by Hilari Bell
With the bodice half-open, it was easy to slide her arms from the sleeves and turn the dress so she could unfasten and then examine it. Most of the stitches on the left side had already ripped, but near the bottom of the seam a section of thread was still intact… almost intact. Every other stitch had been severed about two thirds of the way through, with only a wisp of fiber left to hold it.
Arisa scowled. It would have taken a very sharp knife, a very fine touch, and several hours’ work to so carefully sabotage such a long seam. Evidently, Katrin had all those things. It was expert craftsmanship, she had to admit, for the seam was just strong enough to hold if she did nothing to stress it, nothing but stand and walk about. But the moment she bent or moved swiftly… It could have happened on the dance floor, Arisa realized. In the midst of exertion and concentration, she wouldn’t have noticed until her bodice flopped like a dead goose, right in front of all her enemies. Embarrassing her, shaming her mother.
Hmm. Katrin might have done it for spite—she probably had—but she’d put in a lot of work just to embarrass Arisa. And it would have, at least it should have, embarrassed Katrin as well. If her bodice had come undone in such a spectacular, public fashion, no one would have blamed Arisa for firing the maid who looked after her clothes.
Was spite over losing a fairly minor argument worth getting fired for?
It might be, if you were sufficiently stupid, but…
Was Katrin trying to accomplish something more than leaving Arisa half-naked in front of her enemies? Had she been trying to humiliate Arisa in front of her mother’s enemies?
What Arisa did reflected on the Falcon. Her mother had repeated that time and again, and Arisa knew it was true. That was why she kept trying with all this lady stuff.
But as far as she knew, the closest thing her mother had to an enemy was Justice Holis, and Arisa didn’t believe the justice would do anything like this. He might be ruthless, if he had no other choice. In his long career as a judge, he had doubtless sentenced men to hang. But he would never come up with such a petty scheme.
Petty and malicious; that’s what this was. And if Weasel’s mentor wasn’t either of those things, about half the courtiers in the palace qualified just fine.
The Falcon had been given the position of lord commander of the army and the navy, all of Deorthas’ military. The real commander of the army, the man who held their loyalty, was General Diccon, and Arisa thought he was content with his position. But Regent Pettibone had put men loyal to him in charge of the navy, and the Falcon and Justice Holis had fired most of them. Along with the palace guard, all its officers, and quite a few other government officials as well.
How many of those men had relatives at court? Relatives who might hate Justice Holis and the Falcon for their families’ loss of power.
For the first time Arisa understood what Justice Holis meant when he said his government was “precarious.”
But if someone had bribed Katrin to embarrass the Falcon through Arisa, there might be evidence. If Arisa could find it.
Arisa put on her robe, went to Katrin’s door, and pressed her ear against it. She heard nothing. Was Katrin reporting to her true master or mistress right now? Or was she in the servants’ hall, complaining? Or having a good laugh at Arisa’s expense? Her cheeks grew warm.
When she’d first moved into the palace, Arisa had envied the close friendships that formed in the servants’ hall. Friendships the nobles, intent on their rivalries, almost never managed. The servants had their own quarrels, but they would close ranks against an outsider. Arisa would have to prove any accusation she made, or she’d be accused of making the whole thing up to get back at her maid. And all the servants would turn on her.
She knocked softly. If Katrin was there, she might think Arisa was about to apologize—and she’d never do that! Not for anything! She could say that she wanted to be sure Katrin was packing.
No sound. No answer. Arisa knocked again, then tried the doorknob. Locked.
Arisa frowned. She didn’t remember Katrin locking the door when she came into Arisa’s room, but she’d been so angry she might have missed it. And it would have been easy for Katrin to return to her room through the corridor and lock the door, unheard, while Arisa was bawling. But why would she?
If this door was locked, the door in the corridor probably was too. Arisa didn’t have Weasel’s skill with a lock pick, but she didn’t need it—the keys to all the doors that led into her room were in her jewelry box. She’d never used them before, but she had cause enough now!
