Barefoot Pirate (22 page)

Creak, creak. Plod, plod, plod.

The donkey’s steps were slow, the cart bumpy and jerky, the
sun hot.

The journey would take until sunset, Mican had warned them. Joe
knew they’d only been traveling for a few minutes, but already it seemed like
ten hours.

And things were only going to get worse.

o0o

That’s three, Nan thought, quietly slipping another pik-nut
into the pocket beneath her apron. Hortia’s back was turned, but Nan did not
dare to take more. She didn’t know who might be watching from behind her own
back.

“Nothing must be different, nothing out of the ordinary,”
Taliath had whispered the night before.

Everyone was on edge, and there seemed to be more guards
than ever, though most of them, it turned out, were messengers (or spies)
watching the aristocratic guests who were crammed into the nice rooms in the
royal wing.

In the kitchens, short tempers sparked frequent arguments. Not
yelling, screaming arguments, but little, nasty exchanges, accompanied by
venomous looks and little jerks of the shoulders.

Nan stayed away from Hortia and Ilda and anyone else known
for bad tempers. Ilda had slapped Telin across the face for just smiling, and
not long after the noon bells rung, a whisper made its way through the girls
that one of the linen bond-servants had been locked up for (someone said)
sassing one of the guests. Nan was glad she wasn’t among the boy bond-servants,
who were stuck with the job of serving all the prepared food. They came and
went in a constant stream, carrying the heavy trays carefully lest a drop
spill. Report had it they were punished severely if the food didn’t arrive in
the dining areas as perfectly as it had been set out by Cook and her two
assistants.

Hortia slammed a tray of spice pots down between Nan and
Telin. “Hurry up with those pies,” she said shortly.

Telin stuck out her tongue at Hortia’s back, and grinned
over at Nan.

Nan grinned back, her heart hammering. Looking at the
spices, which were for the meat pies, gave her an idea.

Shifting her position, she glanced around—everyone was busy.
Her hand darted out, grabbed a handful of pepper—

“What are you doing?!”

Olucar’s sharp voice ripped across the room.

Nan froze, terrified. How could she forget to look at the
inner door?

Olucar strode forward. “So you
are
a thief!”

“It was just a little pepper, your ladyship,” Nan said
numbly. “To make the mush taste better—”

“‘Just a little pepper’,” the woman mimicked in a nasty
voice. “Do you know how much it costs us if every greedy criminal who wants
‘just a little something’ steals it? Hmmm? That is three years added to your
rehabilitation, thief. Three years, and the day after the wedding, you will
have a month of stairs.”

Nan bowed her head. She kept her face humble, but inside her
chest triumph burned bright and red-hot.
After tonight the prince will be
free and I’ll be gone, or else—

No use in thinking about ‘or else.’ The main thing was, she
still had the pepper.

o0o

It was amazing, Joe thought dismally many hours later, how
much difference the sun made. Before he’d been broiling, and then for a brief
time the shadows helped cut the heat, and then the shadow-time got longer and
deeper, and a cold wind whipped up from nowhere. The burlap of the sack didn’t
keep the wind out any more than it had blocked the heat, and the potatoes
pressing against Joe felt like ice cubes.

How much longer?

Almost as soon as he thought it, one of the guards called,
“Hai! Supply cart, third company, sixth detail.”

“Supply cart,” came an answering call—more guards.

They creaked a little ways farther, then Mican called in a
bored voice, “Can you fellows fetch the peeler? She has to help us with these
bags. She knows where they keep them.”

“You fetch the peeler,” was the prompt reply. “We’re not
your errand-runners.”

“I’ll do it,” Shor said, and Joe heard her quick step
diminishing.

A minute or so later the cart stopped, and a couple minutes
after that it jounced as someone jumped onto the back. Joe felt all the bags
lean, and leaned with his. One knee and one elbow were sticking out because his
potatoes had shifted around, and he didn’t dare move lest those joints look
suddenly unpotato-like.

He was glad it was dark. The guards didn’t speak as the kids
slowly unloaded the first bag or two, but by the third they were talking softly
a little distance away. Joe counted three separate voices.

A few minutes later he heard a foot scrape against the wood
near him, and someone’s heavy breathing. He braced—but this time it was
Kevriac’s bag they lifted.

