by F. E. Greene
Ilis spoke again. “The king will decide.”
“If she goes, she might not come back,” Carys said.
“That’s also her choice,” Jeron noted.
Confused and distressed, Pearl leaned away from the wall. For two seasons she’d lived in the castle, and both had flown by like snowflakes in a gale. Throughout the autumn she had worried that the gifting season, with its short days and long frosts, would make her sadder than before – when she’d only lost her parents and not her home as well. But Pearl enjoyed that wintertime more than any she could recall. The castle had become her new home. Above all, she did not want to leave it.
“Pearl, are you all right?” With hesitant concern Paxton rested a hand atop hers.
“I don’t want to go anywhere else,” she said.
“If you have to go, you won’t go alone. The king will take care of you.”
“But what if I don’t come back?”
His certainty wavered. “I don’t want you to go either.”
It was the first selfish thing she’d heard Pax say. The admission troubled him, Pearl could tell, and she felt a twinge of guilt as he wrestled with his response. Unsure of how to comfort him, she flipped her hand over to cradle his. His skin was rough and warmer than hers. Their fingers threaded together.
“No! Absolutely not!”
The explosive words shot down the weephole, reminding Pearl why they huddled in the bitter night. It was Derrie who shouted, and her tirade wasn’t done.
“If she finds out now, she’ll want to leave. She’s only just arrived, and we don’t know the king’s plans. Telling her everything is like showing her the gate!”
“We risk losing her either way,” Owyn said
“The king requests our silence,” Jeron replied. “I trust him. We all should.”
“Speaking of trust, I’d better go check on the children,” Taul said. “Make sure the lads haven’t lost one.”
“Dirge!” Paxton stood, keeping hold of Pearl’s hand. “He’ll notice I’m not there. Come on!”
Together they fled like reprobates, sliding down the slope and dashing half-crouched against the outer wall. When they reached the steep mound where the outriders trained, Paxton tugged Pearl up its rise and through the lightless narthex before depositing her at the infirmery door.
“Don’t tell anyone about this,” he said. “Not even Bonny.”
Breathless, she nodded.
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” he promised. “After lessons.”
Moments later Pearl found herself rolling bandages again. Her tingling fingers refused to hurry, and it took longer than she planned to finish.
Uncertain if Derrie might return, she paused to flip open a dense pixicon and thumbed through it until she found a complicated page – a depiction of the human heart and its four distinct chambers. It was the perfect machine, Derrie said. Pearl intended to learn all its parts, and that was no simple task.
Not that she wanted to linger. The evening’s brief adventure left Pearl overwhelmed. While sleep seemed unlikely, she itched to retreat to her private aside in the castle keep, but that meant encountering Bonny who could sense when thrills were astir. Raised as a dockland player, Bonny took to drama like a swan to water. One glance at Pearl, and she would know something important had happened.
Sometimes Pearl didn’t mind sharing. This time, however, she intended to honor Paxton’s request. While there were few rules in the castle, Pearl felt sure their actions, if discovered, would not earn the trium’s approval. No doubt Pax had listened at that weephole plenty, but – as his mother often said – doing the wrong thing twice did not make it right.
Settling into her corner, Pearl stared at the pages without really seeing them. The heart dissolved to a colorful blur. Words flitted like gnats at its edges.
Pearl smiled at the complex diagram in spite of her careworn mood. Even if she was going to leave the castle, Paxton wanted her to stay.
Refuge Chapter Three
Paxton Kenelworth always slept. To him sleep came as easily as a dozen other tasks like reading maps, or sparring with Calen, or finishing other people’s meals after he’d cleaned his own plate.
Location never mattered. Neither did light. Windstorms, thunder, his mother’s voice – none of those kept him awake whenever his body decided to rest. Sometimes he found his eyes closing before he even reached his bed. No one could accuse him of laziness, though, because he slept like he did everything else, as if it was his first and only time to try.
So Paxton was baffled when he tossed and turned instead of snoring for eight bells straight.
