Over The Sea (32 page)

Clair nodded. “Glotulae wants those same laws in the land she's taken from us. Actually, she wants more. Clothing laws — so people don't dress above their rank. Laws about bowing and all that. And since we let them get away with the mess in the islands, well, she thinks she'll get away with it here.”

Irene grinned. “So if I win in the islands, do you think Fobo will go away?”

“I don't know. I doubt it'll be that easy. Here, even though it's small, she can call herself a queen. Janil said to me that if she goes back to Elchnudaeb, she's just the sister to the king, and though she's the heir, the king could get married. Then she and PJ would both be cut out. “

“You'd think she'd go back so she can keep him from marrying,” Irene commented.

“But they fight all the time, I'm told. He might marry a servant just to show her. In fact that's what he threatened, Janil told me, when she first took over here. She came here to show him how a kingdom should be properly run, and my mother did nothing about it. The king gives her money to help her plans, but I am beginning to think it's just to keep her out of Elchnudaeb. Her plans don't work, but he just sends more money.”

Irene snorted. “That means he's paying her to stay here and cause trouble for
us
instead of for
him!
That's disgusting!”

“But it's worked so far.” Clair sighed. “So anyway, Fudalklaeb put someone over there on the main island to take over, collect trade money that is supposed to come to us, and organize ship patrols so their criminals can't get away. And so there's been trouble between the people they exiled there, and the people in charge, who from all the accounts I've gotten are greedy, and getting worse. In fact, they keep asking Fudalklaeb for a big army so they can crush out all resistance. It was hearing that — Puddlenose told me — that really got me thinking and studying records, and trying to get into contact again with people who thought we'd forgotten them.”

“But how can
I
solve that mess?” Irene asked, making a face.

“By just getting into contact with the ones I can't get messages to — the people hiding in the mountains on the second largest island. See, I'd go, except they seem to have decided to hold my mother's mistakes against me. But Puddlenose said they have lots and lots of kids, all runaways, and so I thought, if you go, and be my representative, well, maybe they'll give me a hearing.”

Irene sighed. “
That
sounds like something I can do.”

“And I think if they really do care about the islands and want to put in fair rules, we can put them in charge, don't you think?”

Irene raised a hand dramatically. “I shall find out!”

So here she was, standing in the main city of Nat Island, which was also its main harbor. She'd thought it would easy to spot her targets and dazzle them — she'd chosen her very favorite dress, which really was a pretty one.

The transfer Destination was at the biggest square in the harbor's mid-point. As soon as she recovered, she marched confidently down toward the dock, where she saw the most people.

But when she looked around, she was overwhelmed by the sight of more people than she'd seen in ages — and all of them busy doing something other than paying her the least attention. Sailors in every sort of clothing sauntered by, some of them carrying baskets and barrels and rolled sails and various sorts of wood and rope; workers hammered, caulked, roared chants as people pulled at booms and lifts, a zillion little boats arrived and departed from the docks toward the ships riding the choppy green waters in the bay. Behind her, vendors sang, chanted, screeched, roared, over and over, enticements to the crowd to buy their wares — which ranged from nets to chicken pies. Savory smells mixed with the scent of old fish and ancient brine; bird darted through the air, squawking and shrilling as they dove for bits dropped by the humans.

And no one, at all, noticed Irene.

When she was thumped in the back by a row of men bearing a tall timber down the dock, and then elbowed in the side by someone rolling a barrel, she decided to move.

But where to? She wandered back up the quay toward the buildings. The first rows were all weather-beaten store fronts and warehouses and the like; the main road, very wide, had shops with painted signs and window boxes. Irene realized the air was much warmer than at home — spring-like, most definitely.

She kept wandering as the main street widened, ending after a time in a vast circle around which the grandest buildings had been built, mostly white-washed stone, high windows and lots of window-boxes with flowers in them.

