Barefoot Pirate (21 page)

“No.”

Ilda and Giula wore twin expressions of astonishment as Cook
shook her head. “Giula’s too lazy. Maybe after the wedding—if she learns to
work half as much as she talks. I’ll take the peeler soon’s the new one comes
in, and she can learn kneading.”

Giula’s eyes narrowed in fury. Nan looked away quickly, lest
Giula’s temper focus on her. Right now, she was maddest at Ilda.
I wonder
what she promised Ilda to get her to say that?

“So are you going to stand about all day?” Cook asked,
raising her ladle threateningly.

Nan didn’t feel sorry for Giula. Neither did anyone else, it
seemed. The other girls all went back to their chores, many hiding their own
smirks. So maybe the others didn’t believe Giula any more than Nan did, in
spite of Giula’s constant talk about her own friendliness, how much she cared
about everyone, how she only wanted to help.

When the newcomer arrived at last, Cook beckoned to Nan, and
soon her arms were buried elbow-deep in a huge squashy round of dough. Her back
was going to ache in new places that night.

Telin, the nicest of the pastry girls, explained in a low,
quiet voice what Nan needed to learn. If she forgot one of the many
instructions, Telin repeated it. By afternoon Nan had gotten used to her new
job, which was much easier on her hands than the eternal peeling.

Better, she soon understood why pastry making was so popular
among the girls. The work was exactly as hard, or harder, than any of the other
chores, but despite Ilda’s watchful eyes, the girls were able to sneak tiny
bits of the good fruits, nuts, and spices.

Nan didn’t dare to move near the chopping and mixing tables,
but she knew she’d figure out a way after a few days.

Busy as she was with her new job, she didn’t think until the
day was almost done to see how her replacement was faring. When she got an
opportunity to steal a look, she saw a vaguely familiar girl. Frowning, she
shifted her position a little as she flipped a big wad of dough and plunged her
fingers into it. Then she looked again. A short, stocky girl hunched over the
familiar tubs and baskets, snuffling to herself. As Nan watched, Giula walked
by, bent, and whispered something. The girl just hunched more.

Then Nan remembered—Taliath, the girl from the garrison!

Just then there was noise from the inner passageway, the one
the girls were not allowed to use, which meant The Beast was on the prowl. Nan
bent over her own work as the whispers ceased.

A yellow-pink blur erupted into the room, sailing around.
“Lazy! Lazy!” the bird squawked.

“And here’s the preparation area,” Lady Olucar said in a
sweet voice.

This was so startling that Nan risked getting into trouble
by sneaking another peek. She caught a glimpse of the mistress, for once not dressed
in a fabulous gown, but in something rather plain. She was smiling at a short,
fat man with a long brown beard who frowned as he looked about. The man was
dressed in velvets, and a great jeweled chain lay round his shoulders and on
his massive chest.

Nan returned her gaze to her work, wondering who the man
was. No one ever came to the kitchens.

“We’ve managed to get Cook another helper,” Lady Olucar
began in that sugary voice. “But we are so shorthanded—”

“No one new, I trust,” the man cut in. “I don’t want anyone
up here at all who isn’t well rehabilitated.”

“My husband sent her himself. One of his message runners,
badly needed below, but he heeded your call for everyone to sacrifice, my
lord.”

The man cut in again. “Cook, do you need more help here?”

Cook paused in stirring a sauce and bowed. “We’ll do, Lord
Todan,” she said shortly. “We’ll have to work until midnight, but untrained
help will only mean I lose a good worker in teaching them what to do. We can’t
afford the time.”

Todan gave a quick nod. “I see. How about cooks? Lorjee is
up here—he won’t need his town cook. Averann could spare his as well.”

“That would aid us nicely, Lord Todan,” Cook said. “Thank
you, my lord.”

“Good. Olucar, you’ll see to it, won’t you?” He didn’t wait
for a reply, but stalked out of the kitchen.

They heard Lady Olucar’s voice echoing back as she promised
to see to it at once, though she was cruelly shorthanded and overworked.

“If she wants more help she might start with Tula and the
other four she keeps just waiting on her, like some queen,” Telin breathed as
her quick fingers shaped pie crust. Nan looked up quickly, and grinned.

Hortia, the meanest of the pastry girls, glanced over. Telin
and Nan bent over their tasks.