Guilt didn’t keep his eyes from closing. He’d crouched at that weephole a thousand times. Stuck inside the castle since birth, Paxton grew up knowing more than anyone else about the trium and its dealings. With inkeepers for parents, he couldn’t help overhear. But it was all the king’s business, and Pax left it at that.
Staring into the darkness, Paxton noticed the rhythmic breaths and occasional snorts rising from the pile of boys asleep in the small hall. No sounds came from the tucks flanking his. He debated waking Randel or West since either would be glad to distract him.
They also might ask why he needed distracting, and Pax wasn’t sure he could explain. He probably shouldn’t describe what he heard at the weephole. And he recalled almost nothing that anyone said after Pearl took hold of his hand.
She’d touched him before – to get his attention or bandage a cut – but always out of necessity and usually with haste. Tending required touching. Everyone knew that.
Paxton was already intrigued by the fact that Pearl was inside the castle. He’d spent years admiring her from the storch like he might admire a sunrise. She’d been cold as a snowdrift when she first arrived, avoiding Pax and all the lads as if they suffered from a contagious plague or never washed their socks.
It was fear, Carys had explained one day. Fear and years of fending off dishonest Rosperian men.
So Paxton left Pearl alone. Everyone needed space in a day, and he preferred distance to friction. But once Pearl had settled into castle life, she also relaxed her guard. Pax assumed she was like that with all inkeepers, but the other lads said different.
Now he knew the truth of it – a truth that should delight him but not keep him awake all night.
Pearl liked him.
He liked her.
And Pax had no idea what to do.
When sunlight finally crept beneath the hem of his tuck’s dense curtain, Paxton yawned a long lament. Already he felt as dull as soft butter.
At breakfast he knocked his milk over twice which earned snickers from the boys and a reprimand from Owyn. Twenty-one years old, and he was still being scolded. Feeling worse by the moment, Paxton left the keep early, slogging upstairs to morning lessons with the enthusiasm of a mule.
On the schooling ward’s second level was a single stretched room – part library, part laboratory, part lounge. All children ten and older reported there for a half-day of instruction.
After an introductory, and often short, lesson from Thaddeus, the students moved to whichever part of the room suited their purpose. Sometimes the schooler lectured twice but never for too long, and the remaining time was devoted to a broad mix of activities. Children who didn’t know how to read listened while others read. Older pupils taught younger ones. Thadd stepped in to help with difficult lessons, and the rest took care of itself.
Even though he was too old, Paxton kept attending tacks – as everyone called them – because he didn’t know what else to do. Neither his mother nor Henifred wanted him underfoot. Jeron, Ilis, and Carys preferred to work alone. Helping Owyn with chores was a punishment, and Pax liked to save his strength for drills.
Really he just wanted to leave the castle. That longing increased each time he trudged toward a solitary door with one chipped and chiseled sign.
LET NO ONE UN-GEOMETRIC
ENTER HERE
It strayed from the intent of mos
t signs in the castle. Others set boundaries, gave directions, or offered reminders. This one seemed to do all three at once, but nobody understood it.
Although Paxton was early, Thadd was already in the schoolroom. Since his office and tuck were built onto the lectory, most mornings the schooler did little more than roll out of bed and straight into lessons. None of his students minded. The lads liked his casual manner – a sharp contrast to Carys – and every female inkeeper, whether fifteen or fifty, liked the way Thaddeus looked.
Without trying Thadd won the attention of others for many agreeable reasons. He was in every sense the antithesis of Varrick who never cracked a book, rarely missed a meal, and wore pain like an Orldic vestment. While the castle’s resident schooler knew much about plenty, he wouldn’t last half a bell in the Gloaming. Then again, that wasn’t his purpose.
Paxton rapped on the door before peeking inside and asking if they could talk. He already knew the answer. Men with no sense of time never minded interruptions.
“Of course!” Waving him in, Thaddeus resumed the task of tidying his desk which meant rearranging the stacks of clutter until all of them threatened to fall. When everything tilted precariously, he leaned back and looked satisfied. “What’s on your mind, Pax?”
