Rescue (By Eyes Unseen Book One)

by F. E. Greene

  “What was your first night like?” she asked mildly.

  “Same as yours, more or less.” Adjusting the bow at her back, Carys leaned against the wall. “I was given a tour and a room – this one, actually. I was anxious to meet the king so I could learn what I’d gotten myself into. Not that I regretted my decision. But I’d already escaped one prison, and I didn’t want to get stuck in another. Anything can be a cage. Even a castle.”

  Pearl tried to listen without looking alarmed. She was relieved to be in the castle, but the only residents she’d met so far carried weapons and fought monsters. Prison didn’t seem out of the question.

  “I won’t say it was an easy beginning. Far from it, really. And Varrick would agree.” After the admission Carys smiled. “It was, however, much better than I could imagine. Whatever happens tomorrow, Pearl, just let it. Is there anything else you need?”

  The honest answer was yes. Tired as she felt, Pearl ached to return to Hollycopse and grab what she could while the festival distracted the townsfolk. With Carys’ help they might manage a few cartfuls before weariness made Pearl collapse. While they worked, they could talk more about the Orldic who saved her life. And perhaps the young man on the tower.

  A wave of fatigue changed Pearl’s mind. Now that she was seated, and on such a comfortable bed, she postponed her own plans until morning. She always woke early and worked best before noon. So she kept her last question practical.

  “There’s one more thing you haven’t mentioned. My father used to call it the most important room in the house.”

  Carys laughed. “That’s right. The privy. Northwest corner of the gallery, next to the waterbox. Look for a sign that reads Lily Pond. The boys call their privy the Bog, so the girls had to name theirs, too. Everything’s a contest, isn’t it?”

  “Is it?” Pearl flopped backward. “Right now I couldn’t wrestle a fly if I tried.”

  “Good thing the window is closed.”

  Pearl turned her head toward the door. “Are you going to your festival?”

  Carys nodded. “You’re welcome to join us, but there might be flies.”

  Shutting her eyes, Pearl giggled lightly. “The flies can wait until sunrise.”

  “That reminds me,” Carys said. “Tomorrow a man named Owyn will show you the rest of the castle. Meet him downstairs in the forte at 13 bells. Get there early. He hates to wait.” Hinges squeaked, and her voice grew distant. “Tomorrow is also one of the few days in the castle when we sleep as late as we please. I suggest you take advantage.”

  As she drifted off, Pearl decided she would.

  Chapter Eleven

  Pearl awoke beneath a stream of sunlight. She heard birds warbling and smelled the heady waft of hot tea. All those things were familiar, all nourishing and nice.

  None of them arrived without effort, however – not when she awoke at Hollycopse. The sun never shone until Pearl opened the drapes, the birds didn’t sing until the rooster crowed first, and the tea never brewed itself.

  The bed also confused her. It lacked the lumps and mustiness of where she normally slept. Instead of a tatty patchwork quilt, smooth fabric caressed her chin, and when Pearl stretched her arms while she yawned, her fingers brushed soft lace rather than rough wood. At home her bed was wedged into a corner. If she rolled in her sleep, she struck the wall, waking herself with a thud.

  This morning she felt nothing but empty air. Convinced that she dreamt, Pearl kept her eyes closed until a real voice interrupted her reverie.

  “At last! Good morning!”

  Freezing beneath the covers, Pearl peeked to her left. A silhouette waited past the bed’s lace canopy. Something untamed hovered above it.

  “I’ve been hoping you’d wake.” An unnamable accent cradled the melodious words. “You’ve chosen a lovely day to join us.”

  Pearl sat up and rubbed her eyes. “I’m not dreaming?”

  “Pinch yourself to be sure,” the figure suggested. “Though, I can’t fault you for asking. It’s an easy mistake to make at first.”

  Slim fingers gripped and parted the lace. A sprightly face, one that owned more years than its voice implied, smiled down at Pearl.

  “I’m Bonny. Welcome to the castle!”

  Small and slender, the woman wore a green checkered pinafore and a dress of deeper green beneath. Everything about Bonny was delicate except for her hair – a halo of chaos cascading in all directions. When Pearl offered her name, the woman nodded like she already knew it.

