Once a Princess Read online

  “Mom,” Sun whispered leaning her forehead against the cold metal of a locker.

  Her mother had taken them in, though she was old. And trenchantly conservative. You don’t change woman of eighty, you upset them. Sun thought of her mother’s wrenching hands, her angry tears, during their last fight—over her giving Sasha fencing and martial aret lessons. She needs to be a lady not a boy-girl, or she’ll turn out like you! At least Sasha had known her grandmother for a year, long enough for Sun to get on her feet and find work, before Granma slipped away after a massive stroke, leaving them on their own yet again.

  Time to go.

  So. A quick look down. The shirt was roomy and long, the riding trousers voluminous. An old faded sash, belonging to Math, was next. After tying it around her middle she sat on the dusty floor and pulled off her sensible pumps. And no one had ever seen nylon stockings.

  Her old cotton-wool socks fit over her feet and then the soft greeweave mocs, cotton-lined inside, nubbly outside where the waxy leddas strips were woven. She stood and bounced lightly on her toes, loving the feel. The shoes were flexible, yet gripped the ground. A person could fight in those shoes. Or run. Or sit comfortably through a rainy night listening to ancient ballads—She shook way the memory, bent down, her first instinct to bundle all her American clothes into the locker. That would not do. Who knew when she’d be back under what circumstances? Maybe tomorrow Maybe never. If so in twenty-five years (for she was paid up that long) whoever emptied it out would find things tidy.

  She pulled out the last item, a short knife her husband had given her. She hadn’t brought her sword. It would have gotten her arrested in seconds. But the knife she could tie on under her trouser leg.

  When she was done she straitened up and opened her purse. Nothing in there was needed except one item, which she slid out and held tightly as she put the purse, with all her money and papers, into the locker shut it. Locked it.

  And without allowing herself time to worry she spoke the words she’d never thought to speak, stared down at the gleaming gold transfer talisman in her hand—magic ripped her apart and reassembled her on the other side of the world gate with all the sensitivity of a giant swatting a gnat.

  She landed painfully on her knees and bowed her swimming head. Yoga breathing, in, hold, out, hold. In hold out hold.... when her stomach settled she performed some cautious yoga stretches. Very slow stretches, for fifty-year old hips and ankles aren’t as forgiving about sudden jars as twenty-year old ones.

  Gradually sound and sense returned. She picked up the transfer talisman that had fallen from her fingers and tucked it into the deep pocket in her trousers. Then looked around the tower Destination chamber, apparently unchanged all these years, except by wind and weather blowing through the narrow arrow slits.

  She steeped cautiously out into the ancient dining room, and there were all those age darkened tapestries hanging on the walls, as she had remembered. Lets see the old shortcut—hardly a secret passage as everyone had used it—lay behind the middle tapestry. On the opposite side of the room, the big carved doors led to the grand stairway and the great hall below.

  Where there were voices.

  She paused. The voices were male and at first echoed exasperatingly. The corners of the room were full of dust and spider webs, indicating no one had been around for years. Yet here and there the dust had been disturbed. One of the old tables lay on its side the other had been shoved ito a corner, its top mostly dust free.

  So who was here? Sasha? No female voices—as the speakers became more distinct she realized two things. One they were coming up the grand stairway and two , Canary was speaking.

  Was it really Canardan Merindar? She shook her head. No she would not mistake that charming baritone voice, the musical laughter. And they were coming strait here.

  She tiptoed to the middle tapestry and slipped behind it, poised to run.

  Moments later the voices abruptly resolved into audible clarity meaning the speakers had entered the room through the main door.

  “...they had that door locked. Signs they’d been in here. But by the time my men got the door opened they were gone.”

  “There’s supposed to be another entrance,” Canary said. “Probably behind one of these rotting rugs. Leave it for now. Where is the destination chamber? Ah.”

  The voices diminished slightly as the two passed into the tower, but Sun heard Canary say, “There’s still a strong sense of magic in hear. I don’t know enough about transfer magic to gauge how long it would linger. Nothing else. All right.”

