by Joel Ross
There was a bed and a writing desk and a bench piled with books.
“Are the other rooms like this?” Ji asked, looking around.
“I took the largest.” Roz blushed. “And the best furniture. And the one with the most light. Which was very wrong of me.”
“You’re the only one here, Roz. You can take the best room.”
“It still feels greedy,” she said. “I’d offer you tea biscuits, except I haven’t any.”
“So you’ve just been sitting up here by yourself, reading?”
“I should have done more!” She turned toward the window. “I know I should have. I’ve been checking maps for the tapestry factory, but I haven’t found it yet and I—I’m sorry.”
“Roz, all I’ve been doing is scrubbing pots and boots.”
“But it’s not fair. I . . . I’ve been enjoying myself, reading all these books.” She turned back, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. “Well, except Proctor sends for me at mealtime.”
“The twins are mean to you, huh?”
A fragile smile rose on her face. “I cannot accuse them of being overly polite.”
“How’s Brace holding up?”
“He’s studying hard. Books, strategy games—” Roz shook her head. “He dislikes when I call them games. Strategy scenarios, I should say. And of course he’s studying swordplay, as well.”
“No way! How’s he doing?”
“See for yourself,” she said, and gestured to the window.
Ji rubbed his aching forearm. “Huh?”
“Just look.”
So Ji crouched and peered through the window into a multilevel courtyard paved with flat rocks. Flowering fruit trees rose here and there, and stone benches sat beside gleaming urns and leafy shrubs. And Brace crouched beside one of the benches, gripping a wooden broadsword.
Lady Nosey slashed at him with a blunted rapier and Lord Pickle circled, holding two padded daggers. Brace jerked away from the slash and swung wildly at Nosey.
She ducked and his broadsword swept over her head. Nosey lunged and her rapier caught Brace in the shoulder. Pickle darted closer, but Brace kept turning with the force of his swing and his broadsword smashed Pickle in the arm.
“Go, Brace!” Ji whispered. “C’mon, beat him like a borrowed egg!”
Nosey thrust again, and Brace spun, raising his sword to fend her off. She stayed behind him, gliding sideways with catlike grace. Brace dodged wildly but she jabbed him three times between the shoulder blades.
Stepping into sight, Proctor lifted a hand to stop the mock fight. But Pickle didn’t care. He grabbed Brace from behind, and Nosey used the edge of her rapier like a whip, whacking at Brace’s head as he cringed.
Proctor lowered his hand and watched, his expression curious.
“Hey!” Ji shouted at the window. “Stop them!”
“Jiyong,” Roz said, touching his shoulder. “Hush.”
“They’re ganging up on Brace!” Ji felt his jaw clench. “It’s not fair!”
“Proctor encourages them to bully him,” Roz said. “I suspect that’s why he’s learning so fast.”
“If bullying made him stronger,” Ji grumbled, “he’d already be unbeatable.”
“Why are you looking for him?”
Ji stood from the window, rubbing his neck. “To tell him to send me on errands in the city.”
“So you can look for valuables?”
“And for Chibo, too. Except maybe it’s better if Brace asks Proctor to move me and Sally into the attic with you. That way I can sneak out at night.”
Roz wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. “And you won’t waste time on errands. I think that’s wise. Though perhaps I should speak with Brace?”
“Yeah, good idea.”
Sally slipped through the door. “I’ve got a better one.”
“Sally!” Roz gasped, pressing her hand to her chest. “You startled me!”
“You invited me. Didn’t you? Through the window? I thought you were waving at me.”
“Of course we were,” Ji told her. “What’s your idea?”
“Well—” Sally stopped and gazed around the room. “Look at this! It’s basically a palace.”
“It’s basically an attic,” Ji said.
“It is an attic,” Roz said.
“That’s what I just said,” Ji told her. “Sheesh. For someone who’s so smart—”
“My idea is this,” Sally interrupted, flopping onto the bed. “If you’re already asking for permission to sleep here . . . also ask about Chibo.”
Roz fiddled with her dress. “Ask Brace to buy Chibo from the tapestry weavers?”
