Palace of Stone (5 page)

The painting of course
, was Miri’s first thought. But suspicious that she was missing something, she just said, “The painting is irreplaceable ….”

“And so is the man,” said the girl Hanna.

And with that began a debate so rapid Miri could scarcely note who said what.

“The painting inspires, but the man kills.”

“Unlike the painting, the man is alive and so has endless potential for good—”

“Or evil.”

“The painting gives us beauty.”

“Beauty isn’t a useful commodity. Simply calculate what’s worth more: the painting or the work the man can do.”

“Oh, it’s always about gold and silver with you. What about right and wrong?”

“Who has the right to weigh the value of any person?”

“Is any object of greater value than human life?”

“He nullified his life by choosing to end another’s.”

“And that, Miss Miri,” said Master Filippus, raising his hand to quiet the voices, “is Ethics. The science of right and wrong.”

“It’s an impossible question,” Hanna said.

“As impossible as life itself,” said Timon.

It did not seem that impossible to Miri. Once a thieving bandit had tried to kill her. He was dead now, and Miri was not sorry. Besides, the painting
was
beautiful.

They spent the rest of the morning on Mathematics, and though Miri worked hard with her slate and chalk, she kept glancing at the painting. The ethics question seemed to hang in the air before her, a dust mote that she could not quite catch in her hand.

At the end of the day, Timon fell in beside her on the stairs going outside.

“You aren’t lodging at the Queen’s Castle?” he said. “I live in town too. We could walk together.”

“Well … there’s a carriage waiting for me.” She tilted her head, letting her hair slide over her face. Only the wealthy had carriages, and Miri felt like a fraud riding in one.

“Are you staying far from here?”

“At the … the palace.”

He blinked. “You are a courtier?”

“Um … I’m a lady of the princess?” she said as if she were not sure.

“I see.” He hesitated and then walked ahead of her toward the bridge.

Miri watched him go, feeling a failure as well as a fraud. How could she hope to learn anything for Katar? She could not exactly say to Timon, “Lovely weather, I like your shoes, and by the way, can you tell me about the revolution?” She might as well holler at the city: “Everybody who wants to get rid of the king, raise your hand!”

Suddenly two children came at Miri. They were very thin, about five and seven years of age, and their feet were bare. With bony hands they seized her robes and made a raspy, keening noise.

“A quint, please, be kind,” said the little boy.

Miri knew from her reading that a quint was a unit of money. “I don’t understand. You want a coin?”

“A quint for me, a quint for my sister, or one for us both, be kind, a quint for us both, be kind.”

Miri had no coins, neither heavy gold nor light copper, and she told them so, but they kept gripping. She gently tried to remove the boy’s hand, and he resisted, his voice getting louder.

“A quint, a quint, be kind,” they repeated over and over, eyes wide but without hope.

Miri told them firmly to let her go, she tried to push them away, but the children pressed harder, backing her against a gate, their hands gripping like hawk talons. She could smell their hair and clothing, so rancid it stung her nose. Their voices sawed at her, relentless. “A quint, a quint, be kind …”

Then Timon was there. “Here,” he said, giving each child a small silver coin. “Now go on.”

The children clutched the coins with both hands and ran, disappearing into the traffic on the bridge.

Miri felt like crying. “I told them I didn’t have any, but they wouldn’t believe me.”

“They’re used to people saying no. If you haven’t eaten in a day or two, hunger makes you desperate. And there are far too many poor and desperate in these streets.”

“Poor? But this is Asland.”

“There are poor in Asland, Miri. Didn’t you know? There are poor everywhere.”

Katar had said the shoeless often went hungry, but until seeing the children Miri had not quite believed it.

Then Miri recalled the thin girl from the town on their journey. The way the girl had watched Miri eat. How she had gnawed that stick. Her bony legs, her bare feet. Miri’s throat felt tight. She wished she could go back to that moment, say hello to the girl, share the meal.

“No, I didn’t know. I’m sorry,” she said, both to Timon and to the girl in her memory. “On Mount Eskel, almost all our food came from the lowlands—I mean, from Asland and the rest of Danland. I guess I thought there were endless mounds of food here.”

“Plenty of people in the
lowlands
do just fine,” Timon said. “But too often the children of farmers starve while the noble landowners grow fat. When the changes come—”

Timon stopped. He looked around, as if to see if anyone else had heard him.

“I shouldn’t have said … I didn’t mean—excuse me.” He started to go.

Changes
? Did she dare ask? She started after him, but fear pushed against her, and it seemed to take an hour just to catch him on the bow of the bridge.

“Timon, wait. Yesterday at the palace something happened.”

He turned back. “You mean the attempt on the king’s life?”

Miri stepped closer and whispered, “If there are
changes
coming, I’d like to know more. I’d like to help.”

Timon’s eyes brightened. “Truly? But—”

“I’m staying at the palace, but I’m not one of them. I hope you will trust me.”

She’d promised Katar. And now the memory of that thin girl goaded her on.

“I can’t speak freely,” he said, “but … I’ll talk to you as soon as I can. There is much happening.”

His icy blue eyes flashed, and he smiled at her. Miri found herself smiling back. A tickle in her stomach slid up to her heart. Timon knew things, Miri was certain, and for the first time she wondered if perhaps the unknown changes to come might be wonderful.

Chapter Five

A quint, my lord, a quint for some grain

A quint for the rent, a roof from the rain

A sip of hot soup to fill empty space

An old wool scarf to warm my face

So what did you do today?” Miri asked, entering the girls’ chamber. She posed in the doorway, in case they wanted a good look at her scholar robes. No one glanced up.

