Trickster's Queen

by Tamora Pierce

  “Only sometimes,” Aly replied with a sheepish grin. She put her knives away. “If I slept that way all the time, I'd be predictable, wouldn't I?”

  “Very true,” Ulasim said, the corners of his eyes crinkling in his secret smile. “Nawat went out to see to his people. He said he would return for supper. Have you new information for me?”

  Aly nodded and told him the news from Lombyn and Malubesang. “Nomru's people rising against the monarchs, that's bad.”

  Ulasim nodded. “Nomru is the chief landholder on Malubesang.”

  Aly bit her lip. She wanted him to look beyond the raka. “Call it a hunch, but I bet the Fonfala estates won't be far behind,” she suggested, watching his face for his reaction. “They were friends, before the duke's escape. They're neighbors on Malubesang. The lands are held by Her Grace's brother. It stands to reason.”

  Ulasim's thin smile hooked to one side. “And the Nomrus and Fonfalas both belong to that pathetic luarin sewing circle,” he added. “Why should I deal with them now, when they have been good for nothing before?”

  “Because Dove is one of them,” Aly informed him. “And—I think they are ripe to actually do something.”

  “I shall consider it,” replied Ulasim. He hesitated, then grinned. “It is good to see you are not completely distracted by . . . other things.”

  Aly made a face at him. The sight of the black armband he wore punctured her good mood. “I wish I could stay distracted. I need to get one of those.”

  “Don't feel guilty because you are alive,” he counseled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as they walked back to the house. “I feel guilty enough for twelve people.”

  “Because the choice of what to do about the Rittevon heirs was taken from your hands?” she asked.

  The arm around her shoulders tightened, then relaxed. “That,” he admitted.

  “We can and will all feel guilty about that,” Aly consoled him. “And we can share our feelings with our new rulers.”

  Nawat returned, as promised, in the late afternoon. Aly heard the bawling of amused crows and translated that they were laughing at him for changing shape and putting on uncomfortable clothes. When he emerged from the stable loft where he had changed, she was waiting for him. They kissed, and then she asked, “Would you talk to your friends for me?”

  “So we are back to that,” he commented, shaking his head. “My only value to you is as a crow.”

  “Nawat!” she cried, grabbing his shirt. “That's not true, I . . .” She saw the glitter in his deep-set eyes and gaped at him. “You're teasing me?”

  He kissed her. Even when their lips parted, he kept his arm around her waist. “You look beautiful when you are shocked. It is sweet,” he said, a man's grin on his face. “This is more fun than dragging Ochobu's clothes in the mud.”

  Aly pushed him away lightly, not hard enough to make him let go. “I swear she still expects you to do that,” she said. “And I have some fun for your kindred, if you would like to explain it to them.”

  He tipped his head back and called in something far better than Aly's clumsy crow-speech. Immediately three of the birds came flapping down to land in the branches of a nearby tree.

  “I was thinking,” Aly began, “that winged messengers come and go from the palace all the time. It would be nice if your people could force them to lose their messages or even drive them to the ground.”

  One of the crows admitted, in caws and clicks, that this could be interesting.

  It would require more skill than tormenting Stormwings, Nawat replied in the same language.

  The crows flicked their wingtips and took off, already calling the news to the other crows within earshot.

  “So they'll do it?” Aly wanted to know. “Or will they just talk about it?”

  Nawat held her close. “It amuses them. They'll do it,” he said with a grin.

  That night the rebel leaders gathered in the meeting room to hear the news from all over the city and the realm. This time Nawat joined them to report what he'd been doing as a warrior and what news he had gathered from the crows. Once more Aly was awed by the change in him, from ill-at-ease bird in a human's body to confident young man. Ulasim was thanking him when suddenly their world went a bright, roaring white. The air boomed as if they sat inside a monstrous kettle drum. That vast roaring sound filled Aly's ears until she would have screamed to drown it out, except that she feared she was already screaming.

  The roar stopped abruptly. Outside, thunder crashed directly overhead.

