Alanna was in no mood to consider this idea. When she returned to her rooms that night, she was tired, nervous and upset.
“Pack your things,” she ordered Coram as she marched in the door. “We’re going home.”
Coram looked at her. He had been sitting on his bed, cleaning his sword. “We are?”
Alanna paced the room. “I can’t do this,” she told the manservant. “The pace will kill me. No one can live this way all the time. I won’t—”
“I never figured ye for a quitter,” Coram interrupted softly.
“I’m not quitting!” Alanna snapped. “I—I’m protesting! I’m protesting unfair treatment—and—and being worked till I drop. I want to have time to myself. I want to learn to fight with a sword now, not when they decide. I want—”
“Ye want. Ye want. ’Tis something different ye’re learning here. It’s called ‘discipline.’ The world won’t always order itself the way ye want. Ye have to learn discipline.”
“This isn’t discipline! It’s inhuman! I can’t live with it, and I won’t! Coram, I gave you an order! Pack your things!”
Coram carefully scrubbed a tiny bit of dirt off his gleaming sword. At last he put it down, carefully, on the bed. With a groan he knelt down and reached under the bed, dragging out his bags. “As ye say,” he replied. “But I thought I’d raised ye with somethin’ to ye. I didn’t think I was bringin’ up another soft noble lady—”
“I’m not a soft noble lady!” Alanna cried. “But I’m not crazy, either! I’m going from sunrise to sunset and after without a stop, and no end in sight. My free time’s a joke—I’m out of free time before I get to the third class of the morning. And they expect me to keep up, and they punish me if I don’t. And I have to learn how to fall; I’m learning the stance with the bow all over again when I was the best hunter at Trebond, and if I say anything I get more work!”
Coram knelt on the floor, looking at her. “Ye knew it’d be hard when ye decided to come,” he reminded her. “No one ever told ye a knight had it easy. I didn’t, for certain. I told ye ’twas naught but hard work every wakin’ minute, and a lot of extra wakin’ minutes to boot. And now ye’re runnin’ away after just two days of it.”
“I’m not running away!”
“As ye say, Mistress.” Coram hoisted himself onto the bed with a groan, reaching for his boots. “I’ll be packed as soon as may be.”
Alanna slammed into her own room. She yanked one of her bags out and stared at it. With a sigh she sat down, rubbing her head in disgust. At Trebond she could come and go as she pleased, do as she liked. Life here was completely different. Did that make it bad?
She wasn’t sure any longer. Coram’s words about “quitting” and “running away” stuck like barbs under her skin. She tried to tell herself she wasn’t running away, but she wasn’t having much success.
At last she opened her door and looked out at Coram. “All right,” she growled. “I’ll give it a week. No more and no less. It had better lighten up by then.”
“Ye’re the Mistress—or the Master,” Coram replied. “But if ye’re goin’ to go—”
“I’ll make the decisions,” she told him. “Now, good night!”
It wasn’t until she pulled the blankets over her that she realized Coram had put his bags back under the bed and removed his boots. The old soldier had not done any packing at all.
I wish he didn’t know me so well, she thought grumpily as she dozed off.
The one week became two weeks, the two weeks became three, and Alanna was too exhausted to think of the long ride home. She never caught up with her work, and every day at least one master found something not done and gave her still more to do. She learned to take Gary’s advice, doing as much as she could each day and taking her punishments without complaint.
Her first night of table service came and went. She was too tired to be afraid during this first test. She waited on Duke Gareth, listened to his lecture on table manners and continued to serve at the banquets. At last she was assigned permanently to wait on Sir Myles, much to her delight. The knight always had something kind to say, even if—as Alex had said—he did drink too much. Sometimes she even helped him back to his rooms if he had drunk too well. Often he would give her a silver penny, or a sweet, and his classes were the bright point in her morning. Myles had a knack for making history seem real.
She and Gary quickly became friends. Gary always had something funny to say about the master of deportment, and he was never too busy to give her a hand, if she could bring herself to ask for help. She also discovered she could make her large friend laugh simply by saying whatever came to her mind. She liked making someone as intelligent as Gary laugh.
