by Kate Gragg
I crossed a couple arms of my own and stared her down.
“Recite a few verses for me, at least. I risked life and limb to prevent you being kidnapped by pirates, and then?”
Her eyes went wide.
“Pirates?”
“Your acting got better, I see. So, what’s the gag? You found a fellow scoundrel who looks enough like you to pose as father and daughter, you get all the swells drunk and then your scurvy gang swoops in with cannons blazing, boards the gangplanks, slashes the sails, and makes off with the dowry? Because let me tell you, I already stole it once today and you don’t need to go to that much trouble.”
“He is my father, you should not try to steal anything from these people, and why do you keep talking about pirates?” Lydia said. She almost sounded serious this time.
“Your letter in the bottle!”
“Oh god.” She clapped a hand to her forehead as if she’d forgotten.
“There’s no need to be such a ham about it, Lyd. You lied. I get it. That’s what we do. And I have to say, I am impressed that you worked your way into the princess’s circle. She doesn’t seem like she pals around with just anyone. That must have been a very long con.”
“Althea is my friend. Did you hit your head while you were down there?”
“Did I? Because nothing you’re saying makes any sense for a cinder girl from Cheapside.”
A whole parade of emotions marched across Lydia’s face.
“Joe, I can’t get into this right now. I need a favor.”
“Oh, you need a favor? Do you need my wallet too?”
“Just the favor.”
“Well I’d be very happy to tell you no, Lydia,” I said, smiling coldly. “Is that your name? Lydia? Did I get that right?”
“There’s a really low turnout for the knight’s trials this year, and if we don’t find another competitor right away the Duke will–”
“Oh, well in that case, I’m really glad to say no, because I don’t know what the hell you people do out here but I’ve been talking to your guests all afternoon and I’ve heard the word ‘monster’ more times than I can count, not to mention ‘dismembered’ and ‘they never found the body, you know, such a shame, his poor mother.’”
Lydia sighed.
“Things got kind of messed up last year but normally it’s very safe. All I need you to do is just fake it for three days, so Althea doesn’t have to get married by forfeit. Come in last, I don’t care, just–”
“Why do you assume I’d come in last?”
“Because you don’t even know what this is? Which, why are you even here? Were you stealing things? Let me see your pockets.”
Lydia started patting me all over like a gateman at the colosseum. I caught her by the wrists and stared at her until she met my gaze.
“There’s nothing in my pockets,” I said slowly. “I wasn’t here stealing. Quite the opposite. Now I’m leaving.”
“Not without a rowboat you’re not.”
I looked out toward the rapidly receding land and cursed. I let go of Lydia and ran my fingers through my hair, which still had Fritz’s perfumey pomade in it. I cursed again.
Lydia smiled impishly at me.
“Looks like you’re stuck now, Joe. All you can do is stay on the ship until it gets to the island and then wait for it to sail back, which will be a lot easier to do if people think you have a reason to be there.”
“I’ll just wait in a tavern or something.”
Lydia shook her head.
“No tavern.”
“No tavern? What do people do all day?”
“It’s very boring,” Lydia admitted. “What did you mean by ‘the opposite’?”
“What? Oh. Your posh friend played a nasty little trick on me, stuck me with a cursed object, so I’m here to return it.”
I started pacing the deck, feeling more and more agitated. If this lousy island didn’t have a tavern what the hell was there? Besides monsters and yet-to-be-found bodies.
“A curse? That doesn’t sound like Althea,” Lydia said.
“It doesn’t matter now anyway,” I shrugged. “Ball’s back in her court. I popped it into her dowry chest. Make a nice surprise for the wedding night.”
Lydia let out a little horrified laugh.
“The dowry chest doesn’t go to the bride, Joe.”
“No?”
“No! It goes to the groom’s parents. Since you’re refusing to help, she’ll have to marry Clifton, and his parents are just poor farmers in Upland somewhere.”
I had a sinking feeling.
“So, I just cursed…?”
