Barefoot Pirate (15 page)

But just when it seemed he couldn’t run any more they turned
a corner and there was the inn. They jogged around the side, Warron’s steps
light despite his boots, Joe bare feet slapping down on the tiles in a shuffle,
and gathered in the little courtyard beyond the stable. “Now,” Warron said,
reaching for a stack of long sticks propped in a corner between the stable and
the inn wall. “Some staff work.”

They paired off and soon Joe was hot all over again, his
arms and muscles burning as he spun and slammed and blocked and swept with the
others. When they were done, his breath came with a woosh, and his entire body
felt like it was made of spaghetti. Gratefully he followed the others up to
their attic, fell into bed, and despite his worries he dropped into a deep
sleep.

o0o

When the footsteps clunked outside Nan’s cell door she
started to tremble. Her mouth went dry, and she licked her lips, forcing
herself to stand up. She wanted to hide in the corner wrapped in a ball. She
tried telling herself to act like a princess, but the words had lost their
meaning. She only knew that her stomach hurt, and her head felt weird. She kept
feeling she needed to use the restroom, and whispered that spell three times in
a row.

I have to get up.
There were nasty grins on the faces
of the two soldiers who’d come. She recognized that kind of smile. The
Wheelwrights had had it. McKynzi had had it. It was the grin of the bully who
knew he or she could do whatever they wanted.
These creeps’ll just drag me
out otherwise. And they’ll have fun doing it
.

Walking between the two tall, heavily armed soldiers, she
clutched her elbows with her hands. Back down the hall they went. The hall
seemed so short now. Soon they were at Nitre’s office, and he was waiting. The
last of her courage disappeared, and she knew she didn’t have the strength to
resist these creeps. Some of her old anger woke up.
I have to look out for
myself because no one else will. Blackeye can just look out for herself.

But...

Tears burned her eyes at the unfairness of the world that
could treat her as trash, when she had never done anything to deserve it. The
tears burned, running down the sticky grime on her face, itching horribly. Her
chest heaved on a sob, but she didn’t care.

All she knew was, she would not act like trash, just because
They made her feel like trash.

“Well?” Nitre said. He sat back, giving her the same smug
expression of self-righteous enjoyment that Mr. Wheelwright had.

Anger burned through Nan. She scrubbed her eyes on her
filthy sleeve, then took in a deep, shuddering breath. As she did, she noticed
odd things. Dust motes floating in the air, caught in a single ray of sunlight
from the slit window. The creak of the wood from Nitre’s chair as he leaned
forward impatiently. The smell of dust, and sweat, and cleaning fluid. She
turned her head. There was someone her own age in a corner, scrubbing the
floor. The boy’s hand moved slowly, mechanically—Nan knew he was listening. Maybe
he’d stood here once, and was now scrubbing out a sentence of twenty years for
stealing a piece of bread.

People who treat kids like that are the trash, no matter
what they say.

“I don’t know anything.” Her voice sounded in her ears like
a frog’s. And she added, her voice trembling, “And I’m not scared of hard
work.”

Nitre sneered. “Then hard work is what you’ll get. It so
happens that my excellent wife, who oversees the castle staff, is in need of a
menial, so it chances you will live—for a while. If you don’t work hard, that
rope is waiting. And take heed: my wife is not nearly as forbearing as I am.” He
waved his hand at the soldiers. “Get rid of the vermin—send her to Lady Olucar.
And get that stupid deaf-mute out of here. He can clean when I’m gone. I hate
the smell of that soap!”

A hard hand grasped her arm and yanked. Her head rocked. She
stumbled out into the gray light of dawn. A cold wind whipped at her, but she
didn’t mind—anything had to be better than that dungeon, and the prospect of
being hanged.

“Caib!”

The soldier holding her stopped.

“What?”

“You going upside?”

“Yes.”

“Can it wait? The slubs here have finished a load of
mending—got to be carried up.”

“And here’s someone to carry it,” Caib said in a gloating
voice. “I can wait, but make it fast.” He pushed Nan down onto the ground. “You
sit there and don’t move, if you want to see sunset.”

