Trickster's Queen

by Tamora Pierce

  “More fun for you mortals,” she announced in a musical voice. “Remember the Imahyn revolt? Five estates along the Susashain River are burning. Over two hundred dead, or so my nest-kin tell me. Each human smells different to us, you know. All that lovely fear.” She ran her tongue over her teeth. “Keep serving them up, Your Highnesses! We accept all contributions of terror and rage, we're not picky!”

  “Konutai, you're being a bore,” Taybur drawled, wandering over to her. “And you'll make His Majesty throw up in the Lily Water.”

  Dunevon did look rather pale. He was certainly downwind of the Stormwing.

  “Be a good girl and gloat elsewhere,” Taybur continued. “I'm sure we'll get proper reports in due time.”

  The Stormwing cackled wildly and took to the air, heading for the battle between Stormwings and crows over the water. This time it ended with the crows in retreat. Aly crossed her fingers in the hope the crows would go unhurt.

  “Don't believe them, Highness,” Countess Tomang said to Imajane. “You know how the ugly beasts like to start trouble.”

  Imajane looked at Taybur, her eyes blue ice. “Which is it, Sibigat? They like to start it? Or they like to live off it?”

  The big man bowed to Imajane. “Far be it from me to instruct Your Highness in the behavior of Stormwings,” he said quietly. “I am certain that you were as well schooled in that as you are in other things pertaining to the Crown.”

  Imajane showed a razor's edge of smile. “Your nimble tongue has led you out of a potential situation yet again, Captain Sibigat. I fear you are too clever for me.”

  As the other ladies protested that no one could be more intelligent than the princess, and Dove chimed in a beat behind them, knowing what was expected of her, Aly met Taybur's gaze. For a moment she thought she saw fear. Then it was gone, replaced by Sibigat's boyish smile.

  The talk resumed once more on a false, light note. No one wanted to admit that they had believed the Stormwing. Imajane herself seemed determined to carry on as if everything were normal. Slowly the ladies began to relax, though the young knights were begging Rubinyan once more to let them sail north and fight. Rubinyan calmed them, insisting the army had matters well in hand. Aly's admiration for his ability to lie soared. She knew that this man had only recently told his wife they dare not send more soldiers.

  He must tap his reserve forces in Galodon, Aly thought. And then he'll have next to no one to defend Rajmuat. He may even have next to no one to send, if Ulasim and Fesgao mess with their stores soon.

  Why does he send his young knights? she wondered. That's what the hotheads are for, Grandfather always said. Then she saw it. He fears they will get beaten, she told herself, and their parents will turn on him. Either that or he fears they might be good enough to come back and get rid of him.

  A shift of silver and gold at the corner of her eye made her look at Imajane. The princess regent had turned slightly to look at her husband. Her crimson mouth was tight. She had seen Rubinyan smile at Duchess Winnamine.

  If I don't get overconfident again, if I don't make any more mistakes, we might well do this thing, Aly thought. We might bring these people down. There are so many ways they can be led astray that I'll be hard-put to choose.

  At last the Balitang ladies begged the princess's indulgence so they could go home. Not only did Imajane grant it, but she gave them leave to take Elsren with them. Taybur was already talking to the boys about going inside to dress for supper. The ladies and Aly collected Elsren and left the Lapis Pavilion.

  On the way home they found the streets were clearing. Above them faces in the windows stared at Dove, looking for a sign that she was kin to Sarai and their hope for freedom was not misplaced.

  “My lady,” Aly murmured as they put three blocks between their group and the palace checkpoint, “please look at the folk in the windows. Smile, at least, and nod. Don't wave. We don't want these soldiers taking news back to Sevmire that you are encouraging the raka's fascination with you. But a smile never hurts.”

  A flush rose in Dove's bronze cheeks. “I forgot,” she admitted. Hesitantly she smiled up into some second- and third-story windows, then looked at the people nearest her. A woman stood with a cluster of children. Dove slowed her mount and bent down to look at them. Finally she smiled at the woman. “Not all yours, I hope?” she asked.

