A Tale of Two Castles (18 page)

Chapter Thirty-Two

M
aster Thiel smiled. “The news is distressing to His Majesty's subjects.”

How unfeeling he was. I shivered. Greedy Grenny was horrible, but I didn't wish him poisoned.

My masteress gripped Master Thiel's arm with a claw. “Who is blamed?”

“Master Jak and the taster are imprisoned.”

IT let Master Thiel go. “Lodie, we must leave.”

“Then I may check my traps, unhindered?”

“Yes. No.” The tip of ITs tail circled his ankle. “Give Lodie her copper.”

He produced a copper from his purse. “Pardine couldn't tell how pretty you are, or he'd have left you alone.” He bowed.

I didn't blush. I was finished. “Is anyone else ill?” I asked. “Any of the others on the dais?”

“I've been told that Her Highness was a little ill, nothing serious. Her father did not share much of his meal with anyone.”

“Gluttony and selfishness to good purpose for once.” IT lowered ITself. “Lodie, take your seat.”

IT landed in a pasture distant enough from both the forest and His Lordship's castle to be hidden from both. I jumped down.

“I must deduce and induce and use my common sense.” IT extended ITself on the ground and closed ITs eyes. Only ITs tail switched slowly back and forth. Wisps of smoke rose from ITs nostrils.

I sat on the browning grass. On the farm at this hour, Father and Albin were likely leaving the apple orchard for their midday meal. Our dog, Hoont, would be dancing between the two men, an apple in her mouth, begging to be chased. At home Mother would be stirring the pottage pot. If I were there, I'd be setting out bowls and spoons.

IT raised ITs head and opened ITs eyes. “Lodie, did you see Sir Misyur pass any delicacies to the king?”

“Do you think he and not Master Jak or the taster poisoned him?”

“Answer my question.”

“Several times. Sir Misyur was at the end of the dais table, and His Highness was in the middle. People picked at the food as the bowl went along. They would be poisoned, too.”

“They may have been. Thiel may know only of the king, or he may have chosen to tell us only of the king.”

“Sir Misyur rose and went to the kitchen more than once to make sure all was well.”

IT shook ITs head. “I'm rarely wrong about a character. I've long believed Sir Misyur a good man.”

“He could be a whited sepulcher.”

“Indeed. I will now think aloud. If you hear a flaw in my reasoning, stop me.”

“Yes, Masteress.” I felt both nervous and honored.

“Sir Misyur has served His Lordship for seven years. If he knew he was to inherit, why wait to harm him?”

“Maybe—”

“Do not interrupt. Perhaps Sir Misyur has learned only recently that he was to inherit.”

“Maybe—”

“Lodie! Sir Misyur, fearing he would no longer inherit when His Lordship married Her Highness, set the cats on the count. He also surmised that His Majesty would not countenance the inheritance. Wanting to keep his wealth, Sir Misyur resorted to poison. In this conjecture, Master Jak and the taster are innocent.”

I nodded. These were horrible speculations.

“Don't nod. Sir Misyur wouldn't behave so reprehensibly.”

I agreed but didn't nod.

“Let us suppose someone else expects to inherit and signals the cats, then discovers he or she isn't to inherit. . . .” IT shook ITs head. “Two culprits are possible, but not as elegant. A solution should be elegant, Lodie.”

I didn't understand, but I had an idea of my own. “Masteress?”

“Yes?”

“What if Master Thiel wormed his way into King Grenville's good graces with gifts of stolen silver or plate or spices or even”—I pointed back the way we'd come—“a brace of partridges. What if he promised to destroy His Lordship . . . ? The king could seize the castle after the count was gone, no matter who was to inherit. Master Thiel would demand riches, perhaps a title, in exchange.”

“Possible.”

“What if His Majesty refused to fulfill his side of the bargain? Master Thiel might be angry enough to poison him. King Grenville may have been poisoned not at the feast but soon after.”

IT said, “Master Thiel may indeed have poisoned the king. He has the malice for it. Master Thiel is my favorite.”

