“You won’t be treated as a princess. I expect you to work as hard as everyone else and earn your keep. I won’t feed your horse, though. We don’t have the provisions for it.”
“I’d prefer the others not know my identity, anyway. And I’ll worry about my horse.” I’d taken several bags of feed from the stables before leaving the castle. It would have to be enough to get us started.
“If you bring trouble, I can’t promise you’ll be allowed to stay.”
“No trouble, I promise. I’ll leave before that happens.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Is that a promise you made to your companion? Is that why you’re here without him? You were fleeing before you brought him trouble?”
I clamped down on my emotions and blanked my face before he saw my pain and realized how close he’d come to guessing the truth. Except that, for Gideon, I hadn’t left in time to save him from misfortune. “Something like that.”
Falak snorted. “Something like that.” He turned and jerked his chin toward the animal menagerie tent, which was nothing more than an empty wooden frame now that the other workers had removed the canvas from its peaked roof. “Come, let’s get the rest of this packed away. Then, I’ll introduce you to Z’arta.”
“Z’arta?” I followed him to a wooden pole forming one corner of the tent frame. Another young man appeared at Falak’s side and handed him a shovel. Falak passed the shovel to me. I tried not to cringe.
“She is Camilla’s assistant and oversees the costumes. She’ll put you to work. I hope you’re as capable with needle and thread as you say.”
“I know needles plenty.” I pointed at the shovel. “But I’m not sure what you want me to do with this.”
Falak grinned, although nothing humorous showed in his smile. “Those tent poles are buried deep. Dig quickly enough and you might get them loose before the rain comes.”
I did not get them loose before the rain came.
One of the laborers who had helped with the folding of the main tent took pity on me as I worked in the mud, hands aching, feet sodden. If not for my Thunder Cloak, I might have melted away like sugar under the deluge. We extracted the menagerie’s wooden frame and carried the heavy timbers to Stefan, who stowed them in the wagon along with the stacks of striped fabric.
We worked by dim lantern light and the occasional burst of lightning. I ached for the storm, longed to feel it, connect to it through my own personal brand of magic, but Le Poing Fermé’s spell-work held fast, and I dared not strain against it for fear that those Magicians might sense my presence and track my location.
Around us the circus slowly collapsed, disappearing into the wagons piece by piece. When the last bits of rigging had been packed away, Falak found me huddled in the rear of the tent wagon with Stefan and Laromé, the man who helped me remove the menagerie’s tent poles.
“Come,” Falak said without preamble. “I’ve seen to your horse. Svieta has made room for her in one of the menagerie wagons. You can make a pallet in the costume wagon. Z’arta will have plenty for you to do tomorrow, no doubt.”
I followed him to a cart parked near the front of the procession. Silver millwork adorned the corners and roofline of the violet wagon, but no painted sign or murals indicated what I should expect to find inside. He fished a keyring from his pocket and unlocked a small door in the wagon’s rear. Inside, a taper burned on a worktable stacked high with scraps and trim of every imaginable color and texture. Buttons and beads spilled over the table’s surface in a haphazard array.
“Sleep here?” I threw my hands out at my sides in a gesture that encompassed the racks of clothing and bolts of fabric. “There’s barely room.”
Falak pointed at the floor where a pair of folded quilts awaited me. “There’s room.”
I sighed. “Better than the floor of a slave ship, I guess.”
“What?”
“Never mind.” Kneeling, I reached for the blankets. “Thank you for this, Falak. I won’t forget your kindness.”
He snorted. “Don’t thank me. All I ask is that you don’t make me regret my decision.”
“I’ll try my best.”
He swiped off his cap and held it over his heart before executing a quick, shallow bow. “Good night, Lady of Thunder.”
I settled on the blankets and reached for my sodden laces. “Good night, ringmaster.”
He flashed a crooked smile. “You figured it out.”
