by F. E. Greene
Pearl bit her tongue to keep from rushing her reply. More than anything she wanted to pass through that gate. There were horrors in the world she didn’t wish to confront – not only what hunted her but how much she had lost. A castle would more than make up for it all.
But that wasn’t how sovereignty worked, Pearl knew. If she sought a king’s protection, it came at a price, and she had nothing to offer a king. Kings expected gifts. They required allegiance. King banished what displeased them and killed their enemies without mercy. They made no time for meritless orphans.
“I don’t know how,” she admitted.
Varrick folded his arms. “I think you do.”
Desperate to believe him, Pearl closed her eyes. Three times that day she’d seen the castle. Three times she’d heard an unfamiliar bell. Each time, shortly after, some disaster occurred, but none of it was the king’s fault.
Then she remembered the sound of her name – at midday in the market square. She stood on the campanile’s bench and searched. She didn’t know the voice any more than she recognized the bell.
Both, however, knew her. She felt the purity of their yearning peals. Each was clean as rainwater, as transparent and crisp as a late autumn wind. At her worst and most worthless, they called to her.
Her parents were right, Pearl realized. The king no longer hid from her, and he was willing to be served by the girl no one would remember. Understanding, Pearl opened her eyes.
“I’ll serve the king,” she promised.
Varrick stepped aside. “Enter the castle, Pearl Sterling.”
So she did. After crossing the threshold, Pearl slowed. Then she stopped, waiting for the impossible to happen.
It didn’t. No invisible magic tickled her skin. The breeze didn’t increase, like when the whirlwind appeared. Nothing transformed her inside or out, and for a moment Pearl was disappointed.
When she spun to face her escort, her bleakest fears resurfaced. Outside the gate, the fog had returned. Convulsing, it sunk down to obstruct the bridge.
“What’s the trouble?” Varrick asked.
Pearl wasn’t sure she could limit it to one. “Are we safe from those...whatever they are?”
“Nothing crosses the pale without the king’s permission.”
He spoke the words like they answered every question. Then he plucked a rock from the path and flung it at the thrashing fog. It sailed through to clatter against the bridge.
A female voice called out, demanding the man hold his fire. Bow in hand, the Illiate woman emerged from the fog. The creatures hated her like they hated the Orldic, but neither seemed to intimidate the woman who passed through the gate undaunted.
Anchoring herself before Varrick, she raised one challenging eyebrow. “Looks like we both need to work on our aim.”
Distressed, Pearl held her breath – until she realized the woman might be teasing.
Varrick rolled his eyes. “Not your best sniping.”
“Couldn’t get a clear shot,” she replied. “I didn’t want to hit Mis Sterling. Or you. It would be nice if you returned the favor.”
His response, to Pearl’s ears, was a tangle of sounds capped by a sour announcement. “I’m going to change.”
“Unlikely,” the woman muttered when Varrick was out of earshot. Then she smiled. Peeling the glove from her right hand, she displayed her bare palm. “I’m Carys Mooreland. Welcome to the castle.”
Rude silence was the best response Pearl could give as she stared at the woman’s hand. An intricate brand, like the kind pressed to the hides of cattle, consumed the center of her palm. Illiates used some other word for branding, but Pearl couldn’t remember what.
“Let me guess,” Carys said. “Never met an Illiate?”
“Not a woman,” Pearl replied. “I didn’t think you could travel.”
“Normally we’re not allowed outside. But I don’t live in Illial now so I travel as much as I like. And since I probably won’t be the last Illiate you meet, I’ll show you how to respond.” She reached for Pearl’s left wrist. “Raise your palm, as I’m doing, then press yours to theirs. First greeter lifts the right hand. Second greeter presses with the left.” Gently she guided Pearl through the routine. “And there you go.”
While Carys looked no less unrefined, her countenance had softened. Her tone was still formal but not so harsh, and her accent was as crafted as the Orldic’s was coarse. Despite the fog, and Varrick’s criticism, she appeared almost cheerful.
“Does anyone else live here?” Pearl asked.
