Trickster's Queen

by Tamora Pierce

  “Did Sarai know?” inquired Aly.

  “Yes, but since she liked to sneak off to the stables and the horses, we worked things out,” Dove replied.

  “Didn't your father mind?” Aly wanted to know.

  “For a long time he was grieving for Mama,” Dove explained. “And then he was courting and marrying Winna. I think Winna figured out what I was up to and was trying to decide if she ought to stop me when we got exiled.”

  The wagon moved out of their way at last. “Don't try anything of the kind on me,” Aly told her mistress with a sweet smile. “I won't take it well.”

  Dove giggled. “I think you'd find me quicker than Ulasim ever did,” she replied as they walked on. “Besides,” she added softly, “there's more at stake now.”

  They had come to the poorer end of Dockmarket, where the stalls sold used materials for sarongs and sashes. The sandal and slipper makers were replaced by peddlers who sold used footwear, as well as dented pots, chipped dishes and mugs, and knives that had already been sharpened so often they were just thin strips of metal. Here a few beggars approached them, to be sent along by Dove's guards. Most didn't even try to come near, only watched them with hollow eyes.

  “There weren't so many before,” Dove whispered to Aly, her thin brows knit in disapproval. “Not nearly so many.” She fumbled at her belt-purse. “Have the rest of you coins? I'll pay you from my pocket money when I get home.”

  The beggars surged out of corners and alleys. Junai put up a hand in warning. “My lady, this is not a good idea.”

  “Just the children,” Dove called, making her voice carry over the racket of the Dockmarket and the pleas of the beggars. “We haven't enough for all of you, I'm sorry!”

  The adults fell back, some more readily than others. A few glared at Dove and her guards, all of whom had their hands on their swords. Junai was lazily turning her long staff in a circle in front of her. One twist of the carved grip at the center and long blades would spring from each end of the weapon.

  Kioka and Hiraos closed in subtly, until they stood on either side of the opening the guards had left between Dove and the nearest child. The other children came around there, grimy hands outstretched. Aly watched the crowd. Merchants and customers alike turned to look. On their lips she read Dove's name, and Sarai's. Crows descended to perch on stalls, flicking their wings and tails to warn interlopers that this was their territory.

  Aly heard the tramp of boots with nailed soles before she saw the wearers. Two squads of soldiers converged on them, knocking people out of the way. Children screeched as adults tried to run, knocking them down. Dove and two men-at-arms grabbed several youngsters, hauling them into the ring of guards as it closed around Dove. Aly slid slender blades from her sash, holding the grips in her palms and lining the blades up against the insides of her wrists so that the soldiers would not see them.

  “Go on, get about your business!” snapped a soldier, pushing a slave out of his path. “No assembling, remember, you ignorant swine?”

  The lieutenant with the other squad halted in front of Junai. “Let me pass, in the king's name,” he ordered her.

  Junai stared at him, her dark face without emotion. Aly and Dove traded glances; Dove moved forward, urging the guard at Junai's right to move over so that the officer could see her. “Somehow I doubt the king is concerned with gatherings in Dockmarket,” she said icily, drawing herself up to the full height of her five-foot-four-inch frame. “When I saw him yesterday, he was far more interested in playing with toy soldiers, not real ones who strike unarmed people.”

  The lieutenant stared down his nose at Dove. “And who might you be”—he glanced at Dove's guard and their excellent weapons—“my lady?”

  “You address Lady Dovasary Balitang,” the guard beside Junai told the man.

  “By what right do you knock people about?” Dove wanted to know, her voice quavering slightly.

  “The right of the regents to decree that assemblies of more than ten folk are banned, my lady,” said the lieutenant. “There have been too many brawls in this part of town of late, and we are charged by the regents to keep order. It would be most helpful for the maintenance of order, my lady, if you returned home. They don't get nobility much down this way, and you being here may incite them to rob you.”

  Dove stared at him briefly, then turned and walked down the street toward the Windward District. Aly lagged behind: the lieutenant had grabbed Junai's arm.

