Discovery

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Sir James dead? Hannah stood still, as stunned as William.

William snapped at the guard, “Explain yourself.”

“They said he fell ill while on the stairs. He never made it to the dungeon. He was dead when they discovered him, just a short while ago.” The guard spoke so fast his words nearly ran together.

Hannah slumped into a chair. Her new ‘uncle’ and protector dead? As was her father? Who were these people that held power so highly that they would kill any who stood in their way? She wept for Sir James, and her father, as well as the situation she found herself in. I was better off lighting the morning fires.

Then a coldness settled over her, a curtain as solid as iron. They died because someone wished her dead. She glanced at the bowl containing the grapes, and her head snapped up. They had been placed there for her to eat, but anyone could enter and take a handful, and that showed how callous the murderers were. If the grapes were poisoned others were in danger.

She turned to the guard, who still looked stunned and unable to protect himself, let alone others. “He died from eating grapes from that bowl. Poisoned grapes. You need to take them somewhere and dispose of them where nobody and no animals can eat them. Do not touch the grapes with your bare fingers. Do it now.”

The guard reluctantly took the bowl into his shaking hands and carried it away from his body as if what was inside might suddenly spring free and attack him, which it might. Hannah watched him order another guard positioned in the hallway to lead him and open all doors while he kept both hands on the bowl.

William wrung his hands and closed the door to the hallway. He drew in a deep breath and said to her, “I’ve been with Sir James my whole life and his death has not yet hit me. But I know him, and I also recognize the power in a person. You needed the fruit disposed of, but it did not have to be done this instant. It was a means to clear the room, so just you and I remain.”

“I trust you.”

“We are almost related, being an uncle to the King’s Knight.”

“He died because of me.”

“Do not twist things to make yourself feel better. He died because someone murdered him. You are in no way responsible.”

“What will you do now?” Hannah asked.

“I will retire to a small farm I own in the uplands. It is my family home, the place where I was born.”

“You worked for Sir James all these years. How did that happen?”

“He requested my services from the King.”

She considered crying for a time and instead resolved to stand firm. Crying could come later. “The King told me to let him know if there is anything I need. I need you. Will you allow me to make that request of him?”

“To work for you?”

“Yes. It may be dangerous, and has cost the lives of two, already. I’ll understand if you refuse.”

William stood taller and straightened his shirt. He said, “Sir James has taught me to live bravely and with honor. I appreciate your offer and accept it as I know he would expect.”

She shook her head. “No, you don’t do this for him. Or me. You do it for yourself and if you fail you have only yourself to blame.”

William said, “He did mention that you may be thirty-five-years-old instead of twelve.”

“Eleven.”

“In that case, I accept. Do you have a plan?”

“I do. At least I think I do. Sir James told me to run instead of fight until I have the advantage. He said never fight an even battle or where the other has the advantage.”

William nodded. “I’ve heard him say much the same thing.”

“Good. My biggest problems are that I don’t know the rules of the fight we are in, and I don’t know the players. Do you agree with those?”

William nodded again.

He seemed to be reconsidering his agreement to help her, and she talked faster so he would understand. As the only person, she trusted, she needed him. He did not need her, nor the job she offered. “I’m going to hide. I think I know the perfect place and with your help, it will work. Then you can go to your farm until I send for you if I do.”

William rose and placed the bar across the door. He went to the terrace door and made sure there were no ears out there listening. “Speak softer. Tell me your ideas.”

“My father, the Mage, lived here in the palace. He still has his apartment, I heard.”

“He has. . . had, a large suite, mostly filled with his library and work spaces.”

“It is locked; I assume?”

“Most certainly. He has many valuables in there.”

“Is it possible for me to sneak in there and you bring me food in secret? Nobody will know where I am?”

William paced the room, almost talking out loud as he considered the idea, found problems with it and solved them. He said, “People will know someone is living there because of the deliveries and the lights in the windows, but a little misdirection may handle that. What if I sneak you into those rooms and deliver enough food for several days? You can keep from burning candles while dark; the nights are warm, so no fires are needed. We can hide you for many days.”

