by Joel Ross
He stepped against the wall and lowered his head. That was what servants did when nobles came near. And in return, nobles ignored servants completely, like they were uncomfortable chairs or bad breath.
So Ji wasn’t surprised when the nobles kept talking as they strolled along the hallway toward him. One was Baroness Primstone—Ji recognized the rubies on her house slippers. She was a tiny woman with a pile of braided hair that looked like a shoelace knot, except half of the Baroness’s braids were painted gold every morning.
“. . . young Brace is an exceedingly fortunate boy,” she was saying. “We’ve shown him every kindness.”
“I’m sure you have,” the gentleman with her murmured.
“I’d never say this myself,” Baroness Primstone said, “but I am widely known for my kindness, Proctor.”
With his head still bowed, Ji inspected Proctor’s soft-soled walking boots. Even from down the hall, he could tell that they’d been crafted by An-Hank Cordwainer, the finest boot maker in the city. He raised his gaze slightly and saw a hearty-looking gentleman with curly hair, a bushy beard, and twinkling eyes, wearing a green linen shirt and embroidered black trousers with a silken sash.
“Your generosity is the talk of the city, my lady,” Proctor told the baroness, his voice faintly teasing. “And your kindness is a byword.”
Ji almost laughed. Proctor was making fun of the baroness! Right to her face. He stayed silent, though. An undergardener had once giggled when the baron tripped on a tree root, and they’d tied him to the tree for three days as punishment.
“I’ve raised my nephew, Brace, like he was one of my own,” the baroness explained, pausing in front of a painting of the first Summer Queen. “Although I am too humble to admit it, I am far too good to do anything less for my poor sister.”
“If you were any farther good, my lady,” Proctor said solemnly, “you’d make the angels jealous.”
“I told my sister not to marry that man,” the baroness sniffed. “He was beneath her.”
“Brace’s father was related to the third Summer Queen, was he not?”
Ji wrinkled his nose. He’d never heard that before: he mostly thought of Brace as a gawky noble kid who played strategy games and hid in closets.
“Only in the lowest branch of Her Majesty’s family tree. Still, in the end, everything worked out.”
“You mean after your sister and her husband died?”
“Precisely!” the baroness said with a bright smile. “That’s when Brace came to live here, as a rather ill-mannered eight-year-old. At least his arrival brought good omens. Our desert lotus blossomed, which is an excellent portent. And what more could my nephew want than to live at Primstone Manor?”
His parents? Ji thought.
“His parents?” Proctor suggested. “Or he may want the crown.”
A hush filled the hallway. The ache throbbed in Ji’s back, but he didn’t move. He barely breathed.
“The Summer Queen wears the crown,” Baroness Primstone said, frowning at the painting on the wall beside her. “She always has, since my great-grandmother’s time.”
“And yet, for the past five years,” Proctor told her, “she’s held a Deedledum Rite every year. To choose an heir to her throne.”
A what? Ji squinted at his sandals. A “Deedledum Rite”? That didn’t sound like a way to choose the heir to anything bigger than a pigsty.
“So far, no candidate has passed the rite,” Proctor continued. “Her Highness is now inviting another three young people with the proper ancestry.”
“She’s inviting Brace? But he’s such a frail boy, and the Deedledum Rite is rather dangerous, is it not?”
“That is why I must get your permission to let him join me in the city.”
The city! Ji felt his breath catch, his exhaustion forgotten. He needed to get to the city, to sell his loot. Maybe he could tag along with Brace. . . .
“I’m quite sorry.” The baroness sighed. “But I’m afraid that is not possible.”
“And why is that?” Proctor asked, a hint of steel in his mild voice.
“As I mentioned,” the baroness said, “a desert lotus bloomed in the mausoleum when Brace arrived. That unlucky boy brought good luck to our household.”
“The ogres are restless, my lady. There are rumblings from the mountains.”
“The ogres? They are weak and feeble—a mere shadow of the threat they once posed.”
“The realm needs an heir,” Proctor told her. “And a Deedledum Rite is far more important than silly superstitions about lotus vines and blossoms—”
“My dear sir!” the baroness interrupted. “So long as that blessed flower blooms, Brace will remain here.”