Nan was glad to squat on her heels with her knees under her
chin and her arms wrapped around her legs. The cold was almost bearable then. As
she waited, stinging drops of rain slapped her face and neck. She looked up
just as the rain began in earnest. Movement at the other end of the courtyard
caught her eye. She recognized the boy who’d been in Nitre’s office scrubbing. He
stood next to a tall girl with a bucket yoke across her shoulders. The boy was
poking at the girl’s hand. Both looked up fearfully, and Nan looked away,
afraid someone else would see her staring.

She was soaked through to her skin—which at least got rid of
some of the nasty, itchy dried fruit on her face—when Caib and another soldier
came crunching back across the gravelly yard toward her. With them was a stocky
girl carrying a basket piled with what looked like folded sheets—but she hardly
had time to notice this when the girl shoved the basket into Nan’s chest. “Don’t
drop them, or you’ll clean them all yourself,” the girl said loudly.

Nan’s cold hands fumbled at the edges of the scratchy
basket, and she almost lost her grip on it. The girl bent, pushing it more
securely into Nan’s hands, and before Nan could react the round face in front
of hers grimaced. “Don’t talk to Giula.” That was it—made no sense, but Nan
knew better than to speak.

The girl straightened up and turned away.

“Get up,” Caib said, prodding Nan with the toe of his boot. “We
have a nice march ahead of us.”

Nan found herself pushed toward a tower door, and then up a
winding stairway that seemed to go on for ever.

And ever.

And...at the top of the tower was a hallway, leading to
another tower—and more stairs. By then her legs were shaking and her breath
burned in her throat. The basket of linens seemed to weigh as much as a trunk
full of rocks. She tried carrying it low, but it banged against her legs. She
tried hefting it onto one shoulder, and when that one hurt, she switched it to
the other, and she even tried carrying it on her head, but her arms soon ached
from holding it up. On the second set of stairs she stumbled frequently, but
Caib just yelled for her to get moving.

Black spots swam before her eyes when they reached the top,
and she fell forward onto the cold stone. Her stomach heaved, but she’d had
nothing to eat or drink, so there was nothing to throw up.

Caib hauled her to her feet again, but this time kept his
grip on her arm, holding most of her weight. “Better get your breath, thief,”
he growled. “The Lady don’t like laziness, and you got a full day’s work ahead
of you.”

The world swam gently as Nan moved forward. Now it felt like
she was walking under water. One more hallway, and the basket was suddenly
yanked from her nerveless fingers. She didn’t even look to see who had taken
it.

“What’s this?” a sharp voice pierced the fog in Nan’s mind.

“Commander sent her up to you, my lady.”

“Another worthless thief, no doubt?” Steps, and the voice
came closer, and a hand yanked on Nan’s sleeve. “Nice clothing for a thief. Did
you steal these?”

Nan opened her eyes just in time to see a hand coming at her
face. The slap barely stung her numb cheeks, but she nearly lost her balance.

“You will answer
yes, your ladyship
or
no, your
ladyship
, and in a respectful tone,” the woman said.

“Yes, your ladyship,” Nan mumbled. “No, I didn’t steal them,
your ladyship.”

“And if you lie, your punishment will be the worse. Get
those off, and we’ll find you something suitable. And then get down to the
kitchen—they are behind with the peeling. Tula!”

Half an hour later, Nan felt herself reviving just enough to
pay attention to her surroundings. Someone had taken away the pretty clothes
Sarilda had given her. Wet and grimy as they were, Nan was sorry to see them
go. Instead she had on a rough long dress made like a gray sack with arms. Around
her waist was tied a heavy apron.

Another girl took her down to the kitchens, where at least
it was warm. She was told to sit on an upturned bucket, and someone pressed a
knife into her hand and set down next to her a huge basket of green vegetables
with hard skins.

Slowly she recovered enough to worry about how she would
bear the miserable hours stretching ahead. It wasn’t her fault. None of this
terrible place was her fault. She had done the right thing, she had done the
right thing... as she peeled the vegetables, she fell into a rhythm, whispering
with each stroke, “I... did... right!”

And she knew that, despite her tiredness (which would end)
and her hunger (that, too, would end), she would always have that feeling to
cherish and remember: she had not given in to the bullies. She’d done the right
thing.