  “Mind your place, raka bitch,” he told Junai softly. “Before someone cuts your throat in an alley.”

  Aly rushed forward before Junai forgot herself and showed the man what she was capable of. “Lokeij, please hurry!” she cried, playing the fussy maid, laying hands on Junai's free arm. She had used a dead friend's name so the guard would not have Junai's true identity. “My lady says you have the perfume she bought, and she wants it right away.” She looked up at the lieutenant sidelong, fluttering her lashes, making it plain she thought the sallow-faced luarin attractive. “She's that particular, is Lady Dovasary, and I told her to let me carry the perfume, but she says I'm all thumbs. . . .” Talking as frivolously as she could, she managed to draw Junai away from the soldier and down the street. At the first chance Aly turned Junai to face forward properly and said in the softest of whispers, “Don't ever confront them like that again! Ever! You have no right to throw your life away by being disrespectful to some armed lout, not when Lady Sarai needs you. We're not on Tanair anymore, and the regents rule by the fist. Do you want me to tell your father you were stupid, or do you want to promise me you'll never be so foolish again?”

  Junai drew her arm out of Aly's grip. “Careful,” she said, also keeping her voice low. “People hear you talk like that, and they may start to think you care.”

  Dove glared up at Junai when they rejoined their group. “Don't ever do that again, Junai. Ever, do you understand me? Risking your life in a Dockmarket brawl with a soldier when you owe your life to us!”

  Junai looked down at her young mistress, amused. “So it will seem, Mother.” She looked at Aly. “Duani,” she added with emphasis. “I will be a good girl and try not to get gutted in the market.” She moved up into the lead once more.

  Dove stalked on, her small face grim. Once they were back at the house, she dismissed everyone, including Aly, and locked herself in the library. Aly waited long enough to hear the crash of a thrown object and Dove's cry of “Brutes!” before she left Dove to her rage in peace.

  Aly sat on a bench in the main hall, closing her eyes to think. Did the regents understand how much they revealed by ordering their men to break up gatherings? Surely they'd been around government long enough to know it was a bad idea to let people know you feared them in groups that were not even very large.

  Ulasim found her there and sat next to her. Aly opened her eyes. “I was plotting,” she told him.

  The big raka looked uncommonly grim. “I have no doubt that you were,” he pointed out. “I believe you plot in your sleep. I have something to tell you. I want you to hear it from me. You may recall that we were trying to think of a way to get quick aid to the people on Tongkang.”

  Aly frowned, puzzled. Why did he tell her this? That was the military side of their duties, not the spy side. “I'm sure you'll do whatever's right.”

  “I believe I have,” replied Ulasim, resting a hand on her arm. “At his request, I sent Nawat and some of his crows.”

  For a moment Aly's ears buzzed. Then her entire body went cold, as if she had been dunked in snowmelt. “Nawat?” she whispered through numb lips. “He's no warrior. You can't be serious.”

  “He and his cousins fought well when Bronau attacked Tanair last year,” Ulasim reminded Aly. “He wants to do something, Aly. A man needs something of his own, just as a woman does. And he and his crows can get messages to far more people on and around Tongkang than my mother and all the mages of the Chain. They can watch for warships and soldiers. He thinks he can even divert an armed
party. His reasoning is sound. I approved it.”

  “He's a crow,” Aly whispered, clenching her hands. “A crow who spends time being a man—that doesn't make him one. You had no right to use him for this!”

  “He's not your pet,” Ulasim said gently. “It is time that he learns if he is a crow or a man. As long as he sits in your shadow, he cannot be certain. And his stake in this is far higher than yours. He and his people are the raka's cousins. You are only an imported luarin.”

  Aly flinched. What was wrong with her? She was on the verge of tears. “You should have asked me.”

  “He asked me, as was his right,” Ulasim replied without mercy. He looked her over with the gaze of a commander who saw a weakness in one of his soldiers. “Must I worry about you? Are you going to pout and mope and ignore our work?”

