I almost groaned aloud, I longed so badly to have their freedom and fun—
Stable boys.
Three of them, currently, all sons of other servants.
Stable boys—the housekeeper saying, That’s not fit for the rag bag—
Disguise.
I drew in an unsteady breath. Think! Don’t go running off and destroy your one chance, you cornpone, I scolded myself. Disguise. Take old clothes from the rag bag. Hide my hair, dress as a stable boy.
And then what? I was still stuck with the problem of leaving when Rel always seemed to be able to spot me when I was in the garden. How could I get him out of there? Doing what? What was his pattern? Lurking in his room on the watch for any of the doors to open, and me to come out. Watching me, and then making sure I don’t run away.
I grinched up my face as I considered my 100% lack of success. Let’s see, Rel’s pattern as a result of my pattern? He’d haul me back, and then, while I sulked in my room, he—
Went to report to Raneseh, whose windows overlooked the other side of the garden—
A pattern!
And so that afternoon I tested that a little. I went out into the garden three times in a row. Each time I slunk along toward the walkway leading straight to the wall—and each time Rel emerged from that middle door, yep, on the other side of the trumpet-lily trellis. So he did have a room overlooking the garden! And he probably ate his meals and did other chores when I was busy with Pralineh. Then, as soon as Pralineh was alone, he was back on brat-duty.
Patterns ... patterns ... patterns.
That night I tested a couple more times, not just checking the pattern but hoping that it was getting really annoying. As always, Rel knew when my door opened—and there he was, looming like the spackle-baggie he was, until I splatted back inside.
The next morning I followed Pralineh around on her chores, this time asking where everything was. Pralineh obviously thought I was taking an interest in Proper Girl Things, and went out of her way to explain the wine cellar, how Raneseh ordered the wine and she stored it—but how they made certain cordials themselves—preserves ... herbs ... storage ... bedding for different seasons ... bite back that yawn, CJ! ... how they pieced quilts for winter from the rags.
Rags!
I showed a sudden and inspired interest in quilt making.
Pralineh began with the rag bin back of the laundry area. They used cleaning frames for actual cleaning, but had the laundry for ironing and airing, and drying in winter. Pralineh was so happy at my interest that she was easy to distract, thus I easily swiped a ripped pair of trousers, a shirt, and a vest from the rag bag, stuffing them under my dress with my arm tight to my side to hold them, while she explained the clothes press, the winter drying racks, and beyond, the series of big, airy chambers dedicated to cloth making, filled with spindles and looms.
I felt like the world’s slimiest phony when I said, “I’m just so interested in weaving and, ah, quilting! Can you show me everything? Um, again?”
“Why, I would be happy to,” Pralineh said with genuine kindness that would have made me feel even more like a snail, except for the thought of getting away from Rel. Not to mention getting home.
And so past the big quilting racks and tables, past the looms and spindles, until we got to the storage area, where they kept miscellaneous winter stockings, mittens, and caps that were shared generally by the household when they had to go outside in bad weather.
Distracting Pralineh by a flood of questions about mattress ticking, I dug out a flat cap loose enough to hide my hair. That I held in the folds of my skirt until they finished with the bedding. Pralineh then offered to show me where they were setting up for boiling and bottling the preserves that would be made after harvest, but I said, “That makes me so hungry I think I want to eat first!”
Pralineh instantly abandoned the tour, promising to order lunch at once. When she stopped by the kitchen to speak to the cook I slipped away and sped to my room, where I shoved the stolen clothes inside my nightgown in the wardrobe, then I sauntered back.
Plan Escape, Part Two, I thought as I joined Pralineh again. Get ready, get set ...
As we ate, I asked questions about the surroundings. Who lived where, what they grew there, and so on, but in between I asked about towns, roads, and so forth. I had to go north, but how far?