The biggest building of all was at the midpoint at the other end of the circle, so it faced the harbor below. Irene headed in that direction wondering what to do next, when she heard shouts and an outcry. Through the big double doors a couple of kids shot like bolts from a crossbow, running as fast as they could. Both girls, one wheezing with laughter as she hugged something to her.

After them came a posse of guards, all toting halberds, which didn't make running any easier. The guards at any rate didn't run far; the girls separated at once, dashing into the thick crowd of people walking about. Irene spotted one of the girls farther on and set out after her.

Despite her fancy dress, Irene was very fast. She was used to running all over the forest with the rest of us girls, and in particular it took practice to keep up with Diana's speed. Besides, the girl was carrying something, which kept her arms close in.

Irene kept glimpsing her as she darted in and out of crowds; they started up one of the side streets zigzagging up the green hills that surrounded the harbor, until Irene saw her quarry stop, and hand something to a boy, who whirled around and loped up the street, his long legs carrying him much too fast for Irene to follow.

Besides, she really wanted to talk to the girl — and there she was!

“Stop! Wait!” Irene yelled, breathless from her run.

The girl paused, looking back, her long black hair swinging over a scruffy tunic of green, and old kneepants, baggy stockings, and much-repaired mocs. All the colors she wore were forest colors.

“Wait, I want to talk to you,” Irene said.

The girl frowned at Irene, took in her clothes, then dashed between an oncoming cart laden with barrels and a crowd of sailors singing a song. When Irene had gotten round all these obstacles, the girl had vanished.

Irene stood there, turning round and round hoping to catch sight of the girl again, but she didn't, and Irene sighed with disappointment. She remembered that scornful look at her dress, and realized the girl probably thought she was from the Elchnudaeb, even though she'd spoken Mearsiean.

She put her hands on her hips, staring down at the harbor town, which nestled along the gentle hills that cupped round. How to find anybody here?

Of course! Weren't the castaways and criminals hiding in the hills?

Irene chose the steepest street that seemed to lead directly out of the harbor town, and started toiling up. The shops gave way to houses, mostly boarding houses from the signs, and then small cottages spaced farther apart, and finally the cobbled road abruptly ended, becoming a well-traveled trail.

Irene followed that round and up, passing occasional people on horse or donkey-back, often pulling little carts full of leddas and what seemed to be some sort of fruits with hard rinds.

She was tired, thirsty, and hungry by the time she reached the top of one of the hills. Pausing, she surveyed the blue and sparkling sea, then turned around. The harbor city was smaller now, looking like a toy city with its honey-colored cobbled roads and all the tiled roofs and fruit trees and window boxes and whitewashed buildings.

The hills above now seemed huge. It would take days to flounder around in them, and that's if she stuck to the trails she could see bisecting the thick green growth. The weather was warmer than home, enough so there were lots of evergreen shrubs and trees.

And Irene knew what to do.

She left the road and struck into the jungly forest, pushing past huge, broad, dark green leaves that felt like leddas, ducking past ferny hanging trailers and vines. The smells were so different from the forest at home — sweet, sometimes cloyingly so, sharp, bitter, with an overlay of wet mud — but there were some familiar scents, mostly herbs, and familiar sights, like foot tracks.

And, after a while, owl hoots while it was still light.

She realized she was not only being watched, but paced, when the bird calls — so much like the signals she and the girls used at home — echoed not just around but ahead.

She kept walking, wishing she hadn't worn this gown as she tried to protect the ribbons and lace from the thick shrubs. Mostly she just waited for someone to come out and
say
something. As she walked, other plans flitted through her mind, imaginary encounters with those guards — chases — anything, to catch the attention of the people she was supposed to be talking to!

The long shadows were blending together into dusky blue, hiding vines and roots for her to trip over when at last she reached a clear space, and what seemed to be an abandoned hut. But it was not rotten or dusty inside. In the corner a bedroll had been put — no mold, no dust. The fireplace ash was cold, but looked relatively fresh.

She realized she'd reached an outpost, and she was meant to think it abandoned.

So she walked outside and put her hands on her hips. “I need to talk to you,” she shouted.

