Poor World (10 page)

The others girls I glimpsed as they came in — following obedient lines — all except Diana. Unfortunately the girls stayed in their lines and the looks the adult leaders gave me kept me from going near the girls.

Weird looks. The same look that Kessler got the rare times I saw him around other people. I hated that — oh, I can't even begin to describe how much I hated that. Not just because it was so clear in those faces that they thought I was devoted to the Plan (and every face thus confirmed me a liar and a traitor in some weird way — like, not to their plan so much as to my own word) but because they obviously thought I had some kind of power. And of course I hadn't. I'd been singled out by the leader. That was all. But it was a big all to them.

Alsaes got The Look, too.
He
loved it. You could see it in his little smile, in the jaunty way he swaggered up the middle of a street expecting everyone to scramble out of his path. Kessler, on the other hoof, didn't seem to notice — or if he did, he didn't show it. His reactions were so unlike most people's it was impossible to guess what he was thinking.

Well, two of those adult leaders pointed me to the small table at the front where, they said, others sat. ‘Others' covered people who didn't belong to a barracks — from the various trainers and experts (called tutors) to Alsaes, Kessler, Dejain — and me.

I dropped my tray onto the table, my mood rotten. I tried to cheer myself, thinking that at least I didn't have to sit with Kessler for once — and not five seconds later Alsaes set his tray down directly opposite me.

“Working hard?” he asked.

“Yes.” I thought of his threat to the itchfeet in the prison, and Dejain's warning, and fought hard not to blast him with richly deserved sarcasm.

“Anything you'd like improved?” he asked.

His tone was like needles under the fingernails.

The scenery in front of me
I thought, but I kept my face as blank as I could, adding in the back of my brain,
And after that, everything else in this nightmare place.

Out loud, I said, “Nope.”

“Anything you want to study in further depth?”

“Not ready,” I said.

“Really?” Alsaes raised his brows —
how
he reminded me of that elegant, languid King Carlael of Colend, except Alsaes wasn't nearly as handsome as that maddening crazy Carlael. And ol' Carlael was a snobby, sarcastic king but he hadn't been a bully. “Kessler sees such potential in you.” Once again Alsaes's tone was goading — like he wanted me to mouth off.

I was not about to say anything about Kessler to this creep, for I knew he'd twist it against me somehow. And then I realized that anything I said would be twisted, that Alsaes was going to get back at me for the kick in the face, and Kessler's laugh, and all my nasty comments. He had the power. I didn't. He was looking for any excuse to smoosh me like a bug.

So I bent over my food and began to eat.

He didn't talk to me again, and I ignored him completely. Soon as I was done I dumped my dishes into the barrel (noting the cleaning spell — at least poor Gwen and Sherry didn't have to wash dishes for hours) and left without a backward glance.

The heat and bright sunlight were like a slap in the face.

In defeat I walked slowly back toward Kessler's office. I had nowhere else to go. If I went to practice again, the tutors would immediately stop whoever was there, even if there was a large group — and then they would stand around and watch me.

Nowhere to go.

I turned up the main street, thought of the itchfeet, and angrily pushed them from my mind. I needed a plan, something to rescue us all, to prove that I'd done the right thing. To snap a finger in Rel's heroic face without having to actually do it, which would only net me one of those annoying pokerfaces.

I'd been lucky in my adventures so far. I knew that. Lucky, but also imaginative. When I'd managed to squelch a villain's plans, it was always by doing the unexpected. I wasn't bigger or stronger or faster than any adult, and I was smarter than only a few, but I had lots more imagination, especially when compared to the Chwahir, who did everything by rote. Even Shnit, who had had utter control for so long that few things ever caught him by surprise. Until he encountered us. Shnit had lived for so long that Clair said he'd become a kind of caricature of himself, a knotwork of grudges and fanatical dreams of vengeance.

How to find a way out of this mess?

So thinking, I stepped inside Kessler's building, and saw the office door open. It was never locked — if he was gone, he just closed it.

