Clang-g-g!
Joe tightened his arm, put his whole body into his parry and bind—and Tarsen’s sword flew out of his hand to land on the hard-packed dirt of the hideout’s main room.
“Hey!” Tarsen’s protest was midway between a laugh and a yell.
Joe dropped his point and grinned.
“Nice one.” Blackeye whacked her blade on Joe’s shoulder. “Do it again.”
Joe didn’t think he could—but he gripped his sword anew as Tarsen dove after his own blade. They dueled for a few minutes more, and as usual Joe lost. But at least he’d finally gotten a touch, a real one, after three solid weeks of practice.
The others cheered for him—all except for Kevriac, that is. Joe had noticed as the days slid by how the small, blond magic worker avoided him. Not obviously. He just always seemed to sit on the other side of the room, and though he’d answer politely enough if Joe talked to him, he never addressed Joe first. Yet he’d stay around and watch if Tarsen and Joe were practicing, his thin face difficult to read.
Joe put his practice blade away. Now that he was convinced it wasn’t accident, it was time to find Kevriac alone and talk it out. If he’d done something wrong, he wanted to know what.
“Bron’s back!”
The yell came from up the tunnel, and Joe heard pounding feet before Sarilda and Bron appeared.
“Food.” Bron turned Blackeye’s way, his smile lopsided. “A real score! Fog helped us out. Got the load meant for the castle this week. Also saw Shor.”
“You saw Shor?” Tarly repeated.
The gang stopped what they were doing, even Warron.
Bron said, “They’ve gotten work of a kind, with a carter. Lugging supplies up and down the mountains to the castle. They haven’t gotten into the castle or anything, but they know where Nan is.”
“Great,” Tarsen exclaimed.
Sarilda whistled a long note.
Warron grunted, a corner of his mouth lifting.
Blackeye rubbed her hands. “That’s the news I like to hear. How about Elan?”
Bron stuck his thumb in the air. “They haven’t been able to get near her. She got herself promoted to the prince’s staff, and Olucar keeps them locked away from everyone else. But I got a note the usual way. She’s waiting for us.”
“Then that part of the plan is finished.” Blackeye rubbed her chin. “And Noss?”
“Still talking to the others. Slow going.”
“Any word about Averann returning, or anything else?”
Bron shook his head. “Rumors only.”
Blackeye tapped her finger on her knees, then looked up at Warron. “One more spy trip,” she said. “Before we can make the final plans.”
Final plans. Joe felt his insides squeeze.
Warron gave a slight shrug. “What do you want me to find out?”
Blackeye stretched out her hands. “Here’s what we need: you’ll have to take a couple of others—”
“I’ll go!” Tarsen yelped. He smacked Joe. “Me’n Joe—”
“You can go,” Blackeye said with a grin. “But Joe stays. We’re not letting our other off-worlder out of our sight, not until we are ready to rescue the prince.”
Tarsen grimaced. “I wanted to have some fun in Fortanya. We hardly had time to pull any good ones on the warts last trip.”
“We’ll be harassing the warts plenty when we go into action,” Warron said.
Blackeye nodded. “For now, keep your nose low. Warron, you need to check on Mursid and the Falcon, as always. But also, I want to know where all the toffs are. All of them.”
She turned to Tarsen. “This is serious, now. You have to find Noss, stay with him, and set up a meeting time and place. The plan will launch from there. Tell Noss that recruitment has to be done by each person—that the meeting place will be guarded, and there have to be two things given, a pass word, plus the name of the person who recruited the newcomer. I hope this will lessen the chance of spies among us.”
Tarsen nodded soberly.
Blackeye turned to Sarilda. “You have to check on the magic. Find out if that sorcerer is arrived, and if there’s been any magic done.”
Sarilda grinned. “That part is easy enough. I can feel it when magic has been done. I still can’t tell you what kind of spells, though—”
“I know. If we have to, we’ll send Kevriac over first to find out what he can. But I’d rather keep him here with Joe. He’s the only magical protection we’ll have.”
Kevriac dropped his head forward as if he was reading something on his hands. Joe couldn’t see his face.
