He struggled out of his rucksack. Then he undid the turban and shook his hair free, wondering if it was his imagination or if Garith had really been uncomfortable talking about the vine.
But when his cousin came back with a pitcher and a basin, his usual easy enthusiasm had returned. “Hurry up now, so I can show you the laboratory. Wait till you see it. It’s better than good!”
Raffa felt a rush of relief and gladness. He had no idea what would happen next, but for the moment he decided to enjoy the fact that Garith was fine and that they were together again.
Scrubbing the green paste of herbs from his face was like washing away all the worry and fear and dread of the past several hours. The white substance on his lips, a combination of allbus berries and milk root, was unfortunately rather more stubborn; he hoped the traces that remained in the creases of his mouth would wear off soon.
“This way,” Garith said.
They crossed the entry hall, and Garith pushed open a door into a fairyland.
Raffa stared in wonder. A broad counter ran around three sides of the spacious room, with cupboards and open shelves above and below. There was a huge worktable in the middle of the room. In the far corner stood a large iron stove; flanking the stove were twin stone basins.
At the center of one long wall was an enormous cabinet with dozens of small drawers perfect for storing botanica. Everything an apothecary would ever need was well organized and easily at hand: mortars and pestles, spoons, strainers, scales; tongs and tweezers; beakers and jars and tubes and vials; funnels and siphons. Without taking a single step closer, Raffa could tell that each implement and device was the finest of its kind. His fingers itched to be working with such beautiful tools.
In a sudden flood of emotion, he realized that this was where Ansel and Garith were now working every day. The same would be true for him if it weren’t for his father’s stubbornness! Standing there in the doorway to the laboratory, he made himself a silent promise: He would work here. And not just someday, but soon.
“Raffa?”
Uncle Ansel’s voice broke into his thoughts. Raffa blinked and saw that his uncle was seated at one end of the table with Kuma and Trixin, who were both now disguise-free. There was a plate of bread and cheese as well as a bowl of apples and pears, and Trixin was pouring tea.
Raffa realized that he was famished, having eaten nothing since breakfast with the fare collector so long ago, on the other side of the river. He sat down next to Kuma and eyed the food hungrily.
Ansel smiled kindly. “Why don’t you all have something to eat first, and then we can talk.”
The three visitors fell on the food, with Garith keeping them company. In very short order, every last bite had been swallowed. Raffa sighed and took a long draft of his tea.
“Now, then, Raffa,” Uncle Ansel said. “Please tell us how you and your friends come to be here.”
Raffa glanced up warily. He had not discussed with Trixin and Kuma what they would do or say at this point; their entire focus had been first on escaping from the Garrison and then on gaining entrance to the Commons. But Ansel and Garith were family. He could not possibly keep the truth from them.
He stared into his mug for a long moment. Then he looked at his uncle and began to speak.
“I crossed over on the dawn ferry,” he said. Then he talked for what seemed like a very long time. He told them about losing his way on the streets of Gilden and running into Trixin. About getting caught at the guards’ barracks, meeting Kuma in the prison wagon, and escaping from the Garrison. About disguising themselves by painting their faces with botanicals.
Raffa didn’t mention every last detail. He left out how he had used apothecary on the fare collector and the guards. He said only that he and Trixin had been caught trespassing at the barracks, not how they had gotten there. And he said nothing at all about Echo’s presence and role.
“We managed to get past the gatekeeper,” he said, “and—well, now here we are.”
For the entirety of his story, he had looked only at Ansel, encouraged by the fondness and keen interest on his uncle’s face. Now he surveyed the others. Garith was twirling an apple core by its stem, looking not so much bored as restless. Raffa guessed that Trixin was thinking about the loss of her job, because the frown-furrow between her eyebrows had returned.
But it was Kuma who startled him. Her whole face was suffused with despair, and he wondered what could possibly be making her so sad.
“Well, nephew,” Ansel said soberly. “That was quite a trip, and taken on the whole, it seems we are fortunate that you arrived safely. The first thing is to send word to your parents that you are here. I will arrange for that.”