Sliding into the nearest chair, Paxton tried to decide what to say. Much as he wanted to speak with his father, he worried that word might get back to his mother. He wasn’t ready for that sort of attention.
“How do you know when you like a girl?” he asked.
Thadd didn’t hesitate. “You smile whenever you see her. You see her whenever you can. And when you’re around her, you don’t have to pretend to be anything you’re not, even if you still want to.”
Going over the checklist, Paxton found he met all the criteria. “So then what?”
“Does she like you?”
“I think so.”
“And you seem downright excited about it.”
Pax didn’t laugh. “I’m really tired. Couldn’t sleep.”
“Ah.” Thaddeus scratched his unshaven chin. “Sounds like love to me.”
“Love? Who’s in love?”
When another voice invaded the lectory, Paxton swiveled to see Carys enter the room with a bundle under one arm. Of all the inkeepers to raid that conversation, she was the least threatening of the lot. Even so, he wished she hadn’t.
“Am I interrupting?” Carys asked.
Thaddeus looked at Paxton. “Is she?”
“No.” Slumping down in his seat, Pax propped his chin on his palms.
“I won’t be long,” Carys said. “Just wanted to share that one of you was missed at the meeting last night. The other, I’m guessing, was there.”
Pax pretended not to notice her sidelong glance.
Thadd pressed a fist to his forehead. “I completely forgot! I was in Stockington and got distracted. I’m so sorry.”
“Save the apology for Owyn and Jeron. I’d try to find them before they find you.”
He winced. “That bad, huh? I’ll take care of it as soon as tacks are over.”
“Don’t let it trouble you too much,” Carys said. “You’re an easy one to forgive.”
Smiling, she offered him breakfast. It was nothing better than bread and jam wrapped in one of Henny’s faded dishcloths. But Thaddeus fawned over the food as though Carys had made it herself – which, to Paxton’s knowledge, was as likely as pigs flying by lunchtime.
Watching them, Pax felt unsettled, like he eavesdropped on complete strangers. He’d known Carys for years and Thadd for more than one. Both chased the dullness from his days. Neither, however, seemed completely themselves whenever they were together.
“Any plans for tomorrow?” Carys asked Thadd. “It’s basket day, and a bunch of us are gathering in the forchard after the breakfeast. Care to join?”
“Tomorrow?” Suddenly Thadd looked distracted. “Tomorrow I’m back at Stockington. Jeron wants me to finish up there so I can get started on other projects.”
Surprised by the answer, Paxton ran through the checklist he’d just been given. Thaddeus wasn’t trying to see Carys whenever he could. On basket day inkeepers weren’t obliged to do anything unless they served on the dawn wagon which Thadd never did. He spent most of his days holed up in the lectory or some remote library. He spent whatever time was left talking about it.
While Carys appeared unfazed by the refusal, it bothered Paxton. Lifting his head, he looked squarely at the schooler.
“Do you think the king will send you out?” he asked Thadd.
“More than he already does?”
“No, I mean for good. To be a wayfairer.”
Thaddeus shrugged. “We aren’t all sent out. Some of us stay. Some of us leave when we’re ready.”
“But what if the king does ask you to leave?” he pressed.
Peering down at him, Carys raised an eyebrow. “This isn’t a competition, Pax.”
“It’s also not a holiday.”
Her confusion turned critical. “What’s bent your ribbing?”
“Pax didn’t sleep last night,” Thaddeus said. “Makes the best of us grumpy.”
His answer didn’t satisfy Carys. “The retriever and I plan to reconnoiter in the Gloaming after lunch. We’ve got you and Calen on muster. But if you’re too tired –”
Standing, Paxton snapped to attention. “I’m up for it. What’s our purpose?”
She smirked at his sudden fervor. “To survey a coastal cove in the west. After lessons, eat a quick lunch and meet us in the cenacle. Dress for defense.”