Joe listened, his heart yammering. The guards were still
talking, sounding bored. Bits of conversation reached him: “...Todan wants
every one of the toffs accounted for—they can’t even get a drink of water
without a guard...” “No one wants duty up in the Magicians’ Tower. Rumor has it
that old woman can turn you into stone with a mere glance...”

And from the kids, “Right there. With the other
onions....No, the rotwort goes in each corner...just shift that big bag of
beetroots. We have to use up the carrots first...”

The feet scampered near Joe. The cart jounced. Jolted. Then
his bag was hefted. He made himself go limp, though a huge potato squashed
painfully against his nose and another wedged itself against his eye. Joe
strained to listen for the guards. He could no longer hear their words, but
their tone was unchanged.

Someone grunted softly and his bag thumped down. He stayed
limp. A warm hand pressed against his shoulder, and a soft whisper came right
next to the burlap: “It’s untied, but wait until the three bells before you come
out. Then wait here.”

Three bells. Noss had said that that was the castle
equivalent of ‘lights out’ for the servants.

The person departed. Joe heard a door shut, and he and
Kevriac were in the dark.

Neither of them spoke.

Joe shifted carefully, but there was no comfortable
position. His head was starting to ache. He drew in a long, careful breath, and
let it out just as slowly.

Now for the long wait.

o0o

Nan lay curled upon her bed, the blanket pulled over her
head. She had her clothes on. Under her bed, ready to be grabbed, were an extra
blanket and her shoes.

Tula stood at the door, her posture weary. Her candle
streamed with steady light as she called out the girls’ names one by one. First
the linen girls’ side. Nan heard a moan—Taliath? No one paid any attention, and
Nan did not move.

Tula finished the scrubbers, and started on the kitchen
girls’ row.

“Giula?”

“Here.”

“Amar?”

“Here...”

Taliath groaned louder.

“Stop the noise, please. Lisan?”

“Here.”

“Hortia?”

“Here.”

“Telin.”

“Here...”

Three more girls, then Nan, and that was it. Tula was about
to turn away, her hand already hefting the key, when Taliath let out a horrific
scream.

“What’s wrong?”

“Shut up, peeler.”

“Are we under attack?”

“Sh! What if the Lady hears? We’ll all get beatings!”

Taliath doubled over, face down, on her bunk, and Tula cast
one frightened look behind her and walked in quickly, her candle flickering.

“My stomach! It’s killing me!” Taliath screamed, and
clutched at Tula, who staggered back. The candle fell, and went out.

That had to be the signal.

Nan ripped out of bed, and with shaking hands pulled up the
extra blanket and the shoes, shaping them into as human a form as she could. She’d
been curled on her side; she tried to get the pillow and blanket and shoes to
approximate her body, stretched her blanket over them.

In three long steps she was out the door.

Not three steps farther and she heard a scritching noise
come from the dorm room behind her. She glanced back and the reddish light of a
candle flame flared in the doorway. Nan started running. The last thing she
heard was Tula threatening Taliath with punishment if Lady Olucar heard that
shrieking, and couldn’t she just lie down?

Nan sped swiftly down the back halls to the kitchen, which
was dark and silent, the banked fire a weird crimson glow. It gave off just
enough light for Nan to navigate, and she made her way to the storage room
without banging into any furniture.

“Are you there?” she called outside the door.

Two voices answered, “Yes!”

She opened the door, and Joe and Kevriac emerged, stretching
and shrugging as if their muscles were stiff. They began brushing at
themselves.

Nan sucked in a shuddering breath. “Follow me.”

o0o

Joe fumbled after Nan, who ran away from them into a huge,
gloomy stone kitchen.

“Wait—” Joe said, trying to walk quickly. Every muscle
protested.

“Put these on.” Nan flung something at each of the boys.

Joe put up his hands in time to catch some kind of cloth. He
stood looking at it until Nan grabbed it away, and with a short, sharp sigh,
she flung it around Joe and then tied it in back.

“Apron,” she said.

“Well, how was I supposed to—”

“Shh.”

Kevriac was just tying his. Nan picked up trays and handed
them to each boy. This time Joe was ready; he stuck out his hands and took his
tray.