  Aly stiffened at the verbal slap. He'd as much as accused her of not being professional. “No!” she said, outraged.

  “Nawat is intelligent. He has the ears and eyes of his fellow crows,” Ulasim told Aly, his eyes direct. “This is a chance made for him. He is as safe doing that as any of us are safe.” He put a big hand on Aly's shoulder. “This has nothing to do with whatever games you play together, and everything to do with our cause. Have I made myself clear?”

  Aly bit her lip. He was treating her as if she were a silly girl who could think only about her sweetheart. Worse, he was right. Just so would her own father speak to her about neglecting her job. Hanging her head, she nodded.

  “Then I do not want to hear of this again,” instructed Ulasim. “There is work to be done.” He got up and strode off down the hall.

  6

  SPIES

  As the family rested and the household prepared for that day's callers, Aly met with her pack. They watched as she tapped the map and the pin that marked Grosbeak's shop. “This is Grosbeak, on Gigit Lane in Middle Town. Topabaw uses him to collect reports from spies in the city. Now we gather information from Grosbeak.”

  “All of Topabaw's people report to him?” asked Guchol, fascinated.

  Aly shook her head. “I doubt it, not with the number of spies Topabaw must have in the city alone. But Grosbeak is a place to start. Guchol, you'll handle this. Put your recruits on him day and night. Everyone who goes there, I want to know who they are and where they live. And don't be surprised when I come there. Topabaw recruited me yesterday.”

  Unlike the rebellion's leaders, these people had learned their spy craft from Aly, including the tricky work of double agents. If they doubted her ability to protect herself from Topabaw or anyone else, none of them showed it.

  “Was it fun?” asked Olkey. “Or did he hurt you?”

  “Does the general know?” Kioka inquired.

  “Did Topabaw pay you anything?” demanded Lokak.

  “He paid me in coin loaded with listening spells, so I got rid of it. The general knows, Topabaw didn't hurt me, and don't get too attached to him,” replied Aly. “We'll be dealing with someone new before long, if I have anything to say about it. Once we know who reports to Grosbeak and where they live, we will send them a token of our regard. I was thinking that baskets of rats left beside beds would give our regards that personal touch.”

  A number of them snorted. Lokak only frowned.

  “Yes?” Aly asked.

  “Why don't we just nail rats to the door, like the old raka rebels used to do?” Lokak wanted to know. “It's cheaper.”

  “But not so thoughtful as a basket of them,” Aly said. “And leaving the basket in their bedrooms provides an intimate note.”

  “We're saying we can get at them as they sleep,” remarked Eyun, her eyes filled with the discovery of some new twist she had just uncovered.

  Aly smiled benevolently while thinking, And this way my aunt Daine doesn't come flying over from Tortall wanting to know why I'm killing animals for no good reason. “Tell me what you have learned from your people so far.”

  By the time they had finished their reports, the city's bells were chiming the end of the rest period. Aly dismissed them and went to help Dove to dress for the afternoon. The duchess had told Quedanga to open the reflecting pool court and the large sitting room. Afternoon was the usual time for callers, and she expected quite a few.

  Aly stood behind a carved screen inside the house to observe the young noble visitors as they flirted, talked to Sarai, accepted treats carried on trays by maids, and gossiped. The younger ladies were watched by their maids, who had taken positions against the walls of the courtyard. Nuritin and Winnamine had chosen to stay indoors, in one of the large, formal sitting rooms, to greet the callers who came to see them. Dove joined them there, after muttering to Aly that she refused to have her brain filled with puffs of scent and flirting, as it would be if she stayed with Sarai.

  Talented Eyun made friends among the maids and talked animatedly with them as she gave the men servants sidelong glances. Ukali and Olkey, two of Aly's male agents, were making themselves known to the nobles' servants as well. Pert Kioka was out in the stables, listening to the guards who rode with the noble guests. At some point during the afternoon, talking in strictest confidence with their new friends, all of them would pass on some bit of gossip that would sit ill with those who collected it for the palace. The rest of Aly's pack, and more of the people they had recruited, were out performing the same service. Little of it would go straight to Topabaw or to Rubinyan's spymaster. People who worried about the stability of the government chattered constantly, the threads of gossip twisting as they passed from one person to the next. By the time they reached those who were most interested in holding power, the strands would be so tangled that no one would be able to trace them back to a handful of sources.

