The Queen's Secret

by Jessica Day George

  Anthea would have done it anyway, and they both knew it. But he asked, in front of Perkins, and she agreed, in front of Perkins. Perkins, who had in fact managed to persuade Uncle Andrew to keep Anthea and Jilly on the farm, and not send “little girls” out on missions.

  Hello, dear friends, Anthea said to the horses. Are you ready for your adventure?

  They whickered and nodded. The bay on her right moved a little closer to her, and Anthea scratched his neck.

  Of course you are, my dears! I am so proud of you! You will do such great things! The Soon King and Constantine are very pleased that you have accepted this job.

  The Now King, the bay corrected her.

  Yes, you are right, she said ruefully. She hated calling Finn that, since labeling him the soon-to-be-king was as close to treason as she was comfortable with, but some of the horses insisted on it. The Now King and the herd stallion are very pleased, and they want you to remember to send a message back to the herd stallion every night, all right?

  They agreed.

  Guard your rider, and follow his orders, but let the herd stallion know if there is anything amiss, all right?

  More agreement, and more neck pats, and then she moved on to the next pair of horses. But these horses she told to report to the first pair. They would be farther down the road, and so their internal voices would be fainter. It would be easier for them to reach the next closest horses than to contact Constantine.

  So Anthea went on down the line, stroking necks and finger-combing manes, and reminding the horses of the route they were to take. This group would be going to the west, following the main train line south through Blackham and halfway to Travertine. They would camp within sight of the train stations and post offices, just outside any villages, and post signs with the official seal of the Crown on them, saying that they were authorized to carry mail and light packages. They would also need to find the doctors in every town, if they were alive, and instruct them in collecting samples. Dr. Rosemary wanted her samples “clean,” which meant that whenever possible they needed to be gathered by someone who knew what they were doing.

  They were the third such group to go out, and the first had gone all the way to Travertine. They had been there a week, with one camp to the north of the city and another to the east, and four more camps stringing up the highway to the north. So far, so good, and now other groups were being sent out. Few people, other than the Royal Family, were giving them anything to deliver, but at the very least they were able to relay the news from the capital fairly quickly, though the samples would take longer to deliver.

  Not that anyone wanted to hear the news. Most of the news was bad. The weather was cold, even in the south, and the death toll was rising steadily. The king had done his part to spread the word that horses weren’t the cause of the illness, but the first reports back from riders indicated that it wasn’t that people believed the king so much as people didn’t care if they got sick or not, at this point, and so they just ignored the horses while they tried their best to survive.

  After Anthea had spoken to all the horses, the men were ready to leave. Finn and Perkins came out of the house and gave a map to the leader of the group, Major Gregory. Gregory, to his credit, was one of the men who had said “Yes, miss!” His group was known as the Theos because his bay stallion was named Theophilus. When the Theos were mounted up, they fell into ranks and passed in front of Finn and Perkins, saluting.

  When they passed one of the windows at the end of the Big House, they all looked up and saluted again. From his window, Andrew waved. He was on the mend, but still confined to his room. Dr. Rosemary had said that once he had gone two days without coughing or running a fever, he could leave his room. He had not had a fever in a few days, but his cough lingered.

  Once the Theos were out of sight down the road, Anthea went to the empty table and began helping the kitchen staff clear away. They had largely been untouched by the Dag, one of the few blessings they could count at the farm. But one of the maids shook her head at Anthea.

  “You have enough to do, miss,” she said.

  Anthea smiled at her and handed over the empty basket she was holding. “I guess that’s true,” she said.

  With the Theos and the two other groups out, that meant that Anthea was one of the last able-bodied riders left at the Last Farm. She had thought that she had a lot to do in the previous weeks, but it was nothing compared to now. A few of the riders had been allowed out of quarantine, which helped, but they were too weak to ride or lift bales of hay or buckets of water.