“Yeah.”
“I know Brace,” Ji said. “If you ask him, he’ll just ask Proctor. And we can’t trust Proctor.”
“Well, he is personally acquainted with the queen,” Roz said slowly. “That’s a rare and wondrous thing.”
“You know who trusted him?” Ji asked. “Butler. And since we got here, has Proctor even mentioned him once? Has anyone?”
Roz frowned and Sally shook her head.
“He’s dead and forgotten, like my brother.” Ji looked to Roz. “Proctor’s a killer. Ask Brace about the attic, that’s all. Nothing else.”
“Are you sure?” Sally asked.
“Proctor could save Chibo by lifting a finger,” Roz added.
“The last time he lifted a finger, he threw a dagger,” Ji said. “We can’t trust him, not for a second.”
Sally and Roz exchanged a glance. Then Sally nodded. “When it comes to liars, you know best.”
“Good,” Ji said. “Once we’re sleeping here, I’ll sneak out every night. I promise you, Sally, I won’t stop till Chibo’s free.”
18
THE NEXT DAY, Ji cleaned encrusted pots and greasy pans until lunchtime. He was elbow deep in a casserole dish when the kitchen maid curtsied, and Brace stepped inside.
He seemed different, though Ji couldn’t figure out exactly how. Maybe he looked a little taller, or older? His eyes were still blue, though, his face was still long, his shoulders were still bony. Maybe he was just standing straighter.
Ji bowed his head. “My lord.”
“Miss Roz told me that you’d like to sleep in the attic.”
“Me and Sally,” Ji said.
“I discussed your request with Proctor.” Brace strolled closer, running a gloved finger along a countertop. “He told me to decide, and I chose to allow it.”
“Did Roz, uh, ask about anything else?” Ji said, wondering if she’d mentioned Chibo. “My lord?”
“Is that all you have to say?” Brace asked.
Ji dried his hands on a cloth. “Yeah. I think so.”
“Truly?” Brace cocked an eyebrow just like Baroness Primstone. “Nothing else?”
“Well, I’ve got plenty of other questions, if that’s what you mean. Like, for example, are ant lions actually part lion? Why is it called Mirror Lake? And what—”
“I meant,” Brace cut in, “is there anything you have to say, considering that I’m allowing you and Sally to sleep in the attic?”
Ji scratched his cheek and pretended to think. He knew what Brace wanted: his groveling thanks. And maybe he should just grovel . . . except he liked Brace too much to kiss his butt. So instead he said, “Nah, I don’t care which room I get.”
“I’m not talking about rooms! A servant with better manners might thank me, you know.”
Ji bowed his head deeply. “Yes, my lord. I am so very grateful for your kindness, my lord. You are as caring and wise as Baroness Primstone, my lord.”
Brace scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, my lord,” Ji said innocently. He needed Brace to help him, but he also wanted to help Brace—to remind him that he wasn’t like Nosey and Pickle. He was better than them.
After a tense moment, Brace’s scowl turned to a thoughtful frown. He glanced at the kitchen maid, then murmured to Ji, “Let’s go outside.”
Ji
tossed the cloth into the sink and followed Brace into the kitchen garden, a patch of earth where Cook grew ginger and cilantro and chilies. A handful of edible flower bushes bloomed on the border, and bees buzzed from blossom to blossom.
“I guess I’m a little worn out,” Brace said, plucking a leaf from a passionflower trellis.
“You’re working hard,” Ji said.
“Yeah, all this studying and sparring is backbreaking. . . .” Brace grinned, looking more like his old self. “But amazing. I’m learning things I’d never even imagined. It’s exhausting, though, and it never stops.”
You’re probably working almost as hard as a servant, Ji didn’t say. “Long hours, m’lord?”
“Late nights, early mornings . . . and I never, uh, got a chance to thank you.” Brace tossed the leaf into the garden. “For what you did. At the bone crypt.”
“I’m happy to serve, my lord,” Ji said.
“You should be!” Brace nudged Ji with his shoulder. “Anyway, thanks.”
