Over the Sea

by Sherwood Smith

  “Yeah,” she said, a slight frown between her brows.

  o0o

  So then there was Sherry.

  It surprised me a little, that Clair would send Sherry to the place where she expected the possibility of danger. Sherry had volunteered, and it wasn’t Clair’s way to say No, I’d rather send one of the other girls because then she might have to say why, and she would never do that.

  Instead, we spent the evening on magic preparations, and before Sherry left, Clair quietly repacked the knapsack Sherry had made up, putting in her magical aids in place of the extra clothes Sherry had thrust in (forgetting that she’d have to lug around all that stuff).

  So the knapsack was nice and light when Sherry left — not that she noticed. That’s Sherry! She was just glad it was lighter than she’d remembered. The transfer happened, and when she recovered, she found herself on a road alongside one of the smaller rivers that feed off the Wesset, which meanders its way through the Wesset provinces toward the sea.

  Wesset North shares its capital, Ladina, with Wesset South. It’s a big trade town, but that was not where Clair felt the problems lay. So Sherry was in the northern part of the province, which was marked off by a road and by a series of old forts built by Mearsieans ages ago, to keep an eye on the Shadowland and the Chwahir.

  The road stitched the forts and some small trade towns, the biggest of which was at the northwest corner of the province before the river that marked its border from the wild lands at the heart of the country — and where we girls had our hideout.

  Sherry had left in the late afternoon, having wasted most of the day seeing everyone off, then eating, then looking at the map, and then at last leaving. So, because the days were still short, the sun was already going down while she made her way westward toward a small village she could see ahead. The land around her was flat. To the south she saw mainly sky, and occasional clumps of trees. To the north, hazy in the distance across No Man’s Land, lay the mountains framing the Shadow, no more than a sinister dark line from Sherry’s vantage.

  But the sight of it was enough to get her moving briskly — until she saw two figures making their way toward her. Kids, a boy and a girl, both somewhat older than her. The girl was red-haired, the same bright, crackling red that Faline had, and this girl had the same number of bright freckles, but where Faline was short and sturdy, this girl was tall and very weedy. She gave Sherry a merry grin, and that’s all it took for Sherry to like her instantly.

  “Hullo,” Sherry said. “Are you from around here?”

  The girl looked surprised, opened her mouth, cocked her head, then said slowly in a distinctive accent, “No. I do not know where we are, but we are not from here, we.”

  The boy, who was ordinary, his skin browned and hair bleached by the sun, nodded.

  Sherry felt that inward bloom of delight whenever magic brought new kids. “You’re Visitors!” she exclaimed.

  The two looked at one another, and the boy shrugged, his hands turned out.

  The girl said, “It must be so. But how we came to it, that I know not.”

  The boy spoke up for the first time. “This is not la France?”

  “And have you Madame la Guillotine?” the girl added, making a face.

  “It’s Mearsies Heili,” Sherry said. “And I don’t know who the other is.”

  “Not so much who but what. But oh, she demands blood, and more blood, at the price of our heads.”

  Sherry looked sick.

  The boy said, “But we are alive!”

  The girl said, “I don’t understand.”

  And Sherry put in, “Would it help to say that magic brought you here?”

  The boy shrugged, his hands out. “Only a little. Me, I want to know not so much what — but who?”

  “I can’t tell you that,” Sherry said. “But when visitors come, there seems to be some reason. Clair said something about other worlds, and mirrors of worlds, kind of. Did you know a magician in your world?”

  “Magician!” the girl exclaimed. “No, that we did not. The Terror has taken away any whose claims related to religion or rank. All are citizens.” She turned her hands out, much like the boy had. “We knew only that our lands were taken, our food as well, and finally our families, if they dared to speak against the Revolution. What had seemed good, the Rights of Man, became the Rights of Murderers.”

  “And so we joined those who fought the murderers,” the boy said. He and the girl exchanged grins. “If any man can be cast down from king to peasant, then by rights anyone can become a king. And so I was the King of the Children, and it angered the Committee.”

