“For me?” She made herself look surprised. “I’m supposed to make sure these stairs are clean. Should I finish the job first?”
“No, of course not. When the regent calls, you come right away. Hurry up, now.”
Anya dropped the broom and hastened after the man as he led the way downstairs. When she stepped through the curtains into the throne room, she had to remind herself not to look up at the ceiling to search for the invisible opening. It was odd to think that she had been gazing down into this room from above just a few minutes ago. Focusing on the regent instead, she hurried forward along the red carpet and curtsied politely. Captain Almanian was no longer present, and she felt more nervous facing Rampus on her own.
“There you are,” Rampus growled, obviously tired of waiting. He rolled up the parchment sheet he had been reading and tapped it impatiently against the arm of the throne. “I want a report. How are you coming along on the mission I assigned you?”
Anya’s heart skipped a beat as she realized she had not planned what to say to him. She had been going to make something up, but in the urgency of the last few minutes, she had completely forgotten.
“Hurry up, girl. I haven’t got all day,” he snapped.
If all else fails, try the truth. “I’m sorry, sir,” Anya murmured, gazing up at him wide-eyed with what she hoped was a cute though anxious expression. “I’ve been working in different parts of the palace and listening to everyone I can, but I haven’t overheard anything important yet. I’ve tried hard, though,” she added hastily, seeing his features darken in a scowl. “I’ve heard lots of people having lots of different conversations they didn’t know I was listening to. But just about things like their families, or the work they were doing, or how cold the weather’s been.”
The regent’s scowl had only deepened. “That’s no good to me. You’ll have to do better than that if you expect to go free.”
“I’m trying, sir,” Anya repeated feebly. “I am.”
“Well, I suggest you start succeeding,” the regent snapped. “The month we agreed upon doesn’t begin until you start giving me information I can use.”
Anya’s heart sank. Then, unexpectedly, an idea came to her, so suddenly that she almost laughed out loud. Of course! It would be the perfect solution.
“I understand, sir,” she told him earnestly. “That only makes sense. But I have an idea about how I can probably find out a lot of things for you much more quickly.”
“Oh?”
“You see, sir, I think everyone in the palace feels like they have to be careful what they say because there are so many soldiers around. You never know when one of them might walk through the door. But out in the city people are more likely to talk about what they’re really thinking. If I could go to a public place, like a market or something, I could probably find out plenty.”
Rampus laughed scornfully. “You think I’m going to just set you loose out there and hope you’ll come back? Don’t be stupid.”
“Oh, no, sir,” she assured him. “You could have soldiers keep an eye on me from a distance. It would be like when Tonnis goes to buy supplies for the clinic every week. He always comes back because the soldiers aren’t far away, and because he knows they would kill Eleya and me if he didn’t. You could have some of your men standing guard at all the different entrances to the marketplace, so I couldn’t run away even if I wanted to.”
“And if you tried, I’d have your friends in the clinic executed slowly and painfully,” Rampus agreed, warming to the idea. “And maybe a dozen or so of their compatriots, just for fun. You wouldn’t want to be the cause of so many deaths, would you, little girl?” He cracked his knuckles thoughtfully, peering at her as though to make sure the threat would really be enough to ensure her cooperation.
“Definitely not,” Anya exclaimed with an exaggerated shudder of horror. “Don’t worry, sir, I won’t try anything like that. I’ll just walk around the market for a couple of hours and come back when I find out something worth telling you.”
“Very well. Tomorrow morning, then,” Rampus agreed. “You’ll have two hours; no more. But if you don’t learn anything useful, it will be the only time you get to do it.”
Anya was ready and waiting early the next morning, hopping around impatiently as Bronin hitched a horse up to one of the palace buggies just outside the stable. “I wish I was coming too. If you do see Arvalon, ask him to take word to my wife that I’m all right,” the groom requested earnestly. “Merla must be worried about me, and about you, too.”
“I will,” Anya promised, clambering up onto the seat as her soldier escort approached. Bronin handed the man the reins as he sat down beside her.
“Don’t even think of trying anything, girl,” the soldier warned her as the palace gates opened and the horse trotted out. “You try to run away, I’ll catch you, and I’ll make sure you regret it.”
“I know, sir,” she told him meekly. “Don’t worry; I’m not going to try anything. I’m on a mission for the regent.” She filled her voice with pride. “He’s going to pay me if I succeed.”
It felt strange to be outside the tall stone walls for the first time in three weeks. Anya stared curiously around as they drove through the streets of Almar; at the citizens going about their business; at soldiers standing on duty in twos and threes on nearly every street corner. She felt like an outsider. It was as though she didn’t really belong here the way she used to. The captivity she had experienced, being forced to work in the enemy’s service, had set her apart.
The soldier parked the buggy by the main entrance of the market. “Two hours,” he reminded her as she jumped off. “Don’t make me come looking for you.”
“I know,” she told him, and darted into the crowd before he could make any more threats.
