Barefoot Pirate (20 page)

If what Shor said was true, she could escape. For a while
the thought of disappearing from that room, of never again looking at a potato,
made Nan almost laugh out loud. But the practical worries soon set in. She
couldn’t possibly escape in the morning; she’d be missed right away, and there
were only two roads to the harbor. The guards had horses and could search them
fast. Nan had heard about what they did to bond-servants who tried to escape,
and shivered, pulling her thin blanket up to her chin.

Night was out as well—they counted the girls before locking
the door, and the door wasn’t unlocked until the night guards made their last
round, just before First Bell. She might be able to manufacture an excuse. Twice
she’d gotten away from the peeling, but those times were because the Mistress’s
main toady rushed up, yelling, “You there! Tell Cook you’ll have another job!” The
girls had reported to Cook, who only shrugged, and grumbled about getting the
work done, then they’d been sent to scrub floors on one of the days, and to
help take down, brush, and rehang tapestries clean on another occasion.

What if she lied, saying she’d been sent to scrub somewhere?
She could be gone the entire day before they missed her.

Except... how would she get back in when it came time for
the Plan?

The answer was obvious, and it made her roll up into a tight
ball, her head buried under the blanket. Sleep came at last, but the dreams
were worse than before.

It was a relief when the distant bells chimed once,
signaling the dawn wake-up for the day servants. She slipped out of bed,
already dressed, and while the girls rose, rubbing eyes, complaining,
quarreling, muttering, she dodged quietly through them and slipped out of the
dorm.

When she reached the kitchens, she was alone. She picked up
one of her sacks of vegetables and carried it outside—and there they were,
waiting in the dark. The rain had dwindled to a mist, but the air was cold and
damp.

Still clutching her sack, she leaped down the steps.

“There she is,” Mican whispered. And to Nan, “We’ve got this
big basket here—”

“I can’t go with you,” Nan said swiftly, before she could be
tempted.

“How about at night, then?” Shor murmured.

They all looked around quickly. Nan whispered, “You don’t
understand. I can’t go with you at all.”

“Why?” Mican said, his voice sharpening. “Look. I’m sorry
about what happened. This is no trick.”

“I can’t,” Nan said. “It isn’t—”

“So you’re a wart now?” Mican sneered.

“Why should you care?” Nan snapped. “You almost got me
killed.”

Shor laid a hand on her brother’s thin wrist. The gloom was
still too strong to see her face, but Nan could tell by her posture that she
was upset. “Please, Nan,” Shor said. “We’re sorry. But Blackeye won’t let us
back until you come with us.”

Nan sucked in a deep breath that quivered in her throat. So
they weren’t really sorry after all. Again, it seemed, she had no real friends,
no one who cared about her. “Well that’s just too bad,” she said, her voice
shuddery and high. “You should’ve thought about that before you got me caught. I
never did anything to you. So you think I
like
being here? You really
think I like sitting on a hard stool with no back, peeling
potatoes
all
day, and never getting enough food, and getting spied on and yelled at by
creeps? You’re
stupid
—” A huge sob made her chest heave, and she gulped
it back down. “You’re stupid and selfish and the biggest jerk in the world. But
I’m staying here because this is where I have to be if we’re going to get the
prince back.”

Mican said nothing. His eyes were dark pits, his shoulders
angry and tight.

Shor touched Nan’s arm with a soft, timid movement. “I’m
sorry.”

A thump and rattle from inside made them all jump. Fear
burned through Nan. “Gotta go.”

Shor said quickly, “We’ll go back. Report. Nan, if—if
Blackeye sends one of the others, will you tell them we offered to get you
out?”

The word NO shaped Nan’s lips. A hard, bright fire burned
inside her chest as she thought about how nice a revenge that would be on
Mican—except it was so much like Ilda, and McKynzi, and Mrs. Evans—Them. She
wouldn’t let herself act like Them.

Her breath whooshed out. “Yes. You offered. Fair and
square.”

Mican moved to the patient donkey’s head. For the first time
Nan realized they must have toiled up the long road during the night, and she
told herself she didn’t care about that, either.

“We’ll be back,” Shor whispered.

“Thanks,” Mican said, then he turned his back.