“Two very elderly sheep farmers.”
My own folks had been sheep farmers, back when I was in swaddling clothes. I didn’t have many memories of the pastoral life, but I’d always assumed it was idyllic, until dad started getting ideas at least. “Never run a gag on a man what works for his bread,” my dad had said. Or maybe it was Alphonse. A lot of people in Cheapside said it. It was the closest thing we had to a moral code.
I thought for a second more, double-checking if I was really going to do this. Dammit, I was. I turned to Lydia.
“Will you excuse me?”
I ran off toward the ballroom.
“So, you’re going to compete?” she called after me.
“Absolutely not!”
The drinking and bet making was on in full swing by the time I got back, so no one much noticed my return or cared when I made a beeline for the dowry. There was no time to come up with a cover story for why I was rifling through the treasure chest. I’d just have to work fast. I was really getting a lot of experience in stealing from treasure chests lately. When I got back to Cheapside maybe I could specialize.
If I was ever allowed back, I realized heavily. All that salt air everyone talks so much about really had done wonders for my lungs. I hadn’t coughed in hours.
The chest was still sitting open, thankfully. No way of knowing where the penny was by now. Just have to root around for it. Eyes front, act bored, you’re supposed to be doing this. What a humdrum chore, being up to your elbows in money and jewels.
I felt around and recognized the strange crenellated markings of the coin immediately, but more so the tingle of nose and the itch in my throat, which hurtled back instantaneously, sea air or no. I palmed the coin and-
“Hey! What are you doing with the princess’s dowry?” shouted a voice I was already getting tired of hearing.
Clifton barreled toward me, chest puffed up and chainmail clanking. I looked around the room in a panic. Why? It never helps. I didn’t know a single soul there except Lydia, who was now standing in the doorway looking like she wanted to die, or me to die, or both of us to die.
In what had to be the quickest thinking of my young life, I snatched a pair of gaudy sapphire earrings and held them up to Lydia, letting the coin in my palm drop into my sleeve like the street magicians do.
“Lydia, don’t worry anymore darling, I found them!”
All eyes were on her now. That was better already.
Lydia blanched for just the shavedest sliver of a second, then pasted on a smile and swanned over to me, all graciousness and serenity.
“Oh, there they are, Joe. Dear.” Her eyes bored holes in my skull.
“And you thought we’d never find them.”
“I don’t know how I could have been so careless.”
She hastily pinned the enormous blue diamond-ringed stones to her ears, where they drooped painfully.
“I don’t know either,” I said, laughing too loudly. “Your grandmother would be having fits.”
“Yes. She would, if she were alive, bless her soul.”
She stepped closer to me and used the cover of her skirts to stab my foot with her heel, forcing me to turn the gasp of pain into another too-loud laugh. We grinned tightly at each other, refusing to look at anyone else.
Argus stepped toward us warily, flanked by a few of the other men.
“Did you find it?” L
ydia said in a low voice so only I could hear.
“Yes,” I breathed.
“Lydia?” Argus said, clearing his throat.
“Yes, Daddy?” Lydia said too brightly.
“Who is this man?”
Lydia put her arm around me and presented me to her father and his dumbstruck guests.
“Daddy, this is Joe Thorne. He’s volunteered to join the games this year, isn’t that lovely?”
“Oh. I see.” He looked me up and down. I didn’t know whether to puff my chest out and look heroic as possible or stay confident and smile. I tried to do a nice dose of both and immediately became worried I looked like a sudden bout of terrible gas had come upon me.
The swells muttered to one other.
Lord Saunders stood up from the table he, the Duke and all the other rich old men were sitting, peering over at me.
“This is highly irregular,” he said. “Who even are you? Who are your parents?”
“Easy now, Saunders, you said yourself we were short this year,” said Argus.
“That’s true,” piped the Duke.
“But what does this competition mean if we don’t have standards?” pointed out Clifton.
“That’s also true,” said the Duke, winding the tip of his beard around his finger.
