Chapter Sixteen: First Assignments
The next morning, Sarot woke him early. “You’ll get used to the sleeping times soon. I’ll help you keep track of things for a while, since we’ve got the same breakfast hour.”
Glad for the company, Jacob ate slowly, not feeling even near as self-conscious as he had the night before. He’d adjusted quickly to having eyes on him.
Sarot elbowed him halfway through breakfast. “I haven’t finished telling you who’s trustworthy and who isn’t.” He motioned with his head toward some girls. “See them? The one in the middle is good and so is the one on the left. The other girl, you should avoid.”
Jacob looked and felt his stomach rise in his throat. The chick in the middle was the girl from the laundry room. He nearly choked on his eggs. “What are their names?” Was that an okay question to ask? Would Sarot be able to hear the interest Jacob tried so hard to hide?
“The bad one is Sash. The one in the middle is Hayla. The other is . . .”
Jacob didn’t hear the rest of what Sarot said. At that moment, Hayla looked up and saw him. Whoa. Her eyes were very blue—the light from the window made them sparkle, even from fifteen feet across the room. They both glanced away as quickly as possible. Jacob reached for his cup of water and knocked it over instead.
Sarot chuckled. “You’ve already met the laundry girls, I’m guessing.”
Jacob refused to answer, wishing his stupid blush would leave. He quickly mopped up the spilled water with his napkin.
“It’s okay—all the footmen are obsessed with them, especially Hayla. Be careful—both of the men in our room have vied for her attention repeatedly. She always turns them away.”
Jacob cleared his throat. “What about you? Are you interested in any of the girls here?”
“Well, yeah.” Sarot took a bite of ham before answering. “I don’t see her very often, though. She works upstairs mainly, with the princess.”
Jacob felt a huge wave of relief flood over him—Sarot wasn’t interested in Hayla. Then Jacob scowled at himself, realizing he was losing his focus again. How would any of this help him get into the king’s workroom? It wouldn’t. And he couldn’t afford to become involved with the politics of the castle any more than he could afford to fight some eighteen-year-old guys for the attention of a cute girl.
Resolved to get to work, Jacob looked around. “Where’s Bekett? When do we get assignments?”
“I’ve already received mine. He’s probably still putting yours together.”
“What are you doing today?”
Sarot’s face darkened. “Something I absolutely hate.” He glanced around the emptying room, then back at Jacob. “Pray you never have to do this task.”
“What is it?”
Sarot responded in a whisper. “We’re not supposed to talk about it, but nearly every day, the king brings people into the castle. They’re alive. Healthy. Whole. But when they leave, they’re dead or incredibly sick or injured.” He didn’t say anything for a moment while an older man passed behind them. “The duty of the assigned footmen is to help remove them from the castle and take them out back, to the river, where waiting soldiers transport them away.”
Just then, Bekett walked up to the pair of boys. He handed Jacob a piece of paper, then left, wishing Jacob good luck with his first assignment.
Jacob squinted, trying to read Bekett’s scraggly writing, and Sarot looked over his shoulder.
Assist Dmitri with his luggage when he returns from visiting Setlan.
“Not a lot of information.” Jacob turned to Sarot, but the guy apparently hadn’t heard him.
“That’s not fair,” Sarot said. “Already working with the prince?” He scowled at his plate.
“I thought you said it’s best to stay away from the royal family.”
“I did, but it puts you in a better position than most servants.” He turned to face Jacob. “See, you don’t want to work with them. It’s more dangerous. But if you do work with them and they approve, your chances for promotion are much greater.” He sighed. “I’m a contradiction to myself. I hate the royal family, yet I wish to become their highest servant. It’s ridiculous, I know.”
Jacob smiled. “Yeah, but I understand.”
Sarot returned the smile. “I’d better get going. The king starts his . . .” He looked around uneasily. “He starts the testing early.”
Jacob nodded. “Okay. Thanks for your help.”
Sarot got up to go, but Jacob stopped him. “My instructions don’t tell me what time Dmitri will return. How do I know?”