  “The voices got louder. “Tell me again about the fight in the court. Samdan said it was two men who’d joined those Eban brats.”

  Eban breats! So steward Eban, or at least her children, are involved, Sun thought. She was Math’s most loyal—

  Listen!

  “... the pirate or the other?”

  “The other, fool. Why do you hesitate?”

  The second voice lowered into embarrassed formality. “pardon me, sire. But reports did conflict. I report only what I heard. I did not witness the fight myself. Samdan maintains he was at the front, but he was first down a cut over his eye, then another in his knee. So his glimpse was merely that. But he insisted that, beside the Ebans and the pirate Zathdar, there was a young man in strange garb, a white shirt with odd letters. Tall with a hawk nose, like the old king. Hair worn back in many braids.”

  They had stopped. Sun turned her head, pinpointed them by sound: standing by the old refectory table that had been shoved into the far corner.

  “Well?”

  “It was Lankinar who insisted this person was actually a female. He said that the clothes were quite strange. Trousers much like deck trousers on ships, yet different, the shirt mad like body singlets, but worn with nothing over it. So it was revealing, ah...”

  Amused despite herself, Sun wondered how Mr. Official Voice was going to get around the sorts of personal details that no one ever seems to like discussing in official reports to your superior, whatever world you are on. Especially when the personal bits belonged to the likes of kings, queens and so forth.

  The man cleared his throat and tried again in a tone utterly devoid of human emotion. “ehat Lankinar insists is that there was no male body in those clothes, and most of the others now agree. They saw a man possibly because they expected to see a man, possibly because she was tall, possibly because she fought as well as the pirate.”

  “Hawk nose, you say?” Canary let out a long breath. “Damnation. There back. Or at least one of them.”

  “Who sire?”

  “Never mind. Now my last question. Where is my son? All of you have been avoiding that question,” he added grimly, with a hint of the old laughter Sun remembered. “which is why I had to drop my own work to oversee his. Is Jehan drunk in a tavern somewhere? Or holed up with some pretty minstrel girl who caught his eye?”

  “Uh, no. Sire. Prince Jehan did detail the extra ridings to us, you’ll remember.”

  “Don’t excuse hime. Tell me where he is.”

  “He rode down to Sarendan. A sculptor. Famed, he said. Wanted to pose for him. Present you with a marble bust as a surprise.”

  Canary gave a bitter laugh, and Sun remembered him long ago saying, my boy is too much like his mother. His heels rang on the floor as he moved through the door. “Finish the search, and send someone to remind Jehan that art, though no doubt admirable, must wait on events...” their voices faded.

  Sun leaned against the mossy wall. Tall, many braids, hawk nose. Sasha was here. She was alive. She was also free, and had escaped Canary’s clutches, despite a fight.

  All right then. Food first. Sleep. Where to begin the search? The brief reference to a pirate made no sense but “the Eban brats” did. Obviously Sasha was on her way to Steward Eban. And so thither go I.

  Chapter Seven

  One of the many euphemisms for chamber pot is “Necessary”. I can introduce the necessary topic once and then never ag
ain. It was a relief, oh what a relief to be able to use the Waste Spell.

  When I was ten and new to Earth, I had to learn about toilets. Let me sum it all up in one word: Yuk. The waste spell did work—sometimes as magical influence ebbed and flowed through the gate. But since using the spell involves saying the word at the same time you let go, well you can imagine how trustworthy that spell turned out to be on earth.

  We paused and drank from a stream, after which I used the spell, celebrating inwardly at the notion of no more restroom hunts.

  We rode on.

  Conversation was tense and desultory, mostly between Elva and her brother as they brandgled about where to go. I was so tired I only wanted to sleep s ii was content to follow, listen and breath in the fresh air. Zathdar seemed busy keeping watch.