A vague discomfort filled the corridor, like a sliver of apple peel caught between your teeth. Ji peeked between his eyelashes at Proctor and watched his bearded face.
“Perhaps the bloom will suddenly die,” Proctor said, his gaze flicking toward Ji. “Now that the queen needs Brace.”
Ji flushed at Proctor’s attention. Why was he looking at Ji? And what was he saying? That if the bloom suddenly died for no reason, Brace could leave Primstone?
“Perhaps it will shrivel in the next few days,” Proctor continued with a wink at Ji. “And the young gentleman will be free to join me in the city.”
Ji ducked his head at the wink and tried to melt into the wall. In the city. The words echoed in his mind despite his nervousness. If the lotus blossom died, Brace would join Proctor in the city. Which was exactly where Ji needed to go. He kept his eyes down and his mouth shut . . . and started to make a plan.
When Ji returned to the chimney, Sally was snoring softly. Sometimes, when she stayed the night, he’d hear her whimpering in her sleep. She’d say her brother’s name, and sorry or no! or please. Either begging the tapestry weavers to release Chibo, or begging his forgiveness for not having saved him yet.
Ji sat at his workbench and thought about what he’d heard. And what he’d seen. There was no way that a fancy gentleman like Proctor had actually winked at a boot boy. No way. Ji must’ve imagined the wink . . . but he definitely hadn’t imagined the conversation.
So he dropped a boot beside Sally’s head.
“Bridle!” she yelped, sitting upright. Then she saw Ji. “Oh.”
“I’ve got an idea.”
She rubbed her eyes. “Not again.”
“I know how to get to the city,” he said. “I think.”
“I was asleep,” she grumbled.
“Because you’re lazy.”
“I start working at dawn!”
“Horses are even worse than boots,” he told her. “I heard the baroness talking with a nobleman named Proctor. He wants to teach Brace—”
“Master Brace,” Sally corrected sleepily. “And horses are not worse than boots.”
“Of course they are. They bite.”
“Not usually.”
“And sneeze in your face.” Ji tugged on the strap of his bag. “Anyway, this Proctor guy wants to bring Master Brace to the city. So we just need Brace to take us along.”
Sally yawned. “You think he will?”
“Sure. I mean, we’re almost friends.” Ji half smiled, remembering. “I met him my first week at Primstone, before I even met you. I thought he was just some scared kid at the creek, hiding from the twins and playing with a toy catapult. So I built these twig houses and he launched pinecones at them.”
“Mm,” Sally said.
“Anyway, he’ll need servants in the city,” Ji told her. “That’s where we come in.”
“Mm,” Sally repeated.
“You can groom his horses, and I can clean his boots.” Ji rubbed the ache from his neck. “Only one problem. Did you ever hear Nosey and Pickle talking about the desert lotus flower that bloomed after Brace showed up?”
Sally didn’t say anything. She didn’t approve of Ji nicknaming nobles, not even ones as annoying as the Baron and Baroness’s fifteen-year-old twins. But their name
s were Posey and Nichol, so Ji couldn’t resist calling them Nosey and Pickle. Especially because Posey’s nose was always stuck up in the air, and Nichol was as sour as brine.
“Fine,” Ji grumbled. “Did you ever hear Lady Posey and Lord Nichol talking?”
Sally stayed quiet.
“The baroness thinks the flower is a sign of good luck,” Ji told her. “She won’t let Brace leave while it’s blooming. Which means—”
Sally snored. Oh. She’d fallen asleep.
“Which means,” he repeated, more softly, “that I’ve got to convince Brace to sneak through the goblin pen into the bone crypts—and kill that flower.”
4
AFTER JI FINISHED cleaning the boots, he packed them in his boot bag and slunk through the scullery—and a bony hand grabbed his neck.
“Hey!” he said, trying to pull away. “You chuckle-knuckle!”
The hand pinched harder. “What did you call me, boy?” Butler’s voice rasped from behind him.
“Oh,” Ji mumbled. “Sorry.”