Bron said, “Then we’ll have to unload the skimmer this moment if you want to sail out with the tide.”
Most of the gang ran up the tunnel. Joe started after. He liked running across the sand to the spit of rock where they kept the narrow sailboat that Bron used for his supply trips. When he’d first arrived, that run made him breathless, but now he hardly noticed it—and he was a lot faster. In fact, he was a better runner than the other boys, except of course for Warron.
Blackeye put out a hand to stop him from following the others.
Joe turned, surprised. “Shouldn’t I go lend a hand with the unloading?”
“Talk first.” Blackeye’s gaze narrowed, as if he was a column of numbers and she was adding him up. “You wanting to go back to your world?”
Joe looked at her in surprise. “What?”
Blackeye opened her hands, callused from all those steady hours of sword work and rope-pulling. “Your expression,” she said. “You’re not good at hiding your feelings, even if you don’t tell us your thoughts.”
Joe’s ears burned. “What do you mean?”
“Every time I mention the final plan you do this.” She made a pained face. “Like you just swallowed a rock. Don’t trust us? Or is it just my plans?”
Joe rubbed his hands on his pants. “I—well, it’s not any of that. I guess I’m just a little...chicken.”
“Chicken,” she repeated.
Joe’s whole body felt hot. “Scared. Coward. I mean, I’ll do it,” he added in a rush. “That’s what I came for, right? It’s just that on my world, kids don’t do much of anything.” He remembered stories about kids in the Middle East and Africa where war was a part of life, kids twelve and thirteen toting rifles and killing people. “Kids in my country—” He stopped, thinking of gangs killing each other as well as innocent bystanders. “Oh, some kids are violent,” he said finally, “but we can’t do anything about bad governments. We can destroy things, but we can’t really change anything. I guess I’m hoping your plan will work, but it’s hard to believe it will, because at home kids just...I dunno, mess around. Go to school.” Joe sighed. “No one listens to us—but then most kids I know are only interested in games, and clothes, and music, and maybe sports. I guess I sound stupid, huh?”
Blackeye shook her head. “I have a lot of reactions to what you say, but I don’t think you sound stupid.”
Joe sighed again, and plopped down onto one of the big pillows. “Why is it us? Kids? Why aren’t the adults doing something about Todan, if he’s so bad?”
“They did, at first. My parents tried,” Blackeye said grimly.
“Oh. Yeah. Right. Uh, sorry.”
She waved a hand. “Speak freely. The past is past. But there were attempts, and all failed, because no one knew the nature of the spells on the prince. By the time we found out, Todan had set his current policy. Every single family among the common folks has had to give up a young man or woman to be in his service. Everyone. No one wants to attack the soldiers now, because the army’s full of friends and relatives. And if there are problems, Todan is fast with reprisals—not just against a person, but against his or her family. None of the adults wanted to organize, not at the risk of their families. Since then, they seem to have adjusted to the new life. As for the toffs...I don’t know.”
“So it’s up to people like you and Noss who don’t have families.”
> “Right.” Her head lifted sharply.
Footsteps pounded in the tunnel, and Sarilda and Tarsen emerged ahead of the others, Tarsen breathless with laughter. “Ship...”
“Warship on the horizon,” Sarilda said.
“Everything hidden?” Blackeye asked, as the rest of the gang put the supplies in the larder.
“We’re clear.” Sarilda grinned, and send magical sparks flying through the air, to wink out. “No signs of us anywhere. Warron thinks they’re going to the Lorjee outpost. He’s going to make certain.”
Blackeye nodded. “Good. You three better wait until dark to leave. We need to know who’s in that ship and why, if we can.”
“Well, then!” Sarilda looked around, her eyes wide, her grin challenging. “Looks like we can’t play any night games, so what shall it be? An inside game or a song?”
Joe sat down, fighting against a distinct feeling of disappointment. That first week or so, it was all he could do to stay awake after supper, but now that he was used to running around and practicing all day, he had plenty of energy at night. Since their return from Fortanya, while the weather was nice, they’d played a complicated hide-and-seek game called Spy Versus Spy. It was great fun. Now they couldn’t.
