The Tale of Mally Biddle (9 page)

9
Touring with Galen

Bob Kettle was baffled.

“Should I not have told him?” he asked Mally, his fingers touching his whiskery chin in concern.

“It’s not your fault,” Mally replied tartly, brushing Sam’s mane with a little more force than necessary. Sam gave a short snort and jerked his head. “Oh, sorry, Sam,” and then turning to Bob, “he would have found out anyway.”

Mally had no doubt in her mind that the story of Adrian Bayard falling in the mud would be spread widely. The knights didn’t seem to have a strong loyalty to anyone, even to each other. With pursed lips she thought,
that was probably why Ivan was so angry
. Bayard wouldn’t like the story of his humiliation being circulated by everyone in Bosc. Who knew what he’d do when he discovered the girl who embarrassed him was working in the castle? Ivan had said that the knights didn’t touch the castle servants … but how could he
really
know? How could he be positive? Mally gripped the brush in her hand harder to keep it from shaking.
There are so many servants in the castle. It should be easy to blend in.
But she didn’t feel convinced.

Bob continued to mutter and mumble to himself about Ivan’s behavior, but when Mally didn’t show any interest in the convers
ation, he wandered farther down the stable to see to a chestnut mare. When Sam’s coat gleamed and Mally’s frustration had burned out a little, she returned him to his stall and left.

She was tense. Walking slowly, she kicked at leaves that had settled on the cobblestones. What had she gotten herself into? Why was she here? What use would she actually be? Yes, she and her mother desperately needed the money. Yes, she was finally away from Blighten. Yes, the idea of seeing Gibbs and Bayard and the likes of them shut away forever made her pulse quicken in excitement. But making a stand against the knights … the knights were dangerous. If the knights knew the hidden reason for her presence, then she would be killed. There was no question about that.

Mally stopped in her tracks and her eyes rested on a mother with her hand clutched tightly onto the arm of her young son as they crossed the street. The mother had the same nervous look as the people Mally had watched earlier through the Lone Candle’s window. People walked quickly and in pairs or groups. They fr
equently glanced about them as if expecting to see someone or something that would justify their nervousness.
Knights
, Mally thought.

Once Mally was in the castle, would she risk her life to find the truth? Would she try to discover if the princess were alive? Or would she take the safer road and wash sheets and send her wages to her mother every month? Would she keep her head down and ignore Ivan’s demands?

“Mally?”

With a jump, Mally looked around. Galen Dunker stood next to a shop, staring at her with concern.

“Are you all right?”

“Of course I am,” said Mally flushing.

But to Mally’s surprise, Galen lowered his eyes, looking flustered.

“I don’t think we got off on the right footing last night,” he said, glancing up at Mally awkwardly.

Mally blinked.

“No, I don’t suppose we did.”

“I’d like to make it up to you,” he said quickly. “I do appreciate you wanting to help us—all help is welcome. Have you been shown around Bosc yet?”

Mally felt a terrible twinge of guilt at his words. Even though he had been less than thrilled by her arrival, he too was expecting her to help them. Mally suddenly had the ominous feeling that she had signed some contract that she had no hope of getting out of.

She cleared her dry throat.

“No, I haven’t. Would you?”

Galen smiled.

***

Galen opened the door to Sticky Finger Bakery and a soft tinkling rang above his head. The store was large, but very empty, as if someone had removed all the chairs and tables that must have once covered the floor. Only a single stool stood in one corner, where a young boy sat munching on a large sticky bun. A battered looking counter ran across one wall. There were no paintings on the walls except one that Mally had seen before in the Lone Candle. Sir Illius Molick. It was clear that other paintings used to hang on the walls instead, for Mally saw hooks and wires dangling morosely like thin cobwebs.

But the sight of the pastries under the counter immediately cheered her. There weren’t many, only three to choose from, and the large space under the counter sadly proclaimed the full sele
ction it once held.  There was the large bun that the little boy was eating. It appeared have been dipped in honey. Next to it sat a row of crispy pastries filled with cream and jam. Beside it sat the last choice: a spongy looking cake cut into squares with a sticky drizzle on top.

“They look delicious,” she said.

“Pick one.”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t.” But it wasn’t hard for Mally’s arm to be twisted. Soon she was looking fervently at each, trying to decide.

The very small boy, who had been watching Mally and Galen, sat at the far end of the counter on his stool; two hands were clenched around his large sticky bun. He watched Mally decide, slowly eating his pastry.

A door on the other side of the counter opened and a woman appeared stepping backwards into the room.

“Herbert, we’re running low on honey,” she yelled through the door.

“I’ll talk to Willis t’morrow,” came a man’s voice through the other side of the door.

The woman nodded her head and closed the door.

“Oh!” she said at the sight of Mally and Galen. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting!”

She bustled over to the counter, wiping her hands on her floured apron. Her frizzy hair was tied on top of her head.

“Horrible service,” she muttered furiously to herself. But then she smiled widely and asked, “What would you like?”

“I haven’t decided,” Mally admitted.

“Apple square,” piped a small voice from the corner, and the woman, Galen, and Mally turned to the boy sitting on the stool. His eyes were focused on Mally over the honey bun in his small hands.

“Let the miss decide, Alex,” scolded the woman. “My son,” she explained to Mally. “He likes telling the customers what to buy.”

“I don’t mind,” said Mally, smiling. “I’d like to hear what’s best from a connoisseur.” She turned to Alex. “The apple square?”

Alex nodded without lowering the bun.

“The apple square,” said Mally to the woman.

