Wench

by Maxine Kaplan

  The man grasped the handle of his teapot with thick, soft fingers and poured its contents into a dainty silver mug.

  He looked up and she met his eyes. He smiled. “Do you like tea?”

  Tanya found her voice, hoarse as it was from her earlier fruitless screaming. “I do,” she said gruffly. “But I need my hands to drink it.”

  The man smiled, dimpling. “Riley, untie the girl. She’s not going anywhere.”

  Tanya shivered, but nodded at the little man. “Thank you. I would like breakfast.”

  “Of course.” He signaled to a shadowy lackey, who pulled up his hood and went out into the rain. “And with whom do I have the pleasure of breakfasting?”

  “You first,” she answered as Riley untied her. As soon as she was free, Tanya immediately bent over to untie her feet. She stretched out her aching calves and sighed.

  That reminded her. “What happened to my horse?” she asked.

  “She’ll be very well taken care of,” spoke up Riley. Tanya turned to look at him. He had pulled up a sturdy little chair and was straddling it backward. He smiled. “I treat my horses well.”

  The tent parted and an attendant entered with the biscuits and bacon Tanya had smelled, along with a covered dish. The lackey pulled another table over to the little man and spread out the food. The dish turned out to hold eggs, scrambled with cream and salmon roe.

  Tanya’s mouth watered. She never got to eat salmon roe. Froud had caviar in stock, but only for the highest-ranking guests.

  The little man began filling a plate. Unable—and disinclined—to ignore her training, Tanya noted how fine the dishware was: opalescent china with beautiful gold leaf scrollwork along the edges.

  She noticed the man watching her noticing and quickly looked away. The man looked at her thoughtfully and then started spreading butter on a biscuit. “I’m not really anybody,” he said, his voice warm. “If I told you my name, you wouldn’t know it.”

  “Well, I have to call you something.”

  “Why don’t you call me Uncle Tommy?”

  Tanya stared. “Uncle Tommy?”

  He smiled. “That will work.” Riley choked out a laugh behind Tanya, and Uncle Tommy grinned. “What? She reminds me of my niece.”

  Tanya briefly closed her eyes. “Fine,” she said. “Why was I snatched in the night by your errand boy?”

  Uncle Tommy offered her the biscuit. It was yeasty, but the butter was of the highest quality.

  “Riley just did what he was told. You’re here because of this.” Uncle Tommy picked up a bundled piece of cloth. He held it high and let it tumble open.

  It was her apron. It was the map.

  Tanya chewed on a piece of bacon. Finally, she asked, “My apron? Do you need a kitchen maid? Your ingredients are good, but whoever your cook is doesn’t have a firm grip on proportions, I agree.”

  He folded it up neatly and placed it on the table. “This is a very unusual map, what with the . . . annotations. Who drew it for you?”

  Tanya opened her mouth and then shut it. She felt the quill poke her from deep inside her boot.

  “A girl I met on the road,” she said carefully. “Some tavern maid traveling to the Capital.”

  Uncle Tommy’s eyes narrowed behind his smile. “A tavern maid on her way to the Capital.”

  Tanya didn’t like the way that wasn’t a question. “That’s right,” she said, crossing her legs, as if that could conceal the lie.

  The little man in front of her frowned. “That is disappointing,” he said. He sighed and looked her in the eye. “I was enjoying this.”

  He signaled behind her with two fingers and the lackey wrapped his arms around her. He yanked her hands behind her and held them around the back of her chair.

  “Hey!” Tanya kicked the air, trying to buck him, but she couldn’t get enough momentum or leverage to even bounce her way off the chair. “I’m not the girl. I didn’t draw the map! Leave me alone! Wait—” Two more men surrounded her, both of them big, both of them looming over her, reaching for her. “No—”

  “Tanya!” a girl’s voice cried.

  Everyone froze. Uncle Tommy paused midsip. “So that’s it. Good for you, Tanya,” he said, raising his cup at her. “Smart not to give anything away for free.”

  The lackey relaxed his hold on Tanya and she ripped out of his grasp, turning to see the newcomer who apparently knew her.