The second key she tried opened the door.
“Katrin?” she called softly. “I just wanted…”
No need for a lie; the room was empty.
Arisa stepped in and looked around. She had never been in her maid’s room before today—even when they weren’t fighting, she and Katrin hadn’t been friends.
It was smaller than Arisa’s room, though not as small as she’d expected. It held a bed, with a chest at the foot, a wardrobe, a stand and washbasin, and the upholstered chair with footstool where Katrin had been reading. The chair looked a bit lumpy, and the upholstery was patched.
Arisa went first to the chest. If Katrin had any papers, they would probably be there. Her heart pounded as she lifted the lid. She could explain her presence in her maid’s room, but Arisa had no excuse for going through her things. A hat, broad-brimmed straw to protect a white complexion from the sun. Come summer, no doubt, Katrin would be nagging Arisa to wear one. Beneath it Arisa found several more books, blank paper and ink, and a purse that jingled when she lifted it. A spool of half-finished lace and a well-stocked sewing kit that contained, among other things, a small sharp knife. Although her lips tightened, Arisa replaced it in the tidy kit. By itself, the knife proved nothing.
There was also a doll, some inexpensive jewelry, and a number of personal items, things you’d expect to find in any female servant’s room. No contract offering Katrin a hundred gold blessings for making the Falcon’s daughter look like a clumsy, ignorant fool. A contract signed, of course, by both parties.
Arisa sighed. Had she really expected to find such a thing? Katrin was petty and malicious—or a highly competent traitor— but she wasn’t an idiot.
Arisa replaced everything carefully in the chest and went to the wardrobe. Probably nothing there but clothing, and Katrin might return at any time, but she knew she should look.
Smaller hats on the top shelf, dresses, skirts, blouses, petticoats. Arisa’s eyes slipped over the shoes so quickly she almost missed it. Mud. A pair of worn sturdy shoes, thrust toward the rear, crusted with dried mud.
Arisa picked one up and examined it, the dirt gritty against her palms.
Weasel would tell her that there were dozens of reasons for Katrin to have muddy shoes. She might have gone for a walk in the garden after a rain. Or had to run an errand in bad weather. Or, or, or…
Arisa knew that Katrin was the one who’d climbed up over her balcony after the last big storm. Katrin, who was sneaking out of the palace, not because she was meeting a young man but because she was up to something.
Perhaps she shouldn’t ask her mother to fire the maid after all. Because if she didn’t, the next time Katrin went out, Arisa could follow her.
CHAPTER 6
The Six of Stars: trust.
Faith in a person or principle.
The next morning Arisa slid into her britches and jacket and went down to Prince Edoran’s fencing lesson without catching a glimpse of Katrin. She did hear a few soft sounds in the room next to hers, but that only made her hurry more. Another confrontation with Katrin was the last thing she wanted.
After they’d warmed up, Master Giles set her and Weasel to somewhat more difficult exercises, thrusting and blocking each other’s blades in a set pattern, while he chased Edoran around the room. He claimed that the prince’s fencing was sufficiently advanced that he didn’t need exercises, but even Weasel could see that wasn’t true. And if that was how
nobles were trained, then why was he teaching Arisa and Weasel so differently?
She watched Master Giles and the prince surreptitiously, as she and Weasel practiced, but she evidently wasn’t sneaky enough—as they fenced past, Master Giles’ foil flew out and smacked her thigh. “Attend your own work, Mistress, not that of others!”
Edoran didn’t even try to take advantage of his opponent’s distraction. Was he afraid of the stinging blow that would answer such an attempt? But he was getting those blows anyway. In fact, as far as Arisa could see, the only thing the “noble” method of instruction accomplished was to teach someone how to take a mild beating in silence.