“I’ll be ready,” he promised.
“I know you will.” Turning, Carys headed for the door. “See you later, Thaddeus.”
“Thanks again for the meal.” He tore into the bread and stuffed a fist-sized lump in his mouth. Somehow he spoke around it. “Any more questions about liking girls?”
“Nope. But I will be falling asleep during your lecture.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Thadd replied. “Try not to snore.”
Paxton moved to his favorite chair, a padded contraption with a mess of coils and bars at its base. Wrapped in corded fabric, its cushions were indestructible and as soft as any bed. When Pax applied a precise amount of pressure to its back, the lower half popped upward and the upper half reclined.
Rumored to be the last of its kind, the unfolding chair required constant maintenance from Owyn and Thadd and whoever else was willing to fiddle with Beforish mechanics. Pax was tempted to ask the king if the chair could go with him when he finally left the castle. Flopping onto it, he yawned.
Thaddeus continued to eat. “Oh, and Paxton – if you really like this girl, ask her to go for a walk. If she refuses, there you have it. If she agrees, ask to hold her hand on the way back. After that, you’ll know.”
“Know what?”
“That she likes you, too.”
“This works for you?”
“It only has to work once.”
The lectory door burst open. Younger students barreled inside, scrambling for seats near the schooler’s desk. All the lads – Calen, Randel, Bendan, and West – joined Paxton in his corner. Older children followed, filling the places between.
Bonny and Pearl arrived last. Arms entwined, they chattered like they hadn’t seen each other for a season. How they found so much to say, Paxton couldn’t understand.
Idle talk wasn’t allowed during lectures. While questions were welcome, every student knew to listen politely. That respectful hush lasted until the lads could get Thadd jabbering about anything else – usually himself. It was one of their favorite games.
In playing it, they had learned a great deal about their schooler. Thadd grew up in a small Rosperian town. He wanted to marry and move south again, to find work in a library or a schoolhouse. He hoped to buy his own home and raise at least six children. He never mentioned the king.
There was nothing wrong with those plans, of course, but to Pax they sounded boring. He kep
t a list of his own goals for when he crossed the pale. None of those things were on it.
As Thaddeus began the lesson, Paxton glanced at Pearl before shutting his eyes. He wished they could go for a walk together, but everyone would notice, and Pax didn’t want to be on display. Not for that sort of moment. Too many eyes already watched him when there wasn’t anything to see.
Drifting off, Paxton warmed to the challenge. He would find some other way to measure Pearl’s affection. He’d make that his goal for basket day.
Refuge Chapter Four
It was a well-known fact among inkeepers that Paxton never dreamed.
All humen dreamt, he’d been told more than once, and some lived within that false landscape as vividly as the real world. But if he did dream, as Ilis insisted, then Pax assumed his dreams weren’t worth remembering – which to him made perfect sense.
He lived in a castle. He was friends with a king. He’d never felt hunger or thirst or much pain. Loved by his parents and cherished by his friends, he enjoyed an ideal, if limited, life. Nothing remained for him to crave.
The prospect of nightmares seemed even more pointless. He’d fought plenty of darkgard in the Gloaming and nearly died when he went there alone. No dream could be as scary as that.
So Pax was amazed when he floated half-awake in a place he hadn’t been. Aloft and weightless, he hung upside down above the unfamiliar ground. He wasn’t flying – not quite – and beneath him, Pearl reached up. She looked weary and worried. Her clothes were tattered and stained.
Desperate to rescue her, Paxton tried to descend, but his arms were like the rest of him. Limp. Insubstantial. Helplessly he watched Pearl strain.
“And those are the five phases of phosphorus.”
Now Thaddeus Bly was narrating his dream. Confused, Paxton felt himself grow heavy until he plummeted toward Pearl. If she didn’t move aside, he would hurt her.
He awoke with a jolt. Blinking, he pressed the chair’s footpad to straighten its back. Thadd’s lesson must have ended because everyone was silent. All eyes were fixed on him.