“About sixty or so. The rest are celebrating. We have our own festival on the outer grounds. Bit of food and drink. Games and dancing. Not quite as exciting as Castlevale but good enough for us.”
“Are there any Rosperians?”
“A fair share,” Carys said. “You’ll feel right at home once we get you settled.”
Home. The single word siphoned what little delight the castle had stirred in Pearl. Only weariness kept her from caring too much about Hollycopse – that and a new awareness of what evil lurked in the world.
“Those monsters,” Pearl said. “Will they come back?”
Carys hesitated. “The darkgard, you mean?”
“Dark-guard,” she repeated with a tiny smile. “I couldn’t understand what Varrick called them.”
“I’m not surprised. He talks like he’s gargling rocks.” She offered a perfect impression of his broguish speech. “Don’t worry about darkgard, Pearl. They can’t cross the outer wall. Nothing enters the castle without the king’s permission.”
Her certainty made Pearl feel better until remorse swept in. “I’m sorry I left the festival. I should have waited, but I didn’t know what would happen. Those darkgard – who could imagine them?” When her voice broke, she gave up trying to apologize.
“All’s forgiven,” Carys told her. “You couldn’t have known.”
Dabbing tears from her eyes, Pearl believed Carys just as completely as she believed Varrick when he insisted her darkgard was dead. After years of distrusting everyone, and being distrusted as well, Pearl reveled in her own lack of doubt. No one was faultless, but not everyone was false.
“When do I meet the king?” she asked.
“Tomorrow,” Carys said. “A lot of things will happen tomorrow. You’ll see lots of faces and learn lots of names. Tonight let’s make things easy. I’ll show you around the keep and to your room. The rest can wait until you’ve had a good night’s sleep.”
Thanking her, Pearl followed Carys across the lawn. Nothing, she guessed, would be easy for awhile. It was easier to pretend than to admit the truth. It was easier to wear a sash and strike a deal than to set out, empty-handed, for an undetermined end.
Easiest of all was to hide in a castle, but Pearl hoped she wouldn’t be hiding for long. She didn’t mind the idea of serving a king. She also wanted to keep hold of Hollycopse. With the king’s resources, and a morning to use them, Pearl let herself secretly dare to believe that things might still end happily.
Chapter Ten
It is a strange thing to be where you want and not know where you are.
Pearl felt that sensation in abundance as she trailed Carys up steps that curved gradually to hug the keep’s eastern base. Where its beacons didn’t gleam, the stronghold melted into darkness. Pearl craned her neck but still couldn’t see the keep’s zenith, only seams where its stones cleaved the sky.
Reaching the portico, Carys opened a transparent door made from metal and glass. Despite the keep’s preeminence, its entrance looked like an afterthought. The door was barely the width of a person. It closed slowly with a hiss and a click. It had no deadbolts, keyholes, or locks – just a sign blocking one of its panes.
KEEP DOOR CLOSED AT ALL TIMES
EXCEPT WHEN OPENED
“Isn’t that a bit redundant?” Pearl whispered, not meaning to be critical.
It was, Carys agreed. She led Pearl through a constrictive foyer, its ceiling shallow enough to make bot
h women stoop. Carved oak paneling formed the walls. The air inside was stale and warm.
Beyond the foyer Pearl didn’t find the gaping space she expected. From outside the keep looked monstrous. Its interior disagreed. Wood floors and stone columns divided the expanse into three distinct levels, Carys explained, and each level into rooms.
Even so, Pearl was awestruck. The ceiling, built from crisscrossed beams, rose higher than some rooftops in Castlevale. A fireplace the length of a wagon swallowed the northern wall. Nothing burned within it, but the room smelled of soot and, to Pearl’s surprise, dirty socks. Sparse light trickled from a sprinkling of candles. Uneven lumps covered the floorboards – bedpallets, Pearl realized, when she stepped on one.
“This is the keep’s first level,” Carys said. “The small hall, we call it. Ground floor is underneath us, but it’s only a digaway where we store things.”
“Small hall?” Pearl studied the ceiling. “Compared to what?”