“What about the mauled ox?”

IT said, “Master Thiel may have injured the ox earlier and wanted to be with you for the discovery.”

“But you said we interrupted the mauling.”

“We lack sufficient information.” IT rolled onto ITs side for me to climb on. “We will dine at home and then visit your esteemed goodwife, her goodman, and their children. Are you ready?”

I said I was.

In the lair we set to making skewers. Three were complete when a guard wearing a red cloak appeared in ITs open doorway. Her green scalloped cap signified she served the king.

“Elodie of Lahnt?”

I felt IT tense.

“Yes?”

“You are wanted at Count Jonty Um's castle.”

Good news! I hurried to the hook for my cloak. “Masteress, His Lordship is back!” He'd sent for me.

IT said, “Why is she wanted?”

I turned from the hook to the guard.

“For poisoning His Majesty.”

My knees weakened and I leaned against the wall. Of course they suspected me. I'd poured for him.

She continued, “And for signaling the cats against His Lordship.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Y
ou can't be serious!” IT said. “She's a child.”

They couldn't suspect me of signaling the cats! “I was performing when the cats began to stalk. An imaginary snake was coming out of my mouth. I was reaching for it with both hands. Everyone saw.”

The guard said, “She must come.”

“I am a fool,” IT said. “Who is her accuser?”

The guard hesitated. “Cellarer Bwat. Her Highness sent for you.” Her voice softened. “His Majesty's illness has brought her very low.”

“He still lives?”

Silence. Why tell a poisoner whether or not she had succeeded?

I still leaned against the wall. “My masteress has commanded me to go nowhere without IT. I cannot disobey.”

“True. I will accompany Elodie.”

“She may not bring anyone with her. Apologies, Meenore. You shouldn't have befriended a spy of Tair.”

That's what they thought? “I'm not! I've never—”

“Meenore, you might have deduced what she is.” She advanced. “Come.”

Three more guards filled the entry.

I pushed myself away from the wall and wrapped my cloak around me. “I've never been to Tair. I grew up on a farm in Lahnt.”

She took my arm. “And learned to mansion on a farm?”

She walked me out or else my knees would have given way. I looked behind me. IT held the heel of a loaf of bread in one claw, ITs knife in the other. Green smoke rose from ITs nostrils. Green smoke for bewilderment? ITs mouth hung open, and ITs eye ridges were furrowed.

Could IT believe me a spy? Did IT suspect me of poisoning the king, signaling the cats, mauling an ox?

The guards set a quick pace. The one who'd addressed us, the only female, held my right elbow. Another guard had my left. I staggered along between them.

Mother! Father! Fear pounded in my ears. “If I am deemed guilty, the real poisoner won't be caught.”

They didn't slow.

“More people will die.” I had no idea if this was true.

What would happen when we arrived at the castle? Would a trial take place immediately?

Who would judge me, with His Highness sick, perhaps dying? The mayor? The princess? Sir Misyur, who might have done everything?

Bells chimed—the three-o'clock bells, not the long tolling that would mark His Majesty's death. I was glad at least that the lair lay at the southern edge of Two Castles and there were no witnesses to my disgrace. But the secret wouldn't be kept. Soon my accusal would be known in town. Eventually word would reach my family, who thought me safely apprenticed to a weaver.

The menagerie lay ahead. If only I could shape-shift.

I stumbled. The pressure on my right arm grew, although I hadn't been trying to break free. The guard on my left complained that they were missing their meal. I had missed mine, too, and was hungry through my fright.

A guard behind me said, “Master Jak will have put something aside for us.”

Master Jak? I thought he and the taster were imprisoned. No, of course not. I was the one who would be imprisoned. Master Thiel had lied. Why would he lie about this?

To persuade Masteress Meenore to let him go.

The count's castle rose ahead. I made myself heavy and stopped walking.

The red-cape guard snapped, “None of that!”

“I'll take her.” The guard on my left slung me over his shoulder as if I were a sack of wheat.

