Palace of Stone (9 page)

“Master Filippus,” he said, “if you wish, that captain there is willing to take us all for a short sail.”

The master agreed and the scholars climbed aboard. Miri passed Timon as he shook the captain’s hand, and she heard the captain call him Master Skarpson.

A smaller boat helped tug the ship free of the harbor. Sailors scrambled around the deck. The sails lifted, and the ship charged into the open water faster than Miri would have thought possible. She stood at the foremost spot, holding on to the railing and breathing in the cold sea spray. What would Pa think to be on a ship, skipping across water as big as the sky? How would Marda look, her hair full of wind? Miri’s imagination failed her. She could not seem to remember their faces.

“What net catches your thoughts, Miri?” Timon asked, standing beside her. He kept his balance without holding on.

“Home,” she said.

He nodded. “And when you were home, did you think about Asland?”

“You’re right! If I were a cart, I’d dream about pulling a horse.”

“I’ve missed you at Lady Sisela’s. I hope we didn’t scare you away.”

“Not at all. Sorry, I’m just … busy.”

“You didn’t …” Timon tugged on his thumb. “You didn’t tell your princess friend about us? Sisela and the rest, they are good people, and I’d hate to see any of them hauled to the Green.”

“No! Of course not. Your secrets are safe with me. I admire you.
All
of you,” she added, afraid she’d sounded too personal.

“Thank you.” He looked at her long. His nose and cheeks had turned red in the brisk air. “I told Sisi we could trust you. We speak of you often.”

“You do?” The thought made Miri’s stomach feel funny, but in a mostly pleasant way.

“She is surprised the prince did not choose you. I … I am as well.” Timon cleared his throat. “I never understood how this noble girl came to be on Mount Eskel. Wasn’t she from Lonway province?”

Miri’s gaze was lost in the waves. The ship’s rocking was lulling, and she spoke without thinking. “She came up a few months before the academy. We thought she was an orphan with relatives on Mount Eskel.”

“You mean she tricked you?” said Timon. “She lied?”

“Oh! I shouldn’t have said that. You have to understand, Britta and Steffan were friends as children. As they grew older, Britta realized she loved him and believed he loved her too. It’s not fair that two people who love each other can’t wed! Even so, Britta never would have come to Mount Eskel if her father hadn’t forced her.”

“And how long had you been friends before Britta admitted she wasn’t an orphan?” Timon held on to a rope, his knuckles white. “How long before she revealed she went to your mountain so that she could rob from you the right to be the princess?”

“No, it wasn’t like that. She was sure Steffan would be appalled to see her there, and she hid from him at first.”

Timon shook his head at the sky. “I’m tired of nobles seizing whatever they want. Why should birth determine worth? You are better than she is, Lady Miri of Mount Eskel, with a title you
earned
and the hands”—he lifted her hand and touched her palm, nodding as if satisfied—“the hands of an honest laborer.”

His fingers traced the calluses on her palm. It had never occurred to her that a callus was a thing to be proud of. Her heart bumped like a fly against a windowpane.

The wind blew her hair back and billowed her blue robes. Salt spray touched her lips; sunlight lay on her cheeks. The heaving rhythm of the deck began to feel familiar to her legs, and she considered Timon, as once she had only considered Peder.

Don’t take the ocean lightly
, she thought.

Timon was still touching her palm.

“Just calluses,” she said, hoping he could not feel her rapid heartbeat in her hand. “I take care of our five goats, you see, and they pull on their ropes ….”

He smiled. “I’d like to see the king manage five goats at once.”

The image made Miri laugh. “Or even milk one nanny.”

“It’s a skill, as noble as any.”

“I wouldn’t say
noble
exactly, but since you said it first, I won’t argue.”

“Aha! There you go being noble again!”

She smiled demurely. “You should see me in a feathered cap.”

“Indeed, you come from a noble place, Miri—noble in the truest sense. I wish I could see your mountain.”

“It’s the most beautiful place on earth,” she said simply.

He nodded. He was rubbing warmth into her cold fingers. Should she pull her hand away? Should she stop blushing?
Yes
, she decided, she should definitely stop blushing.