Tarsen started singing a long song about the adventures of a very stupid thief who kept disguising himself as various things like a barrel-maker, an inn-keeper, a soldier, and finally as a king. Each disguise led to disasters, the king one being the worst of all. The others all loved that song. They thought it incredibly funny. Joe had liked it all right the first few times he heard it, but now he found it kind of boring.
He sat down, clapping with the others to keep time as Tarsen sang, acting out bits from time to time. Joe smiled, but inside he wished strongly for his computer. It’d be great to kill time with a good battle game. Heck, even TV would be better than sitting around and singing. But of course he’d never say it out loud.
When Tarsen finished his song, Sarilda sang one, a ballad about magic and adventure. She had a beautiful voice. Joe liked listening to that. After her, though, they sang group songs, and he listened, not knowing the words. Then they did another silly one—but this time everyone had to make up a verse. Joe was sweating hard when it came to his turn. He hated making up poems and stuff for school. He knew his idea was dumb, but at least it rhymed, and the others didn’t laugh. Neither did they clap like crazy, as they did after everything Kevriac made up. His were obviously the best.
It was a relief when they decided to go to bed. Joe lay in his hammock, staring up at the roots in the ceiling. It was a weird life, he decided. If only Benny was there. He’d love those songs—
Joe winced. What a dweeb! Here he was, on a real magic adventure, probably the only kid in America—except for Nan—and he had to whine to himself about one dull evening, and even worse, miss his kid brother.
He turned on his side and tried to go to sleep.
o0o
“She had a mangal-berry pie just three nights ago.”
“It’s her favorite.”
“But she didn’t ask for any yesterday. I think you’d better see if you can stretch the last of the preserved peaches into a pie. Cinnamon, lots of cinnamon.”
In the kitchen-wing of Castle Rotha, Nan listened to the two older girls talking in the quick half-whisper that just about everyone used. No one ever knew if someone was listening, and the bond-girls could get into trouble for ‘needless conversation.’ What constituted ‘needless’ conversation seemed to depend entirely on the mood of whoever was listening.
Only one thing was always a certainty: the bond girls were always wrong.
“But that’s the last of the peaches, and what if she asks for peach?”
“We’re supposed to have a shipment of peaches from the southern islands—”
“Better wait until it comes.”
“So what about her sweet?”
‘She’ and ‘her’ was always Lady Olucar. Nan had noticed early something she’d remembered from her first foster home: all the servants, bond and free, spent more time talking about Lady Olucar than about anything else. Food, clothes, young men, nothing held their interest more than discussing everything their mistress wore, said, ate, did.
They even talked for hours about the repulsive bird the woman kept as a pet. Big and scruffy and pinkish-yellow, its name was LuLu. Nan stayed away from it, sure it spied on them; something like a parrot, it squawked a lot of words, and they weren’t random. It seemed to love calling various girls by name and yelling “Shut up!” or “Get to work, lazy!” And if anyone said anything back, or even looked at it angrily, it flapped off to find its mistress, squawking. Nan stayed away from it as much as she could, and when she couldn’t avoid it, she pretended it wasn’t in the room, never looking at it, which seemed to confuse the bird. Some of the older girls risked beatings to steal pik-nuts from the kitchen to feed to the disgusting bird in hopes of buttering it up, but it never acted nicely toward anyone.
“...she likes the T-stitch best for mending. Told Rica that her handiwork ought to last longer than the cloth would.”
“High praise!”
“Shh—here she comes!”
At once the kitchen was silent, except for the cook, who went right on talking to two of the stewards on the far side of the kitchen. The cook alone didn’t seem to be afraid of Lady Olucar—or of anyone else. A big, unsmiling woman, she was queen in the kitchen, and though she bowed and said “Yes, your ladyship” to Olucar, just as did everyone else, Nan had noticed that the mistress was far less nasty to Cook than she was to the workers.