“I’m talking about longer than that,” Hannah said.

“So am I. That is where our misdirection will come in, and the help of the King.”

“King?”

“This is what we will do. After I take you to his apartment, I’ll send guards searching for you, telling them you ran away. I will also speak to the King and ask him to request another mage to replace your father. He will wish to interview them, and he may ask them to work in your father’s apartment on projects until he decides which of them to appoint as a replacement.”

Hannah placed her hands on her hips and curled her lip. “That will help me, how?”

“There will be no apprentices interviewed for the position of Royal Mage. There will be you, but it gives a story of why there will be food and water delivered, as well as why there is light in the windows.”

“And since everyone will be searching for me they will not think it might be me instead of mages in his rooms?”

William wrung his hands again. “I hate to sound so deceptive, but after you have run off, I intend to have sightings, all in the same direction of the countryside, one or two a day. I’ll offer a reward to be paid by the King. And I will ask the King to bring in several apprentice mages for interviews and tests.”

“The King will agree to all this?”

“Not The King. Your King will. After all, you are nearly sitting on his throne as we speak. However, as a backup plan, if he does not agree with all I’ve said, I suggest we still do as Sir James suggested. I think you should run. And I know the perfect place.”

“Where is that?” Hannah demanded, expecting him to suggest his small farm or some other isolated location.

William lowered his voice. “The sorceress who helped you. I think we should have you pay her a long-term visit at the first opportunity. It would be too dangerous to travel to her now, but soon.”

Hannah found she liked the idea. She liked all of them. First, she would hide in her father’s apartments while everyone searched elsewhere. Then she would make her way back to the tall trees and ask for help. While there she would be safe and learn how to become a sorceress if the woman would have her. She said, “You have the ear of the King.”

William said, “I often speak with the King in private. It has become part of my duties over the last ten or twenty years, and it is expected of me.”

“Have you an idea of how to get me to his apartment?” Hannah wished she had more of the no-see-me spell, but wouldn’t dare ask another sorceress to make one.

“We must do it quickly before people are searching for you. Now would be a good time.”

“Now?”

“Wait here.” William left the Knight’s suite and returned moments later carrying a folded cloth. He dumped it out on the table near her.

“A uniform?”

“That of a maid. Nobility never looks at maids. There are so many in the Palace that even they do not all know each other. Put it on and cover your hair with the kerchief. We need to leave now.”

“So fast?” she asked.

“Word of Sir James’ death will spread fast. I’m his associate and will be recognized, so I’ll weep and make a scene, while you traipse behind me, handing me crying towels. You won’t draw a second glance.”

Hannah accepted the smock the maids wore and pulled it over her dress. The kerchief slipped over her hair, and she stuffed as much blonde hair inside as possible. William went to the door and sent the single remaining guard on an errand, then as soon as he was out of sight, handed Hannah the remaining cloths. “Keep your head down, no matter what’s said. When I reach back to you, hand me a cloth and in the name of all five old gods, don’t speak.”

William went to a chest and rummaged through a drawer. He withdrew his hand and held up a key before slipping the thong around his neck and tucking the key in his shirt. “In case Sir James needed something, your father made sure he had access to his quarters.”

He led her out of the room, down the hallway and around a turn before seeing anyone. When he did, William put both hands to hands to his face and moaned loudly. The woman obviously recognized him and spun away, disappearing down another hallway. The next encounter was a man who kept his eyes locked on William’s face until he passed them and continued. Not once had he so much as glanced at Hannah.

They passed several more, men and women, but none spoke to William or greeted him. A few did turn to Hannah as if to wonder why a servant walked the same halls as they, but the crying William answered that. William, it seemed, was related to Royalty and known by all, but was not one of them. She wondered how that could be if he and Sir James were related, but there seemed to be relationships she didn’t understand. In her world, there were mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters. Beyond that, she knew there were uncles, but not much more. I have a lot to learn.