Pralineh did not really know much beyond her own circle of friends’ Holdings. She offered to ask Raneseh for a map, but I hastily said I couldn’t read maps, so that bad idea would get dropped. Pralineh said she couldn’t read maps either, we both laughed, and I thought, whew, and abandoned the questions. I wasn’t learning much of use anyway.
Pralineh had somewhere to go that afternoon. She offered to take me, but I refused politely. And as soon as Pralineh was gone, I retreated to my room, locked the door, pulled the curtains, and got out my disguise.
The clothes were baggy but fine. The rip in the trousers was down one side, and in a knee. I could fix those. What concerned me more was my hair.
Lina, the mayor of the Tornacio Islands, had told me about disguising long hair. There was a way to twist your hair up into a knot, letting the ends hang down in back to cover your neck. Then you pulled the cap on, but it had to be tight enough to hold the hair in place.
I messed around with that, got the hair more or less right, but I’d have to take in the band of the cap.
So I rang for Maraneh, said that I wanted to try some embroidery, to surprise Pralineh. The maid brought scissors, thread, needle, thimble, and some lengths of cloth. I listened with barely concealed impatience as Maraneh told me how to begin a chain stitch and a satin stitch, and then left me to it.
I scowled at the cloth, knowing that I’d have to at least attempt something in order to throw off suspicion. But first I toiled away at the cap until I got it tight enough to hold my hair in place. Then I sewed up the trousers, leaving the knee hole.
I was busy doing terrible chain stitch as fast as I could when the maid returned to report that Pralineh was back. I went out to endure another evening of boredom. I proudly showed Pralineh my stitch work—hoping that Rel and Raneseh would get an ear-load of what a good little kiddie I was being. Then I sat over the sewing, which I now performed extra slow and clumsy, so no one would wonder why I’d got so little done in an entire afternoon.
But Pralineh was not a suspicious person. I felt like a toadstool by the end of the evening, having lied to her, fooled her, stolen clothes from her. I’ll make it up to her, I promise, I kept telling myself. I’ll come back and tell her why. I didn’t care what The Enemy said about me, but I didn’t want Pralineh thinking me a liar and a thief.
o0o
The next day was cloudy with intermittent rain. I found a piece of paper, wrote Pralineh a note apologizing for everything, and put the note on my pillow.
I ate as big a breakfast as I could, then retreated to my room, and while Pralineh was busy on her morning rounds, I got into my disguise, put my blue dress back on over it. The cap I tucked into the trouser pocket.
Then I slunk out into the garden and tried a series of fake escapes, each time stomping back when Rel showed up. He didn’t speak, but that annoying poker face was beginning to look mighty grim by the last one, when I started yelling insults. When we reached the house I slammed my bedroom door and stood next to it, bellowing a storm of fake tears.
Would he go off to tell Raneseh?
I slipped through my inner door and down the hall just far enough to listen for sounds at Raneseh’s end, and yep, there came the tread of feet and the sound of Raneseh’s door opening and closing.
Now!
I slipped back to my room, thrashed into my disguise, put the blue dress through the cleaning frame and hung it up. I saw my note, then put it on the floor of the closet. I didn’t want them to see it right away—I needed all the time I could get.
Then I slipped out my door, but instead of going into the garden, I pressed flat against the door and edge
d round to the side of the house I’d never explored, which sloped away up toward the stables and storage buildings. Then, running low, I made my way along those walls, ducking directly under the windows, hoping no one looked out—I’d be instantly seen. Somebody might want to know who the scruffy urchin lurking around was.
But people were busy with their morning work, and Rel was still with Raneseh, or else in his room watching for my door to open again. Triumph burned bright inside me—but only for a second or two. Stop that, I thought when I reached the wall, and grimaced as I cast a look over my shoulder. You know what your luck is like! As soon as you think you’re okay, they crunch you!
I scrambled onto the wall ... and over.
No one was on the road. I started up the road at my quickest saunter, my heart pounding.