The girls were now busy, each scraping or mixing or scrubbing as hard as she could. Even Giula, who Nan had realized within two days was the laziest and sneakiest of all the girls. She talked a lot about her own friendliness, but she was also a big tattle-tale. Nan still smiled and nodded whenever Giula talked to her, which was less each day. Giula obviously thought she was boring and stupid, which was just what Nan wanted her to think. Giula didn’t ask a million questions of boring girls.
Lady Olucar swept in, her pearl-beaded gown dragging behind her. One of her maids trailed desperately after, swooping down to disentangle the train from furniture; her face was red and sweaty. Apparently her ladyship had been stomping around a lot today.
“You there!” Her voice was that angry kind that had a shrill edge. “What’s your name? Telin. You’ve been making the pie crusts too thin. Lord Averann was complaining last night that his meat-pie was soggy at the bottom, and I didn’t know where to look. Are you hoarding flour? Speak!”
“No, your ladyship.”
“Well, then, why are the crusts so thin? You’re cheating us!”
“No, your ladyship!”
Slap! Nan winced, but kept working. If the woman looked around and saw anyone not working, that would be her next victim.
“Did I ask you to speak? A week of the stairs ought to curb your impertinence. Starting tonight. And tomorrow’s pies had better hold!”
“The pies are thin on my orders, your ladyship,” came Cook’s voice from behind.
Olucar whipped around. Her maid dashed desperately after, catching the train before the lady stepped on it, which would have earned her an instant beating. Nan glanced sideways, saw beaky nose and thin, hard lips in profile. She looks just like LuLu, she thought. Except uglier.
“What’s that, Cook?”
“Thin because the flour is low,” the cook said. “The supply deliverers said that pirates got the last shipment bound for the castle. Next isn’t due for three days. I always order with a four day overlap in case, but we have to make it last a week.”
“Pirates!” Olucar squawked. “Again? What are those idiots down the mountain doing, sleeping? Why aren’t they guarding the deliveries better? Don’t they know we won’t eat until the next? I’d better send a message down to Commander Nitre.”
Nan made a face into her potato peelings. Olucar could shriek all she wanted about not ea
ting, but everyone in that room knew she’d eat just as well as ever. It was the servants who would get no bread for the days they were out of flour, which meant just nasty vegetable mush three times a day, except for what little else the cook permitted the kitchen staff to have. The rest of the girls would be out of luck—unless their kitchen friends sneaked them some extra scraps.
Olucar whirled around again, pointing at Telin, who stood silent and wooden, the scarlet finger marks on her face plain to see. “You’ll begin your week with my message to Commander Nitre, after your shift here. And you’ll bring me back an answer tonight.”
“Yes, your ladyship.” Telin curtseyed.
Olucar whirled again, and this time her mean little eyes turned Nan’s way. “You. Thief. I suppose you are in league with these pirates.”
Was that a question? If it wasn’t, Nan would get extra punishment for speaking out of turn. If it was and she didn’t answer, the very least she’d get would be a slap or hit.
Nan opened her mouth.
“Well?” the woman goaded.
“I’m no thief, your ladyship,” Nan said, keeping her voice slow and stupid. “Another prentice took the shirt. I didn’t.”
Olucar’s face tightened, and she raised a hand. The cook said, “That one’s a good peeler, your ladyship. Said she was a cook’s helper before, and I can vouch for it. Peels even, no waste, and I don’t have to spend half a day watching and instructing.”
“Does she sass?”
“No, your ladyship.”
Olucar smirked, her mood changing. “Well, then, girl, you keep to your work, and if you don’t incur extra bond-time for wastefulness, you might just earn the privilege of promotion to free servant in a few years. That means pay, and days off. Would you like that?”
Nan curtseyed. “Yes, your ladyship.”
“Then you keep that goal in mind.” And she stalked out.
Everyone, except Cook, seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Cook turned away from Nan, and pointed her ladle. “Giula, sometime today you might consider finish cutting those onions.” Ignoring the red-head, who flounced back to her cutting board, she said quietly, “I’m sorry, Telin. Here. Take this apple—I’ve one too many for the sauce.”