They descended a set of stairs and entered a hallway darker and with less artwork on the walls. The walls were smoked solid black above the torch holders, and the few exposed beams had also turned black through the ages. Hannah realized they had entered an older part of the Palace, one not frequented by as many Royals.

She wanted to ask why they were in the poorer section of the Palace when William took them up another staircase, after casting her a final warning to be quiet. At the top, they faced a newer hallway, wider and longer than any she’d seen. At least ten noblemen or noblewomen were ahead, gathered into small groups or walking alone. They wore clothing sewn with gold threads, buttons shining of pearl, and jewelry that glittered of precious gems.

When they caught sight of William they yielded way, a few mumbling their sorrow at his loss. William had been right; the entire Palace seemed to know already of Sir James’ passing, as well as that of the Old Mage. She may have made a mistake, but there seemed to be an air of excitement about them. She examined them as she followed William, thinking that a few may have moved a step or two closer to becoming King or Queen this day.

Near the end of the hallway, William removed the key from the string around his neck. The passageway continued past a few doors before coming to a T. William had the key ready, and at the proper door, he inserted it and turned. Hannah heard the click of a well-oiled lock and followed him inside as the door opened only enough to slip from the hallway.

The door shut quickly, but not before William looked out one more time.

Hannah stood and peered at the room her father must have entered a thousand times. Ten thousand. She saw a floor made of stone blocks worn smooth through the years. A makeshift kitchen filled the nearest corner of the large room, the crocks, mugs, jars, and dried foods obvious.

The rest of the room stood open, perhaps twice the size of the massive sitting room in Sir James’ apartment, however, instead of furniture groupings and tables placed to hold food and wine for guests, there were tables, cabinets, storage units, and boxes piled one on top of others. The walls were rows of shelves, each containing books, scrolls, charts, and items of value or interest.

Hannah moved to a shelf and examined the bare bones of a fish, the insides and skin missing. A red rock that glittered sat next to it. She reached for the rock and pulled her hand away, blowing on her fingers. It was red from it being hot.

William had watched. “I would be very careful before touching anything in here.”

“Did he leave traps or triggers?”

“For intruders? I don’t know. I never heard of him doing that, but he may have.”

William sparked a taper to life and used it to light a candle. Hannah resisted rushing over and helping him with the chore, but she also saw the tears streaming down his cheeks. He turned his back to her and fell to his knees where he cried silently.

Hannah moved carefully around the room, finding it filled with thousands of interesting items. Some wore labels, others not. Since she couldn’t read, it didn’t matter what the words were, but on one bottle she saw the familiar skull and crossed bones and knew to stay away from it.

Another door opened into a rather plain sleeping room. The bed was raised, which was a sign of wealth, but other than that, the room was fairly empty. A set of drawers stood in a cabinet taller than her, and two chests sat side by side at the foot of the bed. Another door opened onto a secluded, flat area that overlooked the rear of the Palace, the back-alley places where they stored mundane items like wagons and tools for stonework, where crooks, thieves, and scoundrels gathered to plan their next assault on the good people of the palace.

Harsh smells dominated the rooms. Sour, sweet, rank, and dank all blended together. Together they combined into what might be called interesting, but not necessarily offensive. She recognized the rotten egg smell of sulfur and the damp of earth stored in pots.

The shelves of research material lining a full wall drew her interest. Sir James had told her that her education would consist of four parts, reading and writing the most important. She knew the alphabet to speak it, but nothing else. He had stressed that the other three parts came after reading, and she intended to make it so.

William stood aside, a short man with thinning hair and a bland expression, yet she knew that inside he was special—and her only friend person who cared about her, other than the King. She watched him watch her with interest. As her fingers brushed the top of rock carved into the shape of a turtle, to her lifting the lid of a wooden box to peek inside, she felt his eyes on her.

“I need to read. That is the first thing.”

“I can teach you that, but it will take valuable time we do not have. They would miss me, and people would wonder, and then they would guess, some of them correctly.”