“It wasn’t hard.” I removed one soggy boot, and my toes rejoiced. “You might be the son of tricksters and performers, but you lead like a king. I also suspect you have more secrets than just that one.” I studied his gloved hands again. The way he always wore them suggested he had a need to keep something hidden. Perhaps he had scars or a birth defect. “I suspect someday you will owe me a favor, and I’ll ask for a secret as payment, the way you’ve done with me.”
He cocked his head and winked. “Perhaps.” His chuckles echoed through the wagon as he left, shutting the door behind him.
I finished undressing, removing my sodden clothing, all but my underthings, which had remained mostly dry thanks to my Thunder Cloak. After rolling myself in the quilts like a sausage in pastry dough, I curled on my side and closed my eyes. Images of Gideon’s crumpled and singed body swelled up from my memories. Instead of pushing the vision away, I held tight to it, reminding myself of my reasons for running. The image of Otokar and his assistants hauling Gideon’s unconscious figure into the castle compelled me. I would find the Fantazikes, or the Council of Magic, or whatever it took to reclaim my powers, and neither I nor anyone I cared about would suffer the consequences of my failings again.
Chapter 11
As predicted, my muscles moaned and complained when a knock at the door awoke me the next morning. I rose to open my little wagon door, letting in Falak, who entered the tiny space bearing a tray laden with a plate of eggs, salted ham, toast, and tea. My stomach growled.
“I thought I’d get no special treatment,” I said, accepting the food.
“Oh, you’ll have to pay for this.”
I arched an eyebrow and blinked at him, waiting for him to name the price.
“You’ll wash the dishes, of course. All the dishes.”
I set my lips in a stiff line, resisting the urge to frown. I had promised, after all. “But I can eat first, right?”
He nodded. “Eat. Dress. Then go find the green wagon near the end of the line. Gepennio will have hot water waiting for you.”
“Lucky for him, I’m an expert dishwasher.” I thought of Antonia, the kind and charitable proprietress of the Bull and Ram where I’d earned my keep scrubbing dishes for days on end. She and her brother, Antonio, had been some of the first friends I’d made on the Continent, and one of the first to prove not all strangers were my enemies.
“A woman of many skills is worth her weight in gold,” Falak said.
“What about Z’arta? I thought you said she’d have plenty of mending work for me to do.”
“Oh, she does. Believe me, when we are on the road, we have nothing but time.”
“When will we be stopping again?”
“Two weeks, maybe. We’re heading for Barsava.”
“I’d need to see a map to know where that is.”
He tapped his temple. “Here’s my map. Barsava is west. It’s the capital of Pulska. Then to Minuck. Then to Toksva, which, I’m guessing, is the end of the line for you.”
Toksva was the capital of Varynga. If I hadn’t found a better lead on the Fantazikes before we travelled that far, Toksva would indeed be the end of my journey. I’d have to admit defeat. But whether I would return to Prigha, and to Gideon and Marlis, was something I would decide only after I was certain I had no other options, and no other leads to follow. “Yes. I would part with you in Toksva, if I don’t find the Fantazikes before then.”
Falak nodded. “Eat your fill, Evie. There’s much work to do today, and you’ll need your strength.”
After licking my plate clean and shrugging on my dry but wrinkled shirt and trousers, I carried my dirty dishes to the green wagon near the end of the train and introduced myself to Geppenio, the circus’s cook. The hulking giant merely grunted and pointed to the huge pot of water steaming on the stove beside another burbling pot of what looked and smelled like soup. I arranged my dishpan while he observed like a brutish hawk watching a field mouse. When he was satisfied I wouldn’t ruin his neatly arranged kitchen or dissolve in a puddle of feckless tears, he grunted again and turned his back to me. The steady rhythm of his knife thudding against his cutting board filled the silence. Soon thereafter, the circus returned to the road, and the cook wagon rocked and swayed beneath my feet as we rolled along.
The procession stopped again at lunch time, and Geppenio dismissed me with yet another grunt. I carried two plates loaded with bread, butter, and cheese to the costumes wagon and met an unfamiliar young woman bearing a bundle of freshly laundered clothes, judging by the soapy odor emanating from the fabric.
