The Queen of Mages (45 page)

“I believe that you mean every part of that
oath,” Amira said. She let go of Iris’s hand and turned to her
husband. Dardan stared down at her with disbelief written plain
across his face. If anything, she seemed to be grinning at him. “We
had better get going. Garen is out in the square, waiting. I can
see his spark.”

He took her hand and stepped close. “You are
mad,” he murmured to her.

“Yes.” She gave him a quick kiss and went
out into the square.

Katin clipped a sheet to the clothesline,
then peered around it. Master Coalridge was yelling at someone at
the far end of the caravan—she was quite familiar with that tone by
now—but she couldn’t make out the target of his wrath.

Maggie glanced at her. “Susan! Quit
dallying, or the master’ll have your hide.”

Katin realized she’d been staring. She
grabbed a pair of trousers from the washtub and wrung them out.
Coalridge was quick to make his displeasure known, especially when
someone was slow or lazy. He was not cruel, not exactly, but the
brute little man gave no quarter if he thought someone was
shirking.

Laundry mistress. That’s what she’d been set
as. She didn’t mind the work, but it left her sore each evening, on
top of the fetching and carrying she had to do during the day. When
the caravan stopped, the clotheslines came out, and Katin had to
get the linens and dresses and trousers cleaned and strung up to
dry overnight. Tonight her assistant was Maggie, a pinch-faced girl
who gossiped endlessly and whose careless tongue had drawn the
sting of Coalridge’s hand more than once.

Supposedly everyone in the caravan took a
turn at each chore—to break up the monotony—but of course none of
the wagon owners ever got assigned to assist with the laundry. Only
the apprentices, and sometimes a guard who’d done something to earn
Coalridge’s ire.

Worse, tonight the caravan hadn’t stopped
until just before sunset, and by the time Katin had gotten the
washtub ready and the clothes soaked, twilight was upon them. A
campfire and a few torches gave more light now than the fading
sky.

The caravan was camped outside Averhel, a
walled town on the edge of Barrowmere County. Katin had been
dismayed when they’d turned south into Barrowmere, which sat in the
Dukedom of Tidemere, instead of heading east into Seawatch, but she
would not risk their cover by complaining. “Susan Smith” did her
work and stayed out of trouble. Liam had suggested they steal
horses and make for the coast, east past the Stormrest Hills, but
Katin thought it better to wait until the caravan drew closer to
the coast on its own.

The town magistrate and half a dozen hastily
deputized constables had emerged from Averhel to tell the caravan
they’d have to camp outside the walls, even though the gate was
still open when they arrived. Everyone heard Coalridge shouting at
the magistrate, who replied firmly that no strangers would enter
the town until morning.

Katin looked up at the sound of footsteps.
She smiled to see Liam walking toward her. “Dear wife,” he said to
Katin. “Good evening, Maggie.”

Katin heard irritation in his voice.
“Husband,” Katin said.

Husband. He had the perfect excuse, but
still he hadn’t tried to bed her. She was grateful; she’d lain with
men before—strangers—but ever since Parvis, the idea of bedding
anyone chilled her.

He kept his distance now, watching her as
she hung up sheets and shirts and wash-up cloths. “No work to do,
Mister Smith?” Maggie said as she scrubbed at a dress.

“No trade today, so nothing to put in the
ledgers. Tomorrow’ll make up for it, though.” Liam—“Oliver
Smith”—had been assigned to help with the account books Master
Coalridge kept in his wagon. Katin would gladly trade with him, if
she could work with numbers the way Liam had been taught. Sitting
in a cozy wagon all day sounded a sight better than scrubbing
stains from underclothes.

“What was all the shouting?” Katin
asked.

Liam rubbed at his chin. “I, ah, made a
suggestion about the ledgers. Master Coalridge thought I’d best
shut my hole until I learned a thing or two.”

Katin shook her head at him. “You ought to
know by now he doesn’t want your ideas.”

“Is it my fault if he wants to waste a dozen
crowns a year because he doesn’t separate sundries from dry goods?
Honestly, I’ve no idea how the man got this far.”

“Let sleeping dogs lie,” Katin said.

“Don’t let him hear you call him a dog. I
think he might have fleas.” He scratched comically at his hair,
making Maggie laugh. Katin found herself glaring at the girl.