As she entered the market, Anya heard eight resounding bongs from the upstairs window of the brass foundry ahead and to her left. So it was eight o’clock in the morning. She would have to make sure she was back at the buggy by ten. Anya knew the foundry workers divided up the day with the help of a sand-filled hourglass, announcing the time – and the location of their business – to passersby by whacking a large gong every hour. That was how those who made their living in or around the market knew when it was time to start work or go home for the day. Eleya had told her that the palace had used a similar system under King Jaymin, though like many other routines, careful timekeeping had been neglected since the Invasion.
Porlim was standing out in front of his shop talking to a customer when Anya approached. His eyes lit up when he saw her, and he waved to her over the man’s shoulder. She waved back and hurried around him into the shop. “Arvalon?”
“Anya!” Her brother turned from where he had been poring over the account books on the front counter. His face brightened in a grin. “You came!” He opened his arms and she flew into them, wrapping hers around his waist. He hugged her back, so tightly she could hardly breathe. Funny how she hadn’t realized until just now how very much she had missed him.
“You’re taller,” she accused when they finally drew apart.
He laughed. “I can’t be. It’s barely been a month.” Cocking his head to one side, he examined her face. “You’ve changed, though, I think. You look – I don’t know. Older. More serious.”
“A lot of things have happened to me since we saw each other last,” Anya told him somberly. She could certainly believe that she looked different. “But there’s too much to tell it all right now.”
“Tonnis said you were a prisoner in the palace. How did you escape?”
“I didn’t escape. They let me come out for a little while.” Anya shifted uncomfortably. She didn’t want to explain her mission to her brother; didn’t want him to know the regent was paying her to spy for him. Never mind that she wasn’t actually planning to do it. It would take too long to make him understand.
“But forget about that,” she added quickly. “Tell me about you and Father. Why are you back here with
out him? What’s been going on?”
Arvalon frowned and glanced out over the counter toward where Porlim and the customer were still haggling over the price of a bag of Malornian coffee. “Let’s get farther back,” her brother suggested in a low voice, and they retreated toward the rear of the little shop where they would be less likely to be overheard.
“Father’s still in Sazellia,” he told her when they were standing in the dimness by the back wall. “We sold the Alasian wool we had brought, but after the Invasion they wouldn’t allow anyone but soldiers across the border in either direction for a while. A security precaution, I suppose. Eventually they started letting civilians use the ferry again, but Father didn’t want to leave. By then we had bought the coffee we’d been planning to bring back here, but he wanted me to come and sell it on my own. He said I should think of it as sort of a training exercise to prove I’m ready to be a real partner in the business.”
“But there was more to it than that,” Anya guessed. It was obvious from her brother’s voice and expression that he hadn’t believed Father’s excuse either.
Arvalon sighed. “Something’s wrong. Father wouldn’t talk about it, but I could tell. He was badly worried the day we heard about the Invasion. Not just concerned the way a lot of people were, but upset in a different way. He spent hours pacing back and forth the way he only does when he’s really worked up about something. And when we heard the border was finally open and we could go home, he wasn’t the least bit interested at first. Uncle Kindrin and I reminded him again and again about the business, that we were losing money the longer we waited. Finally he said I should go on my own. He said to check on you and the house, and that after Porlim and I had sold all the coffee, you and I should pack up everything we’d need for a few months at least, and come join him in Malorn. The plan is for us to move in with Uncle Kindrin and Aunt Jenzie. He wouldn’t say why – just that it was time for a change for our family.”
Anya frowned worriedly. “One of the Malornians at the palace told me something strange about Father a few days ago,” she confided. “I don’t know how he knew, and I’m not sure if I should even believe him.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “But he hinted that Father might have had something to do with the Invasion.”
Arvalon stared at her. “What?”
“So good to see you again, young Anya!” Porlim’s deep voice interrupted their conversation. Finished with his customer, he hurried through the shop and threw an arm around her shoulders. “I’m glad you’re all right. I’ve been worried since Tonnis told us the soldiers had kidnapped you. How’s it been, working for them in the palace?”
“Well, it could be worse.” Anya didn’t want to talk about it. As nice as Porlim was, she really wasn’t interested in chatting with him at all at the moment. She wanted to keep talking to Arvalon and figure out what was going on with Father.
Fortunately, another customer stopped in front of the little shop, and Porlim turned back to greet him. “Yes? Good morning, sir; what can I get you?”
“Oh, nothing today,” was the reply. “I’m just here to say hello to a couple of old friends.”
Brother and sister looked up, startled, to see an Alasian giving them a friendly wave. “Good morning, Arvalon, Anya,” he called. “Enjoying your little reunion? Do tell your father I remember him fondly. Our last encounter was most profitable.” He smiled broadly and strolled on out of their sight.
Anya and her brother stared at each other in confusion. “Who in the world is he?” Anya demanded.
Arvalon furrowed his brow, thinking hard. “I don’t know, but I’ve seen him before. I recognize his face, and his voice as well.”
“I think I do too,” Anya agreed, trying to remember. “But I’m not sure from where.” And something – she couldn’t quite pinpoint what – seemed a little odd about his voice. Not that it sounded strange. But there was something about the way he talked that didn’t quite seem right, though she couldn’t think why.