  Kyprioth appeared next to Aly's chair. “This is where I leave you all,” he told them as he looked apprehensively at the ceiling. “My brother and sister have returned.” He kissed Aly's cheek. “Good luck. Victories, remember!” He vanished.

  They didn't even wait to discuss what they were doing: all of the leaders raced outside to look skyward. Pale white flames spread from the moon, which shone full at a time when it was only supposed to be a quarter full. Bright orange waves of light spread across the sky in sheer curtains. Lightning flashed everywhere and faded.

  “And so the fun begins,” murmured Ulasim. He clapped his hands together and rubbed them. “Come, my friends. Let's see how much trouble we can cause.”

  Aly and Nawat spent the night on a pallet in the Pavilion of Secrets, talking through much of it. When dawn came, they went outside to join the fighters for morning drill. Everyone watched for dawn when they weren't actually facing off against one another. When it came, they could see the gods were still locked in battle. The sun shed light and heat as it always did, but its rays were far longer than normal, dark orange pennants around the gold disk. White, fiery veils that had to represent the Goddess drifted in the morning sky, while everywhere the sparks that showed Kyprioth and the lesser tricksters winked in and out, points of color that never stayed the same hue for more than a moment.

  Aly shivered and concentrated on her staff work. It was unnerving to see a sky so different from normal. She didn't like it at all, and she was nearly certain that the others felt the same. It was a relief to go into the laundry with Nawat and take a long bath together. Afterward he left on errands for Ulasim, while Aly went upstairs to see if Dove needed anything. Once again she found Boulaj gathering up Dove's washing. The bed was freshly made, the room aired out, the water basin dumped and cleansed. “What's this?” Aly demanded with a frown. Dove's night table had been straightened. So had the stack of books next to her bed.

  Boulaj faced her, determination on her long face. “Aly, you're needed for other things,” she said. “I trained to be a maid as well as bodyguard for Lady Sarai, and I like it.”

  “She's right.” Dove emerged from the dressing room she had once shared with Sarai. “Things will heat up now that Imajane and Rubinyan rule us. You're needed to do what you do best. Boulaj and I manage nicely as mistress and maid.”

  Aly was a little hurt that they had come to an understanding without her. The moment she recognized the emotion, she thrust it away as meaningless. Dove and Boulaj were right, and that was that. What mattered was her own ability to pass information quickly to the rebel leaders. She needed to concentrate on that and on the kind of mischief that would drive their new rulers into a rage.

  Boulaj yawned. Aly looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “Late night?” she asked wickedly.

  “We got some sleep,” Boulaj replied. “And the work itself was satisfying.” She caught Dove's curious glance and said, “Spy stuff.”

  Aly held up a finger and went to the window. Something, some sound, made the shutters quiver under her palms. She opened them. In the distance she heard a roar of noise from the direction of the market districts and Downwind. She glanced above the nearby trees and saw smoke in the distance. Without a word to the other two she raced downstairs.

  Outside the front door stood Nuritin, Fesgao, and a sweat-bathed Olkey. His eyes registered Aly's arrival as he told the other two, “It was the gods fighting that set them off, my lady, sir. Over in Downw
ind, folk were weeping in the street over the little boys' deaths. They've got three songs written about it already, and one of them calls it murder. And then there was last night, and they all waited for the dawn, and saw all the lights and colors. . . . They went mad. They're rioting in Downwind and the Honeypot, and the folks in Dockmarket are closing up. It's just a matter of time before they call for a lockdown of the city.”

  “Secure the gates,” ordered Nuritin. “Put more guards on them.”

  Fesgao saluted her. “Very good, my lady,” he said.

  Here in the open Aly heard the distant calls of horns and the clang of alarm gongs. She went back inside to see what her people knew.