  She got the mares in the paddock to run back and forth, chased by Florian and Leonidas, much to their resentment. Then she jumped the stallions over the fence into another paddock (since Uncle Andrew’s curtain was closed now) and chased some of the stallions around. Three more riders had died now, and their horses were in mourning. While the other stallions scattered, they stood in the corner of the paddock with their heads down.

  Anthea slid off Florian and then sent him after his fellows to keep them moving while she talked to the grief-stricken horses. They gathered around her as soon as her boots hit the ground, pressing her between them. She put her arms over the backs of two of them, and made shushing noises.

  Gerard is gone, the big bay stallion, Goliath, said to her.

  I know, I know, she told him. I know, I know, she told the other two stallions.

  One of them, Cassius, had flung himself repeatedly against his stall until his legs were raw and bruised. Now he was swathed in bandages and had moved from a frantic, panicky sort of grief to a numbness that was almost more alarming.

  Cassius, how do you feel? Are your legs healing?

  Does it matter?

  Yes, she assured him. We all want you to be well again, and strong. We will need you.

  Why?

  Soon we will have medicine to fix the Dag. We need to carry medicine to the south so that more people don’t die, Anthea said.

  She could sense that this pleased Cassius, but not Goliath. Goliath did not care who was saved. His rider hadn’t been. Atticus, the third grieving stallion, seemed ready to go either way. They would need to keep an eye on him, more so than the other two, Anthea thought. If they could make Atticus and Cassius excited about going on missions with other riders, Goliath might be won over as well. But if both Atticus and Goliath refused to work with other riders, the fragile Cassius didn’t stand a chance against them.

  Anthea made a mental note to tell Finn about their situation, and then headed back toward the Big House. Caillin MacRennie was just riding up from his weekly visit to the village. He exchanged news about what was happening in the north and bought supplies. Before the Dag, the cook and her staff had done it, using the farm’s single team of oxen and their high-sided cart. But now that the barely kept secret of the horses was out, and the staff didn’t want to risk getting the Dag, Caillin MacRennie had taken over, riding his stallion and leading the oxen.

  They were headed down the long dirt lane, walled by stone, and Anthea could tell from the slump in Caillin MacRennie’s shoulders that the news from Dorling-on-Sea had not been cheerful. Her heart constricted as she thought of dear plump Mrs. Talbot, maker of the world’s finest marzipan. Had she been struck down by the Dag?

  Anthea grabbed hold of Florian’s saddle as he came over to her and swung herself up. She thought she would trot over and offer some words of comfort to Caillin MacRennie, and get the news, no matter how bad. But as Florian jumped a fence and she could, from his tall back, see over the stone wall to the lane, she kicked him into a gallop.

  Something was bobbing along in the wake of the oxcart. Was it an animal? Florian jumped another fence, and Caillin MacRennie waved his hat at her, although she wasn’t sure if he was telling her to slow down or just saying hello. When he noticed that she was aiming Florian at the lane behind him and the cart, however, he reined in his horse and turned to look, putting his hat back on.

  It was another hat, a brown knitted h
at, that Anthea could see bobbing along in the wake of the cart. A hat worn by a child.

  Anthea didn’t dare jump Florian over the wall along the lane. He probably could have made it, but the jagged vertical stones at the top made her nervous. Instead she pulled him up alongside it and looked down to see a boy of about eight in a knitted cap gazing back up at her with delight.

  “Ar, miss! Is that a horse?”

  “Yes …”

  “Can I have one?”

  “Maybe,” Anthea said. She leaned down and raised her scarred eyebrow. “But first you have to tell me what you’re doing here.”

  11

  A GLIMMER OF HOPE

  Before the boy could answer, Caillin MacRennie waved and shouted for the child to stay in the middle of the drive. “No closer, laddie, if ye please! We’ve got the Dag here.” He smiled as he left the oxen and trotted his horse back toward them. “It’s all right, laddie, but stay clear.”

  The child looked at Anthea and shrugged, but called out, “Yes, sir!” to Caillin MacRennie.