Lydia twined her fingers through mine and gazed at her father in that inarguable way she’d used to talk me out of taking the bigger half of a stolen sandwich more than once.
Realizing the lie hidden in that memory shot a streak of anger down my spine, but we’d have to have that conversation later.
The Duke stepped forward to give me a close inspection. I held my breath, waiting for him to recognize me, but the removal of several layers of soot and the addition of several layers of expensive clothing was all the disguise I needed.
“This is no walk in the park, you know. This competition is for the very best men. For the sons of the very best men! Sure, you look well enough,” he said, running a pudgy finger down my ivory silk lapel, “but have you ever had your mettle tested? Ever had a dragon breathing down your neck, lad? And I don’t say that metaphorically!”
“Yes, he does,” Lydia’s father hastened to add. He turned to address the crowd at large. “Once again I would like to remind everyone there are no dragons on Teems. Every step of the competition has been carefully inspected this year and has been certified for safety.”
The other man, Saunders, harrumphed at this, which made Argus look even more anxious.
“Dangerous, certainly! A test of bravery, a challenge, absolutely! But guaranteed non-lethal.”
“Aww,” a small voice whined from somewhere in the crowd.
“What was that, Master Beech?”
“I came enter the real competition, not some watered-down kiddie stuff,” Wart groused, earning a sharp elbow to the ribs from an auburn-haired woman who could only be his mother.
I turned to Lydia, sensing a way out.
“You said these little games of yours would be a challenge. I’m not sure I want to waste my time if there’s no sport in it.”
“Daddy’s just trying not to scare the boy, dear.”
“Who’s scared?” Wart snorted. He dodged the elbow this time.
“It’s true,” Clifton said, “the games are quite dangerous. Unpredictable. I highly doubt you’ve ever seen such sport in… where is it that you’re from?”
“You mean you haven’t heard of me?” I laughed, stalling for time. “Why, a knighthood would really be a step down, after all the adventures I’ve had carrying the banner of–”
“Roseland,” Lydia interrupted.
I almost laughed. “Roseland” was our little joke, the name of the dancehall whose attic I used to sleep in. It looked a bit like a castle, so we’d pretended it was, and that I was its king and she was its queen. I couldn’t believe she remembered.
“Joe Thorne of Roseland?” Clifton cackled.
“And where are you from, Mister Crome?” I said. I sniffed theatrically. “Somewhere with a lot of livestock, I take it?”
Cliffy’s face flushed bright red.
“It doesn’t matter where I’m from, but where I’m going.”
“Ah. Well, where I’m going is to the bar, and then off to something more interesting than this…” I gestured to Clifton and then to Wart, “scouting trip.”
Clifton relaxed, winking at Althea.
“Just as well, it’s a test of valor, not a sporting day for dandies from the hinterlands.”
“He’s no dandy!” Althea blurted. Lydia looked as surprised as I felt. “If you are Joe Thorne, the… adventurer that I’ve heard tales of? Slayer of dragons, protector of virtue, defender of the defenseless?”
“If any of that’s half true he might be overqualified,” cracked someone in the crowd.
“Oh, come on now, that’s like something out of a children’s story,” Clifton protested.
Lydia’s father looked me up and down, then shrugged.
“He looks capable enough. Welcome aboard, er, what was it? Joe?”
The crowd erupted in cheers and began hastily revising their bets, shouting out questions at me from all angles about whether I had any injuries they should know about and did I have any special skills, while underlings of some sort swarmed me and presented papers for me to sign and demanded the names of my next of kin.
Althea tackled Lydia in a very un-princess-like hug and then planted a kiss on my cheek that startled me so much I completely forgot to plant the coin on her.
There was so much activity bustling around it took me a solid minute to notice that Clifton was right behind me. I turned and saw a look on his face I’d only seen once before, on a fellow I was locked in jail with right before he stabbed another fellow for stealing his gruel.
“Be careful out there, Thorne,” Clifton said. “Not everyone makes it back alive.”
