The King's Guard Part 6

Again, I notice Miria watching me. "Do you have something to say?" I ask.

She shakes her head.

Lucio straightens his collar and tugs down the hem of his shirt. "It was wine from your family the merchant was selling. A shipload just arrived from Ventierra with an early harvest red."

"My brother's ship," I say. "He is-was-going to come visit me when they made port in Brisadulce."

I'm thinking about whether I should try to meet him here in Puerto Verde when Miria says, a bit archly, "What progress have you made?"

I sigh. "Well, I've ruined a priceless book with bad drawings." I lean against the bedpost, thumbing through the book. "The mayordomo took me on an impossibly quick tour of the fortress. I had to demand more time so I could make sketches."

"He's catalogued every room in the tower," Fernando says in a pained voice. He patiently kept watch while I sketched.

I shake my head. "If they have something to hide, it's not in the tower. The mayordomo made a point of showing me all twelve chambers, which they now use for storage. They're cold and damp from the ocean, crusted with sea salt. Some of the walls are badly cracked. The whole place is gloomy and awful; only five chambers even have windows."

"Six windows," Lucio says.

"I'm sure it's five," I say.

He's looking over my shoulder at the sketches. "Those drawings aren't that bad."

"The author made these." I flip the pages and start showing him the sketches in the margins and in back. "These are mine."

Lucio winces. "Are you sure that's a room?" he says. "It looks like a wagon."

"From this angle," Fernando says, c.o.c.king his head. "It's kind of pretty. Like a flower."

"Very funny, both of you. What I lack in talent, I make up for in thoroughness. I measured each room by step, took notes of all the details. We didn't see anything suspicious."

Miria leans forward. "If there's an extra room, it's well hidden."

Lucio nods. "There are definitely six windows in the tower."

"How did you count six?" I ask Lucio.

"From the docks, looking up. I was trying to imagine the story." He shifts on his feet, looking shamefaced. "About the rescue of the princess."

For the first time in days, I feel a sense of hope. "If we rescue this princess," I say, "it'll be because of you."

Lucio startles at the praise, but his expression goes quickly blank.

"A hidden room," Miria muses, tapping her forefinger to her lip.

"She has to be there. She has to be. If we figure out which one, maybe we can get a message to her through the window."

"Let's all go for a walk," Fernando suggests cheerfully.

Given Solvano's tremendous wealth, it's a wonder the Fortress of Wind is in such disrepair. We stroll across crumbling ramparts, wade through overgrown gardens, clamber over the barnacle-encrusted foundation. Everywhere we go, someone watches us-usually a guard, sometimes a servant-always at a discreet distance.

We're able to match a few windows with my sketches, but by afternoon, we reluctantly agree that we won't get a good enough view without some distance from the tower. So we claim a desire to do some shopping, and head down to the market wharf.

We pretend to browse and sightsee, gradually navigating the maze of docks that twists through the harbor like tree roots. Lucio leads us down an empty jetty that takes us as close to the tower as possible-which is not very close at all. We look up, shading our eyes as the afternoon sun washes the tower in fiery orange, and we finally find what we're looking for.

No wonder it was impossible to spot from a nearer vantage, for it is small and inset-barely wide enough for an arm to fit through. It lies three-quarters of the way up the tower and faces directly west. It's just low enough to catch some ocean spray, which makes the wall too slick to climb.

But the window is open.

"Think she'd hear us if we shouted?" Lucio says.

"That high up? With that surf?" The waves pound at the foundation, then retreat to swirl dark and deep. "If we yelled loud enough, it would bring everyone in the fortress down on us." The wind whips around us, pulling at our hair and clothes.

"Fernando," I say.

"Yes?" He is looking around for danger, as he has been since I tasked him with watching my back. This jetty seems abandoned; the planking is worn and missing in places, and what's left is covered in gull droppings. But I'm glad he's on the alert.

"You won the king's archery contest," I remind him.

"True, my lo-" He stops short of calling me "lord." He's done that a couple of times now.

I point to the window on the tower. "Anyone can put an arrow through a man at short range. I need you to put an arrow through that window."

He sizes up the distance, the target, and the wind, and doubt flows across his face. "We're not on solid ground. And this is a terrible angle. Maybe if I got directly in front of it? But that would mean getting into a boat, which would be even less stable. . . . No, this is an almost impossible shot. Even for the best archer in the kingdom."

"I'm looking at the best archer in the kingdom," I say. "And I believe that you can make it."

"You want to put a note on the shaft and send it through the window," he says.

"Exactly." He watches incredulously as I take out my charcoal stick and write in my book: Isadora, if you need aid, give us a sign.-The king's envoys.

I tear the page out and hand it to Fernando, who folds it around the shaft and ties it with a piece of spare bowstring. "The added weight and drag of the note does make this an impossible shot," he mutters.

"You can do it," Lucio says.

Fernando draws, sights, releases. The wind catches it and carries it out to the ocean.

The next one bounces off the stone wall and falls into the swirling waves below.

So it goes, shot after shot. I have just torn another page out of the book when the wind whips it from my hands and carries it into the water. I am ruining my mother's priceless gift, and possibly for nothing.

"This is my last arrow," Fernando says.

He waits until he feels a dead spot in the wind. I hold my breath. He lets fly. This time the arrow looks as if it will miss, but it curves toward the narrow slit at the last second, hits the edge, and bounces inside.