Ji didn’t push his luck by saying you’re welcome, but he liked that Brace had thanked him. Most nobles wouldn’t have even thought of thanking a servant. And they never would’ve nudged him like that—like a friend. So even after he’d been studying with Proctor, there was still a lot of Brace left.
A bee buzzed past, and Ji smiled, remembering the afternoon he and Brace had spent eating honey bread and arguing about the big questions. Like, who’d win in a fight, a spearman or a swordsman? Which was stronger, an ogre or a bugbear?
“So Proctor’s teaching you to fight, huh?” he asked.
Brace nodded, his eyes dancing with eagerness. “It’s better than I ever dreamed! And swordplay’s only a tiny part of it. Proctor’s amazing. He knows everything about politics, tactics, and power.”
“Yeah?”
“Power is a tool, Ji, like an anvil or a loom or a, a—” Brace looked around the garden. “A watering can! Just having it isn’t enough. You need to be trained in its use.”
You didn’t actually need to be trained in the use of a watering can, but Ji decided not to mention that. “I bet he’s good with a throwing dagger, too.”
Brace frowned. “What?”
“Er, nothing.” Ji tried not to think about Butler. “Thanks for letting us sleep in the attic.”
“Happy to help!” Brace said, with a chuckle he’d obviously copied from Proctor. “Oh, and Roz did say something about Sally’s brother. Um, apparently he’s not happy with his job?”
“He’s spending twelve hours a day at a loom. I bet he’s a tiny bit gloomy.”
“Well, Proctor says that the finest tapestries are worth any sacrifice. They bind the realm together, you know. Have you ever seen a true tapestry?”
“A magic one, with pictures that move?” Ji shook his head. “Nah.”
“In the Forbidden Palace, there are dozens of them,” Brace said, his blue eyes glinting. “They show the rise of the first queen, and when the terra-cotta warriors slaughtered the ogre nation. Then there’s the enslavement of the goblins. . . .”
Ji nodded along without listening. Tonight was the night. He’d climb the wall and sneak through the streets. He’d slip into windows and creep through mansions, dodging servants and guards. His heart pounded with excitement—and fear.
That evening, after scrubbing dueling boots and riding boots and walking boots, Ji headed to the attic instead of his pallet, rubbing a painful knot in his shoulder. He’d never cleaned dueling boots before, and the laces took an hour. He hoped that nobles would choose a wiser, kinder method of resolving arguments in the future.
Or that they’d start dueling barefoot.
Two lanterns glowed in the attic’s main room, and a bouquet of scraggly flowers tilted in a mug on a table. Sticks of incense sprouted from a copper burner, and Roz curled in a chair with a book, wearing a cheerful yellow frock.
“What do you think?” Sally asked Ji, grabbing a bottle of rice milk from a bench. “Better than the stables!”
Ji smiled. “It’s better than the kitchen, too.”
“It’s almost a barracks,” Sally said. “If you kind of squint.”
“There is no way in which this looks like a barracks,” Roz said, gently closing the book. “There are no bunks, there is no armory. There isn’t a single soldier.”
“There would be if someone gave me a sword,” Sally said.
“You’re not a soldier,” Ji told her.
“You’re not even a little drummer girl,” Roz said.
“And it’s more like a picnic than a barracks,” Ji said.
Roz blinked at him. “A picnic? Did a load of boots fall on your head?”
“Nope, but I stole these!” Ji pulled a stack of tortillas from under his shirt. “Instant picnic.”
“Tortillas!” Sally grabbed one from his hand. “They’re still warm.”
“Of course they’re warm,” Roz said, with a shudder. “Did you not see where he was carrying them? In his actual armpit.”
“Soldiers can’t be choosers,” Sally told her, and tore into the tortilla.
Roz read a few pages of Ti-Lin-Su’s sonnets while they ate. Ji didn’t understand a single line, but that didn’t matter; he liked Roz’s voice, and the way she read the words. When they finished dinner, she looked at Ji and said, “When are you leaving?”
“Middle of the night. And while I’m stealing stuff, you find out where the tapestry factory is.”
“How? The maps aren’t helping.”
“I don’t know,” he told her. “Use that big brain of yours.”