  “I’m here to help you through the morning, what little is left of it,” Bonny explained as she tied back the canopy. “But don’t worry! Everyone sleeps late after the harvest party. That makes this one of my favorite days! Henifred doesn’t like it so much. She still gets up at 4 bells, though I don’t know how.”

  Pearl yawned again, this time at the unshuttered window. The old rooster wasn’t in the castle to wake her, and she hadn’t slept so soundly since her parents disappeared.

  “What time is it now?” she asked Bonny.

  “Well past 11 bells. I didn’t disturb you earlier because I thought you might need to rest after the evening you had. I know I would! On normal days the castle has us up at sunrise – well, most of us, and —”

  Pearl cut her off. “You mean it’s almost noon?”

  “Yes,” Bonny said. “Did you want to sleep past lunchtime?”

  “I have to go!” Flinging herself from the bed, Pearl abandoned the odd conversation. She sped to the door and yanked it open. The gallery outside was vacant.

  “Go? Go where? You haven’t washed yet.” From inside the room Bonny’s voice shifted from lilting to shrill. “Or eaten. Or dressed! You’re not ready for public review!”

  Ignoring her, Pearl plunged into the gallery and headed left. She barreled down the staircase, oblivious to its irregular steps and inky crooks. The moist stone felt grimy against her bare feet. She wore only her nightdress.

  Pearl didn’t care. The bank’s letter had established a deadline of 12 bells. If she didn’t show up with 1,500 merits, carters would arrive to cordon the property and scavenge the house. No doubt Mr Barker had already scheduled an auction for that afternoon.

  Even worse, the carters would haul what couldn’t be sold to the pit on the outskirts of town. Pearl had less than one bell to leave the castle, return to Hollycopse, and salvage all that she could.

  It wasn’t enough time. The dread of losing everything consumed Pearl as she descended. The stairwell deposited her in the forte where a cool draught coasted through two open doors and sunshine yellowed the walls.

  Like a trapped bird Pearl veered toward the brightest source of light. Turning left, she smacked into something hard. She stumbled back, almost falling, until the obstacle caught her arm. It held on tight as it spoke.

  “That was close! Are you all right?”

  Far from certain, Pearl nodded. Her nose throbbed. Her body swayed. Pressing a hand to her face, she looked up.

  The young man from the tower smiled down at her.

  He didn’t seem upset by their accidental collision although he’d taken the brunt of the blow. His face was eager, his grin easy. He smelled like field grass and sweat. Within the forte’s lopsided light Pearl could see a ruddy flush on his cheeks, and his grip was firm but not forceful where it clasped her arm. In his other hand he clutched a long roll of paper, its middle creased by the press of his fingers.

  “Did I break your nose?” he asked. “Is it bleeding?”

  Checking, Pearl shook her head.

  “I’m Paxton,” he offered. “You must be Pearl.”

  She lowered her hand. “I have to go.”

  “But you only just got here.”

  “I’m about to lose my house.” She eased back, wanting to free her arm. “And everything in it.”

  He looked confused. “The king will give you anything you need – food, clothes, something to do. What else is there?”

  “You don’t understand.” Pearl tugge
d harder. “Some of those things belonged to my parents. It’s all I have to remember them.”

  Paxton tightened his grasp. “Look, I want to leave the castle more than anyone, but you still haven’t seen –”

  “Let me go!” she ordered in her most imposing voice. When he did, Pearl almost toppled but managed to steady herself. Feeling cornered and helpless, she retreated to the staircase.

  “I’m not your prisoner,” she insisted.

  He raised his arms in submission. “No one says you are. But you don’t know what’s out there.”

  Pearl jumped when she heard her name spoken softly from behind. As fingers brushed her shoulder, she flattened herself against the wall so they couldn’t take hold.

  Bonny hovered on the staircase. Her slight frame radiated stillness, and even her curls had settled. The sight of it – of real serenity – made Pearl want to feel the same.

  “Pax, would you do us a favor?” Bonny’s words were slow and composed. “Stand guard outside for some minutes? Make sure the other lads don’t come barging in.”