  The woman hesitated, unsure of Dove's intent, then saw the smile. She grinned. “Gods, no, lady,” she said with as much of a curtsy as she could manage with the attached children. “I watch them all while their mothers work in the shops.”

  Winnamine rode over, Elsren seated before her. “Dove, we must go home,” she murmured, with a cheerful nod to the woman. After a moment she thrust her hand into her belt-purse and fished out some coins. “I'll wager you wouldn't mind a treat,” she told the children with a smile. She offered the coins to the woman. “Because I have little ones of my own,” she explained.

  The woman turned crimson and curtsied again. “And you love them, I can see that,” she replied, beaming at Elsren, who was half asleep. “Goddess bless you, ladies.”

  As they rode on, Dove said, “Winna, you didn't have to do that.”

  The duchess kissed the top of Elsren's head. “I wanted to have something good to remember about today,” she replied quietly. “Something that wasn't petty and mean. Sometimes you have to provide such moments yourself.”

  As they passed through Rittevon Square, Aly wished that lightning would strike the first king's immense bronze statue, rising above the flat dish of water that surrounded it. She was about to look somewhere else when a detail caught her attention. An anonymous carver had made an addition to the statue's belt line. A deep-cut open shackle shone brightly around the weathered bronze of the statue's waist, above the dip of the sword belt.

  Aly grinned, and followed her mistress to the next checkpoint.

  15

  REBEL PREPARATION

  The ladies and their maids retreated to their rooms to change after the hot ride home. Aly was about to help Dove with her buttons when a knock sounded on the door. One of the house's runners stuck her head into the room. “Excuse me, lady,” she said, bobbing a curtsy to Dove, “but Chenaol says Jimarn and her folk need to talk to you in the meeting room.”

  Aly looked from the runner to her mistress. She ought to help Dove to change clothes, but Jimarn, Fegoro, Eyun, and Yoyox were operating on a time limit. The Crown would start shipping the captives in the slave pens the next morning. She sighed, trying to make up her mind.

  “Let me help?” asked Boulaj. “I liked being a lady's maid. It's very soothing,” she told Junai defensively. “There's no reason why I can't do her hair and clothes and protect her at the same time.”

  “Go on,” Dove ordered Aly. “We'll sort it out. I do know how to remove my own clothes,” she protested yet again.

  Aly followed the messenger to the servants' stair. It occurred to her that she had less and less time to attend Dove as the rebellion began to pick up its pace. She didn't mind being Dove's maid, but she was needed to deal with the material from her spies. Is it always like this? she wondered as she trotted downstairs behind Wayan. The more successful your work, the more it shoves other things to the side?

  She wondered what her mother had given up when she had become the King's Champion. Da had given up being an outlaw as he'd made the transition from thief-king to spymaster, but what had Mother surrendered?

  I'm going to have to let Boulaj take over, she realized. I'm more use to the rebellion getting information out to people as quickly as I can. But I'll miss talking to Dove.

  When Aly reached the conspirators' meeting room, Jimarn let her in. Aly nodded to the others who sat in the room. She recognized five from households nearby, but six she did not know at all. Eyun, Yoyox, and Fegoro waited behind them, frowns of worry on their faces.

  Aly went to an available chair and sat. “What is it, my dears?” she asked. “Surely you have not come to tell your old Dua
ni they have shipped the captives already.”

  “The slave pens are a harder knot than we expected,” Yoyox admitted ruefully. “We can whittle that stick down a day or two, but they're moving both faster and slower than we expected.”

  “They have about five hundred people to ship,” explained Eyun. “And the head clerk told me the regents have ordered them to get as many out of the Isles as they can, as soon as they can.” She smiled slightly. “The clerk has taken a liking to me. He says the regents want to free up the soldiers who guard the slave pens, because they're needed elsewhere. They expect an attack from the kinfolk of those they arrested, so they won't be reassigned until there's less danger.”

  “Getting to their kitchen is tricky,” admitted Fegoro. “I won't have a shot at it tonight, not if they're loading slaves.” He pointed to a chunky young luarin. “Tell her,” he ordered.

