Protector of the Small Quartet

by Tamora Pierce

  Kel nodded. “You didn’t have to ask, you know.”

  Faleron grinned. “Mama raised me polite.”

  In a nearby stall Garvey muttered, “So, Faleron, you’re friends with her now because you can have her whenever you want?”

  Faleron threw down his brush and went for the other boy. Sore shoulder or no, Kel flew out of the stall. She caught Faleron just a foot from the sneering Garvey and hung on to him, putting all of her weight into it.

  The older boy fought her grip. “Gods curse it, Kel, you heard what he said!”

  “I heard a fart,” Kel said grimly. “You know where those come from. Let it go.”

  Faleron relaxed, but she still kept both hands wrapped around his arm. He was easygoing, but everyone had sore spots. At last Faleron made a rude gesture at Garvey and let Kel pull him away.

  They had almost reached their horses when Neal’s unmistakable drawl sounded through the stable: “Joren is so pretty. Say, Garvey, are you two friends because you can have him?”

  Garvey roared and charged, but Joren got to Neal first. Before they landed more than a punch each, Neal’s friends, including Kel, attacked them. More boys entered the brawl, kicking and hitting blindly, striking friend as often as foe. Kel nearly fainted when someone’s boot hit her bruised collarbone.

  Above the din made by boys and frightened horses, Kel heard the sound of breaking wood. Realizing she would never reach Neal, praying he didn’t get his silly head broken, she grabbed Merric and Seaver by the collar and backed up, dragging them with her. The press of bodies behind her let up suddenly; she nearly fell over backward.

  Startled, she looked around and saw Peachblossom. His teeth firmly sunk into Cleon’s jacket, the gelding drew the big youth out of the fray. Prince Roald gripped Owen by both arms to keep him out of the brawl; Roald’s horse, the black gelding Shadow, held Faleron by the arm as he slowly pulled him free. Zahir’s bay shouldered through the mob, stepping on no one, but forcing them to move away from him and each other.

  For a moment a chill ran through Kel. She thought uneasily, The animals here are so strange. Then she shook it off. The harridan who trained the ladies of the Yamani court to defend themselves had always said, “We use the tools at hand.” These animals, uncanny or not, were the right tools for this mess.

  She thrust Merric and Seaver into a ruined stall and grabbed Cleon’s arm. “Peachblossom, can you find Neal?” she asked her horse.

  The big gelding released Cleon’s jacket, blew scornfully, and waded into the fight. Unlike Zahir’s bay, he was not careful of feet or fingers. If they were in the way, Peachblossom stepped on them. Several boys rolled clear to nurse bruises and broken bones.

  “You can let go, Kel,” said Cleon, his voice dry. He watched Cavall’s Heart, Lord Wyldon’s dark dun mare, who had also broken out of her stall. She dragged Garvey out of the pile. “Even I’m not stupid enough to argue with horses. Particularly not these horses.”

  Kel glared up at him. Cleon was a fourth-year, but he was also a friend. “I’m glad you’re smart enough to realize that much,” she told him.

  Cleon slapped her cheerfully on the back. “What’s the matter, dewdrop? Don’t you like men fighting to protect your honor?”

  “I can defend my own honor, thank you,” she replied. “I thought it was Joren’s honor at stake. And stop calling me those idiotic nicknames. That joke is dead and rotting.” She watched as Jump grabbed Vinson by the ankle, stopping the boy’s attempts to kick anyone.

  Peachblossom had just seized Neal’s jacket, with Neal’s shoulder in it, when Lord Wyldon, Sergeant Ezeko, and three stable hands entered. They tossed the buckets of water they carried on the pages. Silence fell.

  “I want this place straightened up and these horses groomed afresh.” Lord Wyldon’s voice, and eyes, were like iron. “That includes Heart. You will then wash and assemble in the mess hall. I will address you further there.” He looked them over, pale with fury. “You are a disgrace, the lot of you.” He turned on his heel and walked out.

  Silently the pages got to work.

  By the time they reached the mess hall, Lord Wyldon had worked out their punishment. It included bread-and-water suppers for a week, study alone in their rooms at night, no sweets, and no trips out of the palace until Midwinter. Those pages who already had Sunday afternoon punishment work were to put that off until the general punishment was done. They were all to help carpenters rebuild the stable. Finally the training master added two more lead weights to the senior pages’ harnesses.