  “Jana,” she breathed, her heart lurching into her stomach.

  This was a very different Jana from the one Tanya had seen at the camp, simpering up at Hart in a frilly dress. This Jana was dressed in tight leather pants and a loosely fitted blouse made of some cheap but shiny gray fabric. This Jana wasn’t in tiny slippers, but heavy black boots laced up to her knees and a complicated garment combining a vest and a belt made of brown suede and brass buckles. Tanya counted two knives, three throwing stars, and a crossbow all strapped to that vest, and she somehow knew that those were just the weapons she could see.

  Jana was dirty and breathing hard. There were scratches on her arms and a twig in her hair.

  She looked unlike anyone Tanya had ever seen.

  Jana crossed her arms and glared. “That was mean, Tanya,” she said. “Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to get here this fast from Ironhearth? I was going to steal that horse! I had to travel on foot!”

  “So, you know our tavern wench, Jana?” asked Uncle Tommy. Tanya shot him a glance and he answered her next question without her having to voice it. “Tavern maids can never not criticize other people’s cooking.”

  Tanya slumped over in her chair, putting her head in her hands. Jana knew that she was the one who had stolen the quill. She had lost—she was never going to get to the Capital, never going to get to the Queen, never going to get the Smiling Snake back. The only thing she could possibly salvage was herself. She could maybe, just maybe, get out of this camp alive and intact.

  “OK,” she said, aware that she was handing over the one piece of leverage she had left in the world. “You win. I put the quill in my boot.”

  Uncle Tommy looked pointedly at Tanya’s feet. She sighed and bent over to unlace the left boot, feeling the quill heat up and quiver against her skin.

  When she had loosened it enough, she slipped in her thumb and index finger and drew out the quill.

  A hush fell over the tent. The white fibers seemed to vibrate in Tanya’s hand and the quill’s tip glowed, throwing out tiny, blindingly bright sparks. She looked at it regretfully. It was really a very pretty thing, and a useful one, after all. She wouldn’t have wanted to give it up to anyone less than the Queen and Council. But here she was.

  She held it out. “Here you are, Uncle.”

  He took it from her, an oily glint in his eye. He looked at the quill like it was a chocolate cake and he’d been fasting.

  The quill dimmed a little in his hands, but he didn’t seem concerned. “Excellent,” he said, almost to himself.

  Tanya started to stand up. “I’m free to leave now?”

  Uncle Tommy was still looking reverently at the quill. Riley cleared his throat. “Sir?”

  He looked up. “Yes?”

  Riley motioned to Tanya. “What should we do with the girl?”

  Uncle Tommy seemed surprised to see Tanya standing in front of him, as if he had forgotten she existed the moment she had handed him the quill. “Oh, take her to Lukas,” he said. “Have him set her up in the kitchens. She’s right about his cooking, he burnt the bacon.”

  “Wait—” protested Tanya as Riley took her arm. “You can’t just commandeer me! I’m a citizen!”

  Uncle Tommy sighed and finally put down the quill. “No, my dear, what you are is a girl, alone and unarmed, apparently without any money or valuables, and, now,” he added, holding up her apron, “without a map. Believe it or not, I’m actually doing you a favor by not turning you loose on the road in this particular part of the country. We’re packing up soon. When we get to Bloodstone, you’ll be
free to go, if you want. It’s not the loveliest of towns, but there will be ways for you to earn an honest wage. In the meantime, nobody in my camp gets a free ride. Everybody works.”

  “Bloodstone,” breathed Tanya. That city, buried in the shallow, rocky mouth of a burnt-out volcano, had haunted Tanya’s nightmares as a child. Regulars gave travelers from Bloodstone a wide berth, but Tanya had had to serve everybody at the Snake. One particularly scorch-eyed woman, with a high, pointed forehead and thick, lustrous hair the improbable color of summer grass, had taken a liking to the literal-minded little girl who listened so wide eyed to her stories.

  What she had told Tanya about Bloodstone had made her shake.

  She opened her mouth to lodge a protest, but was yanked out of the tent before she had the chance to formulate one.

