The Spy
The gate opened a crack. Batya’s eyes fell on me and her dark brows drew down. Only when she opened it a bit wider did she see Tamar. I stood braced for questions, but Batya merely stepped back to let us both in the courtyard.
“You are a prophetess,” Batya said after bolting the door. There was no question in her voice.
“I am Tamar bat Yoram. I have come to help with the bread—if you will have me.”
“She has hardly slept in three days,” I said, afraid Batya might put her right to work. “Nor I since Shabbat,” I added.
“Come in and eat, then you may both rest. I can manage the baking today. You are welcome in my home, Tamar bat Yoram.”
Hot bread was less tempting than sleep. Bypassing the kitchen, I went straight up the ladder and dropped like a stone onto the straw bed.
Ovadia shook me awake early in the afternoon. “I hear you’ve had a busy few days?”
I pushed myself into a sitting position. “I’m so sorry I’ve messed everything up.”
He waved away my apology. “The main problem was we needed your help with the baking, but I expect Tamar will prove equally capable.”
I allowed myself a laugh. “What will you have me do now? Remain with the musicians?”
“Now that Zim knows you’re here, we have no choice. We can’t risk having anyone so close to Yambalya grow suspicious.”
“I could still come help in the mornings. Zim rarely wakes before midday.”
Ovadia shook his head. “Sooner or later they’ll wonder where you’re going.”
I had failed. Much as I hated baking, at least it helped keep the prophets alive. “I understand. I’ll go live with the musicians and find work where I can. I’ll bring whatever copper I earn for you to buy grain.”
Ovadia’s grin grew wider as my voice sank. “Oh, I believe you can still contribute more than that. In truth, I’ve had another role in mind for you from the beginning.”
“What? Why have you said nothing about it?”
“Batya thought it too dangerous, and she needed your help with the baking.”
“And now?”
“Now you’ve already brought danger upon yourself, and produced a substitute to help with the bread.”
All this time I felt Batya’s resentment, and she had been trying to protect me. “This role is no worse than baking, is it?”
“Oh, I daresay you’ll appreciate it more.”
“What is it?”
“I’ll say no more until I am sure it will work. For now, do the following—take today’s bread to the cave, and when you return, go directly to the musicians’ quarters. Let them think you’ve just returned from Levonah. If any of them invite you to play tonight, say you’re exhausted from the journey. Once they’re all gone, come here.”
Ovadia stepped over to the ladder. “I must return to the palace before the King misses me. We will speak after sunset.”
“You want me to spy on Izevel?” I stared at Ovadia, my jaw wide open.
“It’s crucial that I know what happens in the Throne Room.” Ovadia paced before me. “Izevel makes her most important decisions in private, but you might still learn enough in the Throne Room to ward off disaster.”
“You’re the palace steward. Can’t you go into the Throne Room whenever you want?”
“Yes, but whenever I’m there these days, it’s not for long. Izevel usually finds some trivial mission to send me on. It’s clear she doesn’t want me around.” Ovadia stopped pacing. “That’s why I need you.”
“What will I do?”
“You will be my eyes and ears, invisible before Izevel, seeing all she does without drawing any notice.”
“How can I see without being seen? You intend to hide me?”
“I said invisible, not unseen. She will see you every day, just as she sees the carvings on the wall. Do your job well, and she will pay you no more notice than she pays them, less even—the carvings were made by a master craftsman. You were made by a peasant woman of Israel.”
None of this made sense. “She’ll kill me if she catches me spying on her.”
“Not right away. First, she’ll torture you until you tell her everything you know about me and the prophets.” Ovadia patted me on the cheek. “So make sure you don’t get caught.”
“I can’t just stand in the Throne Room watching.”
“Of course not. That’s what makes you perfect for this job. You will be doing what comes most natural to you.”
Why must he speak in riddles? “Which is what?”