No one spoke again until Cook finally dismissed them. It had
been the longest day ever, and Nan’s body felt like she’d been working for a
solid week as she followed the others upstairs. Giula chattered at Taliath,
with frequent angry glances in Ilda’s direction.

The other girls were too busy gossiping about the day’s
events to begin the usual squabbling over who got first bath. It was a
custom—Nan had found out after her first night, despite Giula’s hints that it
was all her doing—that the newest girl got first bath on her first night, after
which the older girls usually got first claim.

Now the older girls were crowded around talking, and Nan was
surprised when Taliath appeared next to her. “Show me how to work the bath?”

Nan nodded, excitement temporarily chasing away her
tiredness. Was this girl the messenger from Blackeye, then?

She and Taliath went into the bathroom and shut the door. Nan
was further surprised when Taliath went straight to the heater controls and got
the bath going. Then she dropped down and peered under the door, nodded, and
got to her feet. “No one listening—yet,” she said softly. “I’ve got lots to
tell you.”

She stayed crouched on the floor, her eyes turned toward the
bottom of the door. “The Plan is going to happen on the Eve of the Feast of
Heroes.”

“Before the wedding?” Nan asked.

Taliath dipped her head. “Has to. Otherwise, soon’s they’re
married, Alitra gets the same spell as Prince Troial, and Todan’s going to kill
the prince. Word is, he plans to marry Alitra himself—after a suitable mourning
period. But Lorjee is planning a double-cross and they have their own candidate
to marry her. Either way, his highness doesn’t live through the night of the
holiday.”

“A week.” Nan’s neck felt tight, like an invisible hand had
grabbed hold of her spine and squeezed.

Taliath grunted. “I don’t know how, but Noss and Blackeye
have worked out some kind of big decoy plan. At the same time—it has to be at
night—the other off-worlder will come up. I’ll see that he gets inside, and I’m
to get you out of here before lock-up, but after that it’s up to you. You have
to get them to the prince’s tower by midnight.”

“But I—”

“Can I have more hot water?” Taliath whined.

Nan blinked, than glanced at the line of light under the
door. Two shadows, the shape of knees, blocked some of the light. As Nan
watched, the lines melded and the light disappeared—someone had crouched down
just as Taliath had, and was about to peer under the door.

Nan hastily straightened up. Taliath had thrown off her
clothes and was in the bath.

“No.” Nan droned loudly. “One bath per person. That’s the
rule. You better hurry, because the older girls will want to get in soon.”

“All right,” Taliath said, still in that whiny voice. “Hoo! I
really hate
peeling.
Wh
y did I get stuck with that job? I’m a
good
messenger. I
hate
vegetables!”

Nan bent over, peering at the door. The light shone in a
clear bar.

Taliath didn’t say any more about the plan. Instead, the two
girls held a quick conversation about rules, and who could be trusted and who
couldn’t be, while Taliath finished her bath, washed out her things, and put on
one of the thin, worn nightgowns.

Then they went out and got into bed.

o0o

“It worked!”

Joe and Warron stepped back and lowered their swords. Joe
was glad for a break, as his breath was coming fast and his arm ached.

Blackeye’s gang had joined with some of Noss’s kids, and
they were crowded along the perimeter of a basement on one of the lower
streets, trading off turns in practice.

“It worked,” Liav said again, grinning happily as everyone
quieted. “We got the message to Alitra, and she agreed.”

Sarilda smacked her hands together.

Blackeye smiled. “That’s good. If she can convince Todan
that she’s changed her mind and really wants to marry the prince, then they
won’t guard her so close the night before the wedding.”

“We hope,” Kevriac said.

Blackeye put her fists on her hips. At the prospect of
action, she beamed. “Well, we’ve got a lot to hope for on this plan. It’s all
going to depend on close timing, and everyone in both gangs has got to make
sure your part works.”

Everyone looked at one another. Blackeye had made sure they
moved every single day, just so no one noticed a lot of kids hanging around one
spot for too long.

“Joe, Kevriac, you’ll probably be spending that entire day
in potato sacks.”

Joe saw a faint grin from Kevriac.

“Mican, you and Shor have got to make sure you get him to
the palace kitchens, and to Taliath, and no one made suspicious.”

The brother and sister looked serious. “We will,” Shor
promised.

“Warron, you’ve got to get Alitra out and to the wharf
before midnight.” Blackeye turned to the tall guy.

Warron whipped his sword up in a salute.