Sarot shrugged. “If I have no other assignments, I usually wait just inside the servants’ entrance and check frequently to see if the carriage is returning yet. You could try that.”
He left and Jacob finished his breakfast, now cold. The next shift of servants entered the room, and Jacob was surprised no one had chastised him or Sarot for taking extra time to eat. But maybe things weren’t so bad here after all.
It took Jacob a few tries to get back to the servants’ entrance, even with the map Bekett had given him. Once there, he leaned against the wall, wishing he could be invisible as he studied the halls he’d be allowed to use while in the castle. Other servants passed by—most he didn’t recognize, but a few he did, including Mindac.
Jacob pressed himself against the wall as much as he could, trying to get out of the way. But the footman stopped.
“Hey, what’s your name?” He didn’t wait for a response. “How’d you get to be a footman?” He put an arm near Jacob’s head, leaning against the stone wall, looming over him.
Jacob racked his brain, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t make the older footman hate him even more than he obviously already did.
“Tell me your secrets so I can destroy everything you hope to achieve.”
Jacob clenched his teeth. The only thing he could think to say would definitely make him a target.
“Hello? Don’t you speak? Or are you dumb?” Mindac grabbed Jacob by the hair, yanking his head forward. “I never saw you before, but already, I can’t stand you.” He slammed Jacob against the wall and strode away.
Jacob rubbed the back of his head, glaring after Mindac, wishing he knew how to handle situations like that. If he didn’t put the footman in his place soon, Jacob would quickly become Mindac’s favorite target.
Dmitri arrived about an hour later. By then, Jacob had pretty much memorized the halls and welcomed the break. Luckily, he hadn’t had any more run-ins with jerks.
As soon as he saw the royal carriage arrive, he straightened his clothes and walked outside to open the door.
Dmitri stepped down and nodded to Jacob. “Bring my bag to my room.” His voice was strict and the expression on his face nowhere near friendly. No wonder Sarot didn’t believe the prince had changed—he was an excellent actor.
Jacob walked to the back of the carriage and grabbed a small satchel. That was all Dmitri had? And he needed help carrying it? Ridiculous. He hurried to catch up with the prince, making sure to maintain a few feet of distance, as a servant should.
The prince led them through a series of elaborate halls—lined with curtains, of course—and up a huge staircase, into Dmitri’s room.
Dmitri turned around. His stern exterior had disappeared and he seemed to be more relaxed. The colors around him—light blue—confirmed this. “Are things still going well?”
“Yes,” Jacob said, wondering if he should mention the footman who’d shoved him against the wall. He decided not to—tattling wasn’t good anywhere. Besides, he needed to figure out how to deal with things like that on his own.
“Good. Have you learned what you need to know?”
Jacob opened his mouth to tell Dmitri about the testing, but a sudden pain in his heart warned him not to. He searched for something safe to say—anything. “A little, but not much.” He tried to hide his relief as the tightness in his chest disappeared. “I’ve learned a lot about the political w
orkings of servants in a castle.”
Dmitri chuckled. “I’m sure you have.” He turned to hang up his jacket. “We’ll talk later. You need to return to the servants’ area—you’ll be missed, and Bekett will suspect you.”
Jacob nodded, then rushed to say, “Have you heard anything from my friends since last night? How are they? Is the next meeting still happening?”
Dmitri held up his hands, a big grin spreading across his features. “Hold on, hold on! They’re fine.” He chuckled. “I haven’t heard anything specific since Kelson’s report last night. And yes, we’re still meeting tonight—in Cow, near your shelter. Here, give me a minute.”
He walked to his desk, pulled out a piece of paper, scribbled something on it, and handed it to Jacob. “See you there. It’s in a few hours. Be careful not to interrupt your work here, though, to get there on time. That wouldn’t be good.”
Jacob tucked the paper into his shirt pocket, thanked the prince, and returned to the servants’ dining room. It was lunchtime and he sat at the table, eagerly piling food on his plate.
“May I sit here?” a girl asked.