They started away, and Nan stood where she was. Not ten
seconds later the door behind opened, and Giula came out, carrying a candle,
peering around avidly. “Oh, Nan,
there
you are!”

“Potato delivery,” Nan said in her dullest voice.

Giula sounded disappointed. “Well, you are such a good
worker. I hope Cook notices and gives you a reward. I’m so glad there’s nothing
wrong...”

Nan hardly heard Giula’s chatter as they went back into the
kitchen. She carried her sack to the storage shelf, then sat on her stool, and
picked up the peeler. As she picked up her first carrot, her neck, her back,
her whole body twinged with ache and tiredness.

In spite of those outer aches, she felt just a little better
inside.

o0o

The next morning, Joe was woken by noises below his window. The
clopping of hooves on cobblestones, yells, clanks...

For a moment he couldn’t remember where he was, then he
remembered the long tramp through the rain the night before. The gang had all
crowded into the attic of one of Noss’s friends.

Joe sat up, and saw by the weak light slanting in through a
tiny slit in one eave that he was alone except for Kevriac, who lay on his
stomach reading a book that was positioned squarely where the light fell.

Joe said, “Tarsen gone?”

Kevriac turned his head. The light angled sharply on his
thin face, showing a strange kind of smile. “He’s off with Liav.”

Joe shrugged, feeling awkward. He knew Kevriac didn’t like
him, but he hadn’t gotten around to that talk yet. Not that there’d been much
time, for the last few days had been filled with activities to get ready for
the Plan.

The Plan. He stirred restlessly, unsure what to do. So far,
every morning had begun with Tarsen waking him, or waiting for him to waken.
Tarsen always knew what to do.

Since there wasn’t anything, maybe it was time to get it
over with.

“What’s your problem?” Joe asked.

Kevriac carefully closed his book and sat up.

“You haven’t noticed that Tarsen has been following Liav
around like a shadow since we got him out of that castle?”

Joe thought about Liav, who seemed all right. Bron had made
some goop with nuts and dyed his hair—after cutting it. Liav’s blond hair had
been longer than Warron’s, and now it was shorter than Joe’s. Also, the kid had
given up his nice clothes and was wearing a stained old shirt Bron had found
somewhere, and a pair of baggy pants with patches on the knees and seat. They
were tied up with a rope. Liav seemed to think all this a very good joke, and
he didn’t mind the others teasing him and bowing and saying, “Your Dukeness,”
and “Your Gracious Highness.”

“So?” he said to Kevriac. “If I’d woken up earlier, I’d be
with them, too, horsing around somewhere and having some laughs. Is that a big
deal?”

As he said it, though, he realized what Kevriac meant. They
hadn’t
waited for him to wake up. Tarsen was spending all his time with Liav, in
the same way he’d spent it all with Joe.

Joe was about to shrug it off when another thought occurred.
Kevriac never seemed to hang out with anyone. Had Tarsen been his bud before
Joe came along, and now he was sour about it?

Joe scratched his head, trying to figure out what to say. He’d
known guys who had trouble making friends. Did Kevriac feel left out when Tarsen
started hanging with Joe, was that why he’d been so sour?

Should he say something? He pulled on his shoes,
straightened his clothes, and looked up. Kevriac was waiting.

“Had breakfast yet?” Joe asked.

Kevriac shook his head. “Stayed here. Wanted to go over
these spells. When we start the Plan, I’ll have to have them ready. It means a
lot of reviews to make certain I remember them.”

It was the first time Kevriac had ever spoken so much to
Joe.

“Well, let’s look for some grub,” Joe said.

Kevriac gave a nod, stored his book in his knapsack with
reverent care, and followed Joe down the narrow ladder. The upper storey was
empty, and smelled of roasting chicken and onions and fresh bread. They went
down another floor and Joe poked his head into the kitchen. A tall girl was
there, making pastries.

She looked up, smiled. “Bread’s there. Cheese next to it. Greens
in that crock.” She pointed with floury fingers.

In silence Joe and Kevriac made themselves sandwiches. The
girl didn’t speak again, so they sat on the hearth near the warm fire and
started eating. Halfway through his sandwich, Joe was about to ask where the
others were, when the door banged open, and Sarilda danced in, her hair wet,
her face shining with happiness. “Look what I found!” She flung the door wide—and
Mican and Shor came in.

