Authors: Violet Haberdasher
The road widened the farther they went from Partisan, and stalls began to appear on opposite sides. Barefoot children ran across the road, and vendors cooked sausages and nuts, which everyone stared at longingly, Henry and Adam included. The stalls sold all sorts of things—secondhand clothing, mended crockery, even sullen-looking vegetables that had refused to grow to their full potential.
A few ragged girls sold matches on the doorsteps, and other things, perhaps, though Henry didn’t care to find out.
At the end of the market, they reached a square where a more prosperous market bustled with patrons. In the center of the square stood an enormous bronze statue of Yurick Mors waving his serpent flag, dressed in
the defiant long coat and armband of the revolutionary he had once been.
“ ‘Yea though we roar with the fire of a mighty dragon, we are but its scales, all cut from the same mold, and of equal worth,’ ” Henry quoted, nodding toward the statue. It was the refrain of the revolution, a verse used long ago to open the clandestine meetings where Mors and his associates had plotted to overthrow the monarchy and publicly behead all aristocrats who would not renounce their titles and land at his behest.
And then the piercing cry of a newspaper boy made Henry jump.
“
Common Comrade
! Get yer free Nordlandic news!” he cried. The newsboy stood cheekily at the base of the statue, waving an armload of newspapers.
“Want one?” Adam asked.
“Do you even have to ask?”
The newsboy balked at the sight of them, but Henry smiled and held out his hand.
“We’ll each take one,” Henry said.
The newsboy hesitated a moment, deliberating, and then handed over the papers.
“Is this the only newspaper in the city, or are there others?” Henry asked.
The newsboy scowled. “Ain’t nothin’ aside the
Comrade
.”
With the newspapers under their arms, Henry and Adam hurried back toward the castle.
The kitchen bustled with the Partisan School staff in their thin, plain uniforms when Henry and Adam arrived, out of breath, having just stashed the newspapers under their mattresses, but something seemed wrong somehow.
Henry puzzled over this, his stomach growling as he watched the serving boys arranging platters of food, and kitchen maids preparing dessert, their hair twisted up into tightly knotted kerchiefs. He remembered what Frankie had said about women dressing differently in the Nordlands, and he supposed the hair scarves and loose, long dresses with high collars were a bit different from the aprons and mobcaps Liza and Mary wore.
And then Henry realized what was bothering him. “They’re not making enough food,” he whispered to Adam.
Adam’s stomach grumbled loudly in response. “When do
we
eat?” he whined.
“After we serve the envoy,” Henry whispered back.
Across the kitchen Henry caught sight of Jem, who
made a show of reaching into his pocket, removing his knife, and flipping it open with a grin.
“Excuse me,” Henry said to one of the Nordlandic servants who passed by.
The boy turned, terrified.
“Is this the only kitchen?” Henry asked.
The boy shook his head. “We cook fer the teachers an’ visiting compatriots,” he snapped.
Henry raised an eyebrow at this news. For a country that prided itself on equality, it didn’t seem fair, and it certainly didn’t seem in line with the motto of a “common good,” if the people who preached such things had a private kitchen where their meals were prepared separately. But, then, many things in the Nordlands were contrary to the values that they preached. At least the kitchen seemed familiar, despite the strange uniforms and the unfamiliar foods.
Henry and the other boys with the envoy waited to be handed serving platters to take to the sideboard in the private dining room where Yascherov was entertaining the guests.
And then a serving girl who was grating potatoes dropped one, and it bounced across the kitchen, coming to a stop near Henry. He bent to retrieve it, and the girl
rushed over. When Henry caught sight of her, he nearly lost his hold on the slippery potato as well.
It was Frankie.
Henry nudged Adam, but Adam had already noticed. His eyes were wide and frantic.
“What are you doing here?” Henry whispered, handing her back the potato.
Frankie grinned and shook some potato peelings from her smock. “Well, I wasn’t going to wait in the storage car all weekend,” she whispered back fiercely.
Henry shook his head in annoyance and glanced at the rest of the kitchen to see if anyone else was watching. Jem and George were.
“Can we help with the potatoes?” Henry asked in a low tone.
Frankie nodded, and they followed her to the mound of potatoes, forming a circle around the peelings bin.