“What about me?” Sally asked.
“Use your less-big brain.”
“Jerk.” She threw a cushion at him. “I mean, how can I help? You want me to come along tonight?”
“You can’t steal things, Sal.”
“I could for Chibo.”
“And if the guards catch you, you’ll confess. It’s easier if it’s just me.”
Sally frowned at him, her gaze thoughtful. “What aren’t you telling me?” She looked to Roz. “What isn’t he saying?”
“That if he gets caught,” Roz said, “he wants you to stay free, to help Chibo.”
“Oh.”
“I wasn’t thinking that,” Ji lied. “I was thinking that I need to do this. I need to prove that I’m not worthless.”
“Sally and I already know that,” Roz told him. “So who, exactly, are you trying to convince?”
“Oh, shut up,” he grumbled. “And read another sonnet.”
Three crescent moons were shining when Ji crept to the stables for a length of rope. He wished he could leave through the front gate, but the coachman lived in the carriage house and he’d investigate any suspicious sounds.
Ji crossed to the kitchen garden. He climbed a passionflower trellis beside the spike-studded stone wall that surrounded Proctor’s property. A grassy scent rose when his sandals crushed the vines. He tied the rope to the top of the trellis, then clambered onto the wall. He almost fell but caught himself with a lunge, scraping his shin. He checked for blood, then lowered himself down the rope on the other side of the wall.
He stepped on a steep slope—and slipped on the wet grass.
His yelp echoed across the canal. He grabbed the rope, barely staying on his feet. Five feet below him, the water rushed past, black as an ogre’s heart. When his pulse stopped pounding, he sidled carefully along the slope to a narrow footbridge.
He climbed the railing and looked toward the glowing lanterns outside Proctor’s town house. He’d made it!
He slouched away, past ornate gates and lavish lawns, and beneath a gargoyle in a flapping purple cloak that seemed to watch him from a rooftop.
On the next block, two gentlemen strolled along, swinging canes. Then came a lady wearing a pointy hat, followed by two maids wearing shorter versions of the same hat. If Ji had been twice as big, he would’ve mugged them. Sure, and if he pooped diamonds, he wouldn’t have needed to.
He strol
led past mansions and shrines, memorizing landmarks and scanning for open windows. That was why he spotted the gargoyle in the flapping cloak again. Except it wasn’t a gargoyle: it was a person, running across the rooftops.
“Either someone really hates sidewalks, or . . .” Ji swallowed. “Or that’s a thief.”
Craning his neck, Ji followed the fluttering cloak around a corner. Because he needed a thief. Maybe this rooftop bandit would help him steal stuff . . . or lead him to a stash of loot.
He jogged along a canal, tracking the flashes of movement above. He stopped eight blocks later, panting, outside a town house with hibiscus flower banners. He didn’t see anything on the roofs other than chimneys. He’d lost the thief.
“Stupid sidewalk hater,” he grumbled.
He climbed a flight of stairs and crossed a park . . . and a crew of goblins loped across the street in front of him. They woofled and hunched, their knees bending the wrong direction. Ji’s stomach twisted. They looked so wrong. Nonhuman and beaver faced. He ignored them, until one goblin pointed at him with a belly-arm.
Ji’s nerve broke. He raced away and didn’t stop until he reached the attic.
Maybe slinking around at night wasn’t the best idea. Everything was locked and the streets were quiet—plus the idea of breaking a window or squeezing under a gate terrified him. Almost as much as goblins.
Except he’d promised Sally that he’d save Chibo. And he needed to replace all the loot he’d lost at Primstone. So he kept climbing the wall . . . until the night the city guard caught him.
19
FOR THE NEXT three nights, Ji poked into alleyways and peered through shop windows, prowling the dark streets, looking for something to steal. Once he almost snuck into a town house, but a guard dog barked at the last second.
Then Roz learned that the tapestry factory was in the Oilpress, a neighborhood crisscrossed with canals and waterwheels. So Ji headed for the fancy cobblestone terraces, which offered a panoramic view of the lower city, to memorize the way to the Oilpress.