  The camp was a hodgepodge of colorful multilayered tents and different factions of men wearing elaborate matching patches or vests, indicating varying allegiances. Riley wheeled her past the spectacle to a temporary but sturdy-looking structure that had been set up next to the creek.

  A harried-looking boy, younger than Tanya, was struggling with a pot of porridge. He was scraping the bottom with a frantic fork.

  “Your flame’s too high,” said Tanya automatically. The boy looked up at her with wide eyes.

  “This is the second pot I’ve tried to make,” he said emphatically, not even bothering to ask who she was. “I have no idea how to do this.”

  She sighed. That was a big pot of good oats and long-grain rice. She couldn’t let a second batch just get thrown out. It would be too irritating.

  “Move,” she said, shoving the boy out of the way and turning off the burner. “Get me some heavy cream.”

  While he ran to the creek to fetch a bottle out of a makeshift icebox, Tanya tasted the concoction, wrinkled her nose, and started rooting around the free-standing aluminum shelves for cinnamon and brown sugar.

  “Well, it looks like there’s nothing more for me to do,” said Riley cheerfully. “You’re right at home here.”

  That brought Tanya back to her senses and she dropped the fork on the counter with a thud.

  “I am not at home,” she told him sternly. “I demand to be allowed to leave so that I can go home.” To a home that is no longer yours and now will never be since you’ve lost that quill and have no other way to gain audience with the Council let alone the Queen. Tanya firmly told the voice in her head to shut up. She would find another way.

  Riley scratched his head and yawned. He’d probably been up all night, Tanya realized. Her fingers started to move automatically toward the coffeepot, but she forced them down at her side.

  “Sorry, tavern maid,” said Riley, blurring the words through his yawn. “If the Tomcat says you’re coming with us to Bloodstone, you’re coming with us to Bloodstone.”

  Tanya scowled. “In that case, get out of my kitchen.” Riley grabbed a biscuit, winked, and obliged.

  Tanya watched him saunter away, swinging his hips, and felt an insistent twinge of approval. She liked seeing someone with energy.

  There was a slam of metal against wood and both Tanya and the boy jumped.

  “I’m very thirsty, very hungry, and very annoyed,” said Jana petulantly, pushing her recently deposited sword belt to the side of the picnic table and straddling the bench. “Is that ready?” she asked, pointing at the porridge. “Can I have pancakes instead?”

  Tanya looked from the incompetent boy to the hungry girl. This was not the Snake. This was not her inn. She needed to remember that. But just because she didn’t have the Snake back—yet—that didn’t mean she would choose to be useless. Being helpful kept other people at bay, kept her safe.

  “Pancakes, you said?” she asked, putting effort into making her voice as pleasant as possible. She even flashed her best fake smile, the one she used to convince well-dressed ladies to spring for dessert.

  But Jana was yawning and didn’t even notice it. Tanya narrowed her eyes. The girl, however unusual she looked, was a common liar and a thief, neither characteristics that recommended themselves to Tanya. But she no longer had an inn, or a quill, and lacking other resources to get by, she might have to settle for—Tanya stifled an impatient sigh—a friend.

  Tanya threw a pat of butter in the pan and began making batter for pancakes. “Jana,” she said, “what is this place?”

  Jana sniffed. “What do you mean? Like where are we?”

  “That would be a start.”

  Tanya looked at Jana and saw that she was grimacing. “It’s a nasty piece of miner country,” said Jana. “Dull, dirty, and mean.”

  “What kind of mining?”

  Jana began unlacing her boots, a long process considering the length. “When I was little it was chalk. Got all over everything. Then the chalk started running out and it was coal, which really got all over everything, but there wasn’t much of it. Ah, that’s better,” she said, wriggling her toes, filthy and nail-broken, in the sun. “Then, a couple years ago, a gigantic salt deposit just showed up.”

  “We’re near the ocean?” Tanya asked excitedly. She knew the Port Cities. If she could escape the camp, she’d be able to find her way.

  “We’re nowhere near the ocean,” said Jana, and Tanya’s heart sank. “That’s what made the salt so valuable. Food got better. People got worse.”

  “And this camp? What is it?”

  Jana seemed puzzled by the question. “It’s the Tomcat’s compound.”