“Sounds tough,” I said. “Maybe you should go back to the sheep farm.”
I’m not sure if it was my remark or the fact that the princess laughed at it, but something made his boiled red face verge on purple. What a pity Lavender wasn’t on his arm to match.
Chapter Seven
I was in a foul mood. After we’d landed at sunset I had hoped I’d be able to crawl straight into bed and sleep off the gallon of wine I’d drunk after Lydia’s little trick, but there’d turned out to be this whole beachside ritual to kick things off and “greet the island.”
The opening ceremonies were interminable and required me to both dance and sing, and there were lots of awkward moments that made it clear that whoever had done the choreography had expected about four times as many contestants as there were this year.
The toffs each had their own special purposes during the ceremonies. The Duke talked a lot about what made a good knight, which sounded a lot like the traits he’d prefer to have in a son-in-law; agreeability, discretion, and immense personal wealth all came up.
Argus, Lydia’s father, droned on about the rules. Be back by sunset. Do not cheat by soliciting help. Do not cheat by using magic. Do not cheat by sabotaging other contestants. If you see anything suspicious, report it immediately. Leave a list of your next-of-kin with the house clerk, along with a cash deposit to cover the delivery of your body should the need arise. My deposit, I learned, had been helpfully paid by Lydia’s family under the guise of a scholarship for “foreign contestants.”
Lord Saunders seemed the poshest, somehow posher even than the Duke. He’d had a son perish in the games last year, and everyone seemed afraid to talk about either of them directly. It was in that son’s honor that we were all competing this year.
Late into the night, when most of the party were too drunk to pay much attention, the Lord took to the stage and made a little speech to that effect.
“As many of you know, my son Titus devoted his life to the knightly virtues, and it was the highest honor of his life to compete in these games, an honor that, unfortunately, he paid the highest price for.
This year, to honor his memory, we’ve revived an old tradition that dates back to the earliest days of the games. A theatrical presentation, performed by our lovely laurel maidens, The Tale of Glorian, the First Knight.”
The maidens, about a dozen girls in long white dresses, clumped out onto the stage holding makeshift props. I recognized Briar-Rose, the girl who’d had the misfortune to be partnered with me during the dancing. Fittingly, she was holding a pair of floral branches.
She stepped forward and crossed her branches dramatically over her chest. A girl draped in a long blue scarf and one with her face painted gray flanked her on either side.
“We are the Island of Teems,” they intoned.
The girl with the blue scarf stepped forward.
“I am its water, flowing ever true.”
“I am its mountains,” said the gray-faced girl, “holding up the heavens.”
“And I, its forests,” said Briar-Rose, shaking her branches. “What see you, Sister Mountain?”
“A man!” said the mountain, pointing offstage.
“Bring him to me, Sister Water.”
The scarf girl did a trilling, circular sort of dance that I suppose sort of looked like flowing water and tiptoed offstage, returning with none other than Lydia. She was wearing an explorer’s hat and holding a wooden sword, and if she heard the laugh that escaped my throat she didn’t react. Consummate professional.
I’ll spare you the rest of the dialogue, as it was pretty dire, but the gist of it was that these three dotty sisters kept trying to kill Glorian and he kept surviving anyway. The river tried to drown him, the mountain tried to crush him in a landslide, the forest tried to eat him, but he took it all in stride. Lydia’s stage combat in the sequence where Glorian was beset upon by carnivorous vines was impressively realistic, perhaps too much so considering she was facing off against a spindly redhead wearing green socks on her arms.
Glorian’s refusal to be killed by this irritable island impressed the sisters so much that they gave him a shiny new suit of clothes for it, the first suit of knight’s armor ever forged. As Lydia knelt at the front of the stage, gravely accepting the Helm of Wisdom and the Chainmail of Fealty, the maidens not occupied in the scene helpfully pointed to the corresponding elements on an enormous portrait of the original knight mounted at the back of the stage.