Blackeye turned to Sarilda, who flung up her hands. “I know.
I have to convince that houseful of servants and guards that I’m Alitra until
the stroke of midnight.”

“Bron, you and Tarly and I are going to have to have the
Falcon
ready to sail the moment Warron gets to the wharf with Alitra.”

Bron leaned against the window sill. “If One-Eye and his
group keep their promise, we’ll make it.”

Noss said, “Oh, they’ll keep it, all right. They don’t even
know about the prince part of the plan—it was better that way. They just loved
the idea of making fools of the harbor wart patrols on the eve of the Feast of
Heroes.”

Kevriac said, “Bron, what you’ve got to remember is how to
use the fogger stone.”

Bron winced. “I’d much rather fight. That thing gives me a
headache.”

“Practice.” Warron patted Bron on the shoulder. “Leave the
sword work to Blackeye and Noss’s rowdies, and Tarly’s hooves will take care of
any left over.”

Four kids sitting ranged on the opposite wall grinned. One
girl and three boys, they were all big and strong and had been trained since
they were small in sword fighting. Joe felt envious of the ease with which they
won their practice matches.

Blackeye said, “The only way we’ll get out of that harbor is
with magic help, and Kevriac has got to go with Joe. The most important part of
the plan is the most dangerous because we can’t get any more messages up to
Taliath and Nan—no one’s allowed near the castle until after the wedding. And
we still don’t know if Elan is safely in place.”

“Or how we’ll break that spell,” Kevriac added.

“Or where that sorcerer will be, and what she’ll do,”
Blackeye finished. “A lot left to chance. Too much, but it can’t be helped.”

Warron tapped Joe on the shoulder with his blade. “Shall we
get back to it?”

“Sure,” Joe said.

Blackeye smiled a little. “You’re looking better, Joe, lots
better.”

Joe forced a grin, hefted his sword, and squared off. They
practiced constantly now, and he was glad. Anything was better than worrying
about what would happen in three days.

Three days.

Clang!
Behind him, someone swung a sword.

“Guard,” Warron said, and attacked.

No one had warned Joe that his neck would itch like fire. He
smothered a sigh, and tried to ease his cramped body just a fraction. No
good—in fact, now his nose itched.

The cart gave a jolt, and Kevriac’s bag shifted, squeezing
Joe tighter into the corner. He was ready to groan out loud when a man’s voice,
sudden and deep, froze his breath right in his lungs.

“Curse it, that sun’s hot.”

And a woman’s voice, “You’re telling me!”

“I don’t see why we had to get into all our gear just to
guard two curst brats and a cart full of double-curst vegetables. It even
stinks! What’s in that bag over there, stenchweed?”

Shor’s voice came, “It’s rotwort. They put it in the storage
area. Keeps away pests. Don’t touch the bag,” she warned. “Raises a nasty
rash.”

“I ain’t touchin’ nothin’ on that curst cart,” the man
snarled. “I ain’t hungry enough to eat onions, or raw spuds, much less rotwort.
Curse it! What a stupid duty. Nitre mad at us, or what?”

“Dunno,” the woman said. “Commanders are all in vile
tempers. Double duty for everyone—I’ll sure be glad when this thunder-blasted
wedding is over.”

“You said it,” the man replied.

Joe wiggled his nose and tried not to shift, though now the
itch had traveled to the middle of his back. The sun was broiling through the
scratchy burlap, and he was pressed into what felt like a pretzel shape. But
those things didn’t worry him as much as those guards did. Not that they
sounded like any danger—yet—but Blackeye hadn’t counted on guards for the cart.
Would they be watching the unloading? How long would they stay? What if this
Taliath girl couldn’t get them out of the bags?

All he had to protect himself was a long knife, worn inside
the high mocs Warron had given him. “You can’t sneak a sword along,” Warron had
said. “A knife at least might give you a moment of surprise.”

There was no sound from Kevriac’s bag—of course. Joe
wondered how the magician kid was feeling. He’d been nervous all morning, and
no wonder. Joe felt sorry for him. He said he scarcely knew any magic, yet he
was expected to fend off a powerful sorcerer. Joe knew what he’d feel like if
he was expected to go up against a trained sword master with the few weeks of
practice he’d had.
It’s like taking karate for a month and being sent
against a black belt
, he though morosely. No wonder Kevriac had spent the
past three days working in his magic book, almost non-stop. Joe suspected he
was muttering spells to himself right now.