  “So you were some kind of royalty in your world, is that it?”

  The two looked at one another and laughed. “But no!” the girl exclaimed. “We were fighting the Terror. But then, well, to talk too long is to be a bore. Let us say, we heard that ghosts of those whose innocent blood was being spilled every day joined the fight, and we hoped to become them.”

  The boy added, “No strength on our own. As ghosts — maybe.”

  “Anyway.” The girl shrugged. “Here we seem to be.” She rubbed her freckled hands. “So what can we do to help, as we find ourselves here.”

  The boy said, “We know nothing of weapons, but you will be surprised, what a load of road mire will do to a secret meeting.”

  “And altered maps.”

  “And mysterious messages that send spies hither and yon.”

  “And the listening ears of children, dressed as citizen-servants, who no one heeds. But who can warn those in danger.”

  They spoke quickly, their accent quite strong. Sherry grinned, liking the two more by the moment. But before she could ask more, they finished rounding a gentle curve, and saw past a rocky, tree-lined hillock the first buildings of the village she’d seen earlier. The shadows were long by now, and orange light glowed in many of the single-story buildings, some with thatch roofs, others with the sandy-colored tile popular elsewhere in the kingdom. Most houses, again, like elsewhere, were round — built round the central fireplace.

  Before they’d come far into the village they were met by a tall man who led an assortment of men and boys, most of them carrying farming tools.

  “You are strangers, out after curfew,” the man said abruptly.

  “Curfew!” Sherry exclaimed. “There are no curfews. Not anymore!”

  The man snorted. “There are now. The Guard Captain’s own orders. Chwahir are abroad at night, when they see best, and anyone caught outside their homes is carried away to the Shadow and put to work, usually never to be seen again.”

  “Clair — the queen — needs to know about this curfew,” Sherry stated.

  The man shrugged, and the others all looked at each other, some shifting grip on their hoes and rakes. “Well, the truth is, the Captain says that Wesset North is its own kingdom now. With its own laws.”

  “And its own king?” Sherry asked, surprised.

  “You can go along tomorrow and ask him. Tonight, for your own sakes, come along with us. You’ll get free bed and board in the lockup, and out you go come dawn.”

  The men surrounded the three kids, and marched them a little ways through the village. All three noted silhouettes behind curtains, or eyes peeping through shutters. Sherry decided not to make a fuss. She would have the evening to talk, free food, and they had been promised their freedom come morning.

  The lockup turned out to be a small room annexed to a stable. No furnishings, but the hard-packed dirt floor had been piled with fresh straw. “You’ll be glad you’re here,” the man said, gesturing them inside as another lit a lantern for them. “If you hear the Chwahir ridin’ through in the night. Two border forts have already fallen,” he added, “I’m told. There may be more.”

  “By cracky,” Sherry exclaimed, unconsciously using Faline’s current favorite expression.

  And the freckled visitor turned to her in astonishment. “Do you know her?”

  “Know who?”
>
  “Bhi Craqui. My sister,” the visitor exclaimed. “She lives in another land, it’s a long explanation — never mind,” she added as one of the men toted in a heavy tray laden with food and a steaming pot. “Oh!”

  “By cracky,” Sherry said, not being able to resist. “By cracky, you have a sister named By Cracky?”

  The boy said, “These names, they are, what call you them here, a nom de guerre — “

  “It doesn’t translate,” the girl said. “We picked new names. So what’s left of our families wouldn’t get hurt, when we decided to go to war against Robespierre and the Committee for Public Safety.” She smacked her scrawny chest and pronounced, “I am Klutz de le Nutz!” She cocked her head to one side. “Odd, how it comes out sounding different.”

  The boy bowed, flourishing his hands over the clay dishes. “And I am Idiosyncrasy. But nobody calls me anything but Id.”

  “For Idiot,” Klutz said, grinning.

  Id sighed. “So some of my plans flub.”

  “At least for the villains, too,” Klutz admitted generously.