  When it was too dark to travel, we camped in a small clearing under a clump of lowhanging willow. When Elvva and Devli began yet another argument about whether or not they could risk a fire, Zathdar said, “you have a fire stick, right?” and on their twin nods. “No one will search for ths same reason we’re camping. They can’t see to travel at night any better than we can. As soon as we get these animals rubbed down, I’ll pace a perimeter, make sure the fire isn’t visible.

  Elva pulled the packs off the horses before Devli and Zathdar led the animals a few yards away to where a stream trickled. Elva took a fire stick from her pack. She snapped it into flam and made a gesture that would keep the flame low.

  Presently Devli returned and sank down with a sigh. “horses are fine.”

  Zathdar returned shortly after. “as I thought, these woods are dense. Fires’s invisible on all side but from up the trail. Whichever of us is on guard could probably hear any pursuit before they could see the glow.”

  Devli mouthe the word “Guard?” and Elva scowled again.

  Zathdar hitched the rapier over his shoulder on a baldrick, checked the other blade, then chose a grassy spot from which he could see the trail and us. While the siblings exchanged low-voiced talk about bedrolls, feedbags and stored food, I took out my plendid embroidered blanket to spread on the soft green grass.

  In the sudden silence foliage rustling in the summer breeze and the snap of the low fire were distinct. The ruddy glow revealed three faces staring at the glinting firebirds embroidered in gold thread on the scarlet background, surrounded by silver-edged white blossoms.

  “If anyone wants proof of who you are,” Zathdar commented, “that banner is it.”

  “Right now,” I said, fighting a yawn, “it’s a bedroll. In the morning it goes back into my bag. And no, I won’t ditch it. My father gave it to me.”

  Devlaen stared at me, Elva stared at the firebird blanket and Zathdar glanced in the direction of my bag, then waya into the darkness.

  Nobody spoke.

  I fell asleep so fast I don’t even remebmber stretching out.

  Crackling twigs woke me, and the smell of fresh tea. The sky through the trees was low and gray, the air cool and misty. I sat up, shivering and accepted gladly a somewhat battered travel cup from Devli , whose face looked as grimy as mine felt. The tea tasted like a fine Gyokoro green tea at home, refreshing and above all, warm. I’d forgotten that summers on this world were usually cooler than earth’s. Khanerenth lay at the eastern end of the enormous continent that stretched a good way around the southern hemisphere. Most people lived on this continent, I’d learned in part because there was more sun, but in part because some of the northern lands were weird and wild, not conducive to humans building cities.

  Elva snapped the fire out, and picked up the fire stick to stow away in her pack.

  “Where is Zathdar?” I asked.

  “He was gone before we woke.” Elva grinned. “hope that means for good.”

  “No.” Devli cocked his head.

  We all heard the thud and cruch of horse hooves on the trail.

  Elva flushed, though we could all see that he was as yet to far away to have heard.

  Zathdar appeared, leading his horse by the reins. “time to move briskly. The king investigated the tower himself last night. And he knows you are here.” A glance my way.

  Elva put her hands on her hips. “You found this out how?”

  “I dispatched watchers before I met up with you. I also set up a possible rendezvous, which I kept while you were all asleep.”

  “Watchers.” Devli said only the one word, but the look he gave his sister made it clear that once again they’d forgotten an important detail in their own plans.

  Elva scowled as we mounted up. The horses, refreshed after a night of rest, trotted with head-rocking enthusiasm down the narrow trail.

  We were low enough now to see the bread stream that all the mountain trickles were feeding into. The constant rush of white water paralleled us as the trail twisted between steep slopes, green with tough grass, gnarly pine and moss-covered rocks. The mist increased to drifting streamers of fog; the forest canopy was so thick we heard the constant splat splat splat of water on leaves.

  I stayed out of their sporadic talk which was mostly about the trail and where the searchers might be.

  I was awake and alert enough to consider my options. The day before all I could do was follow along and try to keep my eyes open. Now, though I was hungry, thirsty, still tired, at least I could think.