I wondered who would ever have the nerve to go in there unwanted.

He was busy at his desk, which worsened my sour mood. Part of my reason for going out to practice all morning had not just been to get a chance to see the girls, though that was most important, but also because the past few mornings Kessler had wanted to do map work. Afternoons, he'd gone out doing whatever it was that he did.

Well, the only thing I'd accomplished on this particular morning was sweating out all that practice at sword fighting, knife-throwing, and the rest, in the hot sun.

“Cherene,” came The Voice. “We can work at the maps right now.”

I was beginning to hate the sound of my own name.

I went in. Kessler was already restacking papers in order to make room for his maps. I couldn't think of any excuse to avoid it, especially as he was obviously setting aside his own kafuffle in order to train me in this stuff.

With a quick gesture he unrolled one of his maps, spreading it over the desktop. I felt a yawn threaten and stifled it, blinking back tears as I looked down.

I did not recognize the kingdom; the outline of the continent was vaguely familiar from another map session. Some cryptic notes in Kessler's neat, small Chwahir print lined the top.

The horrible thing is that I wasn't supposed to learn where the kingdom lay. I think he believed I already knew. ‘Studying maps' didn't mean learning about interesting faraway places — about magic races or ancient forests or beautiful cities from Old Sartoran days, about interesting people and places.

‘Studying maps' meant planning wars. Nothing more.

Nothing
less
.

“There are three points of entry,” Kessler said. “Show me.”

I fought the urge to scream pocalubes, and ransacked my aching head in order to parrot back what he'd said before on ‘entry points.' “Here, here, here.” I pointed.

“No,” he said when I was done. “Look again. See it from the occupants' perspective, then. Where must you set up defenses, and where are your natural defenses?”

“Natural defenses,” I repeated, recalling one stray fact I was sure of. “High mountains. Lakes. Bogs ...”

We went on until I said what he wanted me to say about that stupid map — I can't remember what. I didn't really listen. He was very patient, even though he had stacks of stuff awaiting his attention; I was bored and angry by turns, and fought to keep it hidden. Who cares about all that conquering junk? I kept saying inside my skull. I will never, ever in my life use it.

But once I'd managed to gabble back what he wanted to hear he went right on, this time expecting me to ‘name my resources' — which meant what kind of army and weapons and related flummery that I'd want to take there. Wow. You can just imagine how useful and interesting I found all this idiocy. It was torture to sit there and keep my face bland and not say things like
It's easy — I wouldn't attack them in the first place!
or
I'd put together a spell, turn everyone — on both sides — into hop toads for ten years, and save us all a lot of bother. Except maybe for the local flies.

When it was finally over, Kessler said, “Once you know how to assess what you are seeing I will take you on some field maneuvers.”

“Here?”

“No, we practice in various terrains,” he said.

“Oh, that will be interesting,” I responded — thinking of escape.

“You can tell me what you are seeing. What you'd do. Perhaps even give commands so you can learn to assess action as it happens, and test your tactical ideas. So you must study the map here that I've set out for you, and consider these things, so that when we reach the field ...”

I didn't hear the rest of his plans for a Fun Outing, Kessler-style. Disappointment made my head pang: if we left, he'd be right at my side. No chance of escape there.

He finished by saying he was pleased with my progress. I felt like the world's worst phony, for there I was faking along — and still no closer to figuring a way to defeat his plans.

He stacked his papers and tucked them under his arm as he left. I stood at the window and watched him splat up the street, thinking drearily that every broiling hot, boring, tense day I lied my way through brought us closer to the day of attack.

My only breaks were at night. I'd discovered that I could go climb the wall at the parade ground and perch, for there were no wards on the walls. The geography was enough to keep everyone in — nothing but flat desert land baking in the merciless heat as far as the eye could see. Anyone who went over the fence would die out there in a day. Kessler wouldn't have to bother sending a search party.

But at night I could ignore that and look up at the stars, which were peaceful and beautiful as a treasure-trove of jewels. Up on the wall there was even a breeze.

