The Spy Princess (18 page)

Scrape of a chair, and footsteps. Door shutting.

Benoni said, “I don't like Flendar being able to whistle up our own people whenever he thinks he's flushed some spy—either he or his thirty ‘well-trained' minions. He's trying to interfere with our own orders.”

Uncle Darian said, “We all know he's a lying, sneaking weasel, but I want such moling done for me, not for Diamagan. Just see to it that he doesn't get an opportunity to exercise his taste for torture. He's to spend his time finding spies. And we need that done, because surely Diamagan has people moling here. There are probably two or three of them in the kitchen or making beds right now.” I held my breath. “Let Flendar sniff them out. You, Therian, are to continue trying to find my nephew.”

The fourth man said, “Understood, Your Majesty.”

The clink of a wineglass.

Then, without any warning; “And what is the progress in locating my little niece, Lilah?”

two

M
y heart battered my ribs so hard and fast I was sure they could hear it.

Oh, Bren, Deon, you birdwits! I
told
you I didn't want to come near the palace, and here's why!

“No trace,” said Therian.

“Never mind, then. If she isn't here or in Selenna, then I know precisely where she is. Put someone to watch the Diannah Road. If she appears, I want her brought straight to me. It's the only way to ensure that my nephew will come out of hiding.”

The rest of the talk was about the army, Bernal, and the east. Then my uncle wanted to look at a map.

They left, and I stayed where I was, that horrible phrase, “my little niece, Lilah,” repeating over and over in my head until the door opened again, and someone said softly, “Mirah sent me. Are you here?”

“Yes,” I said, and someone pressed the catch on the baseboard.

I crawled out under the interested gaze of a tall, skinny boy of about fourteen.

“I can't get in there,” he said. “My uncle had to work fast, so he made it too small. Here, we'd better clean up.”

We were halfway through collecting the half-eaten meal when a girl in a page's tunic came to help. The boy gave me a warning glance, and I wondered if this meant that she was a Flendar spy.

Back in the kitchen, we set down our trays, and he left. Mirah led me back to that little room, then gave me an inquiring look.

My uncle's words still echoed, but I was afraid that if I said my name I would give myself away. “Bernal was almost caught twice; the revolutionaries are now cutting communications; Benoni is to put out more patrols, but they can't kill people. They'll send them to the king for questioning.”

“And that horse-dropping, Flendar?”

“He's spying on
everyone
! Even in the kitchen, and his spies outside of the palace all wear heron rings.”

“But not the palace spies.” She let out her breath slowly. “One of his snoops is on the pastry staff, and another is a page.”

I shivered, despite the stuffiness of the room. “Do they meet there often?”

Mirah shook her head. “Only when the king wants the military and Flendar together. It's midway between the garrison and Flendar's office in the south parlor.”

The south parlor. The last time I had been there was the night of the revolution, when Peitar and I were thrown into the garrison. I shivered again.

Mirah gave me a look. “Remember. You only talk to me, or Nina-cook, or her son Lexian—that's who fetched you. Now eat. It's past noon, and food comes with the job. We'll be cooking for dinner before long.”

I was already exhausted.

All too soon, it was back to the hot spit. I was anxious to talk to the other Sharadan brothers, but I had a full afternoon of sweaty work ahead first. By late afternoon, when the night staff started to arrive, I felt like I'd been trampled by a herd of horses.

I snitched one of the fine napkins to wrap up my dinner and some rolls and cheese. Evening bells were ringing as I finally slipped inside the hideout.

“It's me,” I whispered.

“Larei!” Deon popped her head up. They had hung an old cloth to block the glowglobe light. “Did you bring food?”

“Food and report.” I climbed the ladder to the loft.

The other three ate and listened, and when I finished, Deon rocked back and forth in delight. “You're wonderful, Larei!” She rubbed her hands. “We
have
to do something to this Flendar!”

“No,” Innon said, in his painstaking manner. “Attacking him won't get the information we need for Peitar and Derek.”

Bren snapped his fingers. “You're right. We have to try to find out who those spies are and warn Derek's people. Heron signet—did that Flendar have a ring?”

“I don't know. All I saw were shoes.” I rubbed my stiff neck.

“Then that's tomorrow's work.”