She turned to him and fought down the flush she felt. “Listen, this is all interconnected, and I must read to survive. Reading opens the way for learning. What do you suggest?”

William didn’t react to her anger. Instead, he said, “I will give you the beginnings of reading, and you will have to find ways to amuse yourself for at least thirty days.” He went to a desk and stacked all the papers on a nearby table. He sat and began to use a quill and ink. After a few letters, he halted long enough to use the pen knife to slice the nib of the feather into a sharper point. He continued printing as she moved closer and watched. It was the same as with her mother so long ago. The letters and strokes were familiar, even if she didn’t remember it all.

When he filled the paper with two lines of tiny letters, he set the quill aside and blew to dry the ink. Then he pointed to a stack of blank paper and said, “You can say the letters, now you will learn them. Print each letter in order and say its name out loud. Make them look exactly like mine. When I return later, I expect to find letters on both sides of the papers and I will test your memory.”

“Will you bring food?”

He laughed as if she said something funny and headed for the door. “A caution. Make no noise that might be heard outside these walls.”

She watched him open the door and slip outside before sitting on the same stool at the table as he had. When will I eat? She lifted a quill and examined it. The feather felt odd in her hand. Instead of dipping it in ink, she moved the pointed nib over the first letter that William printed, realizing she hadn’t followed the lines. If there had been ink, she would have an unrecognizable letter to begin. She traced it again. And again.

Then she moved to the next letter. It grew boring by the third letter, and she reached for a piece of paper. With the ink on the quill, she drew the first line of the first letter. The slant needed to be more, and the first stroke of the A was too long. Her letter was twice the size of that she copied. She tried again. The ink smeared. Again.

Half the page was filled with attempts before she managed a reasonable likeness to the first letter, as she said it out loud each time she made it. Her hand cramped and she shook it to relieve the pain. But she knew how to make a letter, and she knew which one it was. It was a start.

Standing, she shook her hand again and decided to examine the bedroom closer before working on the second letter. If she lived here, she would hide anything personal in the room where she slept so sneak thieves couldn’t enter and find it without waking her.

The bedroom had its own smells, unlike those in the other room. It smelled of old stone, soap, and a man. She stood near the center of the room and made a slow turn, looking at everything carefully. This was the room her father had slept in for years—she didn’t know how many. It also smelled of oak, pine, and the soft male scent was almost hers. Familiar, but slightly different. He was a mage and consorted with Kings, but blood-related. She knew he held many secrets, and part of his occupation was dealing with secrets. Within his apartment would be where he would conceal them, the bedroom even more so.

Hannah had once hidden a broken copper clasp she’d found, and the nail from a horseshoe in her room. Others shared the room, and most were not above stealing from her. She had used the nail to scrape away old mortar below the window where water seeped in when it rained. The mortar had turned soft and came away easily. After placing the nail in the slot she’d carved out, she wet the mortar she had removed with spit, mixed it and smeared it back into the crack. The clasp went on the lintel above the door, just a small ledge barely wide enough to hold it. But who would climb on the broken chair to look?

She went to the chest of drawers and searched the contents of each, placing each item on the bed after she unrolled or unfolded it and felt along each seam. She found nothing, but that only encouraged her. It meant her father was careful and hid his secrets well.

She removed the drawers, one at a time. Each was felt for secret compartments, turned over to look at the bottom and back, and examined the inside of the cabinet itself. Hannah found no compartments or hidden objects. She shoved the empty cabinet aside and examined the floor and the wall behind.

Standing back at the center of the room again, she said, “I didn’t expect to find anything there, but the chests are next, then the bed. Then the rest of the room.”

The first chest held linens for the bed. The second was locked. She had choices. Breaking the lock would make noise, trying to pick it might take days, but finding the key would let her in right away. “The Old Mage would keep the key nearby,” she mused, allowing her eyes to do her searching. Searching for the key was different than searching the entire room for who knows what.

The bed. It stood on legs that rose taller than she could reach, but her father was short, barely taller than her. Smiling to herself, she realized anyone else searching for the key would come to the same conclusion. The room lacked a chair to stand upon, but the bed itself would allow her to reach the top.