“Thank you, Uncle,” Raffa said. He realized then that he had been squelching the guilt he felt toward his parents, and he hoped that the message would reach them quickly.
But what then? Would they ask his uncle to bring him home? Or might they come to Gilden to fetch him? He sat up a little straighter at this last thought. If his parents saw the apothecary quarter for themselves . . . maybe there was a chance they would want to stay and work here!
“Uncle,” he said, hesitant and eager at the same time, “would you . . . could the message invite them for a visit? And they could take me home after that?”
He did some quick guesswork. Once his parents knew he was safe, they would in all likelihood remain at home long enough for Salima to attend the birth of the young mother she had been looking after. That would give him at least a few days here.
Ansel smiled. “That’s a splendid idea, Raffa.” Then he sobered. “But there is a more serious problem to be discussed. You and your friends are now fugitives who have escaped from the Garrison. The guards will be searching for you.”
The air in the room grew thick with silence. Raffa squirmed, realizing only then his uncle’s difficult position. Ansel was at the moment sheltering escapees from the Garrison, which was surely a crime. And it was Raffa’s fault.
Garith spoke up. “Da, the Chancellor. Maybe she could help.”
“The Chancellor!” Trixin exclaimed. “Why would she help someone like me?”
“Not you, exactly,” Garith said, “but she likes us a lot. Especially me.”
Raffa had to chuckle inwardly. He could tell that Garith wasn’t bragging; he was simply telling the truth.
And Uncle Ansel chuckled aloud. “True enough that she seems to have taken to you. It is our best chance. I will go to the chancellery and ask to speak to her.”
Then Trixin spoke up quickly, as if she were afraid her courage would fail her. “Senior Vale, Raffa wanted me to help him find his way to the Commons, and because of everything that happened, I . . . well, obviously, I’m not at my post in the kitchens today, and I’m sure that by now I’ve been discharged. Please, I know this is too bold of me, but my family—they depend on me working. Is there any chance . . . could you ask about me getting my job back?”
Ansel looked sympathetic. “I’m afraid I would have no influence in such matters,” he said. “But I will see if anything can be done.”
Then he turned his attention to Kuma. “What about you, Kuma? Raffa said he met you in the prison wagon. Why were you there?”
Raffa was sitting next to Kuma, and he sensed her body tensing as she spoke. “I was—a friend of mine was in trouble, and I was trying to help her,” she said. “I pushed a man into the river. I didn’t mean to, but he grabbed me to stop me from getting to her, and I shoved him away and he tripped.”
Ansel seemed astonished. “Remarkable!” he exclaimed. “I received word this morning of just such an occurrence. How extraordinary that you were involved.” For a long moment, he studied Kuma intently. Then—
“Kuma, the friend you were trying to help. Is she, by any chance, a very large bear?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
RAFFA gasped. A bear? The girl who had tamed a Forest bear—that was Kuma?
It was Garith who found his voice first. “I can�
��t believe it! Is it really tame? How did you do it?”
“No,” Kuma said. “She’s not tame. She’s a wild bear. The Forest is her home.”
Ansel looked at Kuma, his eyes bright with admiration. “We heard the rumors,” he said, “but I never dreamed they could be true. What an amazing thing you’ve done.”
Kuma bowed her head at the compliment and seemed to relax a bit.
“Please tell us more,” Ansel said.
She was silent for a moment. “I was only four years old,” she began slowly. She went on to tell of a family outing to a meadow near the Forest. She had strayed away from the group and gotten lost. It had started to rain, and despite a frantic search, no one heard her cries as she wandered about for hours, wet, cold, alone, frightened.
“Then this huge bear came out,” Kuma said. “From the trees. I was too little to know any different. I just ran straight toward her.”
“Faults and fissures!” Trixin exclaimed.
“I don’t remember very much more,” Kuma admitted. “But she must have taken care of me. They found me days later, in the same meadow. My family could hardly believe I’d survived all those nights alone.”