Jacob glanced up and dropped his forkful of potatoes. It was Hayla. He scrambled to pick up his fork, wondering if he could’ve made a bigger fool of himself. “Sure! Of course.”
She sat on the bench almost two feet away. “My name is Hayla.”
Jacob nodded. “I know—Sarot told me.” He bit his lip, hoping she wouldn’t think he’d been desperate to get information about her.
She didn’t act like he’d done anything wrong, though. “What’s yours?”
“My name? Ja—Thojac.” He turned back to his plate, chastising himself for nearly telling her his real name. Then he chastised himself for being so happy she’d sat next to him. Focus, Jacob. Focus. Nothing could come of this relationship. Nothing. So why was he hoping to get her to like him?
Someone grabbed Jacob by the shoulder and Jacob flinched, expecting it to be one of his roommates. But it was only Bekett.
“I’ve got another assignment for you, boy.” He looked very irritated, and the colors flowing around his face confirmed this. “One of the footmen hasn’t been found—we’ve searched everywhere. He’s about to miss his most important assignment for the day.” Bekett handed a piece of paper to Jacob, then grumbled under his breath. “These . . . testings of the king. No one is safe from them.” He waved for Jacob to read the assignment, his irritation getting stronger.
Jacob hurried to comply. The paper instructed him to assist the king with a package that was arriving in an hour or two.
“The king himself will be there. Don’t talk to him, and don’t look at him. If he speaks to you—doubtful that he will—respond with simple answers. Don’t tell him anything about yourself, else you’ll find he picks you to be his next test subject.”
Jacob nodded. He tucked the paper into his pocket next to the one from Dmitri. He had three hours until the meeting started and two until the package arrived. Hopefully, the king wouldn’t make him late—he really couldn’t wait to see Aloren and Matt again. It felt like years.
Hayla ate quickly and left, and Jacob wondered why—she’d seemed so happy to sit next to him. But maybe her tasks were more demanding than Jacob’s.
He was about to head to the servants’ door to wait the two hours for the package to arrive when an older woman asked his help in carrying big pots from the serving table into the huge kitchen. He helped her, and she then asked if he was busy—he wasn’t—and put him to work organizing other pots that had been washed and dried. That was nice, actually. He felt like he was finally being helpful. And it made the time go by faster.
When he was finished, Jacob excused himself and rushed to the servants’ door. He got there right as the delivery carriage—a blue, box-like cart with a red horizontal stripe—pulled up.
Jacob dashed around the corner of the castle, then slowed to a brisk walk when he saw the king step through the main doors.
“You! Servant boy!” The king pointed at Jacob. “Get my delivery. Bring it to me.”
Jacob nodded, took the white package from the man inside the carriage, and strode up the steps of the castle to the king.
“Follow me,” the king said, taking the box.
Jacob, again maintaining a safe distance, walked behind the king, keeping his eyes down. Unlike earlier, things were coming alive in the castle, and there were many important-looking people wandering the halls. Jacob was overwhelmed with the strong emotions flooding around everyone and he had a hard time not staring. Every single person was discouraged, depressed, or upset about something. Boy, what a cheerful place.
He found himself glad only he could read emotions—he’d definitely stand out with his happier-than-Troosinal-normal personality. Sure, he wasn’t as bouncy as Matt, but he also didn’t suffer from the constant depression this city brought on its people.
The king led Jacob into what were apparently his private quarters. It didn’t seem that the royal family cared about having servants in their rooms—probably because servants were so far below them.
The king put the package on a table and turned to Jacob. “Stay. I have other tasks for you.”
Jacob’s hands started sweating. Was he about to enter the king’s workroom? Was he going to become a test subject? Was he ready? Could he avoid it even if he weren’t?
Just then, Dmitri’s older brothers entered the room.
“Father, I can’t tolerate him any longer. He’s an arrogant jerk!”
“Who?” The king waved to Jacob to help him remove his jacket.
Jacob jumped to do so, completely lost, not knowing how to do anything. He slid the jacket from the king’s shoulders, then folded it over his arm.