That seemed to work on a lot of levels, for Edoran took all kinds of things in silence. Not only from his teachers, either, but being stuck in evening court, and herded about by his servants as if he were a prize cow. It was almost as if he didn’t know how to stand up for himself, to fight back. To fight at all, she thought, wincing at the slap of a foil on canvas.
Then inspiration struck, so suddenly that she stopped mid-form and Weasel’s blade whacked her ribs.
There was a moment of confusion while he apologized to her at the same time she apologized to him, and Master Giles left off beating on Edoran to scold both of them for “all this sorry-ing.”
“You’re supposed to be trying to hit each other! If she gives you an opening, inside the bounds of the form, then take it and look for another! You’re not on the dance floor! Though I couldn’t swear to it, as badly as you fence. Again. One, guard, low, guard…”
As she went through the rest of the set Arisa thought about it, and the more she thought, the better she liked the idea.
When Master Giles finally gathered up their swords and departed, instead of letting Edoran slink away with Weasel, she followed them.
“I want to thank you again for last night,” she told Edoran.
“It was nothing,” he said coldly.
Once Arisa might have taken that for arrogance, but now she sensed the burning humiliation that lay behind his stiff expression.
Last night he had spared her even worse, so she made her voice as casual and friendly as she could when she went on, “Anyway, I’d like to repay you, so I was thinking that if you like, I could teach you to fight with your left hand.”
Color flooded Edoran’s cheeks and she continued hastily, “It wouldn’t interfere with your lessons with Master Giles. And I’m not a master or anything. But one of my teachers taught me how to counter a left-handed fighter, and I think I could teach you some of his moves.”
“You couldn’t do worse than old Giles,” Weasel told her. “Not if you tried. Would you teach him knife fighting?”
“If he wants,” said Arisa. “I’m better at that than I am with a sword. On the other hand, I don’t see him getting into many knife fights.”
“Odds are good I’ll never fight a duel, either,” said Edoran. “But I’m supposed to be prepared for it. Just in case.” A sneer slipped into the last words, and Arisa grinned at the hint of rebellion.
“If you learn to fence left-handed, maybe you can surprise your opponent enough to get in a thrust before he… um.”
But the set look was fading from Edoran’s face, despite her lack of tact.
“Not in public,” he said. “I don’t want an audience. And I doubt that kind of privacy is possible, Mistress Benison.”
“You never know unless you try,” Arisa told him. “If I can find a place where no one but Weasel could watch us, would you show up?”
Edoran thought about it. “If you could perform such a miracle… Very well.”
“Very well what? Is that a ‘yes’?”
“Yes,” said Edoran. “If you find us some privacy, I accept your offer.”
“Good,” said Weasel. “You need someone who’ll actually teach you something.”
In more ways than one, Arisa thought. If the prince could learn how to fight with a weapon, perhaps he could learn to fight in other ways as well.
One of the footmen caught her before she reached her room, but this time Arisa was delighted to hear that her lady mother wanted to see her. She strode off to her mother’s office and knocked firmly on the door.
“Come in.” The Falcon waited until Arisa had dropped into her usual chair before continuing mildly, “Your maid has complained to me. In fact she says you threatened to gut her with a dagger, which I have to admit seems like a legitimate cause for complaint.”
Arisa snorted. “It was a pin. And she deserved—”
“You threatened to gut her with a pin?” The Falcon’s lips twitched.
“I didn’t threaten to gut her at all,” said Arisa. “I only told her to get out. And I fired her.”
The Falcon rubbed her chin, her expression thoughtful. “That’s hard for you to do, since I’m the one who employs her.”
“Well, she earned it! Did you hear what she did?”
“No,” said the Falcon. “Should I have heard about it?”
Arisa opened her mouth, then paused, considering. If her mother hadn’t heard about it… If none of those self-absorbed courtiers had noticed… If Katrin hadn’t spread the story all over the servants’ hall…
The Falcon frowned. “In truth, I don’t really want to know. What with pirates raiding a coastal village, I don’t need to be bothered by squabbles with your maid.”