Without slowing Carys smirked at the questions. “On rainy days we use the hall for a playroom. At night it’s off limits to our kind. All boys and the younger men sleep in here – little ones on the pallets, older ones in the tucks.”
Pearl looked to her left where three sets of canvas curtains, their middles cinched by ropes, half-obscured three narrow rooms. Two contained bunking beds. All had generous windows.
While the rooms to either side were uncluttered, the middle tuck brimmed with maps. They layered the walls and dangled from shelves that bent from the weight of too many books. Knick-knacks and gadgets crowded whatever space remained.
Surprised, Pearl stopped walking. “Who sleeps in there?”
Carys halted among the bedpallets. “Why do you ask?”
Pearl wasn’t sure. “It reminds me of my father’s office, I suppose.”
“Your father was a bookbadger?”
“No, a schooler. But he loved maps.”
As Pearl pictured her father seated at his desk, enveloped by ink wells and lexicons, she felt a pinch of guilt. He had searched for the castle since before she was born. Now she stood at the heart of a keep whose likeness he’d sketched again and again in the margins of Beforish texts.
“You all right?” Carys asked.
“Yes,” Pearl lied. “I’m fine.”
To prove it she hopped across the remaining bedpallets like she merrily played a child’s game.
Looking amused, if not convinced, Carys waited for Pearl beneath a doorless archway that required neither of them to duck. More curtains flanked the hall’s interior entrance, and their thick fabric bulged behind dense iron finials.
As Pearl paused to examine them, she stifled a gasp. The finials were indisputably Orldic.
“Which anchorland is the king’s?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
“All of them.” Carys moved toward the far wall of the rectangular space where more candles burned in small goblets on an elevated shelf. Storage chests lined the room’s baseboards. Windows bordered its ceiling.
“Yes, of course. But where was he born?”
Rising onto her toes, Carys strained to grab the stem of a goblet. “I don’t know.”
“Doesn’t he have an accent?”
“Probably.” She turned toward Pearl. “We call this room the forte. It’s how most of us enter and leave the keep. Southwest tower takes you to the upper level. Northwest tower is closed for drainage. No one goes in there – although we make the lads clean it when their mischief becomes destructive.”
Pearl wrinkled her nose. “That doesn’t sound very nice.”
“Exactly.” Carys rejoined Pearl near the small hall’s entrance. As she spoke, she gestured from right to left at three austere wooden doors. “Northern door takes you into the garden. Western door leads down to the kitchen. Southern door empties into the courtyard. That extra space next to it is what we call the antey. I think Rosperians would say it’s a cloakroom? It’s for muddy shoes, damp boots, foul-weather gear, and whatever stinky things the lads track inside.”
“I’m not sure I’ll remember this all in the morning,” Pearl admitted.
“It takes a few days,” Carys replied. “I’ll ask Paxton to draw you a map.”
“Paxton?”
“He belongs to the messy tuck. He’ll be happy to lend you some books if you like. You’re welcome to mine as well.”
“You like to read?” Pearl asked.
“For pleasure, yes. I’m no schooler.” Carys offered the goblet to Pearl. “Use these candletes whenever you need. Just return them when you’re finished. And don’t give them to the children unless you’re planning to supervise.”
Hesitantly Pearl accepted the goblet. As she breathed, its flame wavered and danced. Smoke the width of a thread curled from the wick while its light played along her skin.
“There’s a lot of wood in here,” Pearl mentioned.
Carys agreed. “We’re not afraid of fire. We just treat it with respect.”
“But flames aren’t supposed to burn in Rosper.”
“No, they’re not.” She headed for the stairwell next to the disheveled antey. “These steps are old and poky. You’ll need light until you learn them. But if you want me to carry that candlete, I will.” On the lowest step she shifted to stare expectantly at Pearl.
Once again Pearl felt like she’d done something wrong. While Carys didn’t sound angry, she also didn’t look impressed, and Pearl dropped her gaze to the flickering goblet. The sight was enchanting, and its flame so benign, no disaster would happen if she accidentally let go.