“Well,” Adam said, “this is a surprise.”
“And by ‘surprise’ he means ‘horrible idea,’ ” Henry whispered.
“What’s horrible about it?” Frankie retorted. “I signed on as a maid, and I’ll sneak away tomorrow to meet the train. In the meantime I’ll have proper meals and a bed to sleep in, and a bath, thank you very much.”
“This is really dangerous,” Henry pressed. “What if someone finds out who you are?”
“In the next twelve hours?” Frankie asked with a derisive snort. “No one suspects anything. Besides which, it’s just supper, then some cleaning and then bed.”
Henry had to admit that she had a fair point.
“Why didn’t you tell us what you were planning on the train?” Adam asked.
Frankie scowled. “Because I knew
he’d
be against it.” She pointed her potato accusingly at Henry.
“Of course I’m against it,” Henry said. “You don’t know the first thing about being a maid. You could complicate everything.”
“Well, I won’t,” Frankie said.
“You might.” Henry glared.
“Stop it,” Adam said. “Listen, Frankie, we’re going to have a look around the castle tonight. Can you meet us outside the kitchen at midnight?”
“I’ll try,” Frankie said, and then shot Henry an enormous mocking grin. “If I haven’t blown all of our covers by then.”
“You’re unbelievable,” Henry snapped, slamming a perfectly peeled potato into the basket.
* * *
“I can’t believe you invited her,” Henry accused.
Adam shrugged and continued transferring dirty plates onto the serving trolley. The envoy had just finished supper, and before Henry and Adam could eat, they had to clear plates.
Jem and George were serving brandy and cigars in one of the reception rooms, and thankfully, supper had passed without incident.
“Why shouldn’t I have invited her?” Adam retorted.
“Don’t stack the plates that high. They’ll fall,” Henry chided. “And I can think of about a hundred reasons.”
“Well, sorry, but I’m too hungry to think,” Adam shot back.
“Here,” Henry said, passing Adam half a roll that had been left on the table.
Adam stuffed it into his mouth. “What do we do now?” he asked thickly.
“Dishes,” Henry said, nodding toward the cart piled high with soiled serving platters and dirty plates.
“Oh,” Adam said, his face falling.
Back in the kitchen the rest of the servants were eating supper together at the long wooden table by the fireplace. Stools and overturned crates were crammed together, and everyone ate silently, hungrily piling food
into their mouths. No one looked up when Henry and Adam came in. Next to the sink were four meager plates of food, meant for them.
Henry rolled up his sleeves to scrub dishes, but his gaze fell on the salt and pepper shakers sitting among the dirty serving platters, and he grinned.
“Do we get to eat now?” Adam asked hopefully as Henry picked up the salt.
“Even better,” Henry said, handing Adam the pepper. “We get to enact our revenge.” Henry liberally tipped the salt over two of the plates of food.
Adam grinned, enthusiastically adding pepper.
“I do hope Jem and George don’t mind a bit of extra flavor,” Henry said with mock concern.
“What do you mean, ‘extra flavor’? This is how food tastes in the Nordlands,” Adam said innocently, with another vigorous twist of pepper.
Henry shook his head, his grin stretching wider. “We should probably eat ours before they make us swap.”
Adam gladly picked up the slice of rough bread topped with meat and gravy and enthusiastically took a bite, gravy dribbling down his chin. Henry dug into his own supper with equal enthusiasm.
They were just finishing the dishes when Jem and
George sauntered into the kitchen and seized their plates of food. Henry waited, casually wiping a tea towel against a gravy dish that had long since dried.
“Ugh!” Jem said, making a face. “This is disgusting.” “I wouldn’t insult Nordlandic food if I were you,” Henry said, holding back a smile.
“
You
did somethin’,” George accused, pointing a finger at Henry.
“Maybe,” Henry said coolly. “An’ maybe I’ll do it again, if yeh don’ start pullin’ yer weight.”
George scowled.
Jem glared.
“Whaddaya want?” George demanded.
“What’s fair,” Henry said. “Adam wants his pillow back. An’ tomorrow you lot are haulin’ the bags back to the train, seein’ as how we brought them up.”
“I don’t really need my pillow back,” Adam muttered.
Henry elbowed him. Jem and George exchanged a glance.