We break out into cheering. "I can't believe you made it," Lucio says, and his huge grin makes him seem positively friendly and pleasant.

"You said I could!" Fernando replies.

"I was lying to make you feel better."

Miria is looking back toward the busy docks and the sh.o.r.eline. "I hope no one heard us," she says. "Or saw us shooting at the tower."

I frown. "I think it's safe to a.s.sume that word of our actions will reach Lord Solvano within the day. As soon as we hear from Isadora, we'll have to move fast."

And then we wait, a long time, with no reaction, no response.

The sun grows too hot. Lucio sweats like a beast, which I realize might be more from dumping his wine than the heat. Fernando polishes his bow with a rag, muttering about damage from salt.w.a.ter spray.

"It was a good plan," Miria says eventually. "But if she's hidden somewhere else, if she's not in that room . . ."

"She has to be there," Fernando says, with all the fervor of someone who can't bear to waste a perfect shot.

"Maybe she needs something write with," Lucio says.

"We'll wait," I say.

Suddenly, an arrow flies out the window. The sunlight glints off something bulky as it drops, spinning end over end and hitting the wall twice before taking a final bounce into the sea.

I whip off my shirt and plunge into the cold waves. Fernando yells at my back-something about rocks and surf. I dive into an oncoming wave and come up the other side. Treading water, I try to figure out where the arrow went in and where the waves might have taken it next. My heart sinks as I realize there is only one place to go-the sharp rocks at the base of the tower, where the waves would pound my bones to sand.

Just then something bobs to the surface, mere yards ahead of me. I stroke forward as a wave crashes over my head. I come up, sputtering, but so does the arrow. I grab for it. It's heavier than I expect, because it's attached to a waterskin that has been filled with air and stoppered. Smart girl!

I swim back toward the jetty-at a diagonal to keep the waves from pushing me under-all while holding tight to my prize.

"What is it?" Lucio yells. He and Fernando grab my arms and help me roll up onto the wood planking.

I get to my feet and bend over, breathing hard for a moment. Water runs off me as I hold up the arrow and its attached waterskin. Tied to the shaft is a familiar ring, one I have seen many times. It has a ruby as large and red as a cherry, in a setting of tiny pearls.

Lifting my head up toward the window, I say, "Hang on, Isadora. We're coming."

12.

"WE make our move tonight," I tell everyone as we head back to the tower. "They'll have noticed our outing today."

"Not to mention your obsessive cataloguing of the tower," Fernando grumbles.

I nod. "We can't give Lord Solvano the opportunity to smuggle her away."

"This might require force," Lucio says, in his most menacing voice. I'm glad he's on our side.

"Or bribes," Miria says. "It's easier to bribe a fearful servant than a happy one. I think I know where to start."

"We'll be ready for both, if needed."

"Will we just walk out the front door with her?" Fernando asks. "If Solvano has her locked up, he has a reason. He'll use his guards to stop us."

"We're going to need a lot of bribes," Lucio says.

"When we get her out of the tower, we'll sneak her along the ramparts to the wall on the harbor side. That's only a fifteen-foot drop."

"You can't drop her that far!" Miria says.

"We'll lower her with a rope. We'll have the horses there, with an extra mount for her, and then we'll ride out of the city and back to Brisadulce. We'll be there before Lord Solvano knows we're gone."

Everyone thinks about this for a minute.

"I don't have any better ideas," Fernando says.

"It could work," Lucio says.

"It could work if we had enough money on hand to bribe servants and guards, buy rope and other supplies, and purchase a horse," Miria says. "That will cost us a small fortune that we don't have."

I think of the plaque Aracely gave me, the one that would give me a chance to start over again if I don't make the Guard.

"I have a small fortune," I say.

Three sets of eyebrows raise, but no one doubts me.

Buying things with jewels instead of coin is problematic; everyone thinks you're a criminal, and everyone overcharges. Nevertheless, by sunset we have everything set. Fernando and Lucio wait below the wall with five horses and supplies. I wait in my room, a coiled rope inside my shirt, a loose cloak over my shoulders. I trace the letters of my now-ruined plaque. Harsh winds, rough seas, still hearts.

Miria arrives with a nervous serving girl, the awkward spy who waited on us the first day. We have paid her enough money that she can leave the city and find work elsewhere. Miria has promised her an interview at the royal palace if our plan succeeds.

"Thank you for helping us," I say.

"She was always nice to me. It's not right, what he did" is her answer.

"What did he do?" I ask.

"You'll see soon enough, if you're successful." She turns away. "If you're not, it's my life if I tell."

Though I press her, she will not say more.

With the servant girl in the lead, we hurry through the halls and into the tower. Our bribes have made the place eerily silent. There is only the crackling of our torches, the wind whistling against cracked mortar, and the surf pounding relentlessly below. Still, I listen hard for footsteps or the creak of armor. We could not possibly bribe the entire household, and those we did bribe can't risk being absent from their posts for long.

We wind up the tower stairs and into a storage room. I remember sketching this one. During the day, light filters in as sickly green, for the gla.s.s of the window is fogged over with brine and gull droppings.

The servant girl pushes aside an empty crate, revealing a door. No, it's more like a hatch, which we will have to stoop to pa.s.s.

"Wait until I leave before you use it," she says. "I mean to be far away."

"Of course," I say. "And thank you."