Mican jerked his head this way and that. He and his sister
seemed skinnier than ever, their thin faces pinched with tiredness. Kevriac
started up, his sandwich forgotten. “Do you have her?” he asked, his voice
hopeful.

“She wouldn’t come,” Shor said.

“Where’s Blackeye?” Mican asked shortly.

“They went to see the
Falcon
,” Kevriac replied. “They
ought to be back very soon. They left before dawn. Has something happened to
Nan?”

Brother and sister shook their heads. “She’s at the palace,
right enough,” Shor said. “But she won’t try to escape. She says she wants to
stay in place for the Plan.”

“Is she in a good position?” Kevriac asked.

“I don’t know what you consider good,” Shor said soberly. “She
was scared—kept looking behind her. And she peels potatoes all day, she says,
and I believe her, because her hands look nasty. Like they’re always in water. Except
for the finger she uses to pull the knife, that’s all red and raw.”

Joe felt a wave of admiration—and jealousy. Once again, it
seemed, Nan was a hero. Except this time she hadn’t made up any stories. She
really was one.
Would I sit in that place and peel potatoes all day?
He
wasn’t sure if he could stand it.

“The thing is, we’ve got our way in,” Sarilda said happily. “Don’t
you see it? I don’t have to pester Noss to ask those others. Just wait till
Blackeye gets here—”

“Blackeye is here,” spoke their leader from the doorway
behind them.

Everyone turned.

“Nan?” Blackeye addressed Shor and Mican.

“Wouldn’t come,” Shor said.

Mican’s lips pressed in a line, but he didn’t speak.

He’s afraid she won’t believe them,
Joe thought. And
what if she didn’t? He felt kind of sick.

Sarilda drew Blackeye out into the hallway, her silvery
voice low and rapid as she explained.

Blackeye’s face was blank when she came back in. She said,
“You were ready to bring her back?”

“Yes.” Shor cut a fast glance at her brother. “We had a
basket big enough to hide her in. She said she wants to stay in place for the
Plan. She also said that if she—or anyone—escapes, it’ll be impossible to sneak
anyone inside. And,” Shor took a deep breath, “she said if you want to send
someone up there, someone else, she’ll tell them that we offered to help her
escape.”

Joe held his breath, feeling the tension in the room. The
only sound for a very long pause was the crackle of the fire, then Blackeye
grinned. “I think we’re going to make it, don’t you see? All she has to do is
get Joe in. This is a real break for us.”

No
IF you’re telling the truth...
No
I said bring
her back, and that’s what I mean
. Joe found Blackeye puzzling, but one
thing for sure, she was a leader worth following.

Mican’s face blanched, then flooded with red.

“So,” Blackeye said briskly. “I hope you’re here
legitimately? You don’t want to do anything to draw attention, not yet.”

Shor’s eyes glittered with tears, but she grinned happily. “It’s
all right,” she said. “This is Tova’s and Kendal’s day.”

“Good. Then get something to eat, and let’s go over our
plans.”

“The wedding! The wedding!” Cook growled, looking around at
the silent girls. “I’m sick and tired of hearing your chatter about ‘the
wedding.’ I’m only to get a single helper, yet the castle is filling with
guests and they all expect to be fed, and with fine, noble dishes and more
courses. This means we’re going to be here until midnight for the next week,
and you girls are going to be mighty tired of ‘the wedding.’”

“New girl won’t be here until Tula gets her into the proper
clothes,” Ilda whined. “She’ll keep us waiting all day, because she’s so
selfish.” When Cook didn’t answer, she flicked a smug look at Giula, then
added, “The new girl will take over peeling, is that what you want, Cook?”

“That’s the rule.” Cook’s brow beetled as she regarded Ilda.

The blond girl only smiled—or sort of smiled. Nan realized
Ilda didn’t really have a big nose. It was the way she made her upper lip long,
and her mouth mean, that made a perfectly ordinary nose seem long and pointed.
How much do we change our own faces just by our expressions? Nan thought as
Ilda went on, with another glance at Giula, “Well, then, the old peeler can go
on to vegetable chopper, and I suggest you move Giula over to pastries, because
that’s what will increase most.”

Giula looked down at the floor, her attitude prim, but her
half-hidden smirk hinted at an agreement between her and the Head Kitchen Girl.