Alanna: The First Adventure (6 page)

A large hand tapped her shoulder. Startled, she looked up into the hazel eyes of the man Coram had called a thief just three months before.

“So—it's the young sprout with the purple eyes,” the man said pleasantly. “I was wonderin' if you'd fallen into a well.” His voice was rough and uneducated, but he spoke carefully. To Alanna it seemed that he thought about every word before saying it.

She grinned at him. Somehow this meeting didn't surprise her. “I've been at the palace.”

“Who's your friend?” Gary asked, looking at Alanna's acquaintance suspiciously.

“Allow me to introduce myself, young masters.” The man bowed. “I'm George Cooper, of the lower city. Will you take a cool drink with me? As my guests, of course.”

“Thank you,” Alanna said quickly. “We accept.”

George took them to a little inn called the Dancing Dove. The old man who ran it greeted him like a good friend, hurrying to bring ale for George and lemonade for the pages. When the drinks came, Alanna examined George as she gulped her lemonade. George said he was seventeen, although he seemed older. His nose was too big for good looks, but when he smiled he appeared handsome. He wore his brown hair cut short, like other commoners. Alanna felt something powerful about him, something almost royal. She also felt a very strong liking for him.

“You shouldn't be surprised at my lookin' you up,” he told Alanna. “Truth to tell, I like your looks. We don't see many with eyes like yours. You bein' from the country—you don't look it now, but you did then!—I thought you'd like to be knowin' someone in the city.”

“Do you always make friends on such short notice?” Gary asked sharply.

George looked at him a moment. “I trust my
instincts, young master. In my line of work, you learn quick to trust your instincts.”

“What is it you do, George?” Alanna wanted to know.

George winked at her. “I—buy, and I sell.”

“You're a thief,” Gary said flatly.

“‘Thief' is a harsh word, Master Gareth.” He looked at the big youth. “Why would you be thinkin' that I am? You've still got your purse, and what's in it. Or you had better.”

Gary checked and admitted, “I still have my purse. But why do you want to make friends with us? If you think we'll help you in the palace, you're wrong. Don't you know who I am?”

George met Gary's eyes, and in them saw clearly a great intelligence. One could sense that the boy had made enemies with his sharp mind and sharper tongue.

George read some of this, then relaxed. “I know well you're Gareth of Naxen, the Duke's son. I didn't look you up for professional reasons. Truth to tell, were you not with Alan, I wouldn't have put myself in your way. We're not fond of nobles here.” His smile twisted. “But I've the Gift. It helps me see more clearly than most. I knew I must meet Master Alan. In
fact, I've kept a close eye on him these three months. I don't ignore my Gift when it calls me.”

Gary shrugged. “I don't know much about magic, but that makes sense. Still—what can
Alan
do for you? He's just a little guy.” Gary grinned an apology to Alanna, who shrugged. She was getting used to such remarks. “And unless I miss my guess, you're the man the Lord Provost would most love to get his hands on.”

George nodded respectfully. “You're quick, Master Gary. All right, then. I'm what they call the King of the Thieves, the Master of the Court of the Rogue. The Court of the Rogue,” he explained to Alanna, “is all of us who make our livin' by our wits. It's ruled by a king—me, right now. Sometimes he's called just ‘the Rogue.' But mastery don't last very long here. Who knows when some young buck will do for me what
I
did for the king before me, just six months back? I'll need friends, when that comes.” He shrugged. “Still, it won't happen soon. Till then, why look a gift thief in the mouth? I can be a good friend to those who keep faith with me.”

Gary looked him over, then nodded. “I like you—for all you're a thief.”

George laughed. “And I like you, Gary—for all you're a noble. Friends, then?”

“Friends,” Gary said firmly. They shook hands across the table.

“And you, Alan?” George asked. Alanna had been watching and thinking, none of her thoughts clear on her small face. With his magic, would George know her secret? Then she remembered what Maude had taught her—having the Gift instantly shielded you from the magic vision of someone else with the Gift. For the moment George wouldn't be able to guess her secret, and even if he did, Alanna suspected a thief wouldn't tell his own mother the time of day unless he had a good reason.

“I'd like some more lemonade,” she said, pouring her tankard full. “The Gift must be pretty useful to you.”

“It's gotten me out of more than one tight place,” George admitted. “It helps me keep tabs on my rogues, so maybe I'll last longer than the king before me.” He drained his own tankard and set it down. “You need never worry about your pockets, or those of the friends you bring here. But be careful who you bring. One word from them and my Lord Provost gets my head for certain.”

“We'll be careful,” Gary promised. “Don't worry about Alan. He keeps his mouth shut.”

George grinned. “As I can see. Few sprouts—even ones sealed to the Rogue—could listen to all this and say nothing. Well, you'd best be gettin' back. If you need anything, send word through Stefan—he works in the palace stables. You'll find me here most of the time, and if not, ask old Solom.” He jerked a thumb at the innkeeper. “He'll fetch me quick enough.”

Alanna rose. She and Gary shook hands with their new friend. “You'll be seeing us, then,” she promised. “Good day to you.”

The two pages strolled out into the street. The King of the Thieves watched them go, smiling.

Several weeks later Duke Gareth called Alanna out of her mathematics class. Confused, she went to meet him.

He handed her a letter. “Can you explain this?”

Alanna scanned the much-blotted parchment. It was from her father. The letter was short, saying only that he trusted Thom would continue to do well.

Luckily she had her story planned. Looking up, she shrugged, her face a little sad. “He forgets, you see, I don't think he's ever been able to tell my brother and I—”

“My brother and
me
,” the Duke corrected sternly.

“My brother and me,” she repeated obediently, “apart.” She crossed her fingers behind her back and tried a guess. “I don't think he even let His Majesty know when we were born.”