Between Gary, Myles and other people in the palace, life got better. Alanna came to forget that she had once ordered Coram to pack and take her home.
Three months—and her eleventh birthday—passed before Alanna realized it. The first break in her new routine came one night when Timon came hunting for her.
“He wants to see you.” Timon never had to say who “he” was. “You’re to go to his study.”
Alanna straightened her tunic and tried to smooth her hair before rapping on Duke Gareth’s door. Why would the Duke want to see her? What had she done wrong?
He called for her to come in, looking up from his papers as she closed the door behind her. “Alan, come in. I’m writing your father, reporting on your progress. Do you have any messages for me to send to him?”
She wasn’t in trouble! Alanna smothered a sigh of relief. Then she thought of something worse. What if her father came out of his studious fog and actually read Duke Gareth’s letter?
I’ll think of that when it happens, she told herself. Would things ever get easy?
“Please say that I send my regards, sir,” she told the Duke.
The man put down his quill pen. “My report is satisfactory. You learn well and quickly. We are glad to have you among us.”
Alanna turned pink with delight. She had never received such a high compliment. “Th-thank you, your Grace!”
“You may go to the City tomorrow morning as a reward. In future, you may also go there with the other pages on Market Day. Since you’re new to Corus, you may have one of the older boys accompany you. Not Alex. He has to take an extra hour of Ethics tomorrow.”
Alanna beamed. “You’re very kind,” she said. “Uh—could Gary—Gareth—come?”
The Duke raised an eyebrow. “Hm. He did say you are good company. It can be arranged. Be certain to return in time for afternoon lessons.”
“Yes, sir!” She bowed deeply. “And thank you again!”
Gary had to laugh at Alanna’s wide eyes as they walked through the city’s marketplace. “Close your mouth, country boy,” he teased. “Most of this is overpriced.”
“But there’s so much of everything!” she exclaimed.
“Not here. One of these days we’ll ride to Port Caynn. You’ll see real wonders there.” He stopped to look at a pair of riding gloves. Alanna wistfully eyed the long sword that hung beside them. She would need a sword someday. How would she ever get a good one?
A large hand tapped her shoulder. Startled, she looked up into the hazel eyes of the man Coram had called a thief just three months before.
“So—it’s the young sprout with the purple eyes,” the man said pleasantly. “I was wonderin’ if you’d fallen into a well.” His voice was rough and uneducated, but he spoke carefully. To Alanna it seemed that he thought about every word before saying it.
She grinned at him. Somehow this meeting didn’t surprise her. “I’ve been at the palace.”
“Who’s your friend?” Gary asked, looking at Alanna’s acquaintance suspiciously.
“Allow me to introduce myself, young masters.” The man bowed. “I’m George Cooper, of the lower city. Will you take a cool drink with me? As my guests, of course.”
“Thank you,” Alanna said quickly. “We accept.”
Geo
rge took them to a little inn called the Dancing Dove. The old man who ran it greeted him like a good friend, hurrying to bring ale for George and lemonade for the pages. When the drinks came, Alanna examined George as she gulped her lemonade. George said he was seventeen, although he seemed older. His nose was too big for good looks, but when he smiled he appeared handsome. He wore his brown hair cut short, like other commoners. Alanna felt something powerful about him, something almost royal. She also felt a very strong liking for him.
“You shouldn’t be surprised at my lookin’ you up,” he told Alanna. “Truth to tell, I like your looks. We don’t see many with eyes like yours. You bein’ from the country—you don’t look it now, but you did then!—I thought you’d like to be knowin’ someone in the city.”
“Do you always make friends on such short notice?” Gary asked sharply.
George looked at him a moment. “I trust my instincts, young master. In my line of work, you learn quick to trust your instincts.”
“What is it you do, George?” Alanna wanted to know.
George winked at her. “I—buy, and I sell.”
“You’re a thief,” Gary said flatly.