Three minutes later, Mally and Galen had left the Sticky Finger Bakery. Mally held a large slightly sticky, sponge-like cake cut filled with sweet apple slices and plump raisins.

“Do you want some?” she asked Galen as she tore off a corner.

“No thanks.”

“Are you sure? It’s really delicious,” Mally managed to say through her mouthful. “Here.” She pulled the square apart and o
ffered him half.

“No, really.”

“Galen Dunker,” Mally sighed, stopping and staring at him firmly, “there is something you should know about me.” She thrust the cake inches from his nose and shook it slightly, “I always get my way.”

Galen’s surprise turned into a grin and he took the half.

“So where to now?” asked Mally.

“I could show you the bookshop,” said Galen.

“Oh! I spotted a shop when I first got here. What was it called …” Mally snapped her fingers. “June’s Hats! That’s what it was. Let’s go there.”

Galen looked uncomfortable.

“We can’t go there.”

“Why not?” Mally asked, confused.

“Because only the wealthy are allowed in,” Galen explained. “Some shops made deals with the knights in order to reduce their taxes—to get better treatment. They agreed to only serve those that the knights told them to … to support Molick by keeping an eye out for rebels and passing on any tidbits they might hear. Some are big supporters of Molick and the knights anyway. They’ve never much liked us commoners. But more often than not, the shop owners pretend to support Molick just to keep the knights from raiding their buildings.”

“So, Ivan can shop there?” Mally asked.

“Yes, he could, but he won’t. His mother on the other hand …” Galen seemed to try hard not to roll his eyes. “She highly disapproves of Ivan eating at the Lone Candle. She’s worried he may pick up some nasty habits.”

Mally and Galen walked down a wide street that opened into a large square with a hugely tall tower. Mally saw the tower and knew what it must be before Galen could tell her. Bosc Bell To
wer.

Mally squinted her eyes. The sun danced off the tower’s large bells. At the base of the tower’s arched opening, sat a knight on a wooden chair. He seemed to be snoozing.

“Didn’t someone jump from it?” Mally asked Galen, trying to remember why people had been prohibited from climbing to the top.

“Yes. A servant from the castle,” nodded Galen. “It happened just a week after the princess’s death—”

“Supposed death,” Mally reminded him.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Supposed,” he agreed. “Mother told me that the servant had been depressed. I think she might have been one of the ones who cared for the princess. Perhaps she thought she had failed her.”

The idea of jumping from somewhere so high made Mally’s stomach queasy.

“It isn’t like they care for our safety,” said Mally, frowning at the snoring knight. “So why bother protecting us from it?”

Galen looked at her with a curiously twisted smile.

“What’s an easy way to solidify power? Other than fear? Take away rights. Take away that which has been taken for granted.”

“But it’s just a bell tower,” Mally countered. Galen had started walking again and Mally joined him. The sun was warm on her back.

The small smile still played on his face.

“A bell tower that’s always been important to the people. But we all know it isn’t really for our protection. Taking it from us was just one part of the plan.”

“To keep people from revolting?” Mally asked.

“To keep us feeling powerless. It started slowly,” he explained. “Small things that we wouldn’t really miss were taken away from us. And in the beginning, they gave us reasons. To keep control over criminals, names were jotted down at the front gate of the city. Then a charge was issued for entering and exiting Bosc. To help with training purposes for the knights, taxes were increased. The Bell Tower was named off limits for the safety of children because they might fall from its balcony. Or to keep the hopeless from creating a mess by jumping from its railings.” Galen glanced at Mally. “Then things started getting more serious. All the po
rtraits of the late king and queen were burned. All statues of them destroyed. And so were all writings criticizing the new order.”

Mally nodded solemnly. Her mother and father had told her about these events. She had only seen one picture of King Seba
stian and she had been six at the time. The local dairyman had managed to save a tiny, badly printed picture. It was so smudged and wrinkled that Mally had always thought King Sebastian looked like a wet lion.

“And then we could no longer say their names,” Galen conti
nued quietly

“And the portraits of Molick?” Mally pressed. “I hadn’t seen any of them until coming here.”

“It must be harder for the knights to keep them on the walls the farther from the castle they are,” Galen mused. “In Bosc, we don’t have a choice in the matter. No, that isn’t quite true. We can take them down any time, but we’ll either get beaten or locked in the dungeons.”

“I’ve heard that Bosc has other rules,” said Mally. “Do you r
eally have a curfew?”

“Oh yes. After ten no one is allowed on the streets. If you are spotted, the knights throw you in the dungeons for a month.”

“But—but
why
?” Mally spluttered. She had been sure that
that
rule was made up!

Galen shrugged, though his voice was bitter for the first time.

“They stopped giving reasons.”

Mally was still trying to comprehend the idea of being locked in the dungeons for being on the streets when she suddenly took notice of where Galen was leading her. They had left the large square and were now traveling down a very empty street, sha
dowed by the tall buildings on either side. She slowed, her eyes taking in the boarded-up doors, the broken windows. The silence was unnaturally dense; it filled her eardrums. Faded paint sadly proclaimed names of shops that seemed to be nothing more than empty skeletons.

“Galen, where are we going?” asked Mally nervously, her eyes resting on a door that had been so violently ripped open that it half hung off its hinges.

“Baker’s Hill,” he answered. Then after he caught sight of her face, he added softly, “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking. It’s the quickest way.”

Mally nodded, not wanting to seem upset.

“The poorest areas were the first to crumble under the knights,” Galen said quietly. “They’re spreading.”