• • •

F
OR SEVERAL DAYS
the others roamed the city, looking for people with heron rings. Or rather, Innon and Bren did. Deon spent more time with the local kids, learning their songs—and the neighborhood gossip.

I worked in the kitchen, confident that there'd soon be another conversation of importance—that spying was easy. Mirah never asked where I lived. It was clear she thought I was a messenger. I got to know Nina-cook, who was short, round, and friendly, but I scarcely saw Lexian, who was always busy with page duties.

A few nights later, Bren returned with chalk-smudged fingers. “Have you been wasting time wall-drawing again?” Deon accused him.

“Not any more waste than you and your songs.”

“Some of those songs are
revolutionary
songs,” she said. “I notice the guards listening.”

“And chasing anybody singing them,” Innon said.

“But they get heard! I want to make up a good one that
everybody
will sing.”

Bren said, “Well, the drawings get seen, too. I made a good one of Dirty Hands crushing a lot of people with his boot. You should have heard the squawking! And I signed it ‘Sharadan Brothers.'”

“I don't
just
sing, either. Remember, I got our bucket.”

“True,” Bren said, helping himself to a drink.

Deon hugged her knees against her chest. “I stole it from a meanie, like the brothers said—a porcelain seller in Five Points. He won't even let kids near his front window! Says we dirty up his nice glass. So I taught some of them my song about misers, and they went to the shop to sing it, and I ran around back to pinch the bucket.”

“Good job,” said Bren, and Innon and I agreed.

She sighed. “But it's boring, walking around looking for heron rings, which is why I listen wherever there's music. This bard's come to town with a new song, and it's got the prettiest melody!” She hummed a snatch, then scowled. “Too pretty for silliness about a weaver and her suitors. I think I should turn it into something
interesting
.”

“I've been following the patrols and learning their schedule,” Innon said, and grinned. “The brothers always made sure to know where the patrols were.”

“So? Even
I
wouldn't throw things at a patrol.”

“If we know where they are, we can avoid them,” Bren said. Deon didn't know Innon yet, but we did. That grin meant he had news. “Talk.”

“Well, here's what I discovered. The loyalists mostly live where nobles support them. Like Boatmakers Row, over near the fish market and dock. Who buys lake boats but nobles? And Upper Weaver Street—where most of the good flax and the silk goes. Nobles order cambric and silk and embroidered clothes. Most of
our
people live here, on the east side, so that's where the guards patrol. And the patrols' favorite tavern is here, too. It's called the Red Raven. They stop there between rounds.”

“Red? Raven?” I asked, trying to picture one.

Innon laughed. “The owner's name is Raven, and he has red hair—like yours. Anyway, he used to be in the guard, so they like going there. And he makes these crispy potato things. I sneaked one off someone's plate . . .” Innon shut his eyes in remembered delight. “We
have
to get some money. Anyway, when I was there today, I saw three people all wearing the same sort of ring—square, with a bird's head embossed. I figured it had to be the heron signet.”

“Were they talking to the patrols?”

“No. Ignoring them. Except for one woman, who flirted.” He grimaced. “She told them how safe she felt now, and then asked if they'd arrested any plotters lately, and when that disgusting Diamagan would be hunted down.”

“Huh. Spying on the city guard?” Deon curled her lip. “What a fool.”

“Not if she's trying to catch people who are secretly on our side,” I said.

“That's not all,” continued Innon. “Those other two with rings? Well, they talked, and did
they
sneak peeks to make sure no one overheard!”

“Did you hear anything?”

“No. But I watched.”

“No one noticed you?” Bren asked. “Sounds like you were there a long time.”

“All afternoon. It was crowded. An old man was snoring away in the corner, so I sat at a table with some empty glasses and pretended to be asleep, too.”

Bren rocked back and forth, drawing little shapes on the wooden floor. I knew he was thinking hard. “We need money, don't we? I want more chalk without having to steal it.”

“I need paper.” I held up my book. “I'm running out of pages. I might run out of ink.”

“I want good food.” Innon gave a deep sigh. “Are you getting paid, Larei?”

“I didn't ask,” I said. “And Mirah didn't offer.”

“Because then you can come and go,” Bren said. “I learned about it when I was a page. Mirah doesn't have to report you to the palace steward if you don't collect wages, and so he isn't going to be paying attention when you come and go. And you're still considered a scullion, even if you're not actually washing, so you get scraps.”