The Duke thought this over and nodded. “You're right—he didn't. He hasn't changed.” The man sighed. “I hope your brother does as well as you. If your father cannot tell you apart, at least he can be proud of both of his sons.”

Alanna hung her head, hating herself for having to lie to someone like Duke Gareth. “Thank you, your Grace,” she whispered.

“You may go. Don't forget to write your father yourself.”

Alanna bowed. “Of course, sir.” She let herself out and closed the door. In the corridor she sagged against the wall. With luck, now Duke Gareth would believe all such letters were due to Lord Alan's bad memory.

She returned to her class, still feeling wobbly. There were real advantages to having a father who didn't care what she did.

But if the advantages were so wonderful, why did she feel like crying?

A
LANNA HAD NOT FORGOTTEN
R
ALON OF
M
ALVEN,
and he had not forgotten her. Usually they didn't meet, since he was beginning his training as a squire while Alanna was training as a page. When they did meet, Ralon made it clear they were enemies. He was simply awaiting his chance to get her.

On summer afternoons squires and pages alike ended their lessons with swimming as well as riding. They returned to the palace one such afternoon later than usual. Most of the boys hurried to their rooms to wash up. Alanna was wiping down her pony when
she heard a thud. Ralon stood outside Chubby's stall. His saddle and bridle lay on the ground.

“Curry my horse and hang these up,” he ordered. “I'm going in.”

Alanna stared at him. “You're joking.”

Ralon shoved her into Chubby. “I said
do
it.”

Before she could recover her breath, he was gone. She stared after him, clenching and unclenching her fists. She wanted to kill him!

“Are ye goin' t' do it?”

Alanna looked up, startled. George's man, the hostler Stefan, swung down from the hayloft above. He was a short, blond youth with pale eyes and reddish skin. Animals loved him, and he was more comfortable with horses than with people, but he seemed to like Alanna and her friends well enough.

It took her a moment to make her voice work. “What?”

“Are ye goin' t' clean up after yon?” Stefan spat, hitting Chubby's manger squarely.

Alanna looked at the saddle and drew a breath. Now that she had to take a stand, she was just as scared as she was angry. “No. I can't. I won't.”

Stefan shrugged. “I'll have t' tell his Grace, y'know,” he reminded her. “It's orders. Th' lads must
look after their own beasts. His Grace must know if they don't.”

Alanna hesitated. Ralon would murder her. But—if she knuckled under, Ralon would do this all the time.

“Tell,” she said gruffly, going back to work on Chubby. “It's not my problem.”

“Think on it,” Stefan advised, worry on his round face. “That Ralon won't like bein' in trouble wiv his Grace.”

Alanna looked up from her pony, her eyes flat violet. “That's Ralon's lookout, isn't it?” she asked softly. She finished combing Chubby and left.

Stefan shook his head.
Th' lad's got guts,
he thought.
Not much sense, but guts.

By bedtime that night the word was out: Ralon had to spend his nights for a month working in the stables. Jonathan's friends had trouble hiding their glee.

“Serves him right,” Francis remarked. They were sitting in Gary's room before lights-out. “He just left his tack on the ground. His horse was covered with sweat. That's no way to treat a good horse.”

“I wonder how he thought he could get away with it?” Alex murmured.

“He probably tried to make some little guy do it,” Raoul said with contempt. “Isn't that his usual?”

Alanna had been permitted to join them. Now she turned red and looked down at the lacings on her shoes.

Gary saw the blush. “Alan—you were the last one in this afternoon. Do you know about this?”

Alanna didn't approve of lying, but in a pinch a lie was sometimes better than the truth. “No.”

Raoul grinned. “I'd like to see him mess with our Alan. I'd pound him to a pulp.” Alanna had become a favorite with Raoul, and he didn't care who knew it.

Alanna made a face. “I do my own fighting, thanks.”

“Raoul just wants an excuse,” Jonathan explained. “He
likes
hitting Ralon.”

“Ralon didn't make anyone else put his tack away?” Alex wanted to know. “You didn't see anything strange?”

Alanna didn't look up. “No.”
It wasn't strange,
she excused her lie mentally.
Ralon does things like that all the time.

The servants arrived, sending the boys off to bed. Jonathan returned to his room, frowning thoughtfully. Trouble was brewing between Ralon and the boy
Alan, but there didn't seem to be anything he could do to stop it.

His punishment didn't keep him from the afternoon rides, so Ralon was with the boys at the swimming hole the next day. The weather was hot and damp. Most of the boys stripped down to their loincloths and leaped into the pool. Alanna sat under a shady tree, looking wistfully at her friends. She would have loved to join them.

Ralon planted himself in front of her. “Too good for us, Master Alan? Afraid to get in the same water with us?”

Alanna looked up. The others were suddenly quiet.

“Leave me alone,” she snapped.

“‘Leave me alone,'” he mocked, swinging his hips. “Too good to swim with us, Alan the Snot?”

“I don't feel like swimming.” The others were watching her, wondering if she was a coward.
He'll kill me,
she thought.
I'm just a girl, and he'll kill me.

Ralon grabbed her arm. “Into the water, page,” he gritted. “We'll have some fun.”

Alanna rammed herself into Ralon's stomach. The older boy yelped as he tumbled into the pool, hitting the water with a painful smack.

“Why, Ralon,” cried Raoul. “Let me help you
up!” Seizing one of Ralon's flailing arms, the bigger youth yanked Ralon's legs from under him. Ralon sank to the bottom with Raoul on top of him. He struggled frantically, but Raoul was impossible to budge. When Ralon finally surfaced, he was half blind and three-quarters drowned. He glared at the wickedly grinning Raoul.