My head jounced with every step. “I'll walk!” I cried, but he didn't put me down.

Someday I will mansion this, I thought.

Sir Misyur and Her Highness were waiting at the door to the northeast tower when I arrived, along with guards who stood so still they might have been nailed in place. My guard set me on the ground and pushed down on my cap to force a curtsy. I would have curtsied!

Sir Misyur only looked at me dolefully, but Her Highness cried, “
Eh
lodie! How could you have hurt him?”

“I didn't! I wouldn't—”

She slapped me across my face. My head swiveled with the force of the blow.

“La! Didn't I give you my own cap?”

I put my hand up to my cheek. “Please, Your—”

“You will have an opportunity to speak,” Sir Misyur said. “Until then, you'll be confined to the tower.”

“You'll be comfortable in spite of your crime. I give you a princess's word. You won't suffer.”

“Does your father still breathe?” I shouldn't have asked, since they believed I wanted him dead.

No one answered. I was led inside.

As I went in, I heard Sir Misyur say, “A mansioner can easily mansion innocence.”

The door thudded shut. I didn't hear a lock turn. What need to lock a guarded door?

Facing me was the door to the donjon, closed now. On my right rose a narrow circular stairway in its own little tower attached to the big one. The stairs were dimly lit by occasional slitted windows.

My left-hand guard pulled on my elbow. He and I advanced together with Mistress Guard in the rear. The other guards remained at the bottom. After climbing once around, we reached a short landing and another shut door. The stairs continued, and so did we to the third and top story. A landing here, too, door on my left. Facing me, a ladder led upward to a trapdoor, which must have opened onto the wall walk.

Mistress Guard lifted the latch and pushed the door open. “In you go.” She shoved me inside.

The chamber was large and comfortable. In other circumstances it must have been guest quarters. A fire burned brightly and an oil lamp had been lit, no doubt the princess's doing to keep me from suffering, as if light and heat could lessen my misery. A low door across the room would certainly lead to the privy.

The guards exited. The door groaned as a crossbar was pushed home. On my side, the key to the ordinary lock was in the keyhole, useless because of the crossbar.

Furnishings were a small table, a low-backed chair, a case of shelves that held no more than a sewing box and a clay bowl, a barred window too high in the wall for me to see out of, and a bed, a rich man's bed, suspended from the ceiling by ropes and surrounded by drapes to keep out the cold. For extra warmth, a second blanket lay folded at the foot. I threw myself facedown across the coverlet and wept.

I don't know how long I cried. For a while I seemed made of brine. I wept for the ogre, the king, the ox, the princess, Nesspa. And me. Thoughts of yesterday's happiness were torment. I was unlikely ever to become a mansioner.

More than a few tears were caused by thoughts of my masteress. Why hadn't IT flown with me to the castle? IT could have ripped me away from my captors.

Because IT doubted me. IT hadn't ridiculed Master Thiel's suggestion that I had plotted with Sir Misyur, and IT had called ITself a fool when the guards came, a fool for not deducing that I was the whited sepulcher.

That hurt most of all, ITs disbelief in me.

Chapter Thirty-Four

I
heard the crossbar drawn back. I wiped my eyes and emerged from within the bed drapes. Two guards entered, their faces as blank as new spoons. One bore a tray on which rested pottage, bread, and a tumbler of cider. My empty stomach growled. The second guard blocked the door and seemed to have come solely to protect the first. From me!

The food bearer placed the tray on the table.

“Thank you.”

No answer. They left.

Hungry as I was, I set the tray on the floor and pushed the table to the wall under the window. I climbed up but still couldn't see out. I placed the chair atop the table.

Taking care, I climbed onto the table again and stood on the chair.

Night had arrived, a bright, starry night ruled by a gibbous moon.
Gibbous
—rounded—a word Albin taught me.

The window bars bowed outward, so I could see down as well as out. Directly below me was the outer ward bordered by the outer curtain. The town lay too far to the west to see, but in the distance I made out the shiny black strait.