“Leave the clean boots outside the guests’ rooms, you laggard, then get to sleep.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do!”
“And none of your lip,” Butler snapped. “You have a big day coming.”
Ji lowered his head to hide his glare. “Yes, Butler.”
“Help the kitchen maids before you start the boots tomorrow.”
“Yes, Butler.”
“And wash your face!” Butler grabbed Ji’s hair in one hand and scoured his cheek with a rough cloth. “You’re filthy.”
Butler’s breath smelled like pickled eels. His nostrils flared and his fist tightened in Ji’s hair. Tears sprang to Ji’s eyes, but he clamped his teeth and didn’t make a sound.
“That’s not dirt,” Butler said, releasing him. “That’s just you. Get moving! Lazy mutt.”
Ji wiped his eyes and trudged toward the fourth floor, where poor relations and unwanted guests stayed. Stupid Butler. He rubbed his stinging cheek, exhaustion weighing him down like a pair of punishment shoes. He usually only worked twelve hours a day, but with this house party, it was more like sixteen. There were endless boots, and instead of doing laundry twice a month, they did it twice a week.
When he reached the fourth floor, he passed a painting of the long-dead Summer King. His Majesty stood above a crowd of half-human beasts with curved tusks and weird wings who knelt to serve him, monstrous heads bowed.
Ji considered the picture. Maybe Butler knocked him around a bit, but at least he didn’t have tentacles. On the other hand, imagine how easy boot cleaning would be with a few tentacles.
His mood a little lighter, Ji tapped on a plain door at the end of the hall. A shuffling sounded and the dead bolt rattled, like the person inside was checking that it was locked.
“Master Brace?” Ji said, softly. “It’s me, Jiyong.”
“Ji?” Brace asked, a hitch in his voice.
“Yeah,” Ji said. “I mean, yes, my lord.”
“Are you alone? Is anyone else there?”
“Just me.”
The bolt rattled again and the door opened an inch. One of Brace’s blue eyes appeared, and he scanned the hallway behind Ji.
“Come in!” he blurted, when he didn’t spot any threats. “Quickly.”
Ji slipped inside. Compared to the chimney, Brace’s bedroom was airy and luxurious, with a bed, a dresser, and even a window. But for a member of a noble family, it was cramped and dingy.
Brace locked the door behind Ji. “Whew.”
“Are the twins picking on you again?” Ji asked.
“None of your business!” Brace snapped.
“Sorry, m’lord,” Ji said, bowing his head. Because showing disrespect to your betters could get you whipped.
Brace chewed his knuckle and probably would’ve said sorry, if nobles were allowed to apologize to servants. Instead he just stood there, nervous as a newborn colt on a frozen pond. His long face, sharp chin, and bony shoulders looked horsey, too—but for some reason, the chambermaids all thought he was handsome.
“Um . . .” Brace gestured toward his bed. “I’m fighting the Siege of Mount Atra.”
Which was as close as he could come to apologizing to a servant. Ji eyed the bed, where toy knights and soldiers were positioned on blanket-mound hillsides, surrounding a few strips of leather that represented ogres.
“Looks like you won,” he told Brace, which was as close as he could come to saying apology accepted.
“Nah,” Brace said. “I can’t take the caves.”
Ji frowned at the toy battle. “What caves?”
“They’re underground.” Brace lifted a blanket to reveal more strips of leather. “I can’t flush them out.”
“Send your troops after them.”
“I tried that. I don’t mind sacrificing knights as long as I win. But I lost them all for nothing.”
Ji considered the bed. “The mountains are snowy, right? What if your guys melt the snow and flood the caves?”
“Huh.” Brace’s eyes gleamed. “That might actually work.”
Ji used to sneak into Brace’s room every few days, to reenact skirmishes with him, using toy soldiers. Mostly for fun, but also because he felt sorry for Brace. Which was stupid. A boot boy feeling sorry for a noble was like an earthworm feeling sorry for a hawk. Still, Brace was so scrawny and meek that Ji felt like he needed to stick up for him—and befriend him, as much as a servant could.
Plus, Ji liked playing strategy games and reenacting battles.