“A business contact of your father’s, no doubt,” Porlim suggested, trying to be helpful.
“I suppose,” Anya agreed. She wanted to return to their previous conversation, but the unexpected encounter had left her curious. “Why would that man know our names if we don’t know his?”
A cluster of approaching shoppers claimed Porlim’s attention, and Arvalon turned back to his sister. “I think I remember. Isn’t he the fellow who came over to our house a few months ago?”
“Lots of people come over to our house,” Anya pointed out.
“Yes, but he was different. Father looked nervous, and brought him into his study right away and locked the door.”
“Yes! I remember that.” Anya squinted into the distance, recalling the occasion. “It was at the end of the summer, when we’d been eating nothing but bread and vegetables for weeks because everything kept going wrong for Father’s business.” She nodded slowly. “Yes, I think he is the same man.” She had been puzzled about the secretive arrangement Father and the stranger had made, but it had remained a secret. Though Father had been noticeably troubled afterward, he had never spoken to her or Arvalon about the encounter or the mysterious visitor.
“I wonder if that conversation has anything to do with why he’s been so anxious since the Invasion,” Arvalon murmured.
Anya raised her eyebrows thoughtfully. “Maybe it does. But what was the information the man paid him for? I don’t understand what Father could have marked or written that was so valuable.”
The two of them had discussed it before but had never come to any satisfactory conclusions. Now her brother shrugged. “Who knows? All I can say is, if it was somehow connected with the Invasion, it’s a good thing Malorn won. If Alasia had fought the Malornians off, can you imagine what would have happened to Father if anyone had found out? He could have gotten in big trouble for selling critical information to Alasia’s enemies. Maybe even been executed as a traitor.”
Anya stared at her brother, horrified at the thought. Their father, executed? “That’s why he didn’t want to come back here,” she exclaimed, understanding sinking in.
But what would happen if Prince Jaymin returned and somehow freed Alasia? Would anyone find out what their father had done? Would he, could he, really be executed?
And why did something about the man who had just greeted them still seem oddly familiar to her – as though perhaps she had seen him recently in some other context?
“Don’t worry,” Arvalon reassured her, noticing her expression. “Father’s safe enough. It’s not as though Alasia’s in any position to punish traitors. I suppose that’s one advantage to the way the Invasion turned out: as long as the Malornians are in charge here, no one in authority will care about whatever Father did. If any of them even know, they probably consider him a hero.”
Anya couldn’t stop thinking about her conversation with Arvalon and their encounter with the mysterious man. She looked for the man later as she walked back and forth through the market, listening to random people’s conversations just in case the regent had spies there to keep an eye on her. But the man seemed to have disappeared.
When she heard ten bongs from the foundry gong, Anya stopped by Porlim’s shop once more, where Arvalon was busy unpacking another crate of coffee to replace the bags that had been sold already. She hated to say goodbye, not knowing if or when she would be allowed to leave the palace again.
“You don’t have to go back. I could help you hide,” her brother suggested halfheartedly. But Anya wasn’t tempted, not really.
“The regent will kill people if I do,” she told him sadly. “I have to go. But I’ll try to come again another day.”
She didn’t even have a chance to stop by the clinic. The moment the buggy pulled up in the palace courtyard, a soldier appeared and announced that Regent Rampus wanted to see Anya right away.
She wasn’t surprised. No doubt the regent was eager to know what she had found out; and she had found out plenty, though not the kind
of information he wanted. But that was all right. This time she had thought of something to say.
“Good morning, sir,” Anya greeted him cheerfully, dropping a respectful curtsy before the throne. “It’s a good thing you let me go out. You’ll never guess what I heard some men talking about in the market today!”
“What?” demanded the regent, leaning forward eagerly from his throne.
“They’re planning another uprising,” Anya lied, her eyes wide. “I heard them say, ‘This time those Malornians are going to wish they’d never come to Alasia.’”
The regent frowned. “What are they going to do?”
“They’re making their own weapons out of wood and pieces of metal,” she replied, “and soon they’re going to attack your soldiers somewhere in the city.”
“Where? And when?”
“I don’t know, sir,” Anya told him. “I don’t think they had decided that yet. They were still making their plans, but they said they’d keep discussing it over the next few days. They were talking about what weapons they had gotten ready and how many people had agreed to join them so far.”
“How many?”
“Um – about a hundred, but they said they would keep trying to recruit more.”
“A hundred?” The regent scowled. “There are a hundred armed men planning an uprising somewhere in the city?”
“Well, they probably won’t succeed,” Anya told him, trying to sound reassuring. “After all, you have a lot more soldiers than that. And I’m sure their homemade weapons aren’t nearly as good as the soldiers’ swords.”
“That’s not the point,” Rampus growled, his scowl deepening. “What else did you find out?”
“That was all. My two hours were almost up, so I had to leave. But I heard one of the men mention something about them all coming back there again tomorrow.”
“Then you are too,” the regent ordered. “Stay longer this time, all morning if you need to.”
It was all Anya could do to hold back a triumphant grin. Her plan was working!
In the Enemy's Service (Annals of Alasia Book 2) Page 21