“That's why it's so easy to get food,” I said.

Bren went on. “We have to get our reputation known, and we need to do something about Dirty Hands' spies. And we need a name for them! Something no one will pay attention to, if we're overheard. So, not ‘loyalist,' or even ‘enemy,' and definitely not ‘villain'. . .”

“Buckets. I thought that when I stole ours,” Deon said. “It's such a stupid word! We'll call them Buckets.” The boys snickered.

“I won't even have to write it,” I said. “All I need to do is draw a little pail.”

Bren said, “Let's burgle the Red Raven. First strike against the Buckets.”

three

A
fter we changed into our dark clothes and checked our tools, we curled up to get some sleep. I didn't think I could shut my eyes, but suddenly Innon was shaking me, the midnight bells tolling in the distance. We gathered around the glowglobe.

“Just as we practiced,” I said. “I check ahead to make sure no one is watching.”

“I look inside the windows while Larei's watching the street,” Deon added.

“I stand guard over Bren while he cuts glass, and take the piece as he hands it out,” Innon said.

“And I do the glass.” Bren waved the gloves that Tsauderei had given him. “Let's go!”

“The Sharadan brothers' first caper,” Deon whispered. “It'll make a great song.”

“Not if we don't carry it off,” Bren muttered.

The streets were deserted, and in the dark all the houses looked alike. Innon knew when to listen for patrols, so he took the lead. My night vision helped, too. The Esalans had said,
In darkness, watch for movement in shadows, and listen for sounds out of place.
All I saw were cats on the prowl.

We neared the Red Raven, and I could tell from the others' quick breathing that they were as excited as I was. Innon and I checked the side streets, avoiding the circle of torchlight from the lamp pole. Then Bren chose his window while Deon and I kept watch. He cut out a pane, quick and silent. Innon set the pane aside and laid the cloth napkin from the palace carefully over the edge of the glass. One by one we slipped in.

Now my heart pounded as loudly as it had in the dining room cubby.

Our only light was from the street and a dim glow at the top of the stairwell. I moved cautiously, not wanting to bump into a table or bench. The room was close in the night heat, smelling of ale, cider, and cooked food.

Bren put a piece of paper on the counter as Deon watched the windows. I kept an eye on the stairway, then moved where I could watch the windows and the stairs while the other three searched the entire room by feel, the way we had practiced. Bren was done first. Then Deon. There was a soft
clink
, and we all stilled. But no one upstairs had heard Innon. He raised his fist, the signal that he was done.

In reverse order we slid back out the window, I snatched the napkin away, and after edging the glass with smelly stuff Tsauderei had given them, the boys fitted it back into place.

We ghosted back to our hideaway, where we collapsed, gasping with pent-up nerves and giggles. For a short time everyone talked and no one listened, then I said, “One at a time! I want to record our first true caper. Now. What did you do, or get? Daen?”

“Paper!” She brandished it in triumph. “Some of these are bills, but too bad.”

“I can use the other side,” I said, dipping my pen and writing. “Thanks! Bren?”

“First, I got some scraps of apple tart, which I replaced with a fine drawing.”

“What?” Deon demanded. “Why didn't you show me?”

“You were looking right
at
me. How should I know what you saw?”

I cut through their squabbling. “What did you draw?”

“A sour face, with mean eyes looking right out at you. I learned that trick in the valley. And it says,
You turned your back on freedom and justice, but those who want it are not turning their backs on you!
Signed by the Sharadan brothers.”

“Hoo,” Innon said appreciatively. “I should think that'd cause some talk.”

“So you got the money?” I asked.

He held up a pouch. “Found it on a shelf behind the crockery, in a wooden box.”

Deon snatched it and emptied it onto the floor.

Then Bren made a face. “Um, I think we forgot something.” At our blank expressions, he said, “Did anyone remember the Lure?”

We looked at one another. Innon groaned. “I sure didn't. And after all the trouble I went to gathering it!” It was in the corner of the loft, right where he'd put it when we first arrived.

“Ugh.” Bren shook his head. “That might have been nasty. I thought you girls had the Lure, since we were carrying the tools.”

“And I thought
you
had it, Innon,” Deon said.

“From now on, we should each carry our own,” he declared. “I'll buy some little bags tomorrow.”