  He used the roll of paper to salute, then vanished. In his absence Pearl felt safer, but when Bonny suggested they sit on the stairs, she refused. Any further delay would ruin her chance to rescue what she could from Hollycopse.

  “So you need to leave the castle?” Bonny asked.

  Still standing, Pearl rushed her words. “The bank has called in the lien on my farm. I’m supposed to pay it off by 12 bells today, but I can’t, and I need to get some things out of the house before the carters arrive. After what happened last night, I didn’t get to go back like I’d planned.”

  Bonny offered a solicitous hum. “How are you going to carry it all?”

  “I don’t know,” Pearl admitted. “I had planned to ask the king for help.”

  “What do you wish to save?”

  “Family heirlooms, mostly. My mother’s sewing kit and a family pendant with the letter S etched on one side. Mother never wore it, but I could tell she treasured it all the same.”

  “What else?” Bonny pressed. “Anything from your father?”

  “His journals first. They’d be worthless to anyone else. He also had a mahogany box with our sirename carved on its lid. It goes back six generations, I remember him saying, handmade by one of our ancestors. And his reading spectles – he never went anywhere without them. I can’t guess why he didn’t take them when…”

  Overcome, Pearl dropped onto the stairs. As a cringing sob crawled from inside her, she covered her face with her hands. Those heirlooms wouldn’t solve the real mystery of whether her parents still lived.

  Bonny rested an arm around her shoulders. “No one will pretend this is easy for you, Pearl. It’s difficult to leave so much behind, especially when it’s just out of reach. Most folks who enter the castle can’t see their home from its towers. Many of us arrive with nothing to our name. A few don’t even have that.”

  The reminder that she wasn’t alone in the castle – or her suffering – made Pearl fight to stop crying. She wept over more possessions than most orphans owned in a lifetime.

  Still, after five years of fending for herself, those belongings had become like friends. If she meant to clear out Hollycopse in less than a bell, she would need hands and wagons and more help than she could muster. Crestfallen, Pearl realized her miraculous rescue would not continue into that day. Again she was on her own.

  “But you have a name,” Bonny continued. “And the king knows it. And we all want to know you. You don’t have to live here forever, Pearl, but please don’t leave just yet.”

  Regardless of Bonny’s urging, which was kind and not conniving, Pearl wasn’t sure she should stay. She’d met three kingsfolk – four counting the young man who crashed into her – and none were what she expected. No one bowed or simpered or made her feel better. All seemed honest but hardly indulgent.

  “When did you see the castle?” Pearl asked, sounding more indifferent than she meant to.

  “Only last spring. Before I arrived, I performed in 365 theatricals – one for every day of the year. I could recite them all now if you like. But only the last one mattered, and I remember the lines that inspired me.”

  Betrayed by her own intrigue, Pearl shifted toward Bonny whose expression was gauzy, her giddiness lost to a transcendent focus. She stared at a scene only she could discern. Even her accent changed briefly.

  “When the moon shone, we did not see the candle. So doth the greater glory dim the less.” Swiftly as it arrived, Bonny’s affectedness dissolved, and she smiled with earnest delight. “The play goes on to speak about a king, but I like the idea of moons and candles, too. It’s really about perspective – how a thing seems bright until a brighter thing appears.”

  Pearl wiped her face with her sleeve. “So you think I should let it all go?”

  “I think you should stay here long enough to meet the king. And perhaps tidy up before you do? Unless you wish to wear your nightdress like it’s the height of Rosperian fashion.”

  “It’s this or a tatty grey frock,” Pearl complained. “All my proper clothes are at Hollycopse.”

  “Proper, perhaps, but not all.” Bonny popped from the step with the vigor of a kitten. “Come back to your room, Pearl Sterling, and you can choose a dress while you eat breakfast. Or lunch as the bell would have it. A meal tastes the same no matter the time – but not if you don’t try it!”

  With gusto Bonny skipped up the stairs.

  Lost for a better option, Pearl followed. Hollycopse, and everything in it, was gone. Leaving the castle would do nothing but place her back in the path of bankers and Hieronymus and all those Castleveilians who had plagued her steps for five wearisome years.