  Sherry saw that the two were very hungry, but they were waiting for her to make the first move. So she divided the food into three portions, the larger ones for them, and a small one for her as she’d eaten recently. And from the way they devoured the pancakes, fluffed eggs-and-cheese, berry-muffins, and apple compote, it was obvious they did not often get such a meal.

  The steaming pot turned out to be steamed milk with honey and cinnamon beaten in. The two drank that down, sighing in ecstasy. Not a drop or a crumb was left.

  “It seems,” Id said, “we’re not to lose our heads after all. Someone — maybe the ghost brigade — wants us here to help. So what is the plan?”

  “Why, what else?” Sherry said. “As soon as they let us out, we go to see that Captain!”

  “Yes.” Id flopped back, and let out a long sigh. “I am not used to this life.”

  “Sleeping on straw?” Sherry asked, putting her bag under her head so the straw would not tickle her neck.

  “Clean straw,” Id exclaimed, and sighed again, in pleasure.

  o0o

  The next morning, sure enough, the door opened — bringing in frigid air and a smell of fresh oat-cakes — with a fine breakfast being carried in by a stout young woman. She looked around, back over her shoulder, then at Sherry, and said, “I don’t know who you are. Why you’re here. But you have to know. There’s little we can do against the Captain. He’s got the horses, the swords. And it’s planting time for us. Well, will be.” She made a face, and the others realized they could see her breath.

  Klutz nodded. “Air smells of a last snow,” she said. “But it feels like it won’t be a frost.”

  Id said, “Plant in days. You can smell the soil, here.”

  “You know farming?” the young woman asked.

  Id and Klutz both said, “Yes.”

  Sherry said, “We’re here, well, I’m here, on behalf of the queen.”

  The young woman sat back on her heels. She looked away, at the warped boarding making up the room’s walls. “I thought we were forgotten.”

  “No,” Sherry said, shaking her head. “Not that. Just, Clair has been learning how to be the queen. Her mother forgot you, and Clair is trying to rediscover you.”

  The young woman smiled. “It might not be easy,” she said. “But I hope it happens.” And she left.

  Sherry watched her go, biting her lip.

  Klutz pointed a freckled hand. “That’s how things happen. People talk,” she said. She added with a grin. “They pass on the truth, they pass on lies, they pass on anything amusing enough to pass on.”

  Id was vigorously rubbing straw out of his hair. “We passed on lots of lies. That’s one good way to get Fouche and his roaches scuttling after one another.”

  Sherry nodded, then opened her knapsack, and discovered only a cloak inside, and a stick. She crossly threw the stick, saying, “That’s forgetful even for me! How did I manage to take out what I didn’t put in?”

  “I don’t know, but that stick there gave out sparks,” Klutz said, backing away. “Was it supposed to?”

  “Oh!” Sherry pounced, held it up to the light filtering in through the slats in the wall. She frowned. “If this is a joke of Clair’s ... no, it couldn’t be Clair. Could it? But Faline doesn’t know any magic, or even any pretend magic!” She tapped the stick against her hand, and again illusory sparks poured out — my addition, I must add. I’d felt that Sherry might need help, but didn’t want to insult her by offering. Making a fuss.

  A moment later Clair appeared, rubbing her eyes. She was wearing her nightgown, the visitors saw — not that Clair noticed. “Oh, I see you figured out how to summon me.”

  Sherry whirled around in delight. “A magic wand! I always wanted one!”

  Clair grinned. “Surprise! But you know there isn’t really any such thing, that is, the wand is the focus for specific spells. Plus CJ loaded on lots of illusions, in case you need to impress someone.” She saw the visitors then. “Hullo.”

  “They’re from off-world,” Sherry said. “Appeared, right on my road.”

  Clair nodded. “Well, then.”

  Sherry went on to explain very quickly what she’d learned. Clair listened, frowning slightly, then said, “Go ahead and follow up. You have the ability to transfer out if there is danger, but I hope there will not be. Listen, I have to go — it was time to waken anyway — for there are some other problems to be seen to.” And she vanished, leaving a snap of displaced air to whisk around the little room.

