help she might start with Tula and the other four she keeps just waiting on her, like some queen,” Telin breathed as her quick fingers shaped pie crust. Nan looked up quickly, and grinned.
Hortia, the meanest of the pastry girls, glanced over. Telin and Nan bent over their tasks.
No one spoke again until Cook finally dismissed them. It had been the longest day ever, and Nan’s body felt like she’d been working for a solid week as she followed the others upstairs. Giula chattered at Taliath, with frequent angry glances in Ilda’s direction.
The other girls were too busy gossiping about the day’s events to begin the usual squabbling over who got first bath. It was a custom—Nan had found out after her first night, despite Giula’s hints that it was all her doing—that the newest girl got first bath on her first night, after which the
older girls usually got first claim.
Now the older girls were crowded around talking, and Nan was surprised when Taliath appeared next to her. “Show me how to work the bath?”
Nan nodded, excitement temporarily chasing away her tiredness. Was this girl the messenger from Blackeye, then?
She and Taliath went into the bathroom and shut the door. Nan was further surprised when Taliath went straight to the heater controls and got the bath going. Then she dropped down and peered under the door, nodded, and got to her feet. “No one listening—yet,” she said softly. “I’ve got lots to tell you.”
She stayed crouched on the floor, her eyes turned toward the bottom of the door. “The Plan is going to happen on the Eve of the Feast of Heroes.”
“Before the wedding?” Nan asked.
Taliath dipped her head. “Has to. Otherwise, soon’s they’re married, Alitra gets the same spell as Prince Troial, and Todan’s going to kill the prince. Word is, he plans to marry Alitra himself—after a suitable mourning period. But Lorjee is planning a double-cross and they have their own candidate to marry her. Either way, his highness doesn’t live through the night of the holiday.”
“A week.” Nan’s neck felt tight, like an invisible hand had grabbed hold of her spine and squeezed.
Taliath grunted. “I don’t know how, but Noss and Blackeye have worked out some kind of big decoy plan. At the same time—it has to be at night—the other off-worlder will come up. I’ll see that he gets inside, and I’m to get you out of here before lock-up, but after that it’s up to you. You have to get them to the prince’s tower by midnight.”
“But I—”
“Can I have more hot water?” Taliath whined.
Nan blinked, than glanced at the line of light under the door. Two shadows, the shape of knees, blocked some of the light. As Nan watched, the lines melded and the light disappeared—someone had crouched down just as Taliath had, and was about to peer under the door.
Nan hastily straightened up. Taliath had thrown off her clothes and was in the bath.
“No.” Nan droned loudly. “One bath per person. That’s the rule. You better hurry, because the older girls will want to get in soon.”
“All right,” Taliath said, still in that whiny voice. “Hoo! I really hate peeling. Why did I get stuck with that job? I’m a good messenger. I hate vegetables!”
Nan bent over, peering at the door. The light shone in a clear bar.
Taliath didn’t say any more about the plan. Instead, the two girls held a quick conversation about rules, and who could be trusted and who couldn’t be, while Taliath finished her bath, washed out her things, and put on one of the thin, worn nightgowns.
Then they went out and got into bed.
o0o
“It worked!”
Joe and Warron stepped back and lowered their swords. Joe was glad for a break, as his breath was coming fast and his arm ached.
Blackeye’s gang had joined with some of Noss’s kids, and they were crowded along the perimeter of a basement on one of the lower streets, trading off turns in practice.
“It worked,” Liav said again, grinning happily as everyone quieted. “We got the message to Alitra, and she agreed.”
Sarilda smacked her hands together.
Blackeye smiled. “That’s good. If she can convince Todan that she’s changed her mind and really wants to marry the prince, then they won’t guard her so close the night before the wedding.”
“We hope,” Kevriac said.
Blackeye put her fists on her hips. At the prospect of action, she beamed. “Well, we’ve got a lot to hope for on this plan. It’s all going to depend on close timing, and everyone in both gangs has got to make sure your part works.”
Everyone looked at one another. Blackeye had made sure they moved every single day, just so no one noticed a lot of kids hanging around one spot for too long.
“Joe, Kevriac, you’ll probably be spending that entire day in potato sacks.”
Joe saw a faint grin from Kevriac.
“Mican, you and Shor have got to make sure you get him to the palace kitchens, and to Taliath, and no one made suspicious.”
The brother and sister looked serious. “We will,” Shor promised.
“Warron, you’ve got to get Alitra out and to the wharf before midnight.” Blackeye turned to the tall guy.
Warron whipped his sword up in a salute.
Blackeye turned to Sarilda, who flung up her hands. “I know. I have to convince that houseful of servants and guards that I’m Alitra until the stroke of midnight.”
“Bron, you and Tarly and I are going to have to have the Falcon ready to sail the moment Warron gets to the wharf with Alitra.”
Bron leaned against the window sill. “If One-Eye and his group keep their promise, we’ll make it.”