“I’ll carry it,” Pearl decided.
Cautiously she entered the stairwell, pressing her free hand to the wall. She didn’t rush, her concentration split between the candlete and the steps. The tower was cramped, and silence encroached until Pearl noticed only the roll of her breath and the swish of her shoes across grit.
Carys waited for her on a landing that emptied into a substantial room. More Orldic finials restrained a flimsy green curtain trimmed with ribbon. Above those, a carved wooden sign announced the room’s purpose.
GIRLS GALLERY
Carys motioned for Pearl to pass through. “Here’s where you’ll wash, sleep, and eat your breakfast. No men of any age are allowed in the gallery. Not even the harmless ones.”
The gallery resembled the small hall beneath it – with three windows, one fireplace, and a trio of inset rooms – but its contents looked and smelled much different.
The bedpallets were arranged in tidy lines. Blankets were folded. Pillows were fluffed. From the timber ceiling hung clusters of bright, dried blossoms, and their fragrance sweetened the air. Doors, not curtains, cordoned the rooms. Carys led Pearl to the middle one.
“You’ll sleep in this aside,” she explained in a low voice. “Henifred is on your left. She runs the kitchen, so she turns in early and gets up at 4 bells. Bonny is on your right. She’s the one to ask if you need something during the night. Bonny never seems to sleep, and if do you wake her, she won’t mind.”
“Where’s your room?” Pearl asked.
“In another part of the castle.” Carys opened the door. “You’ll see it tomorrow.”
The aside was narrow but plenty long. Inside it was a slender bed with the quilt already turned down. A canopy of intricate lace spilled from the bedposts to gather in drifts on the floor. The room contained other furnishings – a wardrobe with a full-length mirror, nesting tables, and a short bookcase. Near the bed was an arched window. Its shutters were closed but not bolted.
In the candlete’s solitary glow, the aside was dim and soothing. Admiring it, Pearl sighed with relief. Exhaustion had begun to work its way into her bones, and while she wouldn’t have begrudged a bedpallet in the gallery, she felt grateful to have a room of her own.
“This is lovely,” she told Carys. “Thank you.”
“Thank the king,” she replied. “Nightdress is on the bed. Houseshoes are underneath. Sheets and blankets are clean.”
“Were you expecting me?” Pearl asked.
It took her a moment to answer. “We were hopeful. Here’s your laver.” Moving past the wardrobe, Carys parted another curtain.
The laver looked like a chiseled amendment with wood panels for walls and a ceiling of stone. Mounted shelves held soaps, towels, combs, and a cup filled with toothbrushes the color and shape of which Pearl had never seen. Beneath the shelves a washing basin stood on lean metal legs.
Pearl recognized its Orldic design but not its added parts. While the draintube was familiar, it vanished into the wall instead of hovering over a bucket. Above the basin a shaft of metal protruded. Silver buds shaped like windmills jutted from either side. At the center of each was a different design.
“Is that antescript?” Pearl whispered.
“Well done,” Carys said. “This gliph means the water’s hot. This one means it’s cold. It only takes one good scalding for most folks to get them straight.”
“Water comes out of them?”
“Water comes out of this.” Carys rested a hand on the metal spout. “Turn the knobs until the temperature suits you.”
Her fascination fading, Pearl backed away. “This isn’t permitted.”
“Why not?”
“It’s Beforish. The Simplis Edict says there aren’t supposed to be any machines.”
“These machines came with the castle,” Carys said. “They were already here, and they still work.”
“That doesn’t mean we’re allowed to use them.”
Noticeably frustrated, Carys let the drape fall. “And you don’t have to. There’s a well in the digaway, bottom of the southeast tower. You’re welcome to draw your own water.”
Pearl apologized. “I don’t mean to be difficult.”
“It’s your first night. Sometimes I forget what that’s like.”
The reply didn’t sound like an invitation, but Pearl pretended it was. Carefully she set the candlete on a table next to the bed. Then she kicked off her soiled shoes and eased onto the downy quilt.