I sat and brooded, thinking and rethinking everything I knew. No chances of sneaking out. The gates were never opened. All transfers were done by magic, everyone carrying some kind of token with half the transfer magic on it — I still don't know how Dejain managed this particular trick. And if the tokens were accidentally dropped or left behind, Dejain had a tracer spell on them.

I returned inside and to my room for another night of bad dreams — interrupted, as often happened, by that flickering candle and Kessler checking on me. I always pretended I was asleep, and he went away again.

This time I sat up, gulping for air — I'd been dreaming that Shnit was about to assassinate Clair — and I yelled, “Go away!” before I could even think.

The candle had already vanished.

I flopped back down, whimpering into the cot. Why did he
do
that? It was always the same time of night, that I knew instinctively. I did not sleepwalk, nor had I ever left the room, so why check up on me?

But moments later he was back again, and this time carrying a glass of water.

“Drink that.” He put the glass in my hand.

“It's okay,” I said, trying to hand it back.

“Drink it.”

If I refused would he strangle me again?

Then I thought: why refuse? If it was some kind of sleep drug, well, maybe I would at least escape the bad dreams, even if he ordered his entire army to tromp through the hallway.

So I downed the liquid, not even tasting it, and Kessler silently took the glass back. Without speaking he stood there, waiting.

My vision smeared suddenly, and I dropped face down onto the cot.

When I woke up — lying in exactly the same position in which I'd fallen — I realized it was barely dawn. In the hallway outside my room came the clatter of heavy boots on the wooden floorboards. Alsaes. Had to be. Kessler's step was much lighter.

I whirled up from my cot and yanked the door open, plunging through. The cleanup spell zapped the grime and wrinkles away from me and my clothes, which gave me a sort of minor mental advantage. I mean, it was bad enough to be spied on every night just before midnight by Kessler, but to be woken up by Alsaes? Eugh!

We almost ran into each other, for that hall was short. I fell back and glared up at the creep, whose smug glee shot pangs of warning through me even before I saw his getup. When my eyes took in his uniform, all gold buttons and sword belts and gold-hilted hardware, I knew he was up to something extraordinarily rotten, and he was going to do it in public.

“Ah, the valiant princess has blossomed forth on this promising morn, “ he said jovially.

The feeling that he had one up on me and that I was about to Get It increased.

“Knock it off, Prince Charming,” I snarled just as nastily as I could, since it was obvious I was already in for trouble. “And what's with all the fancy junk? Who's going to be impressed? Not me, that's for sure.” I pointed at his costly hardware.

“We're having an execution,” he said, smiling. “I'm here as a kind of honor guard, to escort your royal highness there — and to see that you have an unimpeded view of the proceedings. Just as our loyal army will have an unimpeded view of you.”

He paused, but I said nothing — truth is, I was by now even scareder than I was mad. NOT a good combination.

He went on, “The uniforms, the formality, all impresses our followers with the value of obedience. Gives the stupids something to think about as well. An entertaining reminder,” he added in a really acid drawl, “just who holds the hilt of power.”

He meant that the prisoners would be there, watching.

“Come along, my dear little Citizeness Sherwood.”

“Of course, my dear little Citizen Alsaes,” I snarled, and when he grabbed for my arm I ducked around him and whizzed out the door.

Heat hit me like a blast. It was just past dawn, and already the sky was a glare-bright blue bowl overhead, and in the distance the ground shimmered. My nose stung from the hot dryness, and tears burned my eyes from the glare.

I hardly noticed. My innards were shaking and quaking. How was I going to get out of this nightmare? I did
not
want to see any helpless victim bumped off, especially in whatever way that disgusting monster Alsaes had dreamed up.

But he was right behind me. I could hear his breathing, and the creak of his heavy black-weave belt and baldric, as he tromped practically on my heels. I sped up a bit, my bare feet burning and aching from the sharp bits of gravel. Alsaes increased his pace.