“Have you chosen a topic for your Rhetoric paper? Why not write about the academy and the princess? Perhaps recording the events will allow you to see them in a new way.”

“Maybe I will, Timon Skarpson.”

He let go of her hand. “What?”

“I heard the captain call you that. Skarp is your mother’s name? Who are your parents?”

“Merchants,” Timon said shortly.

“Merchants of what?” she asked. His reluctance made her even more curious.

“We buy goods and ship them between provinces and countries.” He hesitated. “This is one of my parents’ ships.”

Miri looked around. All that wood and rope and sail-cloth must cost a fortune. “One of? How many ships do they own?”

Timon pressed his lips together. “Twenty-two.”

Miri allowed her mouth to hang open and then pressed her chin up with her hand to close it. Timon smiled as if against his will.

“I was afraid of what you’d think of me if you knew I was—”

“Ridiculously wealthy?” she said. “Swimming in gold coins?”

He shrugged. “We pay tribute to the noble who owns the land we live on, the same as all commoners. Still, the wealth of the sea has been good to my family. My father is determined to make so much money the king will be forced to offer him a noble title. He thinks I’m a fool to fight for change.”

“He’s wrong,” Miri said, feeling certain of the words.

Timon’s smile seemed grateful. “Last year I tried to sell one of his ships and use the money to help families whose tenement was destroyed in a fire. He sent me back to the Queen’s Castle because he didn’t know what else to do with me. If I don’t turn into a reformed, obedient boy, he’ll ship me off to the far-flung territories to see how much I like the poor once I become one.” He laughed. “But I don’t care, Miri. Some things are more important than one person. Lady Sisela showed me that. I don’t want to live a comfortable, small life. I want to change the world.”

They were returning, sails down. A group of people had amassed on the dock, and even from the ship’s deck, Miri could hear angry voices.

As soon as the gangplank hit the deck, Timon said, “Come on.” He grabbed Miri’s hand and pulled her along.

Merchants mobbed together, grumbling. An official in green clothes was affixing pieces of paper to large earthenware jugs. One paper blew free and stuck to Miri’s boot. She picked it up. It read:
Claimed in tribute for the king.

“Now he’s taking cooking oil,” Timon said, shaking his head.

“The attempt on his life spooked the old boy, that’s what I think,” said a nearby merchant, nearly as short as Miri and with a fuzzy brown beard. “He keeps enlarging the royal guard—and claiming more tribute to afford them.”

“He can take whatever he wants?” said Miri.

“He’s the king,” the merchant said.

“Why, he’s nothing more than a bandit,” she said.

“They’re bandits and robbers, the lot of them,” the merchant agreed.

“The king already claims a portion of all grain and meat brought into Asland,” said Timon. “If he takes oil too, the oil merchants will raise the price of what’s left over. The rich can afford to pay more for oil, much as they’ll resent it. It’s the shoeless who can barely afford bread as it is. I doubt the king even cares that his greed causes starvation.”

“If anyone stole something on Mount Eskel—even the head of our village council—my pa and his friends would tell him to give it back or else.”

“The king has his own army,” said Timon.

“Well, it’s time someone told him to stop being a bandit.”

Timon’s eyes lightened. “You’re right, Miri. It’s time.”

He ripped the paper off the nearest jar and crumpled it into a ball.

Miri held her breath. She had not meant he should get himself arrested. What of Sisela’s husband? Instinctively, she tried to quarry-speak.
Stop.
A common warning, but there was no linder underfoot to carry her message, and anyway his lowlander ears would not hear it.

Timon ripped off another paper. “No,” he said.

Two soldiers stood with the official, their silver breastplates and tall stiff hats marking them as members of the royal guard. One had noticed Timon. Frowning, he approached. Miri covered her mouth with her hands.

Timon grabbed at all the tribute notices he could reach, saying “No! No!”

Both soldiers were nearly upon Timon. One was drawing his sword.

Then the short, bearded merchant said, “No.”

Another joined. Another. The soldier hesitated.

“No!” Timon said again, and with that, the general despondency flashed into anger. The merchants moved closer to Timon and began to chant “No, no,” as they ripped the notices. The soldiers took a step back.