  The subdued pages went to afternoon classes in nearly complete silence. When it was time to dress for supper, Kel scrambled into her shift and gown, stopping only to demand of Lalasa why Jump hadn’t been taken to Daine that morning. When Lalasa, cringing, replied that Gower had carried the dog up to the Wildmage right after breakfast, Kel shook her head. She would have to deal with Jump later.

  Still wearing boots and heavy wool stockings under her gown, she went to Neal’s room and pounded on his door. He let her in without a word, but protested when she closed the door behind her.

  “Do you want everyone hearing what I have to say?” she demanded sharply.

  “If the Stump catches you here with the door shut—” The Stump was Neal’s nickname for Lord Wyldon.

  “He won’t.” Kel put her fists on her hips and glared at her friend. “You were sixteen last month. You’re supposed to know better. Did you honestly think you were helping me down there?”

  He had the strangest look on his face. “Are you—Kel, the Yamani Lump—are you yelling at me?”

  “Yes, I am!” Kel snapped. “You didn’t solve anything, you just made it worse!”

  He sat on his bed. “Maybe, maybe not. I think they’ll reconsider, next time they want to start fights over your virtue.”

  Kel blinked at him. “What has my virtue to do with anything?”

  “I’m surprised they didn’t try it last year. Oh, I suppose they made dirty little jokes with each other, never mind that a real knight is supposed to treat women decently. Maybe they thought saying you’re a lump, and not as strong, and on probation, was bad enough.”

  “Are you making sense yet?” Kel wanted to know. This conversation had taken a very uncomfortable turn.

  “But you’re still here. Now they’re really worried. They haven’t changed their minds about lady knights just because Wyldon let you stay.”

  “I didn’t expect them to,” Kel informed him.

  “Well, so, they decided to try new insults today. And talk of different kinds of sex makes people crazy.”

  “Your point is...?” she asked. Her mother had explained how babies were made. Nariko had taught the court ladies, including Kel’s family, how to preserve their honor from rapists. That didn’t seem to be what Neal was talking about.

  “See, Kel, if all of a sudden everyone’s getting into fights about your virtue, maybe the Stump will get rid of you after all.” Neal sighed and finger-combed his hair back from his face.

  Fear trickled down Kel’s spine like cold water. Could Lord Wyldon change his mind? Who would protest if he did? The king had allowed her to be put on probation in the first place. No doubt if Wyldon told him Kel had to go, the king would agree. “I’m eleven,” she said at last. “That’s too young to be lying with men, Neal. Much too young.”

  He inspected a bruise on his wrist and touched a fingertip to it. A green spark flashed and the bruise faded. “Facts don’t matter with Joren and his crowd. Just gossip. Just making your friends angry enough to fight. I reminded them that gossip is a tricky weapon, that’s all. It cuts two ways.”

  Kel sighed. “I still don’t think you did me any good. I can take a few insults.”

  “You can—I can’t.” Neal peered out the door. “Hall’s empty. Shoo.” As she walked by, he added, “I consider myself chastised.”

  She stopped and turned back. “What you said about Garvey and Joren—it’s not an insult in Yaman. Some men prefer other
men. Some women prefer other women.” Kel shrugged.

  “In the Eastern Lands, people like that pursue their loves privately,” replied Neal. “Manly fellows like Joren think it’s a deadly insult to be accused of wanting other men.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Kel said.

  “It’s still an insult on this side of the Emerald Ocean, my dear. Now, if I may shave before our bread-and-water feast?”

  Kel eyed Neal’s cheeks and chin. “You don’t need to.”

  Neal sighed. “I live in hope, as the priest said to the princess. If you don’t mind?”

  Kel went back to her room, shaking her head.

  four

  WOMAN TALK

  Their punishments for the stable fight cooled the hottest tempers. Kel thought just the addition of two more harness weights would have done it. Even the fourth-year pages were not ready for the change, and it was astonishing how much difference an extra pound made. For weeks Kel felt as if her bones had turned to wax. Master Oakbridge, whose etiquette class was at the end of the day, began to hit their desks with his pointer stick to keep them awake. Extra work, given when sleepy pages didn’t finish classwork, piled on top of Lord Wyldon’s physical penalties.