  Anthea turned Florian, and Caillin MacRennie came up on the other side of the wall so that they were side by side to survey the child, who stood rocking from foot to foot, his face streaked with dust. He wore a kilt and a felted jacket, like most Leanans, as well as the knitted hat, thick socks, and a scarf against the chilly weather. He had a knapsack on his back, but it was so flat it must have been completely empty.

  “What’s to do, then?” Caillin MacRennie said.

  “We need medicine, sir!”

  “Who does?” Caillin MacRennie asked. He looked beyond the child, as though looking for parents. Or any adults, really.

  “My village,” the boy answered. “Parsiny. It’s northwest of here.”

  “I know it,” Caillin MacRennie said. “But what medicine? I’m afraid we’re no more better off than any of ye.”

  “My granddad is a doctor. He says he needs these things.” The boy pulled a list out of his pocket. “Willow drops, tansy root.” The boy scrunched up his face. “I can’t read the rest.”

  “We’ll take care of it,” Anthea said. She stretched out a hand and took the paper with her fingertips.

  “Did ye walk all the way, my lad?” Caillin MacRennie asked.

  “Yes, sir!” the boy answered with real pride.

  “Well, sit down on the wall there, and we’ll get ye some food.” He turned to Anthea, who nodded.

  The boy started to protest, and then shrugged and sat down on the bit of grassy bank between the drive and wall. He seemed remarkably unmoved by either the horses or the idea of the Dag being on the farm. Anthea couldn’t decide if that meant he was brave or … she didn’t know what.

  She hurried to the stable yard and tied Florian to a ring next to the mounting block. From there she ran straight into the Big House and the kitchen and told the cook what was happening. Then she went through and into the dining room to tell Finn and Perkins, who was marking the Theos’ path on a map.

  “Parsiny?” Perkins frowned at the map, then tossed it aside and found one that showed the northern villages. “So it’s not just us.”

  “Thank heavens,” Finn said. “I was worried that we’d brought it with us when we pulled out of the south.” He gave Anthea a smile, and she smiled back, relieved that she wasn’t the only one who worried about such things.

  “It’s hardly something to grin about,” Perkins said coldly. “The fact that the Dag can jump the Wall and spread all the way to the west isn’t something to celebrate, in my most humble opinion.”

  “And what does this boy want?” Finn asked. “Does he know we don’t have a cure?” He grimaced as he said it.

  “It looks like supplies to treat the symptoms,” Anthea said. She held out the paper she had taken from the boy.

  “We have all these things, and to spare,” Finn said, looking at the note.

  “Willow drops? Those we have to spare, but …” Perkins made a mark on the map. “Spreading our men even thinner. Blast! We didn’t plan to send anyone around the north.”

  “It’s not that far,” Anthea said, studying the map as well.

  “A horse could be there and back in a day,” Finn agreed.

  “Fine, I’ll do it,” Perkins snapped.

  Anthea and Finn goggled at him.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Because you—you—” Finn stammered.

  “You never leave the farm and you hate everyone,” Anthea said, feeling a blush rise in her cheeks even as she faced Perkins squarely.

  Now it was Perkins’s turn to goggle.

  “I don’t hate everyone,” he said, after too long a pause.

  He looked from Anthea to Finn, aghast, but their skeptical expressions didn’t change. Finally he shook his head.

  “All right. Fine. But the fact remains that we have all the healthy riders in groups and are moving them all out. Finn, you need to stay here with Constantine, because none of the horses are happy about any of this.” He swept a hand across the map to indicate the relay teams, the Dag, all of it. “I don’t have a team, so—”

  “I don’t, either,” Anthea said. “Neither does Jilly.”

  “I’m not sending a girl out alone to—”

  “I am,” Finn said. He turned to Anthea. “Would you? Take this boy and some supplies to Parsiny? If you start now you won’t be back until after dark, but …”

  “I’ll do it,” she said. “I can put the boy on Bluebell, and between her and Florian, we’ll be able to carry plenty of things to Parsiny. And after we leave him and the supplies, we’ll be able to hurry back.”