  “Time to go,” Sherry said. “Now, if we can make illusions, what I’ll do is, when we go to see whoever is captain in that first fortress, I’ll give us fancy clothes. It’ll look like fancy clothes, anyway. That and magic might make him take kids seriously.”

  Klutz and Id, who had discovered that age was no bar to terror in the France of 1793, both nodded.

  And so it was. They set out in the clear air; by midday, when they spotted the first of the fortresses on the horizon, the snow had melted in all but little dells and stream-beds, patches of blue-shadowed white retreating before the sproutings of clover and grass that Id and Klutz said heralded planting time.

  They talked about farms, and farming, as they walked. Sherry did not comprehend half of the worlds they used — all translated by magic, but arising out of experience she’d never had.

  o0o

  Well, there is not a lot more to tell. Or, there could be, but Sherry’s account didn’t always make sense — and by the time Klutz and Id were done telling it, they’d added so many jokes and imaginary insults (things they’d wished they’d said) the record was a mess.

  What happened was this: they interviewed the local captain, and on the way in saw not just Mearsieans dressed for riding and patrol, but some Chwahir. Sherry was told that they were all renegades, and on the Mearsieans’ side, but Id got a different story from the stable-hands, who said they were slowly replacing the regular riders.

  Meanwhile the fellow in charge condescendingly informed Sherry that everything was wonderful, and that Clair needn’t worry. In other words, the little girl queen could go back to playing dolls in her big white palace on the cloud, and leave Real Life to those who knew what to do about it.

  Sherry didn’t get mad. She didn’t even get even, though she did use the wand to whip up illusory horses and fancy clothes for her subsequent visits to the forts going all the way to the westernmost border of Wesset North.

  Along the way they talked to people, and again, where an adult might have been given silence and distrust, nobody took kids seriously. Sherry listened, Klutz and Id listened, and they told everyone they listened to that “the queen is coming back, and there will be no more Chwahir.”

  By the time Sherry reached the huge fortress on the border (left over from generations before, when the royal family tended to have sons or daughters stay there and practice their future kinging and queening by keeping an
eye on the Shadowland), farmers from all over Wesset North had sent someone to find out if the word about the queen was true.

  Every night, Sherry reported her conversations to Gwen via the magical note.

  Every night, Gwen carried all the reports to Clair, who was in her magic chambers, working on several projects.

  On the last day, Sherry confronted the man everyone called the Captain, who waited for her in the last stronghold, the biggest and oldest one, at the very northwest edge of Wesset North.

  He obviously expected to send the little girl to the rightabout. After all, nothing had happened yet. The white-haired queen remained in her tower, and she had no army, so what could she possibly do, except maybe cry?

  The people obviously expected something to happen.

  Klutz and Id, who had steadily become less serious and more inclined to pull gags on the pompous adults — but restrained themselves, as they were guests — promised that whatever happened, they would protect Sherry. And so they walked on either side of her that last way inside the big fortress with its crumbling outer walls, and the reinforced inner walls, and the Chwahir soldiers in the big main room.

  Sherry didn’t know what to expect.

  She faced the Captain a last, a big man dressed in a black uniform. He glared at her. “I am told you are here to entertain me,” he began unpleasantly.

  “I’m here because there are Chwahir all over. I’m here because Queen Clevarlineh sent me, because she wants to know what’s going on here.”

  “What’s going on is that Wesset North has been independent these twenty years,” the Captain said. “The fact that she didn’t know it is reason enough for independence.”

  “Wrong,” Sherry said. “You should have told her. And you should let the people decide. Nobody I talked to wants to be independent. The idea seems to have begun with you.”

  “And so, what are you going to do about it?” he asked, motioning all his guards to surround the kids.

  Sherry lifted her wand, hoping at least all the sparks and colors would surprise the villains enough so the three could run. But as soon as she tapped it on her hand, a bright light flared, and Clair stood there.