Deon swept up the coins and dropped them back into the pouch. “Most of it's copper flivs, scarcely worth a pinch of honey or hay, as my granny says. But! There are four silver squares, and
two
six-siders. Here's for the bags.” She handed him a silver. “That should get four, if you bargain. We can hide the money under the table. All we've had to eat were the scraps that Lilah brought, and two bites of apple tart each. I'm hungry.”

“I'll bring more food tomorrow,” I promised.

“In that case, I think we ought to have a nutbread. What say?” Innon did the magic and Tsauderei's bag plumped out with a soft
paff
. The bread was even fresh and warm. We washed it down with water—“We bucketed the Buckets!” Deon chortled—and settled down to sleep.

• • •

I
N THE MORNING
,
Deon wanted to go back to see what had happened—and, of course, to have a private gloat. “Get those potato things,” Innon said. “A plate of them costs five flivs. Gives you a reason to be there. But bring some back for us.”

As usual, my day was spent in the palace kitchen. It was hot, and everyone seemed irritable. I had nothing to report, but at least I managed to get half a leftover chicken pie as well as a loaf of bread and greens.

Innon handed out the bags of Lure after we ate. They were cleverly constructed of two layers of waterproof fabric. “Be careful—making these put me to sleep all day. And hoo, did my head hurt when I woke.” He rubbed his forehead.

I said, “If it does that to
you . . .”

“We'll only use them if we're desperate,” Innon said. “Good thing is, Lure works fast and you can use it more than once. Here's what Tsauderei told me. If you throw it into a room with the windows closed, all you need is three or four blossoms to knock everyone out. You need more if the room is bigger.”

“But won't it knock us out too?”

“Not if we wait until we hear everyone fall down. Then we hold our breath and collect the Lure, put it back in the bag, and open the windows to air out the room. The smell goes away fast. There's a little water in the bags to keep the Lure fresh, and we can use the Lure again, but each time it'll be a little weaker. Lure loses its magic when the blossoms dry out.”

Deon had been barely containing herself through his explanation. “My turn!” she burst out. “Raven was so angry! He was
boiling
over your drawing, Bren. I heard him talking to another shopkeeper—she kept going on about how it must be Diamagan, or his worthless, murdering peasants. Then his wife went to the money box and screamed!” She waited until we'd finished laughing. “I just sat there, eating potato crisps—and you were
right
, Innon. They cook 'em in garlic and onion and olive oil, and—”

Bren groaned, interrupting her. “Did you think to save any?”

“Ate 'em all. Couldn't help it. So
you
go next! That woman—I want to get her good. ‘Diamagan and his murdering peasants.'
Faugh! Fheg!
”

“Does she have anything we would want?” he asked.

She shook her head. “A quilter. I went to see. She has kids our age working there. Working
hard
, too, and they looked hungry. We could go set her place on fire.”

Innon sent her a quick, worried look. Deon often talked wildly, but I didn't believe she would actually set fire to anyone's house, especially if they were in it.

“No, that's just the sort of thing that will make us look rotten, and what good does it do?” Bren said. “If she has money, we could do what we did at Raven's. How's that?”

Sure enough, Deon shrugged. “I suppose. But
you
didn't hear the nastiness in her voice.”

I said, “Well, we don't know what the rioters might have done to her shop. Derek said himself he couldn't stop the worst of them.”

Deon rubbed her hands, ready to get started. “Why are we blabbing? We'll steal the money. Leave a note.”

And so, that night, we did.

• • •

O
VER THE NEXT
week, we burgled three shops either belonging or catering to people whom Bren or Deon had seen wearing the heron signet at the Red Raven. We took all their money and left notes from the Sharadan brothers, thanking them for their donation to Diamagan's cause. Each time we were faster, and even though we carried Lure, we didn't need it.

Bren not only got his potato crisps—and brought some back—he was delighted to overhear complaining from one of the patrol leaders. “He kept cursing, saying that Captain Leonos is being pestered daily for justice by the ‘king of weasels.'”

“Flendar!” Deon chortled.

“And! They think the burglars were ‘some noble family.' Raven pulled out my note!”

Innon had been thinking. “What about all this money? We can go and spend it, but then we're liars. We aren't helping Derek and Peitar, except to make Flendar's Buckets mad.”