———

Master Coalridge pounded on the town gate
the instant the morning sun peeked over the trees. The magistrate
came back and threatened to bar them from the town, until Coalridge
threw him a small, jingling pouch. The gates opened soon after, but
the magistrate still had every member of the caravan questioned.
Katin had no idea what he wanted; he only asked her where she was
from and how long she’d been with the caravan. She answered as
truthfully as her false identity allowed, saying she was from
Hedenham, where she’d joined the caravan. The magistrate eyed her
dubiously but told the guards to let her pass.

She’d had to pack up the laundry, which
hadn’t completely dried in the cold night. It was damper here than
Hedenham or even Cleavesport had ever been. So once the caravan
rumbled to a halt in Averhel’s town square, Katin had to bring the
laundry out again, to dry in the rising sun. Maggie helped,
grumbling about wasted work.

Katin nearly screamed when the magistrate, a
petulant old man with beady eyes, told her she had to take the
laundry down again. They wouldn’t tolerate such an unsightly
display in the middle of the town square, he huffed at her, as if
it were obvious. She went to Coalridge to ask if there was anything
he could do, but he waved her away. “You’re bothering me with this
rubbish?” he barked, counting through coins and scratching numbers
on a sheet of parchment. He didn’t even bother to look up at her.
She glanced at Liam, sitting beside him and double-checking the
caravan master’s arithmetic. Liam only glanced up for a moment,
smiling helplessly, but he could not say anything. “Go deal with
your problem, girl,” Coalridge growled.

She came to a compromise with the
magistrate. Three of the wagons—the ones with the caravan’s
supplies, and bunks for the apprentices, that weren’t used for shop
fronts—could be pulled around into an open square, and she could
put the laundry between them. That way the laundry wouldn’t be an
eyesore to the town’s residents. For the fourth side she could use
the wall of the magistrate’s office, which sat at one edge of the
square.

It still took half the morning to get the
laundry stowed again, get the horses hitched up to each wagon and
pulled around to the right position, and then get the laundry out
and strung up. Katin’s arms ached by the end of it, and it was not
even noon.

Maggie, who’d been helping, left as soon as
they were done. “I’ll tell the old dog you’re finishing up, if he
asks,” the girl said, eyes crinkling. Katin was glad for her help,
even if she did natter endlessly. Luncheon would come soon, and
Katin wanted to rest a spell first.

Katin perched on the back step of one of the
wagons, hidden from prying eyes. She rubbed at her sore arms. She’d
never had to work this hard, not even at the brothel in
Cleavesport. At least then she’d had a real bed, even if she shared
it with two other girls, in a cozy room in the back. Living out of
a wagon was a mad existence.

Well, the wagon owners were all mad enough
to do it. She couldn’t understand why someone would choose to live
on the move like that, never settling down in one place. When she’d
come off the streets, a safe place to call home had been a prize
beyond measure to her.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock.
She jerked to her feet, fearing it was Coalridge coming to growl at
her, but instead she saw the handsome face of Cameron Longwood, one
of the wagon owners, peeking around the edge of the laundry wagon.
“Lunchtime, love,” he called out in his soft baritone.

“Oh, it’s you,” she sighed, relieved.

“You thought it was old Coalridge come
calling,” Cameron said, stepping out and leaning against the wagon.
Katin realized he was blocking the only way out of the little
laundry pen she’d made. She stood and waited.

Most of the caravan folk wore linen or wool
in dull shades. Cameron always went about in fine, bright silks.
Today he had an embroidered doublet the color of flaxseed to
complement his sandy hair, with scarlet stripes down the sleeves
and matching scarlet trousers. Cameron insisted on washing all his
own clothes, for fear that “a clumsy lowborn girl like you might
damage them.” He’d said it so apologetically, she’d taken a while
to realize he’d been insulting her. And lowborn? He was just as
common as her! The memory incensed her all over again, but she
tried not to glare at him.

He watched her for a few seconds, a
permanent smirk twisting his lips. They were nice lips, on a nice
face, but Katin mistrusted him. He fancied himself a ladies’ man,
always flirting with the girls, or at least the apprentice girls.
The two female wagon owners were wise to him. And so was Katin.
Besides, she had Liam.

“Well, if it’s lunchtime, let’s go eat,” she
suggested neutrally.

Cameron smiled at her, and stepped forward.
“You’re too pretty a girl to stay laundry mistress forever,” he
purred. “I bet you could learn to be a proper trader.”