Around the hill ... When is lunch? Maraneh will knock, they might let me sleep, but sooner or later they’ll go in—
And Rel will be fast. Triumph and fear chased one another through my middle, making me feel a little queasy.
So I walked harder, and when I was on the other side of the hill, I stepped off the road. Now I headed east. I had to go north eventually, but I’d stupidly stared in that direction the other day in the meadow, so I knew Rel would search there first—that’s where I’d search, if I was him.
East, then. Into someone’s farmland, between rows of something green and good-smelling, and out the other side, behind a stable.
On a road behind a poultry yard rolled a hay wagon, with two kids driving it. They were eating a lunch while the oxen plodded. I sidled round to the other side of the barn, ghost-footed alongside the chicken fence, and caught up with the wagon from the back. After climbing carefully onto it I burrowed under the hay.
The two boys turned about to be the most boring conversationalists (I thought sourly) in at least a thousand worlds. First they compared their sandwiches, as in who got more cheese. Since they’d already half-eaten the sandwiches, that meant arguing about what they’d already eaten. When they’d pretty much decided that the other got the most, and so each ought to get the extra tartlet, they argued about that. I was on the verge of popping up and demanding the tartlet for myself—or suggesting they split it or even throw it away, just so they’d stop talking about it—when they decided they’d each take a bite, passing it back and forth, until it was gone.
They argued about who had taken the biggest bite.
I groaned and put my fingers in my ears, counting to one hundred. Then that bored me so much I decided I may as well listen.
“... and if he gets to the walk too?”
Walk? They argued incomprehensibly about a walk—whether or not some boy they knew would be sent to ‘the walk’ which, I figured after a time, was looked to be a treat, because they would get a rare feast afterward, and escape their regular chores.
The argument only stopped when the wagon did. I realized I ought to have been paying attention—I certainly didn’t want the boys to discover my hiding in the hay. But a quick peek showed them both moving to the oxen to unyoke them and put them in their pen; I scooted to the edge, then peered out carefully. I’d just clambered out and was brushing off the hay when an older girl rounded the side of a barn, and stopped in mild surprise when she saw me. “Pram? Dalkineh? Who’s this you brought?”
I said, as the two boys turned around, “I’m to go to the walk.”
The girl shrugged, then walked by, a bucket clanking in her hands as she headed for the cow byre.
The two boys—obviously brothers—looked at me with the same mild curiosity, then the oldest said, “You were sent for the walk too?”
I nodded.
“Come along.”
I followed, not believing my luck—so far. Only ... what was ‘the walk?’
Around the barn we trudged to a cobble-stone street, where a lot of people milled about. The boys asked some perfunctory questions, to which I told a lot of lies, the most boring ones I could think of. I slipped away from the brothers almost immediately, and ducked my way through the crowd.
My first thought was to get to another type of conveyance, though I didn’t think I’d be able to sneak into anything again. However, it might be worth a try.
I reached a huge stable (guided to it by the smell of many horses) in time to hear a woman’s sharp voice. “I don’t care! I have to get to town, don’t you see? I’ll pay double.”
And another woman said, “Yes, Trader, so I heard. But today is the rope walk. The whole town binds rope. We all get paid if we’re fast, and we’ve a reputation to uphold. Means every pair of hands.”
“Then I am stuck here another night? With my horses eating their heads off—and me having to pay extra?”
The stable woman shrugged.
The trading woman whirled around, scolding not quite under her breath, and slammed through the door leading, from the smell that briefly wafted out, to the kitchens of an inn.
I waited until the stable woman had sniffed, given a small smile in the direction of the inn, then checked the loose boxes before she too went inside.
Everyone going to the rope walk ... whatever that was.
I looked at the animals, feeling intense conflict. Rel would be angry, Raneseh would be worried. I suspected he’d be thinking of Pralineh out on her own, helpless to do anything for herself outside of sewing and preserves. He’d turn every servant out to search.