  Bread-and-water suppers did not help. Scant meals on their schedule meant growling bellies. Sometimes Kel thought it was hunger and the prospect of added weights, rather than insults that cut two ways, that made Joren and his friends leave her and her crowd alone.

  Two Sundays went to rebuilding the pages’ stable. Once that was done, Kel returned to her earlier punishment, forking down hay from a stable loft. For a week she dripped sweat as she pitched hay down fourteen feet to the floor. Her fright turned the distance into miles. Once that week ended, she enjoyed the absence of fear, until the day she was tardy to a class. Lord Wyldon gave her one bell of time to climb to the palace wall and map the ground between it and the temple district.

  Every time she was late, or Lord Wyldon found dirt on Peachblossom’s tack, or someone noticed she had lit a candle after lights out, the training master found Kel work on heights. Neal was sure it was torture. Kel argued that Lord Wyldon helped her to become a better knight by forcing her to manage her fear. Prince Roald finally tired of the debate and said it was a little of both; he didn’t want to hear the subject discussed again.

  Every morning and every evening when she opened the large shutters, Jump bounced into her room. Kel’s sparrows made a game of it, clinging to the dog’s fur and trying to stay on as he leaped. Lalasa also seemed to enjoy it—she gave the dog a treat when no sparrows fell from his back.

  No matter how often Gower and Kel took the dog up to Daine, Jump returned, to her room and to the practice courts. Kel dared not speak to him there: she feared that someone would notice and report it. She was lucky that a dog’s presence in the palace was not unusual. The place teemed with dogs—ratters, hunting dogs, even ladies’ lapdogs. As long as none of their teachers thought Jump belonged to any pages as a pet, he was free to come and go as he pleased.

  By the time the leaves turned color, Jump had joined the nighttime study group, and Kel had given up on returning him to Daine. What was the use? He always came back, and she knew Lalasa fed him. Instead, Kel lit a stick of incense, asking the Great Mother to protect him, and resigned herself to her new companion.

  Jump’s snores roused Kel one November morning before dawn. She turned him on his side—he only snored on his back—and waited for sleep to return. It didn’t. Instead, she worried. She had plenty to worry about. Once they had the energy, she and her friends had begun their hall patrols, trying to catch Joren and his cronies harassing a first-year. They’d had no success. Neal and Cleon thought Joren’s crowd had given up. Kel wasn’t so sure. Her experience of bullies was that if they weren’t doing one thing, they were preparing something else.

  It’s no good fretting, Kel told herself sternly. Whatever it is, you’ll put a stop to it, that’s all. She just hoped she’d catch them soon. The suspense was like an itch she couldn’t scratch.

  As soon as she put Joren from her mind, she worried about practice. She had finally gotten used to the weight of the harness. Only a week ago she had started to hit the quintain properly in tilting; only in the last two days had she returned to hitting it correctly on every pass. Just when she’d gotten her skill back, what did Lord Wyldon do but announce a change. In another week he would be replacing the lances of the second-, third-, and fourth-year pages with swords two days a week and axes two days a week. Kel wasn’t ready for that.

  Had she noticed the senior pages using other weapons from horseback the year before? She had to smile at the thought. Of course she hadn’t. When she concentrated on something, like her long struggle to learn how to tilt, she saw little else.

  Her smile vanished. I’ll talk it over with Peachblossom, she decided. He may not understand, but perhaps he’ll appreciate my making the effort. I just hope I don’t bang him with the sword or the ax. I don’t think he’ll like that.

  Was it even worth trying to sleep again now? she wondered, eyes on the light gray sky beyond the open upper shutters. Chances were she would doze off just as the bell rang for the day to start.

  She rolled out of bed and carefully opened the lower shutters so she could see. If she lit a candle, Lalasa would be awake within moments, asking if she could serve Kel—and this even though the dressing room door was shut. Kel sighed, quietly, and wished it were as easy to like Lalasa as it was to like Jump. Certainly the girl was useful. She smuggled Jump’s food into Kel’s room with no one the wiser. She kept things neater than Kel had ever done. If only she laughed more, and talked about things! She relaxed only with the animals, but not Kel. And she mourned each and every tear in Kel’s garments as if a friend had died.