  The regents kept the city under martial law for three days, not caring if people had enough food to eat. Those foolish enough to challenge the King's Watch found themselves hustled off to local jails. If the Watchmen got very annoyed, they sent the offender to Kanodang. The fires were put out; a number of rioters were hanged. There was nothing anyone in Balitang House could do but wait it out. People crept in and out using the tunnel system, but they had to be careful. Aly nearly lost Atisa and Ukali of her pack to the Watch, until the pair's recruits spotted them and swarmed their captors to help them to escape.

  The flow of information into the house continued, courtesy of the darkings, the crows, and the mages of the Chain. Through them the household learned of riots all over the cities and towns of the Isles. It was too much for the people to take, coming all at once: word of the little king's drowning, the informal coronation of two new monarchs, and the gods' battle overhead. Most riots were put down savagely. Others burned themselves out by the end of the week.

  Seven days after the boy king had drowned, memorial services for him and his three dead companions were held in the Black God's temples. The people of Rajmuat came to pay their respects in numb silence, mourning not just the children but the hundred-odd others who had drowned with them, their boats capsized or their homes crushed by falling trees. After the prayers to the god ended, the faithful carried flowers down to the harbor and tossed them into the brown, soupy water. In silence still, everyone returned to their homes.

  At noon that day, the regents lifted martial law, though soldiers were everywhere. Roaming the city streets, Aly took note of the damage, most of it in the poor districts of the town. Trudging back to Balitang House, she wished the people would turn that wrath on the sources of their pain rather than on their own homes. We need more rumors about the monarchs and their plans for the kingdom, she told herself. The poor need to hate the monarchs as much as they fear the gods. This time it was the gods who drove them to riot, I think. Next time it must be Imajane and Rubinyan.

  During that hot afternoon's rest time, a number of people visited the house. Aly joined those who had come to see her in the meeting room. There she found members of her pack who were not out in the city and a number of trusted recruits who had been approved by Ochobu or Ysul. Vitorcine Townsend was present as well. Aly had decided she would make a good addition to her spies.

  Nearly everyone had written reports for Aly, information that had piled up while it had been so difficult for their contacts to get to them. They placed the reports in Aly's hands. A representative of the rebel spies in the palace was present, this being his normal free day. He too gave a sheaf of reports to Aly. She glimpsed at the topmost one. The first line read: I. went into a rage over a scrap of paper.

  Aly nodded and yawned. That plan seemed to be unfolding nicely. Folding her hands on her belly, she looked at the packed room. “Has anyone anything special for me?”

  The man from the palace raised a hand. “Lord Sevmire dismissed three of his secretaries this morning. He says he refuses to work with those he cannot trust. And there is an armed guard at the mages' house. Stormwings roost on the roof peak. No one is allowed to leave.”

  Aly whistled silently. “An interesting development.”

  Bacar, the footman from across the street, raised his hand. “The housekeeper at Murtebo House was found with her throat cut. There was a paper pinned to her clothes that read Spy.”

  A ragamuffin wearing only a loincloth spoke. “Up on Junoh Street, they found two like that, a footman and a maid. Dead the same way, both wearing Spy signs. That's what the folk who found them said.”

  “Any more?” Aly inquired. They all shook their heads. She nodded. “Very well. You already know the rumor that the storm that sank the boys' ship was not a natural one. And here's another thing—a source I trust says the boat went to pieces suspiciously fast. Add also that the mages who serve the Crown appear to be under house arrest. Those are interesting bits of news, aren't they?”

  Her listeners nodded.

  One of the Obeliten maids asked, “Duani, everyone knows the Crown mages have been known to meddle with weather before, though they know they can't control it.” There was a chorus of yesses and calls of “She's right.” Emboldened, the maid continued, “And isn't it strange how the one child saved belonged to a family known to be great friends of the regents?”

  Aly thought that was more luck than attention to that particular boy's life. At the same time, she had not forgotten that the only heir to a family title on the Rittevon had been Elsren. Dunevon's other three companions had been younger sons unlikely to inherit the title. Their families could afford to lose them, a fact of which the new rulers had been aware.