“‘Thief’ is a harsh word, Master Gareth.” He looked at the big youth. “Why would you be thinkin’ that I am? You’ve still got your purse, and what’s in it. Or you had better.”
Gary checked and admitted, “I still have my purse. But why do you want to make friends with us? If you think we’ll help you in the palace, you’re wrong. Don’t you know who I am?”
George met Gary’s eyes, and in them saw clearly a great intelligence. One could sense that the boy had made enemies with his sharp mind and sharper tongue.
George read some of this, then relaxed. “I know well you’re Gareth of Naxen, the Duke’s son. I didn’t look you up for professional reasons. Truth to tell, were you not with Alan, I wouldn’t have put myself in your way. We’re not fond of nobles here.” His smile twisted. “But I’ve the Gift. It helps me see more clearly than most. I knew I must meet Master Alan. In fact, I’ve kept a close eye on him these three months. I don’t ignore my Gift when it calls me.”
Gary shrugged. “I don’t know much about magic, but that makes sense. Still—what can Alan do for you? He’s just a little guy.” Gary grinned an apology to Alanna, who shrugged. She was getting used to such remarks. “And unless I miss my guess, you’re the man the Lord Provost would most love to get his hands on.”
George nodded respectfully. “You’re quick, Master Gary. All right, then. I’m what they call the King of the Thieves, the Master of the Court of the Rogue. The Court of the Rogue,” he explained to Alanna, “is all of us who make our livin’ by our wits. It’s ruled by a king—me, right now. Sometimes he’s called just ‘the Rogue.’ But mastery don’t last very long here. Who knows when some young buck will do for me what I did for the king before me, just six months back? I’ll need friends, when that comes.” He shrugged. “Still, it won’t happen soon. Till then, why look a gift thief in the mouth? I can be a good friend to those who keep faith with me.”
Gary looked him over, then nodded. “I like you—for all you’re a thief.”
George laughed. “And I like you, Gary—for all you’re a noble. Friends, then?”
“Friends,” Gary said firmly. They shook hands across the table.
“And you, Alan?” George asked. Alanna had been watching and thinking, none of her thoughts clear on her small face. With his magic, would George know her secret? Then she remembered what Maude had taught her—having the Gift instantly shielded you from the magic vision of someone else with the Gift. For the moment George wouldn’t be able to guess her secret, and even if he did, Alanna suspected a thief wouldn’t tell his own mother the time of day unless he had a good reason.
“I’d like some more lemonade,” she said, pouring her tankard full. “The Gift must be pretty useful to you.”
“It’s gotten me out of more than one tight place,” George admitted. “It helps me keep tabs on my rogues, so maybe I’ll last longer than the king before me.” He drained his own tankard and set it down. “You need never worry about your pockets, or those of the friends you bring here. But be careful who you bring. One word from them and my Lord Provost gets my head for certain.”
“We’ll be careful,” Gary promised. “Don’t worry about Alan. He keeps his mouth shut.”
George grinned. “As I can see. Few sprouts—even ones sealed to the Rogue—could listen to all this and say nothing. Well, you’d best be gettin’ back. If you need anything, send word through Stefan—he works in the palace stables. You’ll find me here most of the time, and if not, ask old Solom.” He jerked a thumb at the innkeeper. “He’ll fetch me quick enough.”
Alanna rose. She and Gary shook hands with their new friend. “You’ll be seeing us, then,” she promised. “Good day to you.”
The two pages strolled out into the street. The King of the Thieves watched them go, smiling.
Several weeks later Duke Gareth called Alanna out of her mathematics class. Confused, she went to meet him.
He handed her a letter. “Can you explain this?”
Alanna scanned the much-blotted parchment. It was from her father. The letter was short, saying only that he trusted Thom would continue to do well.
Luckily she had her story planned. Looking up, she shrugged, her face a little sad. “He forgets, you see, I don’t think he’s ever been able to tell my brother and I—”
“My brother and me,” the Duke corrected sternly.