  “Three ships leave for Carthak tonight from Fifth Dock,” the young man explained. “They'll load at midnight and sail at dawn. All of the other ships have cargo in the hold, or are off-loading cargo and taking new cargo on. We won't be able to save those who get shipped tonight.”

  Aly shook her head. “Children, children,” she told them in a sorrowful voice. “The solution is right under your noses, if you would but look. Yes, they have three ships scheduled to sail, only three ships, all due to sail at dawn. There is no law that says they must be able to sail.”

  The conspirators looked at her, mouths agape. Then Yoyox struck his head with his palm. “We focused on the pens and the guards. We didn't think to look at the ships.”

  “Such vulnerable things,” Aly remarked. “All that wood and tar—it's a fire hazard. I tremble to think what would happen if, oh, a ship lost its rudder or its masts.” She looked at them from beneath raised eyebrows. “Need I go on?”

  They shook their heads, suddenly eager to get back to mischief.

  The heavy luarin chuckled.

  “Share the joke, Callyn,” ordered Yoyox.

  “I work at the harbormaster's,” the bearded man explained. “We're still wading through bills submitted to the Crown for payment for the ships that burned when the slave docks did. That's one of the reasons they could only find three ships right away—their masters are nervous about cargo from the slave markets. If something happens to these three, I bet they won't be able to find anyone at anchor here who will take on slave cargo. In fact, they might decide they've taken on enough goods and sail anywhere, as long as it's not Rajmuat harbor.”

  Jimarn smiled. “Thank you, Duani,” she said.

  “Shall you require a mage?” Aly wanted to know.

  The bearded man shook his head. “No, see, Duani, the last seven or eight months we've had these twin hedgewitches hiding out in the Honeypot. They have this spell that cuts clean through a piece of wood. In October Her Highness went to inspect a new royal navy ship named for her, and she leaned on the rail, and she'd've gone straight into the harbor if the prince hadn't grabbed her. If the girls can do a rail, they can do masts just fine.”

  Aly nodded. She would have liked to see that.

  “We could use some bows and arrows,” one of them remarked. “But not for the slave market. For Downwind. So the folk there can have them.”

  Aly looked at Jimarn, who nodded. “Then speak to the armorer,” she said. “Get crossbows—they're easier for inexperienced archers. Is that everything?” she asked. When they said nothing, she went on, “Very well. Go forth, with my blessing.” When they were gone, she ran her fingers over Trick and Secret.

  “Stupid?” asked Secret.

  “No,” Aly replied. “My children are not stupid. But sometimes you can stand too close to a thing to see it. It takes a fresh set of eyes to tell you where to find the cracks.” She went to her workroom and assembled paper, ink, and a quill. “What happens in the palace?” she asked.

  That night, the raka conspirators had plenty of news to report, particularly Ochobu. Aly had not known that the mages of the Chain had been laboring to eliminate any mages who had worked magic on the Crown's behalf. So far they had killed seven of the most powerful.

  Chenaol would call this count of the dead another “good start,” Aly thought grimly. This crude business of counting up lives taken struck her as a bad idea. It took the horror from death. When Ochobu named four mages on Lombyn who had been killed in the streets of their towns, it was about numbers, not lives.

  Maybe this is how you become a Rittevon, she thought. You get used to the dead being described as numbers, not fathers or daughters or grandparents.

  She turned to Dove when Ochobu finished. “Don't ever be like this,” she urged. “Don't think that it doesn't matter if you only hear of murder as a number. If you keep it at a distance.”

  “They serve the Rittevon Crown,” growled Ochobu. “They have killed in their numbers, too. We must even the odds between us and the Crown, and the mages matter. It was the mages who destroyed us when Rittevon invaded.”

  “They and our own feuds,” Dove said quietly. “That's why we have to make peace with the luarin who agree. So we aren't so torn that we are easy pickings for some of the Carthaki malcontents.”

  Everyone winced. While it had been eleven years since Emperor Kaddar had taken power, he continued to struggle with his western nobles, all of whom thought they would make better emperors that he. It was all too easy to imagine them turning their attentions to easier pickings in the Isles.