I climbed down and turned my ladder back into table and chair. The kitchen had given me no knife. How frightened they were! But I had been provided with a bowl of water, so I could clean my fingers before eating. I did so now. Afterward, I broke off a corner of bread, then dropped it back on the tray.

His Majesty had been poisoned. Whoever had done it might still be in the castle. Death by poison would prove me guiltless, but my cleared name would be no use to me.

I set the tray by the door, where it tempted me. If I had to keep looking at the food, I would eat it. I climbed up to the window again, poured out the cider, and tossed the bread and pottage. I hoped a hungry night creature wouldn't dine and die.

We'd had no frost yet, so the crickets still sang, un-troubled by the plight of a human girl. A dark shape blew across the sky from north to south, turned and returned, angling my way, trailing purple smoke. My masteress!

My masteress, angry. I gripped the bars. How would I convince IT of my innocence?

IT crossed over the outer curtain and flew lower until IT was level with the tower's second story. ITs right claw held a sack.

Again it wheeled back and forth, coming closer with each pass. I feared IT would break a wing on the tower. But IT whipped around and anchored ITself to the stone. Claw over claw, clinging to cracks, IT climbed to me.

“Lodie? Have you—”

“I wouldn't poison anyone. I'm not a whited sepulcher.” I was weeping again. “I love the ogre.”

“Have you eaten anything here?”

I shook my head. “Nothing. And I'm not a spy.”

“Nothing? No drink?”

“None.”

IT smiled. I wiped my streaming eyes and dripping nose with my sleeve and smiled back. I had never seen IT look so happy.

“I couldn't warn you not to eat in the presence of the guards. You believe I suspected you?” ITs smoke tinted pink. “You think me an idiot?”

“No. But you called yourself a fool. I thought, a fool for trusting me.”

“A fool for not realizing you would be accused. I never for a moment believed you to be a spy or a whited sepulcher.”

I tried not to sound reproachful. “Where have you been?”

“I found Dess and your Goodwife Celeste. They could tell me nothing about Jonty Um, but both have an understanding of poisons and their antidotes. They're in the king's chamber now, along with the physician, Sir Maydsin, who is worthless in my opinion. Dess slipped out to inform me His Highness will likely live.”

Relief swept through me. “Do they think I poisoned the king?”

“Dess and Goodwife Celeste?”

I nodded.

“They didn't say.”

“Will the guards release me since His Highness is better?” I shook my head. “No. They won't.” His Highness had still been poisoned.

“He'll preside over your trial.”

And wouldn't be merciful.

“Whatever sort of monarch he is,” IT said, “he will be fair. He wants to discover the true poisoner as much as anyone.”

How would he do that? “Masteress, would you bring me a few skewers and a jug of water?”

“I have.” IT let go of the tower with ITs right claw and held out the sack, which barely fit between the bars. Something inside jingled.

IT grasped the window bars with both claws. “Climb down, Lodie. You are too precariously perched.”

I did. In the sack, along with the food and drink I found a leather purse—containing two silvers and three coppers.

“Masteress!” I cried.

“Speak softly.”

I lowered my voice. “Masteress!”

“It is unwise to be in prison without a full purse. You may succeed in bribing a guard, but do not attempt to bribe more than one at once. Each will not trust the other.”

“Thank you!”

“If you don't use the coins, I expect them back.”

I was affronted. “I'm not Master Thiel.” I pushed my old purse into the new one and hung the new one on my belt.

“Lodie, I can visit you only at night, but I will watch your window at intervals during the day. If you need me, tie your cap to a bar. I'll come somehow.”

I nodded while pulling a piece of cheese off its skewer.

“You may hear a lion roar again tonight if the wind is in the right direction. Sulow has agreed to roar.”

“Why?”

“Perhaps we can draw out our villain.”

“Masteress, why did Cellarer Bwat accuse me?”

“Common sense tells me that he knew someone would be named. He didn't want the someone to be himself or any of his friends among the servants, so he offered you, a stranger.”