“We've got to find out where Derek is and get the money to him,” Deon said. “That cook might know.”

As usual, when it came to the palace, everyone looked at me.

“All right,” I grumped. “I'll ask Mirah. But I have an idea, too. If we come across anyone who's really desperate, we leave them money with a note that it's from Peitar and Derek, delivered by the Sharadan brothers. Maybe it's not information gathering, but it's still helping the people they want to protect.”

“That's really smart,” Innon said. “I can think of a dozen places.”

“Me, too,” Deon said. “Starting with some of those kids at Five Points who can't get jobs. They look so skinny, they can't be eating much.”

“I'll go back to the Red Raven, and find some more donors,” Bren said. We all laughed.

“Rich ones
and
mean ones. And while I'm at Five Points, I'm going to work on my new song. It's going to be about Dirty Hands and his Buckets!”

• • •

T
HREE DAYS IN
a row I turned spits while the others spied and left coins and notes in Bren's best handwriting, saying,
Donated by the Sharadan brothers, in Derek Diamagan's and Peitar Selenna's cause of freedom!
I tried to get Bren to put Peitar's name first at least half the time, but he refused, saying, “The revolution was Derek's idea.”

Two of those nights, we went out and thieved, first from the porcelain seller who hated kids, then from a rich landowner who put his tenants out in the street because they couldn't get work to pay rent.

I hadn't yet been able to catch Mirah alone and ask her if she knew how to contact Derek.

On the fourth morning I left before dawn, hoping to reach the palace before it became too hot.

The sun was up and broiling by the time I reached the kitchens, and things were in the usual controlled chaos. Mirah hailed me with relief. “You're here early. Good. Everyone has bespoken cold dishes, and just as well,” she said. “We'll be putting out the fires by noon, or none of us can live in here.” She muttered, as so many had over the past few days, “A far cry from my youth, when we still had the cooling spell during summer.”

Here was my moment. “I have a question.”

She gave me a sharp look, but just finished loading chickens onto the spit.

And so I did five rounds left hand, five rounds right, left, right . . . As I cranked the handle, I became aware that most people were working in complete silence. My first few days, everyone had been talking so much the kitchen was a roar of noise. Today, all I heard was chopping, scraping, mixing, sizzling.

When the chickens were done, Mirah said, “Kessah will have a turn now, and you will make a delivery, Larei. Come along.” I followed her to a small room where silver trays, decanters, and bowls filled the shelves. “What?” she asked, hands on hips.

“Do you know how to find Derek's and—and Peitar's people?”

She let her breath out in a rush. “I thought you were one of their messengers.”

“I'm a runner for other people, who are trying to help them.” I looked at her with hope.

“I'll see,” she said, and then it was back to work.

Even though the sun had gone down by the time I left the palace, the paving stones were still warm under my feet. Everyone around me looked weary and glum.

But not Deon. When I reached the hideout, the first thing I saw was a flush in her cheeks and an extra curl to her grin. “Two of Flendar's spies are meeting a patrol tonight. At the Red Raven, after it closes. And Flendar wants to be there, too.”

“Because?” Bren prompted.

“Because the patrol is going to be taken to where Derek and Peitar are hiding!”

“You mean they're
here
?” I gasped. “In Miraleste?”

Innon frowned. “Really? Then why aren't there more patrols and a worse curfew?”

“Because the patrollers don't know yet.” And she sat back, grinning in triumph.

“Now, that's nacky,” said Bren. “How'd you find out?”

“Remember that flirty woman? You know, the one with the ring? Her name's Liseon Alafio. And I've been following her all week.”

“Wait, wait!” I scrabbled for my fashion book, as Deon fidgeted, but I knew she loved having her deeds recorded. “All right, go on.”

“Well, most of the time she went to stupid places—like the dressmaker's. But I kept at it, hiding in plain sight, and working on my song so I wouldn't fall asleep on my feet. This morning she went to a baker's, and when he saw her, he went like this.” Deon peered around so obviously that a tree would be suspicious. “I ducked down behind a rain barrel. At first I didn't get every word. Then I heard her say she'd sent a report to Flendar last night, and
knew
he was going to steal their credit. The baker thought they shouldn't tell him where Derek and Peitar were until he arrived with the patrol. Liseon agreed, but there was something slimy about the way she said it.”