  “Perfect,” Finn said, smiling at her.

  She felt herself blushing again.

  Perkins made a noise in his throat and looked like he was going to argue.

  “From this distance,” Anthea said coolly, pointing to Parsiny on the map, “if I do run into trouble, I will be able to tell Leonidas, or even Constantine, directly.”

  “That’s impossible,” Perkins began. Then he looked at her face, and at Finn’s. “It’s not impossible, is it?”

  They shook their heads in unison. Perkins’s face creased, just for a second, and then he was looking back at the map. Anthea felt a sudden surge of pity.

  They had never been able to re-create that moment when Florian had sent a plea for help all the way from the south of Coronam to Constantine on the farm, but everyone agreed that Anthea’s illness and extreme need had played a part in that. Since Anthea didn’t really want to be shot again, and no one else wanted to be shot either to test that theory, they could only practice. Most messages could only be passed through the Way over a handful of miles, which meant that they had to relay them.

  But from Parsiny to the farm? From what Anthea and Florian had been able to do running messages in the south, she knew that they could do it easily without needing another horse and rider in between, and that wasn’t boasting.

  And now Anthea needed to go back to the kitchen and collect the food for the boy, if someone hadn’t already run it out to him, but she hesitated. There was something she’d wanted to ask since the Dag had struck Dorling-on-Sea.

  “What is it?” Finn asked, seeing her shift from foot to foot.

  “I know that the horses didn’t cause the Dag, but what did?” Anthea asked. “I mean, how did it get over the Wall? We kept our riders isolated. How do they have it in Dorling-on-Sea, and Parsiny? I asked Dr. Rosemary, but she said she doesn’t have time to explain everything to me.”

  Dr. Rosemary was genuinely trying to include Anthea and even Jilly in her work more. But Anthea suspected that the scientist didn’t like admitting that she didn’t know things, so her rather vague and extremely technical response to this question made Anthea think that Dr. Rosemary was just as baffled as she was.

  “Got to be smugglers,” Perkins said shortly.

  “Smugglers?” Anthea raised her eyebrows. “You mean exiles trying to sneak back into Coronam?”

 
Perkins barked a laugh. “Hardly!”

  “Actually, a number of ships pass along the coast in both directions,” Finn told her. “There are Coronami who enjoy Leanan ale and don’t like paying a heavy tax for it, so they pay a smuggler slightly less to bring it south. And many Leanans prefer the Coronami wines to their own ale.”

  “Oh, dear.” Anthea shook her head. “Liquor really is the root of all evil, as Miss Miniver said.”

  Perkins snorted, and Anthea blushed.

  “I’ll take some food to the boy,” she muttered.

  She knew she should be more shocked by the idea of smugglers, but what was the point? Her shock wasn’t going to stop the smuggling. And really, weren’t they already paying for their illicit activities, now that they had brought the Dag to the north?

  She was so caught up in her thoughts that she almost walked right past the little boy, now squatting in the dust. At the last moment, Caillin MacRennie called out and startled her from her reverie. She leaped backward and put the basket on the ground.

  “I’ll back away, then you come and get it,” she told the boy.

  “All right, miss,” he said, shrugging. “But I’ve had ring pox.”

  Ring pox? Anthea thought. Well, at least they aren’t calling it horse pox in the north! She took another three steps to stand by Caillin MacRennie.

  “You mean the Dag?” she said.

  “Nay, not that, miss,” the boy said as he scuttled forward and grabbed a slice of bread out of the basket to cram into his mouth. With his other hand he snatched up the canteen, then pulled the cork with his teeth and gulped half the water at one go. “Ring pox, like most little ’uns,” he continued when he was done swallowing.

  “I don’t think we follow ye, laddie,” Caillin MacRennie said.

  “What’s that?” Dr. Hewett came up with a paper in one hand. Anthea saw that it was the boy’s list of supplies, and Dr. Hewett was frowning.