“My brother and me,” she repeated obediently, “apart.” She crossed her fingers behind her back and tried a guess. “I don’t think he even let His Majesty know when we were born.”
The Duke thought this over and nodded. “You’re right—he didn’t. He hasn’t changed.” The man sighed. “I hope your brother does as well as you. If your father cannot tell you apart, at least he can be proud of both of his sons.”
Alanna hung her head, hating herself for having to lie to someone like Duke Gareth. “Thank you, your Grace,” she whispered.
“You may go. Don’t forget to write your father yourself.”
Alanna bowed. “Of course, sir.” She let herself out and closed the door. In the corridor she sagged against the wall. With luck, now Duke Gareth would believe all such letters were due to Lord Alan’s bad memory.
She returned to her class, still feeling wobbly. There were real advantages to having a father who didn’t care what she did.
But if the advantages were so wonderful, why did she feel like crying?
3
RALON
ALANNA HAD NOT FORGOTTEN RALON OF MALVEN, and he had not forgotten her. Usually they didn’t meet, since he was beginning his training as a squire while Alanna was training as a page. When they did meet, Ralon made it clear they were enemies. He was simply awaiting his chance to get her.
On summer afternoons squires and pages alike ended their lessons with swimming as well as riding. They returned to the palace one such afternoon later than usual. Most of the boys hurried to their rooms to wash up. Alanna was wiping down her pony when she heard a thud. Ralon stood outside Chubby’s stall. His saddle and bridle lay on the ground.
“Curry my horse and hang these up,” he ordered. “I’m going in.”
Alanna stared at him. “You’re joking.”
Ralon shoved her into Chubby. “I said do it.”
Before she could recover her breath, he was gone. She stared after him, clenching and unclenching her fists. She wanted to kill him!
“Are ye goin’ t’ do it?”
Alanna looked up, startled. George’s man, the hostler Stefan, swung down from the hayloft above. He was a short, blond youth with pale eyes and reddish skin. Animals loved him, and he was more comfortable with horses than with people, but he seemed to like Alanna and her friends well enough.
It took her a moment to make her voice work. “What?”
“Are ye goin’ t’ clean up
after yon?” Stefan spat, hitting Chubby’s manger squarely.
Alanna looked at the saddle and drew a breath. Now that she had to take a stand, she was just as scared as she was angry. “No. I can’t. I won’t.”
Stefan shrugged. “I’ll have t’ tell his Grace, y’know,” he reminded her. “It’s orders. Th’ lads must look after their own beasts. His Grace must know if they don’t.”
Alanna hesitated. Ralon would murder her. But—if she knuckled under, Ralon would do this all the time.
“Tell,” she said gruffly, going back to work on Chubby. “It’s not my problem.”
“Think on it,” Stefan advised, worry on his round face. “That Ralon won’t like bein’ in trouble wiv his Grace.”
Alanna looked up from her pony, her eyes flat violet. “That’s Ralon’s lookout, isn’t it?” she asked softly. She finished combing Chubby and left.
Stefan shook his head. Th’ lad’s got guts, he thought. Not much sense, but guts.
By bedtime that night the word was out: Ralon had to spend his nights for a month working in the stables. Jonathan’s friends had trouble hiding their glee.
“Serves him right,” Francis remarked. They were sitting in Gary’s room before lights-out. “He just left his tack on the ground. His horse was covered with sweat. That’s no way to treat a good horse.”
“I wonder how he thought he could get away with it?” Alex murmured.
“He probably tried to make some little guy do it,” Raoul said with contempt. “Isn’t that his usual?”
Alanna had been permitted to join them. Now she turned red and looked down at the lacings on her shoes.
Gary saw the blush. “Alan—you were the last one in this afternoon. Do you know about this?”
Alanna didn’t approve of lying, but in a pinch a lie was sometimes better than the truth. “No.”
Raoul grinned. “I’d like to see him mess with our Alan. I’d pound him to a pulp.” Alanna had become a favorite with Raoul, and he didn’t care who knew it.
Alanna made a face. “I do my own fighting, thanks.”