  Gossip was a realm's lifeblood, Aly's da had told her repeatedly. She intended to make this realm bleed with it.

  She let her eyes roam over the crowd, reading snatches of conversation on the lips of their company. Everyone wanted to tell Sarai the winter's news, away from the watchful eyes of their elders. Count Ferdolin Tomang, the Carthaki healer mage Zaimid Hetnim, and the heirs to the Lelin and Obemaek houses wanted to court Sarai. She kept them dancing around her, pouting at one, teasing another, ignoring a third, and urging her female friends to do the same. She seemed cruel to Aly, as if she didn't care if she hurt the feelings of the young men. Was I that bad? Aly wondered, remembering the days when she lived like Sarai. Picking them up and dropping them, whether they deserved it or not, just because I could?

  I can't do it anymore, she realized, startled. Even if the god were to dump me into such a gathering at home. It's small to promise a man something, even without words, if you never intend to give it to him, whether it's kisses or your heart.

  She didn't like where that trail of thought led her: Nawat. Rather than dwell on him, she looked into the formal sitting room. Here there were older ladies and men alike, deep in conversation with Nuritin, Winnamine, and even Dove. They kept their voices low and watched the maids who served refreshments, talking only when they were out of earshot. Reading the nobles' lips, Aly saw that they spoke of missing officials, uprisings, and the vanished bodies of those executed by the Crown. Dove was engaged in a conversation about copper exports with a noble couple at least three times her age.

  Aly eased her way out of the room. She was about to go to the servants' hall when one of the household runners found her. “Chenaol says tell you, one in Her Grace's private study, one in Lady Saraiyu's bedroom. She asks if you have ever been a poacher, since you knew where to set traps.”

  Aly smiled. “Thank you. Tell Chenaol I'm on my way.”

  Aly climbed the stairs and entered the ladies' private study. There Winnamine, Sarai, and Dove read and wrote letters and kept their personal accounts. It was one of the first places a spy would look for incriminating correspondence, which was why she had recommended that the raka mages plant a spy trap there. When Aly walked into the well-lit, comfortable room, she saw a part-raka maidservant, locked in place with h
er hands in a desk drawer. The woman shimmered under the magical net that had captured her. Ysul sat on a chair watching her, his almond-shaped eyes unreadable. Ulasim, too, was present, as was Junai. They nodded as Aly came in.

  She went to the chair across the desk from the captive and sat, resting her hands on the chair's arms. The maid glared at her.

  Aly eyed her. “Was she searched for death magic?”

  Ysul nodded and held up three fingers. He had removed three spells that would have killed the woman if she tried to speak the truth.

  “Three?” Aly asked. She looked at the captive. “If someone were to put three death spells on me, I might wonder if they trusted me at all. Such persons would be less than careful about giving you assignments that might cost your life. I would not reward service in such a manner.”

  She inspected the captive. She was a part-raka woman in her late twenties, dressed in a blue gown, probably a mistress's castoff. She wore her brown hair pinned up, with enough hairdressing ointment on it to ensure that no loose hairs would fall on anything she searched. There were white silk gloves on her hands. Through the magic that held the maid captive, Aly could see that the gloves were spelled to keep her essence from sticking to anything she handled. On the desk lay a set of lock picks—good ones, Aly saw with approval.

  Aly raised a hand, lifted a finger, then bent it. Ysul lowered the spell, freeing the captive's lips so she could speak.

  “I don't understand!” she cried. “I was just looking for a bit of paper—please don't tell my mistress, she'll be furious, but they always count the paper in our household and I just wanted to write a note to my betrothed. . . .”

  Aly held her finger to her lips. The maid's words trailed off.