She paused, then went on. “Except I wasn’t alone. As soon as I was old enough, I started going to the Forest to try to find her. And I finally did, when I was seven.” Another pause. “Or maybe it was she who found me. She made this lovely noise, ‘A-rooo, a-rooo,’ so I called her Roo. Ever since then we’ve spent . . . a lot of time together.”
“Amazing,” Uncle Ansel repeated.
“Such a story!” Trixin said.
“But where is she now?” Kuma’s voice quavered. “They took her from the Forest in a wagon. To the Commons, I heard them saying.” She looked at Ansel. “Please, will you help me find her?”
Raffa saw tears in Kuma’s eyes. He knew then that this bear meant even more to her than Echo did to him. His fear that Echo might be taken from him—Kuma was living that very nightmare with the bear, and his heart ached for her.
Ansel’s hesitation was so brief that Raffa thought he might have imagined it. “I know only that a bear was captured, nothing more. I will find out what I can.”
“Thank you,” Kuma whispered.
“Has anyone sent word to your family? I should have asked earlier.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s all right. They know—I mean, I’m often away from home, so they won’t be worried.”
That sounded odd to Raffa, and apparently to Ansel as well. “Are you sure?” he asked.
“I’m sure,” she said. “I live with my aunt and uncle, but I stay in the Forest a lot. They’ll think I’m there now.”
After a pause, she added, “They have six children of their own. They’re not unkind but . . . it’s just easier for everyone when I’m not around.” She squared her shoulders and looked at each of them in turn, as if daring them to pity her.
Raffa felt a flash of . . . perhaps not pity, but regret for Kuma, followed by a ripple of gratitude for his own family.
“All the same, they need to know where you are,” Ansel said. “I’ll add a note to send along with the one for Raffa’s parents.” He pushed his chair back and stood. “I will go now to the Chancellor. Garith, please take our guests to the apartment so they can get some rest. I will meet you there later.”
Raffa jumped to his feet and clasped both of his uncle’s hands. “Thank you, Uncle,” he murmured. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
After Ansel left, Garith led the others to the apartments where he and his father lived. It was only a short walk from the apothecary quarter.
The apartments were built around a central courtyard. The Vales’ residence was on the west side. The door from the courtyard led into an entry hall, with a simply furnished but spacious sitting room on the left.
Off the sitting room was a separate kitchen. “And this is the pantry,” Garith said. “You can eat whatever’s there. And over here . . .” He showed them to the other side of the entry hall. “Not just sleeping alcoves—real bedrooms!” Three of them, one each for Garith and Ansel and a third for guests.
“So much space for just the two of you!” Trixin’s eyes were wide. Raffa remembered Trixin’s tiny home, smaller than the sitting room alone.
“Raffa, you rest in here in my room,” Garith said. “Wait till you get in the bed. It’s feathers, not straw, you never slept on anything so comfortable in all your life!”
Thanks to the featherbed and sheer exhaustion, Raffa fell asleep almost the instant he lay down. He woke an hour or so later. It was nearly sunfall.
He got up, put on his boots, and went out to the sitting room. Uncle Ansel had returned; he and Garith were sitting with Kuma and Trixin in front of the hearth.
“We were just going to wake you,” Ansel said with a broad smile. “I have very good news!”
He had seen the Chancellor, who had fixed everything. Well, almost everything. For a start, she had arranged for Raffa and Trixin to be pardoned, both for trespassing and for their escape.
Raffa gave a whoop of joy and relief, and clapped his hands around Garith’s in celebration. “But what about Kuma?” he asked, glancing at her solemn face.
“Kuma, the charge against you is assault,” Ansel said, “and a penalty had to be assessed for such a serious charge. But I’m happy to report that you will spend no time in the Garrison. You have been assigned to serve the Commons for one month. It is the most lenient sentence possible, and the Chancellor has asked me to supervise your service.”
Kuma nodded. “Senior Vale, did you . . . Is there any news about Roo?”