  Aly nodded. “Those also are good points to make with those you talk to,” she told her people. “Ask your particular friends on the streets if Mithros and the Goddess are not angry because they are represented by monarchs with the blood of children on their hands. Especially the Goddess, as children are her care.” She noticed their startled glances: they had not thought of this. “One more thing. The royal fortress at Galodon has lost at least half of its soldiers and sailors to bad food. The strongest fighting force in Rajmuat is now only the Rittevon Guard.” She waved them out. “Be watchful, and take no unnecessary chances,” she warned as they prepared to go. “We are going to make our new monarchs very unhappy, and for that I need you all.”

  A number of them touched the arm of Aly's chair on their way out. “Gunapi the Sunrose guard you, Duani,” some whispered. Others remarked, “The luck turns our way.”

  Aly waved them off, not sure of what was going on, uncomfortable with the awe of her in their faces.

  18

  CONSPIRACIES

  Supper was quiet. Aly ate at her worktable, reading over reports and making notes. She was sweating as she burned the reports she had condensed when Fesgao knocked on her door and looked in. “We're gathering,” he told her.

  Aly nodded and collected her papers that the other leaders might use. In the meeting room, she saw that everyone was present but Dove.

  “Perhaps we should begin?” she asked Ulasim. “I think at the moment Dove wants to be with the duchess.”

  “No doubt you are right,” Ulasim agreed. Quedanga closed the door as Ysul woke their security spells.

  Aly had just finished passing out the reports when a knock sounded on the door.

  “She came after all,” Quedanga murmured, surprised, as she opened it.

  In walked Dove, followed by Winnamine and Nuritin. The conspirators started to their feet, all but Ulasim, who measured the two haggard women with his eyes. In this room he was the raka general, who stood at attention for no one.

  “I thought it was time,” Dove told him, a mulish set to her mouth. “Past time.”

  “The rebellion—if that's what you are about, I want to be part of it,” said Winnamine, her voice quavering. “I've known—my lord and I knew—there was something going on, but we let it go. We did not much care for our laws and hoped that a good fright would lead to better government. You were all so careful that we could not see how anyone might discover you. And . . . I want to help.”

  “As do I,” said Nuritin, folding her arms over her chest. “There are others, just as appalled by this child murder as we are. Others
who can bring arms and finances and fighters to this cause. In fact, one of them is at my house in town.”

  Ulasim looked from Dove to the two older women. “You see me in a delicate position.”

  “You're going to have to trust my judgment at some point,” Dove reminded him. “I think that now would be a good time. I won't be a puppet, Ulasim. If I rule, I rule.”

  Ochobu poked Nawat with a finger. “Give the Lady Nuritin your chair,” she ordered. To Nuritin she said, “Who is this guest?”

  “I have sent Jesi for him. She knows to be careful,” replied Nuritin, lowering herself into her chair.

  Ulasim gestured for the duchess to take Aly's seat as Dove assumed her usual place.

  “We just let them in?” demanded Quedanga. “And when members of their families die, what is to keep them from running to the monarchs with all they know?”

  “Members of this family have died,” snapped Nuritin. Quedanga looked down.

  “If we were going to go to the Crown, we would have done it long before this,” said Winnamine, her voice tired. “While we still could walk away from you with our own skins intact. No one will believe we were ignorant of your activities all this time.”

  “We'd like to avoid a bloodbath,” Aly told Quedanga. “So unsightly, and it will give entirely the wrong impression to any greedy foreigners who are watching us. That means coming to terms with some luarin.”

  “You think the great lords will give up their lands and titles to the raka?” asked Nuritin.

  “They will have to give up some of their lands,” replied Fesgao. “But let us face it, many of the raka families who held those titles originally are long dead. Unless a luarin has been cruel to his or her people, or has supported the Rittevons and all they did, we must be ready to negotiate.”

  “How can we trust your allies?” demanded Quedanga. “Those luarin you plot with? Any of them could be an agent of the Crown simply waiting for you to pose a real threat before he reports you—or she reports you.”