Her voice echoed from a distant mountain, just a scrap of sound, sounding like a bird. Otherwise all she heard was the steady whistle and whoosh of the wind against her ear, smelling of the sea.

She felt stupid, then shrugged inwardly. If there really wasn't anyone listening, then no one would hear her being stupid, right? But if there was ...

“I don't come from Elchnudaeb, and I hate the Auknuges,” she shouted. “I'm a Mearsiean!”

See-ah, see-ah
, the echoes said, mocking her.

Irene sighed, rubbed her eyes, then sat down right where she was, heedless for once of her beautiful gown — which was already filthy and torn from her struggle up the mountain.

She did not have long to wait.

From the very same trail she'd used, three girls emerged, one younger, two older. They all stared at her with the wary question Irene knew so well.

“So who are you?” asked the oldest. She wore ragged, patched clothes in forest colors. All three did. One was barefoot, the others wore mocs.

Irene did not know anything about politics, and little about history, but one thing she did know were girls, especially girls in groups. “I'm here to help,” she said, and watched the others for signs.

Sure enough, two girls glanced at the third to see what she'd say, and so it was to her that Irene added, “I was sent.”

The leader crossed her arms. “By? And why?”

“I'll tell whoever your leader is,” Irene said. “But I have to meet her, or him, first.”

“And if we don't like what you say?”

Irene shrugged, resisting the urge to touch her medallion. “Guess I go away.”

“Or die,” the smallest girl said, smirking as she glanced up at the other two for approval.

The second girl sniggered, but the leader waggled a hand and they fell silent. “Can you at least say about what?”

“About getting rid of those fatwits from Elchnudaeb,” Irene said.

The leader gave a short nod. “Blindfold,” she warned.

Irene sighed. “I figured that much.”

And so it was. A long, dreary march ensued. She was sure the girls led her in circles, slogging into a nasty swamp and through extra thorny shrubs, and though she let out a few good pocalubes about the trail, she didn't about the people — and heard a couple of muffled snickers at some of Faline's more inspired insults, not to mention mine.

They finally stopped, and the blindfold was pulled off. She found herself in a kind of tree city. Ropes, trapdoors, and all kinds of clever devices made it plain that people had been living there for a long time — and were used to disguising the place quickly.

A young man, stocky, pleasant-faced, came forward, flanked by more grown-ups. They were all dressed in mostly green and browns, worn clothes, patched shoes.

“I'm Obas,” he said. “Who are you?”

“Irene,” said she. And, gulping in air, “I'm here to represent Clair, um, that is, Queen Clevarlineh Sherwood of Mearsies Heili.”

Whispers — not all that friendly — made Irene's ears twitch, the first time she'd ever felt that sensation. Obas pursed his lips. “Why?”

“Well, see, she wants to help. That is, she doesn't know quite how to, but she wants you to know that you are not forgotten, just because her mother forgot you. She's trying to learn queening, see?” Irene was talking fast — forgetting all the grand words that she'd rehearsed back in the safety of her room in the junky, when she'd carefully chosen her best dress. Nothing was going as she'd imagined. The dress had been a mistake, and she knew instinctively her fine speech would have been worse.

But did she make Clair sound stupid? She stopped abruptly, her face heating up.

The girl who'd brought her pointed. “You did good on the trails,” she said.

Irene turned her way. “That's because we girls have gotten used to patrolling the forest. The Chwahir and the Auknuges think they can take land just because a girl is queen. They're learning they can't.”

More whispers. Not as unfriendly. Obas pursed his lips again, and nodded. “Thing is, you were followed, and the searchers are making their way up here.”

Irene gasped. “But — blindfolds — we were circling all around — “

“We found out they were on your trail right after we met you at the first post,” the lead girl said.

Obas added, “They sweep through every so often, anytime anyone comes up this way, actually. And we have our evasion plans. But before we get moving, we need to talk to you. What exactly does your queen wish you to tell us, and why isn't she here herself?”