Noss said, “Oh, they’ll keep it, all right. They don’t even know about the prince part of the plan—it was better that way. They just loved the idea of making fools of the harbor wart patrols on the eve of the Feast of Heroes.”
Kevriac said, “Bron, what you’ve got to remember is how to use the fogger stone.”
Bron winced. “I’d much rather fight. That thing gives me a headache.”
“Practice.” Warron patted Bron on the shoulder. “Leave the sword work to Blackeye and Noss’s rowdies, and Tarly’s hooves will take care of any left over.”
Four kids sitting ranged on the opposite wall grinned. One girl and three boys, they were all big and strong and had been trained since they were small in sword fighting. Joe felt envious of the ease with which they won their practice matches.
Blackeye said, “The only way we’ll get out of that harbor is with magic help, and Kevriac has got to go with Joe. The most important part of the plan is the most dangerous because we can’t get any more messages up to Taliath and Nan—no one’s allowed near the castle until after the wedding. And we still don’t know if Elan is safely in place.”
“Or how we’ll break that spell,” Kevriac added.
“Or where that sorcerer will be, and what she’ll do,” Blackeye finished. “A lot left to chance. Too much, but it can’t be helped.”
Warron tapped Joe on the shoulder with his blade. “Shall we get back to it?”
“Sure,” Joe said.
Blackeye smiled a little. “You’re looking better, Joe, lots better.”
Joe forced a grin, hefted his sword, and squared off. They practiced constantly now, and he was glad. Anything was better than worrying about what would happen in three days.
Three days.
Clang! Behind him, someone swung a sword.
“Guard,” Warron said, and attacked.
Eighteen
No one had warned Joe that his neck would itch like fire. He smothered a sigh, and tried to ease his cramped body just a fraction. No good—in fact, now his nose itched.
The cart gave a jolt, and Kevriac’s bag shifted, squeezing Joe tighter into the corner. He was ready to groan out loud when a man’s voice, sudden and deep, froze his breath right in his lungs.
“Curse it, that sun’s hot.”
And a woman’s voice, “You’re telling me!”
“I don’t see why we had to get into all our gear just to guard two curst brats and a cart full of double-curst vegetables. It even stinks! What’s in that bag over there, stenchweed?”
Shor’s voice came, “It’s rotwort. They put it in the storage area. Keeps away pests. Don’t touch the bag,” she warned. “Raises a nasty rash.”
“I ain’t touchin’ nothin’ on that curst cart,” the man snarled. “I ain’t hungry enough to eat onions, or raw spuds, much less rotwort. Curse it! What a stupid duty. Nitre mad at us, or what?”
“Dunno,” the woman said. “Commanders are all in vile tempers. Double duty for everyone—I’ll sure be glad when this thunder-blasted wedding is over.”
“You said it,” the man replied.
Joe wiggled his nose and tried not to shift, though n
ow the itch had traveled to the middle of his back. The sun was broiling through the scratchy burlap, and he was pressed into what felt like a pretzel shape. But those things didn’t worry him as much as those guards did. Not that they sounded like any danger—yet—but Blackeye hadn’t counted on guards for the cart. Would they be watching the unloading? How long would they stay? What if this Taliath girl couldn’t get them out of the bags?
All he had to protect himself was a long knife, worn inside the high mocs Warron had given him. “You can’t sneak a sword along,” Warron had said. “A knife at least might give you a moment of surprise.”
There was no sound from Kevriac’s bag—of course. Joe wondered how the magician kid was feeling. He’d been nervous all morning, and no wonder. Joe felt sorry for him. He said he scarcely knew any magic, yet he was expected to fend off a powerful sorcerer. Joe knew what he’d feel like if he was expected to go up against a trained sword master with the few weeks of practice he’d had. It’s like taking karate for a month and being sent against a black belt, he though morosely. No wonder Kevriac had spent the past three days working in his magic book, almost non-stop. Joe suspected he was muttering spells to himself right now.
Creak, creak. Plod, plod, plod.
The donkey’s steps were slow, the cart bumpy and jerky, the sun hot.
The journey would take until sunset, Mican had warned them. Joe knew they’d only been traveling for a few minutes, but already it seemed like ten hours.
And things were only going to get worse.
o0o
That’s three, Nan thought, quietly slipping another pik-nut into the pocket beneath her apron. Hortia’s back was turned, but Nan did not dare to take more. She didn’t know who might be watching from behind her own back.
“Nothing must be different, nothing out of the ordinary,” Taliath had whispered the night before.
Everyone was on edge, and there seemed to be more guards than ever, though most of them, it turned out, were messengers (or spies) watching the aristocratic guests who were crammed into the nice rooms in the royal wing.
In the kitchens, short tempers sparked frequent arguments. Not yelling, screaming arguments, but little, nasty exchanges, accompanied by venomous looks and little jerks of the shoulders.
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