  So...what should I do? No use in going back to the castle. Even if I knew any world gate transfer magic, which I didn’t if the king’s men were there I’d walk straight into their clutches without them having to break a sweat. And while we’d managed to fight our way free of yesterdays guys, I wasn’t going to count on that twice. Especially alone.

  That left me with my companions. Should I ditch them? Good thing: they had rescued me from capture in the courtyard. Bad thing: at least two of them had been part of forcing me through the world gate in the first place. Therefore I did not owe them anything.

  We paused once on a cliff, and I drew up beside Zathdar. He slanted a questioning look at me. I said, “I assume the world gate tower is guarded.”

  “You can’t go back. There watching for you to do that.”

  I laid the reins along my horses neck. The animal obligingly swung round and stopped, blocking the trail so the brother and sister drew to a halt. “before we go on I wish you would tell me why you forced me through that gate.”

  Devlaen sent a pleading look at his sister, but she studied her saddlebag as though it held the one ring.

  “I told you.” Devlaen fiercely rubbed grit from his eyes. “it was a promise made to your father. If he vanished we were to wait ten years, then perform a specific spell. It brought us a letter he’d written, telling us where you and your mother were. But the letter disappeared, and we were afraid the king also got that information. We thought it best to get you two safely back here, where we could guard you.” His face reddened. “I know what that sounds like. But we were ging to bring you only for your own good!”

  “I decided against a pithy opinion about what they could do with their notions of “my own good”. “Go on.”

  “My mage tutor was certain they were ordered to offer you anything you wanted if you would go back with them. They were not well prepared. I don’t think anyone was surprised when they came back empty handed, but rumour has it the king demanded tat they cross over to that world before we could. So when they returned without you or your mother, they had the world gate transfer magic to build all over again.”

  My father had told me that transfer magic took weeks and weeks to make. It was actually a complicated layer of spells put on those transfer tokens. “The king’s mages being two older guys? One gray haired?” I asked.

  Devli grimaced. “Magisters Perran and Zhavic.”

  “My mother mentioned them once or twice. It seems weird that they knew my mother, yet came after me first. And tried to trick me! Truth, honour, sinister castles, secrets—”

  Devli shrugged. “All that is in the records. When your mother first came, she sai
d she liked such things. So the mages tried to lure you with them, the fools.

  “Yes but at least they tried truth and justice. They didn’t pretend to be a lawyer!”

  “Heh.” Devli’s shoulders now shrugged up around his ears, which were red as his face. He said with the air of a guy picking his way over a minefield, “when your mother wouldn’t come with me, I had to find you. It took some time, because you’d just moved. And seem we’ve notes from your father. About what he really saw on that world. So I had to find you, lay a false trail for perran and Zhavic, and put together a paln. And. Um.”

  “Lied and tricked me. Yes as I just said. What I’m trying to get at is why.”

  “I told you they’re after you—”

  Zathdar had been watching the sky the fog blurred treetops and the shadowy trail that vanished under the forest canopy. I couldn’t see or hear anything amiss but apparently he heard enough to cut in, “I think the rest of the explanation should wait on more trustworthy surroundings.”

  Without waiting for an answer he urged his hores down the trail, and we followed, Elva with many backward glances. Beyond the next bend we found the white water of the river where our mountain stream poured in. The bend after that revealed that the river had smoothed and widened. We rode along its bank. I clutched my gear bag to my side, whishing I had more answers. One thing seemed certain, on land I had more freedom of movement. On a ship, I’d be stuck.

  We rounded the last hill and there anchored fore and aft in the middle of the river was a pirate ship.

  I had the haziest memory of ships from childhood due to the nighttime smugglings on and off and being hidden in holds. Since then, I hadn’t learned much more beyond what I’d read in the novels of patric o’brian, but when I saw that graceful, wickedly lean schooner with its tall, raked-back masts, the long gaff mainsails and the reefed topsail, the narrow hull with the half-deck forcastele and aftcastle, I knew instantly it could be nothing but a pirate ship.