She felt like backing away, but held fast.
“I’m not much for numbers. My husband’s better at that.”

He came closer. “Oh, it’s not just numbers,
girl. There’s a certain knack to it, a willingness to…” He glanced
down at her feet. “Stand your ground,” he finished.

She lifted her head a little, trying to look
defiant, and crossed her arms. “Thank you, no.”

He stopped close. Too close. “A word from me
and you could be sitting pretty next to your man, working the
ledgers rather than breaking your back at laundry all night.” He
reached up and caressed her chin.

Goosebumps broke out all over her at his
touch. Reflexively she slapped away his hand and drew her
dagger.

Cameron lurched back, startled. Katin
circled wide around him and backed out of the wagon pen. She
slipped away the dagger and forced herself to walk steadily toward
where everyone else had gathered for luncheon. The altercation had
started her heart racing, and the sight of other folk made her feel
safer.

A cauldron steamed over a fire next to a
wagon the color of spring leaves, with garlands of golden flowers
painted all over it.
JANICE BRIGGS—VOLCANIC VICTUALS
was
written on the side in white letters. Janice herself stood over the
cauldron, stirring absently. Few enough townsfolk had come to visit
the caravan, and only a few men had been brave enough to try the
spicy dishes she served up. Most of the apprentices had lined up
already, bowls in hand, ready for soup and bread.

Katin ended up in line behind Stump, the
enormous, muscular chief guard, who said a pleasant hello. When
Katin saw Cameron pass by, looking irritated, she moved halfway
behind Stump. She felt much better when Liam came up to the line a
few moments later and took her hand.

Katin’s stomach grumbled as Janice declared
the soup ready and started ladling portions into waiting bowls.
Katin had gossiped plenty with the other girls, and they all
despised Janice’s cooking. Everything was much too spicy, and the
bread she made was bland and doughy. The men all complimented her,
though, which probably had less to do with the food and more to do
with her glossy raven hair and her enormous breasts that bulged out
of her bodice. Some days Katin suspected that was the only reason
she was still in the caravan at all. Janice’s bosom would have to
be made of solid gold to get David Coalridge’s attention,
though.

Katin’s turn came and she took the soup and
bread graciously. She and Liam retreated to the laundry wagon and
sat on its back step. It was as close to private as they could
get.

Or it would have been, except Maggie and
Amanda came rushing over. “Susan! Goodness, you won’t
believe
what we just heard,” Maggie cooed. Amanda, a skinny
redhead who bobbed like a bird, nodded energetically. “Tell her!”
she encouraged Maggie.

Liam put down his bowl and took Katin’s
hand. “Let me guess: someone in the caravan has done something
scandalous, terrifying, or hilarious,” he deadpanned.

The sarcasm went unnoticed. Maggie nodded
vigorously. “Master Coalridge,” she whispered, and then stopped to
look around warily. “Master Coalridge is
sleeping
with
someone.”

“What, right now?”

“No, silly,” Maggie said, touching Liam’s
arm for a moment. Katin glared at her, her grip on Liam’s hand
tightening. Apparently “Oliver” holding hands with his “wife”
wasn’t enough to dissuade the girl from flirting. Maggie went on,
heedless. “I overheard Mister Venn talking to Miss Li, and he said
something about ‘David’s little blossom,’ and winked at her!”

“So who is it?” Liam asked.

Maggie shrugged. “I don’t know.” She gasped.
“Maybe it’s Miss Li herself!”

Katin snorted. Tall, graceful Li Saong
bedded by stumpy, glowering Master Coalridge? Certainly stranger
things had happened, but Katin didn’t think it was a likely
match.

Liam leaned forward, his face set in a sober
mask. “That would be serious indeed. Keep us informed if you find
out anything else.”

Maggie’s eyes widened. “S—serious? Why?”

Liam glanced around furtively and leaned in
even closer. Maggie and Amanda bent down, straining to hear as he
whispered. “A caravan master who plays favorites with his wagon
owners risks breaking up the whole enterprise. Why, if suddenly
Miss Li’s wagon is moved to the front, the other owners will
wonder. Then will come the accusations, the fighting, and one day—”
He clapped his hands sharply, making them all jump, even Katin.

The silence hung for a moment as the two
apprentice girls stared at each other, mouths agape. Maggie turned
back to Liam and nodded. “I’ll keep my eyes open.”