Ansel shook his head. “I’m sorry, no. But the Chancellor promised to make inquiries.”
Kuma looked down at her hands, and again Raffa could tell how much she missed the bear.
Ansel turned to Trixin. “Trixin, your position in the kitchens—”
“Second assistant, pickles and jams,” Trixin broke in.
“Yes. I’m afraid that a replacement has already been hired.”
Trixin went pale, and her lower lip quivered a little. She cleared her throat. “I—I understand,” she said. “But whoever it is, it’s hard to fathom that they need the job as much as I do.”
Ansel held up his hand. “Pickles and jams,” he said. “So you understand fermentation?”
Trixin looked puzzled by the question but answered eagerly. “Oh, yes, Senior, both brine and vinegar. I can pickle anything—I could pickle an old shoe if you wanted me to!”
Now Ansel smiled. “It so happens,” he said, “that two days ago I put in a request at the staffing depot for an assistant to work with us here in the apothecary quarter. I specified a hireling with experience in fermentation.”
Raffa knew that some botanicals were fermented before being used in combinations. It was a tricky process, for the line between fermented and spoiled was all too easily crossed.
Trixin’s eyes grew round with surprise. “You mean—?”
“Before you accept,” Ansel said, “you should know that unlike your previous post, this is not a servient position. It is tendant level, with greater responsibility and”—he paused to let his eyes twinkle at Trixin—“better pay.”
Amazement followed by delight shone from Trixin’s face. “I— Oh, thank you, Senior Vale!” she said, and bowed over her fists. “I swear to you, you’ll never have reason to regret this!”
She rose from her seat. “I should be getting on for home,” she said, sounding reluctant.
“Your new job starts tomorrow,” Ansel said, which made her smile broadly as she said her farewells.
Raffa stretched his legs in the warmth of the fire, feeling better than he had in days. If only Kuma and the bear could be reunited, all would be well.
“And now a surprise,” Ansel said. “The Chancellor has invited us to dine with her tonight. We should leave promptly.”
“Solid-earth!” Garith cheered. “We’ve dined there before. The food’s always better than
good.”
Dinner with the Chancellor! Raffa could never have imagined such an honor. “Do I—are my clothes all right?” he asked, looking down at his tunic.
“You’re not to worry,” Ansel reassured him. “It’s not a formal gathering, only ourselves.”
“Senior Vale?” Kuma’s voice was as quiet as Garith’s had been loud. “I don’t mean to be impolite, but I’m feeling a little unwell. If it’s not too discourteous, would it be all right if—if I stayed here to rest?”
“Of course,” Ansel said. “I will give your apologies to the Chancellor. Would you like a tonic?”
“No, thank you,” Kuma said. “I’m sure I just need more rest.”
Before leaving for dinner, Raffa managed a few moments alone with Echo, who had begun to stir under his tunic. He decided not to take the bat with him. Although he hated the thought of being separated from Echo again, it wasn’t fair to keep him cooped up for so long, especially as it was his feeding time.
Raffa cracked open a shutter in Garith’s bedroom. He hung his rucksack on a nearby peg and hid the perch necklace behind it.
“Echo,” he said in a low voice, “this window opens onto the courtyard, see? You can go hunting. But don’t leave the courtyard. When you’re done, come back inside to your perch. And remember, don’t talk!”
Echo gazed at him with his purple eyes wide but made no reply.
Raffa frowned. “Do you understand, Echo?”
“Don’t . . . talk.” Echo’s whisper was barely audible, and Raffa grinned as he released the bat into the dusk.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
WITH Kuma comfortable in the guest bedroom, the rest of the group set out for the Chancellor’s residence across the Commons. As they were shown in by a tendant, Raffa tried to look everywhere at once.
The Chancellor’s quarters were elegant but not ostentatious. For Raffa, the greatest marvels were the oil lamps ensconced on the walls: They had glass chimneys and burned with a brightness and clarity that rivaled daylight.
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