“No, no—put it away,” the king said, motioning to a huge wardrobe on the other side of the room.
“You know who,” the son said. “Dmitri. Your favorite.” He spat the words; the expression on his face murderous.
“Shut your mouth. This man you hate so much will be your king one day.” Ramantus held his hands out and raised his head. He looked at Jacob, obviously expecting something else. “My tie, boy. Remove it!”
Again, Jacob hurried to comply, wishing he’d been trained in this sort of thing. But how was Bekett to know Jacob would be doing this?
The brothers argued with their father about Dmitri and his virtues—how he’d never change into what the king wanted, and how Ramantus was wasting his time. Het and Isan then took turns numbering all of Dmitri’s faults.
Jacob did his best to ignore them, but as soon as they brought up Dmitri’s group of followers, his hands started shaking. By that point, he’d taken off the tie and clips in the king’s shirt and was in the process of removing the king’s shoes.
The older son said, “We’ve found where they’re meeting tonight, and Father, I swear, we’ll wipe these insolent people out of Troosinal. They’ll be visited with your fury!”
The king smiled. “Very well. I’m pleased you’ve found the meeting place. Go ahead—if Dmitri is there, bring him back to me. We’ll see how a few days in the dungeon will affect his desire to rebel.”
Jacob felt sweat drip down his back and temples. He wiped his face, jumping when the king asked him to find a favorite pair of slippers. The king then had him help change his shirt. The only thing Jacob could concentrate on, however, was getting out as soon as possible so he could warn his friends.
Finally, Ramantus no longer required assistance. Jacob bowed, exiting as quickly as possible without drawing suspicion to himself. He had to find a way to get hold of Dmitri! The safety of too many innocent lives depended on him.
His breath coming in short gasps before he’d even started running, Jacob tossed all rules out the window as he rushed to the prince’s quarters, barging in. But Dmitri wasn’t there. Jacob Time-Saw through the castle, searching. But no luck. Realizing the prince had probably left for the meeting already, Jacob tugged on his hair, trying to think of what to do.
Wait. Hadn’t Kelson worked in the stables at one point? Jacob remembered both Mom and Aloren saying something about that. Maybe he still did! Jacob dashed from the prince’s quarters and rushed through the castle, and outside.
Praying Kelson hadn’t also already left for the meeting, Jacob hurried through the huge building, searching every room and stall, passing several servants. Finally, he grabbed one—a boy about eight or nine. “Does Kelson still work here?”
The boy nodded, an expression of fear on his face. Jacob jerked his hand away, realizing he was scaring the boy. “Show me where he is.”
The boy rushed down the hall and Jacob followed. They stopped outside a huge, ornately decorated stall.
“Kelson—someone to see you.”
The boy dashed away and Kelson stepped around the horse he was brushing.
“Thojac! I didn’t expect to see you here.” He continued to curry the horse, his motions jerky and rapid. “I’m late—should have left fifteen minutes ago. But the king will allow only me to touch his horse. I’m leaving for the meeting as soon as I finish up here. Would you like to join me?”
Jacob shook his head. “Het and Isan found out about the meeting tonight. They’re on their way already.”
Kelson dropped the brush, his mouth popping open. “That’s why they had their horses saddled so quickly.”
He ran from the stall, not closing the door behind him. Jacob raced after, catching up as Kelson flung a saddle onto his horse. “Come as soon as you’ve changed your clothes.” He looked at Jacob. “Or perhaps it would be best if you remained here.” He kicked the sides of his horse and spurred out of the stables.
Jacob definitely wouldn’t be staying behind. He looked down, not sure what Kelson meant about his clothing. Oh! He couldn’t go dressed as a castle servant. That would definitely draw attention to himself. He ran back into the castle through the servants’ entrance, nearly knocking over several people who shouted at him. He didn’t care—his best friends were in danger!
He knew nothing bad would happen to Dmitri and Kelson, but that security did not extend to Matt and Aloren.
Rise of Keitus (Kilenya Series, 4) Page 20