They’d be searching for a black-haired girl in a blue dress, not a black-haired boy, but what if someone recognized the rag-bag clothes? I wasn’t sure how good my disguise was; I wanted to believe that Rel was too stupid to see past it, but I knew that was wishful thinking. Rel was obnoxious, over-bearing, poker-faced, show-offy, and loathsome in every way—but not stupid.
So I had to get farther away. Those oxen had been about as fast as a five year old’s amble, so they couldn’t have brought me much of a distance.
I moved along the loose boxes, talking softly to the horses. Seshe had made sure that all we girls knew how to care for horses, once we’d learned to ride. What I wanted was a friendly one who seemed to want to go out. It’s not stealing, I thought to myself. I’ll let the horse go as soon as it’s dark.
Yes.
So at the last box before the door, when a horse lipped my flat hand, I eased the box open, patted the horse as it walked out of the box. I used the stall to jump up onto its back—gripped the mane—and soon was walking the horse up the street through the crowd that was all heading one way.
As soon as I could I turned down a narrow alley that smelled like sour wine and some kind of herb ... turned again ... found a road ... past cottages that slowly began to space out, and then I reached the open road.
I clucked, and the horse began to trot.
I rode east, but then started choosing northward turns in roads as the sky clouded over and soft rain fell, soaking my clothes. The horse slowed to a walk. Dark fell quickly because of the rain. I kept riding, feeling more and more morose, but when I saw a row of lights, I slid off, turned the horse around, patted it until it got the idea and started back. I listened to its hooves splash through puddles until they were washed out by the sound of rain, then I slogged toward the lights, discovering—as I had hoped—a farmstead.
It was easy enough to make my way to a barn and climb up into new-cut, sweet-smelling hay. I burrowed in, curling into a ball with my forearms pressed across my empty stomach, and fell asleep.
EIGHT
Sort of asleep.
After fifty eternities in that uncomfortable, itchy hay, I was relieved when the first faint blue of dawn showed in the cracks in the walls and in the small window. I climbed down and slunk out, feeling tired, cold, wet, clammy, hungry, and miserable.
But free.
“Yippeeoclinks!” I squeeped, trying to cheer myself up. “Home, here I come!”
... Except I was on the wrong continent—and halfway across it at that.
But I knew what to do, and where to go in order to do it. F
irst Bermund. The queens would of course send me home. Where I would find everybody. Right? Right? No, I would not think about all of them gone ...
Instead I thought about Rel, in trouble for my escape (I hoped at least with Kwenz, though it was unlikely Raneseh would get mad at him) and out slogging through the rain searching—and my mood improved again. Yep, definitely worth being tired, wet, and hungry. See how Mr. You-Have-No-Skills likes that! Ha ha!
I’ll show you skills, you stench-wazoo, I thought, stomping through puddles.
The farmhouse road topped a hill—and below me lay a sizable town. I bucketed down the road as fast as I could, intending to get lost in its streets. Then find another stable. Maybe, maybe, maybe I could pinch another horse?
As it turned out I did not need to be a horse thief. The stable I reached was so busy there were people everywhere. I counted at least five languages being spoken before my attention was caught by a man using Mearsiean. “I just need someone long enough to get through the mountains,” he explained. “I got my grandson waiting other side. I was supposed to have my niece, but she got nipped up by the weavers, and—”
I remembered what that boy had said about caravan guiding, and didn’t even wait. I was too hungry, too desperate. If you can follow a road, he’d said, the rest is just learning how to keep the animals and people fed. I didn’t know much about cooking for people, but Seshe had made certain we knew about horses’ meals.
So I walked right up and said, “I’m looking for work.”
Both adults looked down at me in surprise.
I stared back up, compressing my lips against a comment at those goggling eyes. Did I grow a couple of noses?
But the man said doubtfully, “You know how to tend a horse?”
Mearsies Heili Bounces Back Page 21