So she sliced away, and when her stomach grumbled and
cramped she sucked it in, and she had so many times in the past. She knew the
feeling would go away.

But her pride in doing the right thing would stay.

“She’s up at the castle,” Noss said, his brown-green eyes
round with excitement. “We haven’t been able to get anyone near her yet. The
only one who was by when Nitre brought her out was Coll, who can’t talk. But he
can sign to Taliath, our other person there.”

Everyone looked at him. Joe felt his guts tighten.

“She didn’t blab.” Noss’s eyes widened, his relief obvious. “Not
a word. Said she didn’t know anything.”

Joe’s breath expelled in a sigh, and most of the others
whispered, exchanged comments, laughter, whistles of relief.

Blackeye didn’t say anything, she just grinned.

Noss went on, “Taliath said she was able to warn her about
Olucar’s worst spy, but that was it, because one of the warts was standing
right there.”

Blackeye gave a long sigh. Warron smiled slightly.

Tarsen whistled—very softly. They were gathered in a circle
on the shops’ side of one of the narrow cliff-hugging streets, supposedly
watching the weaver’s girl and Sarilda play a fast, complicated game with
little notched sticks of various colors.

Blackeye said, “It’s good to hear, but while they have Nan
she—all of us—are still in danger. We’re going to have to act fast.”

“It’ll be really hard to spring her,” Noss said doubtfully. “The
best we have now with the bond-children is some communication going, and that’s
hard enough. No one gets up to Rotha easily. All the access-ways are watched. Anyway,
what’s the hurry? She didn’t blab, so she’s safe enough. As long as she works.”

“I overheard the Duke of Lorjee talking, just before we came
to Fortanya,” Blackeye said. “We know now that Todan is expecting to get a
sorcerer from Sveran Djur.”

Noss made a face. “So the rumor is true, eh? That’s nasty
news.”

Blackeye leaned forward. “Do you think it’ll make a
difference with the other gangs?”

Noss rubbed his nose. “Maybe.”

Bron said in his low, quiet voice, “Could be a few of ’em will
have to be turned into toads before they’re convinced.”

“But then it might be too late,” Kevriac muttered.

Noss looked from one to another and grimaced again. “Look
you, we’ve talked about this before. The wharf runners, Torka’s gang—some of my
own group, all of them just want to have fun with the warts. All the palace
slubs are on your side, and there’s also Imic’s gang, but that’s because
they’re like you. They all had nice families before Todan killed the queen. They
want the old life back. The wharf rats were always poor, and I’ve talked and talked
to One-Eye, their leader. He says they aren’t about to risk their necks messing
in royal affairs when as far as they know things would be exactly the same
under Prince Troial.”

“But if Todan gets a sorcerer, life might get worse.”

“Then a lot of them will stow away on the far-going ships
and try another land.”

Sarilda sighed. “We have to restore the prince for
everyone’s sake,” she said. “Even if they don’t see it because they can’t. Or
won’t. And I can’t imagine he won’t be grateful enough to grant changes to
whoever helps him recover.”

Noss grinned. “You mean, you want to be toffs?”

Tarsen leaped up and swanked around the circle, pretending
to be a snob. Everyone laughed, then Sarilda picked up her sticks and restarted
the game.

“I want the
Falcon
back,” Blackeye said. “I want to
go to other countries and trade, but here’s my home. What I’d ask the prince
for is schools for any kid whose family can’t, or won’t, send them to prentice
out where they want to learn. Not a Work House. I know those. A school, where
Bron could learn to manage great estates, and Shor could learn painting, and so
on. Think you those wharf runners would want to sleep on nets in the winter and
eat old garbage cast off from inn-yards if they could have real work and earn a
real living?”

Noss sighed. “You
have
thought these things out. I
haven’t, not that far. I just want my freedom, and warm food, and a safe place
to sleep, and maybe some laughs. I suspect there are some who’ve been out on
the streets too long, and wouldn’t welcome any kind of work. Not when stealing
can be so much fun. But others...” He tipped his head back and stared up at the
gray, cloudy sky. “I’ll have to talk to them.”

“Talk, then,” Blackeye said. “But only recruit those you can
trust. It’s just that we need to act fast, and I’ll need a lot of help if this
plan is to work.”