“Pirates raided a village?” Arisa asked. “But they never raid ashore. They only take ships.”
“It seems that’s no longer true,” the Falcon told her. “Pirates, or someone the survivors describe as looking and acting like a pirate crew, raided Helverton yesterday afternoon. We didn’t hear about it till late last night, and Holis sent someone to investigate—and offer aid—first thing this morning. But as lord commander of the navy, the task of finding and stopping them falls to me.”
“The survivors.” Sick sorrow churned in the pit of Arisa’s stomach. “That means there were deaths.”
“Too many,” said the Falcon. “And half the village burned into the bargain, but I’ll get them. If I can do that, surely you can settle things with Katrin by yourself. Without violence, or threatening violence, even with pins. I don’t think that’s asking too much. Though I’m pleased to see you getting on better with the prince.”
Arisa considered telling her mother about the fencing lessons, but she’d promised Edoran privacy—after what he’d done for her, she couldn’t betray him by telling someone else… even if he’d never know about it.
Should she tell her mother her suspicions about Katrin? If her maid was trying to undermine the Falcon, wouldn’t she have spread the story herself? Suspicion was all Arisa had—a pair of muddy shoes proved nothing.
“I’d rather you fired her,” said Arisa slowly. “It would be simpler.” And probably safer. Cast out of the palace, Katrin could do no further harm… and Arisa would never have a chance to learn who her true master was.
The Falcon sat back in her chair. “I know you’re angry. And I know you well enough to accept that you have good reason to feel that way. But is your quarrel, whatever it is, worth ruining the woman’s life? And perhaps impoverishing her family as well?”
“I said fired,” Arisa protested, “not ruined. And what does her family have to do with it?”
“Who do you think will hire her, once it becomes known she was fired from the palace?” the Falcon asked. “No noblewoman will have her, that’s for sure. Some rich merchant’s wife in a distant town might take her on, but how could she find an employer in another town? And most of the servants are supporting families, even if they only get to go into the city to see them one day a week. You could do a lot of harm here, Ris.”
Arisa sighed. “All right. You don’t have to fire her.”
“That’s good,” said the Falcon. “Because the servants don’t forgive that kind of thing, and they have power too, in their own way. Look what happened to Prince Edoran.”
“What happened to him?” Arisa asked.
“Well, maybe that isn’t the right way to say it, because nothing happened to him, and it sounds like he deserved it. He evidently has a dislike for arcanara cards—I have no idea what that’s about, but you probably shouldn’t tell him you use them. Anyway, one of the maids was laying them out and he fired her for it. She had three children, and the family depended on her salary. The other servants never forgave him, not to this day, and that was almost five years ago.”
“But… but he’d only have been ten years old then!” Arisa exclaimed. “How could the old regent let a ten-year-old fire anyone?”
“He was a ten-year-old prince,” said the Falcon. “He’s still a prince. Watch your step with him, Ris. I asked you to get close to him, but that’s a real job. It’s not going to be easy.”
Katrin was waiting in Arisa’s room when she returned, and helped her into a gown in icily correct silence. Her eyes glowed with triumph, but Arisa told herself that that was good. It would make her careless.
Arisa was late to her embroidery lesson. Anyone else would have scolded her, but Yallin just set her to stitching.
Arisa thought about the events of the night and morning. The hour was almost over before she realized she’d hardly spoken a word the entire time—and Yallin had given her the quiet she needed.
“Thank you,” she said. She would have explained what she was thanking her teacher for, but Yallin smiled.
“It’s good to have something to occupy your hands, when your mind is busy.” And she didn’t ask what Arisa had been thinking about, the Lady bless her.
“Yallin, my… I was told that the prince had a maid fired, some years ago. But he was only a child then! Did Regent Pettibone really fire that girl, just because a ten-year-old asked him to?”