  Worse, she would be dead if not for the man and woman – Varrick and Carys – who rescued her the night before. With a shudder she recalled what had hunted her on Lake Trail Lane. And the young man – Paxton – implied other threats were waiting.

  Suddenly Pearl never wanted to leave the castle again. Inside its walls she knew she was safe.

  Even so, her heart broke when the first of twelve bells rang out from Castlevale’s tower.

  Chapter Twelve

  Battling tears, Pearl trailed Bonny back into her borrowed room. Before it felt cozy. Now it just seemed small.

  She sat on the edge of the unmade bed and guessed she was expected to make it. The castle might not be a prison, but Pearl felt caught by a loss of choices. Obligation required her to be polite. Honesty made her want to lock the door.

  But the door had no lock – not that Pearl could see – and her mood had no effect on Bonny’s.

  As if presenting a meal to a queen, Bonny lifted a crowded tray from the utmost nesting table. Gracefully she rested it atop the bedspread. She straightened. She paused. Then, with a flourish, she raised a metal lid to reveal a shallow bowl filled with ambiguous lumps.

  Doubt kept Pearl from gobbling it down. She was hungry but not enough to rush. Warily she nudged the food with a spoon.

  “I don’t mean to be rude,” she said. “But what is this?”

  “The king’s cook calls it oatenloaf. It’s a cross between porridge and bread – which is an odd concoction but well worth eating. That’s milkpaste on top. Use the honey to sweeten it if you need.”

  After an explorative taste Pearl reached for the golden jar in one corner of the tray.

  “That’s how I feel about it.” Looking pleased, Bonny sashayed across the room. “Henifred is a dear but stingy with the beesweet. Now for your costumery.”

  When Bonny opened both wardrobe doors, Pearl almost dropped her spoon. Inside hung half a dozen dresses in a symphony of colors. Some had long sleeves. Others were formal with corseted waists and embroidery. All appeared newly sewn.

  Swallowing, Pearl coughed. “Are those for me?”

  “Every last one,” Bonny said. “Each made to your size and liking.”

  Pearl abandoned the odd breakfast to join Bonny at the wardrobe. The wea
lthiest Rosperian women often wore six dresses in one day. They dressed for breakfast, for morning jaunts, for luncheon, for afternoon calls, for supper, and for evening entertainments.

  Unlike them, Pearl had labored to maintain three dresses over five years. Rather than try to sew new ones, she mended what her mother had abandoned. Now as she stared at a bounty of clothes, Pearl wondered why she needed so much.

  Below the dresses, three pairs of footwear sat in an orderly line. She recognized the first two – slippers for dry days and boots for rain – but the last pair perplexed her. Lifting the unusual shoes, Pearl flipped them to find their thick soles were ridged along the bottom. From the footpads flowed straps of plaited leather the color of walnuts.

  “What are these?” Pearl asked.

  “Sandals.” Bonny spoke the word like it was common. “Nobody wears them outside the docktowns. To show one’s toes is rather bold, you know. But we kept sandals in the prop box at the theatre, and truth be told, I prefer them. Those you’re holding are Beforish.”

  Pearl set them down and stepped away. “How long were you a player?”

  “Since I can remember.” She sunk into a twisting curtsey. “Bonami Bibelot, by banner and trade. Isn’t it the perfect name? The first was a gift, but I chose the last when I was only seven.”

  “You made up your own sirename?”

  Straightening with a hop, Bonny assumed a shrewd look. “You didn’t expect to meet a dockland player here, did you?”

  Pearl admitted she hadn’t. Her expectations of who a castle would – or should – contain remained as vague as a mist. Seeing the castle. Meeting the king. Pearl’s aspirations ended there.

  Still, docktown players were Illial’s version of scraplings, neglected and suspected of plots, vice, and sloth. Pearl never envisioned one serving a king.

  “I’m an orphan,” Bonny shared. “I’ve always borrowed my family.”

  “So am I,” Pearl replied. “How did you find the castle? The southeastern docks are a long way from here.”