  As the meeting broke up, Aly drifted over to Ulasim. “How go things at Galodon?” she asked, curious, though if he refused to answer, she would ask Trick to query Ace, the darking who hid under the chair Ulasim normally used.

  Fesgao stood and stretched. “All we did today was ensure that the army's provisions for the next five weeks were delivered and neatly stored. We'd hate for them to run short.”

  Aly grinned and left them. She worked for a while before she went to bed. As she slept, she dreamed of the whispers of the darkings, and the endless black scrawls of reports.

  It was nearly dawn when she was roused by the clang of alarm bells sounding down by the waterfront. Aly smiled as she sat up on her pallet. “I could get very fond of that sound,” she commented as Boulaj and Junai sat up as well.

  “Aly?” Dove asked warningly. “What have you done?”

  “I, my lady?” Aly said, holding her hand to her breast as if she were unsure of Dove's meaning. “I have done nothing whatsoever. I was here all night, and I was at the palace with you yesterday, if you recall.”

  Junai listened at the window. “It's coming from Dockmarket or the wharves,” she said after a moment. “Forgive me for saying so, my lady, but if it is, you won't be having your walk again today.”

  Dove scowled and rang for her wash water to be brought up. It took some time, enough that Dove, who normally did not press the servants when she knew they would also be busy with the others, rang a second time. Soon after, a pair of kitchen maids practically tumbled into the room, hot-water jugs in their hands.

  “Forgive us, my lady,” said one as she filled a basin, “but Fesgao was telling us the news. He likes to drill the men before dawn, you see, and when they heard the alarm—”

  “Does he know the cause?” Dove interrupted.

  “Oh, my lady, such a shocking thing!” said the other girl, who filled the servants' basin. “Three ships destroyed, right at the wharves! One sank, one burned, and one had the rudder and the masts and the anchor chain and the mooring ropes just cut, Fesgao said!”

  “They meant to ship out some of the folk they arrested because they stopped working,” the first maid said, shadows in her eyes. “They meant to ship them to Carthak. But now they can't, and there are no more ships.”

  To say there were no more ships was an understatement. From Jimarn's recruit Callyn and the palace darkings, Aly learned of furious arguments as Rubinyan and Imajane tried to order other captains in port to put off their loads and ferry the newly enslaved to Carthak. Some claimed they neede
d hull work done before they could sail. Others showed their master's papers, each with a clause that they not transport slaves. Some captains sailed before the harbormaster could order the harbor mouth barred. Then there were the officials who complained the harbormaster had been suspiciously slow to close the entrance.

  Aly was taking darking reports midafternoon when the second blow came to Rubinyan. A thousand of his reserve soldiers, and more than half of the sailors, were confined to their beds with violent dysentery. The darking present when the prince regent heard this news was so impressed with Rubinyan's language that it copied him, earning the name Foul.

  The news arrived just before word came that a company of soldiers had been lured into the mountains of northern Kypriang and massacred by renegade raka. Imajane demanded the deaths of everyone in the village closest to the fight. Rubinyan was forced to tell his wife that the soldiers were too ill to move.

  That night, when it came Aly's turn to report to the raka conspirators, she asked, “What happens if the army and navy have food shortages? If, say, they have to replace poisoned stores? Who handles the emergency supply, at least until more food can be brought from outlying islands or even overseas?”

  The conspirators looked at one another. It was Dove who said, “Local merchants are invited to share warehoused provisions with the Crown, who pays them . . . something. Not full value. Full value when there's a shortage is higher than full value in good times. The merchants who are asked to share with the Crown will see their other friends make money hand over fist while they're forced to practically give food away. But that hasn't happened in ages.”

  Aly twiddled her thumbs. “But it could happen?”

  “They would approach the merchants and remind them of their obligations,” replied Dove. “And they're already pressed, the merchants. It's been a dreadful year, and the harvest doesn't look good. Nobody's that far away from debt bondage, Aly. The regents might as well ask them to empty their pockets. They . . .” She stopped, her eyes wide.