To Miri, never had any word seemed so powerful. And dangerous too. What would happen if she joined in? Would the official recognize her from the palace?

“No,” Miri breathed, not moving her lips.

The chant was nearly a song, a “Shoeless March” kind of thrumming music that got inside her head, slid down into her muscles, and made her want to
do
something.

“No,” Miri whispered, thinking of two gold coins in a shawl and five goats that lifted their heads at the sound of her voice. “No,” she said, imagining how the tributes would impoverish her entire village. “No!” she said, because never had she felt so powerful. She was not one person; she was a crowd. She belonged to the mass of bodies and voices, strong in number, united in purpose. Two soldiers were insignificant compared to thirty merchants, and the scholars and sailors now lending their voices too. Who could stop such a force? And what outcome would not be worth joining in?

“No!” Miri shouted. “No!”

The official and his soldiers were backing away. The crowd closed in, tossing papers and shouting. The official ran as if afraid for his life, the soldiers on his heels.

The mob’s shouts turned joyous, and still they called out, pumping their fists and chanting that powerful word. Miri did not want the moment to end. She felt tall and strong, as if she and this mob could move together like a giant, striking down any obstacles, remaking the whole world.

As soon as the official disappeared around a corner, the chanting broke into cheers, and merchants and sailors and scholars alike thumped one another on backs and shook hands. Timon pulled Miri into his arms, spinning around. The world seemed so large, and yet Miri felt so much a part of it.

Trade resumed, with merchants buying the oil and loading it onto their carts to sell across the kingdom. Master Filippus could not rally the scholars into any semblance of a group and released them for the day.

Miri found herself walking on her toes as if the wind were tugging her up, up into the sky. Timon laughed with delight.

“It’s begun!” he said. “When one voice shouts, dozens will join. Thousands! Real change comes soon, Miri. So soon.”

He kissed her on each cheek, then took her hands and kissed them too, as if so full of fervor and happiness he could speak in nothing but kisses.

Lowlanders kiss hands an awful lot
, Miri thought, feeling as if she, too, could kiss the whole world.

Timon continued on to Lady Sisela’s to give her the good news, and Miri went to Peder’s.

Her head was aswim with words like “no” and “change” and “soon.” The words felt heavy and good, like a hammer in the hand. She could not wait to tell Katar that they need not worry. The commoners had started the revolution, and surely a commoner government would not demand tribute from the shoeless of Mount Eskel. Miri would no longer have to spy. She would join them and help change Danland!

Miri walked to Gus’s and found Peder sharpening tools. He startled when he saw her, dropping a chisel. It bounced against the spinning whetstone and flew off in another direction.

“You forgot to cough!” he said.

“Sorry.” She coughed.

“Your sneakiness is dangerous. Next time that chisel will lodge itself in my head.”

“Now, Peder, there’s plenty of stone around here for carving. No need to practice on your own face.”

He stroked his chin. “You’re right, my jaw is already chiseled to perfection.”

She agreed, but she felt too silly to say so aloud.

“Some things happened at the dock today,” she said, her stance bouncy. “The king was going to claim jugs of cooking oil—just take them, like a common bandit—but people shouted and refused to give them up.”

“Really? I didn’t think anyone could say no to a king. At least he’s not taking stuff from Mount Eskel.”

“But he might. He robs all the other provinces.”

“Robs?” Peder wiped his brow with his sleeve and got back to sharpening.

She still had not told him about Gummonth and the tributes, but it was hard to talk about such important things to his back.

“I’ve been coming up with a new plan for when we go home,” Peder said as he worked. “If I get good enough, I could train others, and the lot of us could carve all through winter. Everyone could have a choice of occupation besides just the quarry. And with increased profit, Mount Eskel could prosper, you know? Not just get by. Someday we could be the very center of fine stone craft in the kingdom. Lowlanders would come to
us
to learn sculpting!”

He turned to smile at her.

“Yes, that’s a good idea,” she said.

“Why aren’t you more excited? This is exactly the kind of plan that usually makes you hop about.”

“Sorry, I’m just distracted. There’s so much going on in Danland, more problems than I ever dreamed of when we were home.”