Before stepping on the white linen, she removed the blue slippers and stepped up. A quick scan of the four posts revealed nothing, so she slid her hand up the first post, fingers wrapped around it to feel her way. The second post, the other one at the foot of the bed, held nothing either. She went to the third post, and as her hand reached near the top of the post, her fingers found a cavity facing the wall.

Inside the cavity felt cold, like the chill of iron. Her fingers deftly removed the key, and she returned to the chest. Delicately designs flowed on the leather covered wood, with thick iron bands rusting around either end. It looked old but well made by a master craftsman. The lock hung in front, large, intimidating, and promising security with its size.

The key turned easily. Hannah removed the lock which was almost as large as her palm and set it on the bed, then drew a breath before lifting the top. It lifted as if it weighed nothing.

Inside were unknown items, none looking important or valuable. She muttered, “He probably hid the good things at the bottom.”

She pulled out a book with tiny scribbles for writing and instantly recognized the first letter that she’d been practicing. She removed other books and a fancy scroll of heavy parchment. Then a necklace made of shells rattled and drew her attention. It held no value as far as she could see, but yet he’d stored it in a locked trunk. A child could make a similar necklace if he visited a beach. There was an old worthless knife, poorly made and coated with rust. A leather bag held promise until she dumped out several stones, which looked like plain old rocks found anywhere.

Flat, rectangular items wrapped in white linen drew her attention. She placed the first on the bed and removed the cloth. Inside was a detailed painting. About to put it aside, she hesitated. The painting was a young man, a woman of the same age, and a child. The child drew her attention.

She carried it to the only window and pulled back the drapes enough to allow a beam of sunlight to illuminate the painting. The face of the child was hers.

No, she decided. The child was a boy, and he shared features with the man, and with the woman. He was their son.

But he looked like her. As she peered at the three closer, she realized the boy was the Old Mage, the other two his parents. The family resemblance was clear. Her hands trembled. She held a picture of her father—and his parents. In her whole life, she had never thought about family beyond a mother and father.

She placed the small picture reverently to one side and unwrapped another painting. This one was larger and held two people, her father, and mother. She instantly recognized both. She had almost forgotten what her mother looked like, but in the painting, she was young, vibrant, and beautiful. Her gown was blue, the same snapdragon blue color Hannah liked, and her father wore tights and a darker blue blouse. A gold chain hung from his neck and supported a yellow pendant.

She held the painting close to her and cried. The chest did contain treasures, but only those meaningful to her, and her father. Instead of state secrets, the locked chest held his past, his personal treasures. She could believe the ordinary rock were picked up on a family trip from the shores of a favorite lake. The tears flowed as Hannah remembered her mother’s face, and now she had something that would remind her of the two as long as she lived. She cried until she fell asleep.

“Hannah?” William’s voice called softly.

She shot up in the bed and realized she had fallen asleep with the painting next to her. She could have rolled over and damaged it. The call of her name came again, soft but insistent.

“In here, William. I think I fell asleep.” She put the linens over the paintings before he reached the doorway, but his eyes went to the chest before his first step into the room.

“I see you found the key,” he said. “Your father and I believed the notch in the bedpost sufficient to keep it hidden, but I see you found it.”

“You knew?”

“That chest contains your family history. It is yours to do with as you wish.”

“Can you tell me about the people? I mean, the ones in the paintings?”

William perched on the edge of the other trunk. “I can, but those diaries will provide more information—and in your father’s words. You should wait until you can read it for yourself.”

“I worked on writing until my hand got sore.”

He shrugged, “Nothing of value comes easy. Right now, you are the talk of the Palace, and the rumors are flying about the deaths of Sir James and the Old Mage. You may be hidden in here for longer than we planned. Either that or we will find another way out.”

“They won’t leave me alone?”

“The King has agreed to seal these rooms—for years if necessary.”

“Years? I can’t stay here for years.”