“We
sewed
,” said Bena. She was wearing her brown hair unbraided as well. It hung long to her waist and made her look even taller. “Ladies of the princess help in the wedding preparations, which apparently means sewing.”

“And spinning,” said Esa.

“How much thread does a wedding need?” Gerti asked, incredulous.

“I miss the quarry,” said Frid with a sigh. She was holding her hands out while Esa wrapped them with yarn. “I miss hitting things.”

Liana lay on her side, accentuating the curve of her hip. “The
servants
bring us food. We don’t even wash our plates. Being a princess’s lady actually
means
something. We have
rank
.”

“I’m surprised Britta couldn’t get more girls into your special academy,” said Bena. “She
is
the betrothed princess.”

Miri removed her robes and looked around for Katar, eager to tell her about the conversation with Timon. Katar was gone, but Inga, their gray-haired chaperone, gave her a smile full of wrinkles. Inga sat on the sofa, neither sewing nor spinning. Just watching. Her king-appointed task was to keep an eye on the girls, and it seemed that was all she meant to do.

“I’m sure Esa would like to attend the Queen’s Castle,” said Bena. “And I wouldn’t mind, if you would know. Instead of sewing in this room all day—”

“And spinning,” said Esa.

“And eating food the servants bring us as ladies of
rank
,” said Liana.

“I thought something smelled rank,” Miri mumbled.

“What?”

“Nothing, Liana.” Miri sat on the floor and tossed a pillow in the air. “I learned some stuff today I didn’t know before. If I tell you about it, then it’s almost as if you attend the Queen’s Castle too.”

“I want to hear,” Esa said, turning so she could see Miri and still use Frid’s hands as a spool. Esa’s left arm, injured in a quarry accident years before, hung limp at her side.

Miri recounted Master Filippus’s introduction of the different subjects. But when she got to Ethics and a painting versus a prisoner, the girls began to argue so passionately two palace guards stormed in.

“We’re fine, really,” Miri told the bewildered guards. “Which is more than I can say for that murderous prisoner if Frid gets her hands on him.”

“He killed a
child
.” Frid was on her feet, gesturing with yarn-wrapped hands. “And you’re talking about freeing him!”

Esa touched her arm. “It’s just a made-up story.”

Frid’s face was wide open—all eyes, mouth, and flexed nostrils. “Why? If I were going to make up a story, it wouldn’t be about someone killing children. It’d be about cutting blocks of linder and being so strong I could lift them over my head. And it would be
funny
. All stories should be funny.”

One of the guards scratched his beard. “So you girls are all right?”

“You may go,” Liana said with a wave of her hand.

Supper came, and Miri asked Inga if she could go eat with Britta. Inga nodded as if she did not care one way or the other.

In Britta’s chamber, there were several wardrobes painted as brightly as the river houses, and an enormous bed stuffed with feathers and dripping with blankets, but no Britta. Miri sat on the floor and had begun to eat her fish and potato cakes when the door opened.

“Miri!” Britta caught Miri around her shoulders and knocked her back onto the carpet in a running embrace. “I almost forgot you were here and when I saw you, I had that happy jolt all over again. Isn’t that wonderful? How was your first day?”

“Amazing! And a little daunting.” She told Britta about the grand castle, old Master Filippus, Timon of Asland. “He has hair so pale it’s almost white. He’s only a little older than we are, but he talks like a master scholar sometimes, I guess because he’s read so many books. Oh, do you think you could get Esa into the Queen’s Castle? And maybe Bena too? I hate to ask for Bena—she can be such a pain sometimes—but she seems interested.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t. I wish I could.”

“That’s all right.” Miri thought of what Bena had said. Shouldn’t a princess be able to do such a thing? Miri smiled weakly at Britta and wished she could make the smile stronger. “Um … How’s Steffan?”

“He’s well. I think he is, anyway. I only get to see him at meals, with his mother and father sitting there watching us, and the occasional chaperoned walk in the gardens, and … and …”

Britta pressed her hand against her mouth and took a sharp hiccup of a breath.

“Britta!” Miri put an arm around her. “Don’t be sad. What did I do?”

“I’m sorry, nothing, I’m fine.” Britta pushed the heels of her hands against her eyes. “It’s just all so much. The duties and the worries and the way the king and queen look at me, and my father is at court too, looking at me, everyone looking at me. Except Steffan. I’d never been in Asland with Steffan before. Perhaps he is always so distant around his parents. Or perhaps … he does not feel for me what I feel for him.”

“I don’t believe it. He adores you. That was very clear when he came to Mount Eskel.”

“I thought so too. Maybe he changed his mind. And I don’t know what to make of the attempt on the king’s life and all the whispers and frowns and … never mind. I just want to be glad you’re here.”

“Well, I’m glad I’m here, even if I’m not sure where here is. Asland is overwhelming.”

“I don’t worry about you a bit. You know, you would be a better princess. The king and queen would have approved.”

“Yes, indeed,” Miri said, pursing her lips dramatically. “Their most Royal Highnesses long for a girl who knows a billy goat from a nanny and the business end of a soup ladle.”

“I mean it.”

Miri shook her head. “Britta, you’re being silly. Steffan chose you and that’s that.”

Besides, I have Peder
, she thought.
Don’t I?

Miri went to bed that night surrounded by the slow breathing of the other girls, her curtain pulled so she could read by candlelight without being seen. It was the first day in a long time that Miri had not seen Peder. And it was the first day she had known Timon.

Autumn Week Six

Dear Marda,

I have been in Asland nearly a week. There are still at least five months until traders will carry my letters to you along with the barrels of salt pork and bags of onions. But I want to talk to you now. I wish I could quarry-speak all the way from Asland.