  Tanya flipped a pancake onto a plate and handed it to her. “I don’t know what that means,” said Tanya.

  Jana motioned for Tanya to hand her the syrup. Tanya complied and the other girl poured a glob of it directly into her mouth before cramming the pancake in whole.

  After swallowing, she said, “The Tomcat’s a criminal. I guess you know that.”

  “Yes,” answered Tanya dryly.

  “But the thing is, he’s a master criminal. He’s no pickpocket; he comes up with the really big scams. Other gangs contract with him for a piece of the pie. The gangs come and go, but there’s always a stable.”

  Tanya wrinkled her forehead. “This is a guild? A guild of criminals?”

  Jana smiled and nodded.

  Tanya stared at the enigma in front of her. Who was this girl who smiled at a guild of blackguards? “You said ‘when you were little,’” said Tanya suddenly. “You’re from here?”

  Jana came up next to her and snatched the half-cooked bacon, still dripping with fat, off the stove. “Depends on what you mean by ‘here,’” she said, juggling the sizzling meat from fingertip to fingertip. “This isn’t really a place. This is just Chalk Deposit 36. Nobody ever bothered to name it. Until the salt.”

  “What’s it called now?” asked Tanya, putting herself between Jana and the open flames.

  “People call it ‘the White.’”

  Tanya poured herself a cup of coffee. “Your parents were miners, then?”

  Jana perched on the table. “My mom was. I don’t remember her. My dad wasn’t. I was born in Chalk Deposit 36. But we went back and forth a lot.”

  “From here and where?”

  “Bloodstone.”

  Tanya spat out her coffee. “You went back and forth from the chalk mines to Bloodstone? As a child?”

  Jana shrugged nonchalantly and licked the bacon grease off her palms.

  Tanya was shocked. “What does your dad do?”

  Jana pulled a knife and whetstone from her belt and started sharpening. “A little of this, a little of that.” She noticed Tanya staring and stopped sharpening for a moment. “He had to take me with him. What was he supposed to do? Just leave me in the woods?”

  An image of a woman’s back, tall and straight as an oak in Tanya’s memory, as she strode away from her into the woods washed over her. “I suppose not,” she said stiffly, turning away.

  “’Course, there would have been more convenient cities than Bloodstone for him to just up and die in.”

  �
�I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Nah, he never cared much about life and death. I tried not to let it bother me and it’s been a good four or five years now anyway.”

  Tanya snuck a look behind her shoulders. “How old are you?”

  Jana furrowed her brow. “Not sure. Seventeen, maybe?”

  Tanya turned all the way and really studied the girl kicking her feet off the table. She was lithe, but her shoulders were broad and muscled. Her hands were callused and filthy, but the fingers were dexterous, delicate. Her clothes were a hodgepodge and clearly designed for a boy, but they all fit well and were clean and well made.

  This was someone who knew how to take care of herself—who knew how to make herself useful to survive. Tanya felt a flicker of recognition.

  She was still thinking of the right thing to say when Riley came around the corner and hollered, “Jaybird! Tomcat wants you.”

  Jana jumped off the table. “Gotta go.”

  “Oh. Sure.”

  Jana hesitated. “I’m sorry, by the way. That you got stuck here. But, hey, it’s not so bad. Tomcat will let you go once we get to Bloodstone. He does what he says he’ll do. Mostly. And Riley was right to take you out of those woods. You don’t know how to fight, do you?”

  Tanya folded her arms. “I can take care of myself.”

  The other girl sighed. “Do you know how to throw a punch? How to use a knife?”

  Tanya stayed silent. Jana shook her head. “You wouldn’t be that safe around the White these days. Not by yourself.”

  Tanya turned back to the dishes. “I might surprise you,” she muttered. She knew how well she could manage by herself.

  Chapter

  7

  All day Tanya worked hard, scrubbing old barrels and filling them with portioned provisions, handing out sandwiches, drilling Lukas on egg cookery (the boy might as well get passable at the trade), setting a stew to slow cook for the camp’s dinner—but, most importantly, she worked on crafting the most decadent and beautifully plated dinner she could manage.