“You’ve got apple tarts,” Nan whispered. “If we’re stopped,
Lady Alessa wanted apple tarts and cinnamon pastries.”

“Who’s Lady Alessa?”

“Who cares? We’ll be lost if they know where her rooms are.”

“I have the cinnamon pastries, right?” Kevriac whispered. “That’s
what it smells like.”

“Yes,” Nan said, and lit a candle from the big fireplace. “Let’s
go.”

She led the way to a narrow passage, and then up a flight of
stairs—and another flight of stairs, and then another. Joe’s legs were burning
by the time they reached the top of the third, but Nan was still practically
running. At the top, there were two guards.

Nan went right up to them. “Runner.” Her voice sounded high
and strained. “Lady Alessa wants apple tarts, and pastries for the children.”

The guard held up his hand, motioned the boys forward,
inspected the trays, then waved them on.

Once they were safely around the next corner Joe heard Nan’s
breath whoosh out. But before any of them could say anything, there was a weird
squawking noise, and again Nan froze.

“Look down!” she ordered in a furious whisper. “Don’t look
at it!”

It? Joe thought, wondering if the sorcerer had made monsters
to roam the corridors. Another squawk closer, and something sailed right by his
head.

“Here Lulu,” Nan crooned in a sweet voice that shook a
little. “Nice birdie. Want a treat?”

Another squawk, that sounded almost like a question. Joe
stood where he was, holding his tray, his head bent. From the corner of his
vision he saw something yellowish flapping round Nan’s head. It dropped to a
window sill, and Nan held something out on her palm. The bird pecked at it—and
Nan drew in a sharp breath. Had the bird bit her? The bird made munching
noises, then a moment later let out another shriek.

“More?” Nan said, her voice urgent. “Here, LuLu! Take!”

Again she held out her hand, and the bird munched. A third
time this happened, then something weird happened. The bird took off, flapped a
little, then spiraled down to the floor. It wandered in a circle, then stopped
and tucked its head under its wing, and went still.

“It worked,” Nan said in satisfaction. “It worked. I gave it
a pik-nut dusted with sleepberry-powder.”

“Sleepberry powder?” Kevriac whispered. “How did you get
that up here? It’s expensive?”

“You can get anything if you’re willing to do others’
chores, or give up meals,” Nan whispered back. “The linen girls steal it from
the toffs.”

“You should’ve saved it for any guards we meet,” Joe said.

Nan shook her head. “That disgusting bird is the worst spy
in the place. And it wouldn’t work on any human unless we gave them handfuls.”

Joe sighed. “Well, let’s go.”

They started off again.

One more narrow stone corridor, past a couple of guards who
looked menacing as soon as the kids appeared, but relaxed slightly a moment
later.
It’s working only because we’re kids
, Joe thought.
I just hope
this crummy disguise will get us right to the prince.

They went through a big door, and Joe looked both ways down
a huge corridor, lit by fancy lamps at intervals along the walls. Nan doused
her candle and put it in her pocket. “Heads low,” she whispered. “Servants
don’t look up.”

Joe tipped his head forward, but his eyes were busy taking
in the handsome tapestries on the walls, and the carved furniture set against
the walls at intervals. They had obviously left the servants’ portion of the
castle, and were in the areas lived in by the aristocrats.

More people were around, now. Joe and Kevriac copied Nan;
whenever fabulously dressed adults strolled by, she faded against a wall until
they passed, her head down and her hands crossed in front of her. Joe stood
next to her, his nose bowed until it almost touched the pastry dish. The adults
paid the kids about as much attention as they paid the furniture.

“Todan’s big party,” Nan whispered as they started forward
again. “Still going on.”

“They’ll dance half the night,” Kevriac said. “It’s the
townsfolk who have to be up at dawn to line the roads and cheer the bride
along. Supposed bride,” he amended with satisfaction.

Nan grinned at him. “The toffs only have to be ready by
noon, when she’s supposed to arrive here, but from what the girls said, most of
them are complaining like it’s before sunrise.”

They neared a window—not one of the slit windows, but a big
one that looked directly out over the city below. Joe paused, and the others
slowed their steps. The yellow lights gleamed peacefully—no colored lights,
like on Earth. It was hard to believe that somewhere below Warron and his group
were busy breaking into the Lorjee house, where Alitra was currently being
kept.