They’d almost become actual friends, until Butler caught Ji slinking into Brace’s room. Nobody cared that he’d been invited: Butler belted him for not knowing his place. Brace didn’t get off unpunished, either. Baron Primstone had given his favorite horse, the only thing his parents had left him, to the twins. And in the past two months, Brace had been afraid to even look at Ji.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Brace said, probably remembering his lost horse.
“If anyone asks, I just came for these.” Ji grabbed a pair of boots from the floor. “So, uh, do you know Proctor?”
“I’ve met him,” Brace said. “He’s the reason for all these guests.”
“He is?”
“Yeah, they’re having a party so nobody will realize that Proctor’s here on palace business. A proctor is a sort of fancy teacher. I guess he came for the twins. Everyone wants their kids to be taught by a proctor instead of an ordinary tutor. That’s how you get closer to the queen.”
“He didn’t come for the twins,” Ji told Brace. “He came for you.”
Brace gaped at him. “For me? No way.”
“I heard the whole thing!”
Suspicion flickered in Brace’s eyes. “Did the twins tell you to say that, just so they can laugh at me for believing it?”
“Do you really think I’d do that?” Ji asked.
“Well . . . no.” A gleam of hope replaced Brace’s suspicion. “So it’s true?”
“Yep. I heard Proctor talking to the baroness.”
“Whoa. He’s going to train me? Why?”
“Uh, for the ‘deedledum’? I’m not really sure.”
“Who cares?” A smile curled at Brace’s mouth. “Taught by a real proctor! I’ll learn sword fighting and strategy and everything!”
“He wants to take you to the city, too.”
“No way!”
“There’s only one problem.”
Brace’s smile froze. “What? What problem?”
“The baroness won’t let you go while the desert lotus vine’s still blooming in the mausoleum.”
“That dumb flower never brought me any luck.”
Ji cleared his throat. “Um, there’s one solution.”
“What?”
“Sneak into the mausoleum and kill the flower.”
Brace paled. “The mausoleum?”
“Yeah.”
“By myself? Are you coming?”
“I can’t! They’d
hang me.” Ji swallowed. “They’ll hang any commoner they catch trespassing. Maybe the twins will go with you?”
“They’d rather throw me down a well!” Brace looked like he wanted to cry. “Lady Posey says they’re going to lock me on the roof again.”
Ji winced. A few months earlier, the twins had shoved Brace onto the roof after his bath. He’d been stuck there for hours before a chambermaid spotted him, naked and shivering. And a week later, they’d poured a barrel of lard over his head and shoved him onto a hill of ant lions.
“You’ll have to convince them,” Ji told him. “Or sneak through the bone crypt alone.”
At the words “bone crypt,” a sense of danger shivered in the air. Danger and dread, like that moment after a glass bowl topples off a shelf but before it hits the ground.
5
“I CAN’T!” BRACE flopped onto his bed, sending toy soldiers tumbling to the floor. “The bone crypt is crawling with goblins.”
For hundreds of years, every member of the Primstone family had been buried beneath a mausoleum with three marble walls. The fourth wall—a jade wall facing a serene courtyard—was carved into curlicues, with gaps the size of a man’s fist. You could see through the latticework into the mausoleum, where desert lotus vines twined around hundreds of decorative burial urns . . . but you couldn’t enter. There was no doorway in the jade wall, because it symbolized the separation of the living and the dead.
The only way into the mausoleum was through a jade-studded door in the rear wall, which opened into an enclosed stone chamber. A flight of stairs in the chamber led downward into the bone crypt, a maze of tunnels where goblins lurked. Ji shuddered at the thought. Goblins had pale, wrinkly skin and teeth like beavers, strong enough to crack rock. They walked upright like humans, on two legs. But they had two pairs of arms: one short, muscular pair with bony shovel-claws and one spindly pair that sprouted from their bellies.
Noble families kept goblin slaves for digging cellars and ditches and burial chambers. A crypt in an old hacienda like Primstone branched into hundreds of tunnels, all tended by the goblins who lived in a pen on the grounds. Nobody human entered the crypt, except for priests during funerals.