  If only she wouldn’t be so skittish, thought Kel, slipping her weighted harness on over her nightgown. She creeps about like a mouse, flinching whenever you look at her, till you just want to give her something to flinch about. She’s afraid of me. What have I done to deserve it? Only thought about smacking some life into her, and I know she can’t hear my thoughts. If she could, she’d know I felt bad just thinking that.

  Her job with Kel was safe: Baron Piers and Lady Ilane had sent money for the girl’s wages for a year. Kel had paid Lalasa then and there. There was no reason for the girl to think Kel might dismiss her, after receiving a year’s wages. She said little to Kel but “Yes, my lady” and “No, my lady,” or for a change, “I’ll see, my lady.” Kel was a friendly girl; it hurt that Lalasa couldn’t be easy around her. It was also uncomfortable, tiptoeing about her own rooms for fear she might startle her new companion.

  Kel bent to touch her toes and heard a rip. Her nightgown, more than a bit snug around the shoulders these days, had gotten caught under the harness and torn. Wriggling, Kel tried to get a more comfortable fit out of gown and harness. Could leather shrink? The thing had been perfectly comfortable when it was first made.

  She touched her toes again. The seam that had ripped a moment ago tore further. She growled a Yamani curse and tugged the harness again.

  “My lady, that won’t help.” Lalasa walked out of the dressing room, a robe clutched over her bed gown.

  This time Kel thought a whole string of Yamani curses. Keeping her face calm, she said, “You really don’t have to be up. You know I won’t need you till the bell rings.”

  Normally something that close to a reprimand would have sent Lalasa scurrying from the room. Now, however, she strode forward, hands outstretched. “If you please, my lady?” She actually touched Kel, sticking her slim fingers under the shoulder straps of the harness and lifting it off.

  Lalasa inspected the harness in the very dim light, exploring its seams and joins with her hands. Kel, intrigued, poked up the fire and lit candles.

  “I can do nothing about this,” the older girl said, putting the harness down. “You need a new one, and that’s tanner-work. If my lady pleases?” She motioned, and Kel
turned. Lalasa touched the ripped seam between Kel’s shoulder blades, then plucked at sleeve holes, collar, and cuffs. She turned Kel and knelt to pull on the gown’s hem.

  “As I thought,” she said at last. “My lady has grown an inch since this was made. I thought you had trouble tying your points yesterday.”

  Kel made a face. “I’ve been having a cursed time getting my hose up high enough for me to tie them properly,” she admitted. “Even my breeches are short.” “

  “It’s easy to get new clothing for practice and classes, my lady,” Lalasa said. “We just trade the old things for new at the palace tailors’.” She stood and glanced at Kel, then coughed lightly into her fist. “Um—my lady, you have grown elsewhere, too.”

  “My shoulders,” Kel said gloomily. “That’s why the gown split, and why I can’t settle that harness comfortably. My waist’s a little smaller, though.”

  Lalasa shook her head. “Your shoulders are filling out, but those aren’t the only things.”

  Kel rubbed her nose. Finally she said, “You know, I understand better when people tell me straight out what they’re thinking.”

  Lalasa’s large, dark eyes met hers. She hesitated, then said, “Most girls pray for this, my lady. You’re getting them young. I didn’t show until I was fourteen.” Realizing that Kel still didn’t understand, Lalasa cupped her breasts and let them go.

  Flabbergasted, Kel stared at the front of her nightgown. Sure enough, there were two slight bulges in the proper area for such things. When had this happened? They weren’t large enough to be visible under her loose clothes, but how could she have missed them when she bathed?

  I hurry when I scrub, she thought, fighting the urge to cross her arms and cover her chest. And I’m always thinking about classwork or practice.

  A cold thought overbore everything else: They’ll never let me hear the end of this. She accepted that as soon as she thought it. There was little she could do about the boys’ future comments, except choose her clothes with care and hope her new, inconvenient badges of womanhood grew slowly.