“Done,” George said.
Henry put down the gravy dish and pushed past them. Adam followed.
“Oi, why did you tell them it was us?” Adam whispered.
“If we didn’t admit to it, they would have punished us for the prank,” Henry returned. “That’s how you handle boys like them—show them you’re not afraid to retaliate.”
“I suppose,” Adam said, “although you might have asked for a top bunk rather than my pillow.”
“Bottom bunks are better,” Henry said, pushing aside the heavy wool blanket that had been strung across the entrance to their room in place of a proper door. “We can sneak out more easily.”
“I knew that,” Adam muttered.
It seemed as though Jem and George would never go to sleep. Jem dangled his legs over the side of the bed, his unwashed feet in Adam’s face, torturing everyone with hideous harmonica playing for an age.
Henry and Adam read the Nordlandic newspapers they’d gotten earlier, looking for anything important or suspicious. But the newspapers were disappointing and filled with propaganda stories such as “Five Ways to Show Your Support for the Chancellor,” or inventive recipes that could be cooked with the standard food rations. At this, Henry snorted. It was a crime in the Nordlands to teach women to read, and then they put recipes in the paper.
He flipped to the next page, an illustration of how
to recognize different types of “heathens,” with grossly drawn caricatures and a list of places where heathens had been recently spotted.
There was an article on Morsmas, the upcoming holiday celebrating Chancellor Mors’s birthday, and one on appropriate ways to celebrate, and an interview with a woman whose town had been recently searched as part of the policing agency’s new initiative.
Twyla Ulkins, 47, was delighted when a policing agent came to search her quiet suburban neighborhood of Little Septimus, South Nordlandshire, under the new laws.
“Now I feel safe,” said Miss Ulkins, a washerwoman. “I never know what my neighbors are up to—some could be hiding heathens in their basements! But after that nice young policing agent came to inquire, I can sleep safely with the knowledge that there’s nothing to fear here in Little Septimus.”
Finally Jem and George dropped off to sleep. Henry and Adam changed into their plain, rumpled clothing and crept out into the hallway.
“I’ve never had a strong opinion on the harmonica before tonight,” Adam mused. “But now I bloody loathe the thing.”
Henry snorted. “Do you know what time it is?” he asked.
“No pocket watch.” Adam shrugged.
“Me neither,” Henry said.
They tiptoed past the scullery and into the kitchen. It was nearly midnight. The kitchen was dark, the fire in the hearth banked and flickering feebly. A wooden stool was pulled up in front of the fire, and a fat bald man sat upon it, snoring loudly, with a mangy dog at his feet. A set of keys dangled from the man’s belt, stamped with the Partisan School insignia.
Henry made a face and tiptoed past. Adam did the same, edging toward the wall and away from the dog, which opened one eye and growled in warning at the two of them. They stepped out of the kitchen and into the corridor beyond, where they were to meet Frankie.
Henry leaned back against the cold stone wall and breathed a sigh.
“There’s nothing in the newspaper,” Adam complained.
“I know,” Henry said. “And that’s what worries me.”
“How do you mean?”
“It’s obvious that anyone with a brain isn’t relying on the
Common Comrade
for their news.”
“Do you think there’s some sort of secret newspaper?” Adam asked.
“I’m certain of it,” Henry said. “And I want to know what it says.”
“Know what what says?” Frankie asked, startling them. They hadn’t heard her come around the corner.
“Blimey, don’t do that!” Adam complained.
Frankie wiggled a stockinged foot at them. “All the better to sneak with. And at least
I
thought to bring a candle.”
Henry had to give her that.
Frankie grinned, tossing her braid over one shoulder. She still wore the modest maid’s outfit, and without her shoes she seemed smaller somehow, and more delicate, as though she needed protecting.
“What are we looking for, exactly?” Adam asked.
“Anything suspicious,” Henry said. “Combat training rooms, weapons, odd books, secret newspapers. I’m not really certain what. Just something that we can bring to the lord ministers as proof that the conscription laws
need to be changed, or that the Nordlands have violated the Longsword Treaty.”
The three of them followed the twisting dark corridor until it deposited them in the main entrance hall, at the foot of an enormous staircase that branched in two directions.
“Any preference?” Henry asked.