I wondered whether Sir Misyur or Her Highness had asked him or if he'd come forward unasked.

“Farewell, Elodie. May your sleep be sweet.”

“Thank you, Masteress.” I wished IT could stay. “Good night.”

“Do not climb up to the window unless you must.” IT let go of the bars and was gone.

I threw a log on the fire and toasted three skewers. With each bite I took in ITs friendship.

When I finished, I returned the remaining skewers and the half-empty jug to the sack, which I hid between the head of the bed and the wall.

I lay down. Firelight made the ceiling glow orange-gray. For how many nights would I look up at it? For how many years?

Two guards brought my breakfast, one of them a chatty, fatherly sort who informed me that the king had eaten his breakfast and his face was no longer so waxen. Goodwife Celeste, Master Dess, and the physician attended him in turn, although they would depart soon if his improvement continued.

“Her Highness rarely leaves his side, and Sir Misyur comes often as well. Aren't you going to eat?”

“Later. I never wake up hungry.”

“Children need nourishment.”

I wondered if he might be the poisoner, or if someone had instructed him to see me eat. “It tastes bad unless I'm hungry.”

The other guard said, “Let her starve if she likes.”

The kindly guard gave up, and they left. As soon as they'd gone, I climbed up to the window. A steady rain poured down. I tossed my breakfast—pottage again—out the window and consumed a skewer. I would need to husband food and water until IT came tonight.

King Grenville's skin had been waxen. Martyr's mint caused waxy skin, and so did false cinnamon. Both were grown in Lepai. False cinnamon tasted enough like the true to go unnoticed. Martyr's mint, despite its name, had no flavor at all.

But false cinnamon acted quickly, and His Highness had been poisoned at the feast. He certainly had been well the next day—well and spiteful enough to paint my face with gravy.

In addition to waxy skin, martyr's mint caused slow and light breathing, stomach bloating, listlessness, no pain. And death.

Enough thinking about poison and death. To distract myself, I passed the morning reciting tales and mansioning every role. When the knock came for the midday meal, I was bellowing, “Fee fie fo fum, I smell the blood of a Lepai man.” Not the most sensible line for one suspected of being a spy for Tair.

The door opened, and there was the princess herself, holding my tray. No guards, but I knew they were outside at the ready.

I curtsied while hoping the thick door had contained my words. “Your Highness . . . beg pardon, I was mansioning. Do you know—”

“
Eh
lodie.” The lowest note came last, sorrowfully.

I took the tray and set it on the table.

“I shouldn't have struck you.” She smiled. “You've heard?”

I nodded. “His Majesty is better. Your Highness, I didn't—”

“Let's not speak of it. I'm still glad I gave you my cap. La! I do not miss it. And until . . .” She shook her head. “I've always been happy to see your head in it.”

“Thank you.” I wasn't sure what to say. “I've never had such a fine cap.” I remembered my manners. “Please sit.” I pulled my chair away from the table for her.

“That's your chair.” She sat on the bed. “I'll keep you company while you eat your meal. Lamb stew. Won't you try it? I had mine, lamb stew also, quite tasty.”

What excuse could I give her for not eating? I wondered if I could trust her with the truth.

Wait! Why did she want me to know her meal had been the same as mine?

“Your Highness, I finished my good breakfast just half an hour ago.”

“La! Breakfast? Hardly enough to feed a squirrel. Come, you must have more now.”

Could she be the poisoner?

She couldn't be. She would expect me to share with her.

Oh. My tray had but one spoon.

Still, she couldn't be.

Whatever she was, I had to prevent her from forcing food on me. Mansion! My eyes filled with tears. “You have always been kind to me. I promise to eat as soon as hunger returns.”

“I won't leave until I see you swallow a morsel or two, for my own consolation. No one will say we starved a prisoner. La! I'll entertain you while you eat. My father . . .”

She
was
the poisoner. I gripped the table, which seemed to spin. Princess Renn was the whited sepulcher.