The Forgotten Sisters (6 page)

“Good morning, Jeffers,” said Gunnar.

“Good morning, all,” Jeffers said. “Welcome! You may enter my house.”

Gunnar and two other traders pushed in past Miri. She introduced herself and moved to enter too, but Jeffers blocked her way.

“I would invite you in, but we have business,” Jeffers said and let the door flap shut.

Miri waited. She paced. The top of her head began to burn in the sun. Jeffers's house rumbled with laughter. She clenched her fists, but instead of punching through the door flap, she politely clapped.

Jeffers opened the curtain. His house was one large room. The woven reed walls and thick pillars were a bright gold, but the ceiling, darkened by smoke, was the color of oiled wood. Miri was surprised to see furniture like a real wood table, several chairs, and a reed mattress atop a wooden bed frame. Several men lay sleeping on mats.

“I believe there is a letter from Asland for the girls in the linder house,” Miri said.

Jeffers took the mailbag from Gunnar and went through the few folded and sealed papers.

“No, nothing,” Jeffers said. He smiled at Miri. “Sorry I couldn't be of service. I'd invite you in, but I'm afraid my establishment isn't hospitable to a fine lady such as yourself.”

Behind him, one of the sleeping men roused, rubbed his head, and stared at Miri.

“Very well,” she whispered.

As the door flap shut, the laughter renewed.

She stalked back to Fat Hofer and asked, “Who is Jeffers?”

He held out his palm.

“I'm warning you,” she said, “I'm in a mood to put someone on a spit and—”

He put both his hands up in defense. “I'm just trying to stay alive, since I sadly cannot absorb flies.”

“I promise I'll pay you when I can,” Miri said. “Which will be sooner with your help. Please.”

Fat Hofer stared at her, rubbed his large nose, and sniffed. “All right then. Jeffers is the closest thing we have to a head of the village. He negotiates with the traders and sets the prices for all of Lesser Alva. His house is the largest and every night fills up with villagers who want to play darts and buy swill.”

“Swill?” Miri asked.

“A clear, scorching drink he makes himself,” he said. “Makes him pretty popular.”

“Not with me. He's bribing the traders to let him steal the mail and the girls' allowance. I'm so livid I could eat a snake.”

“You should know something,” Fat Hofer said.

Miri leaned forward, her breath held.

“Snakes,” he said, “are delicious.”

Miri scowled. “I have to go back to Asland and tell them what's happening here.”

“Planning to walk to Greater Alva yourself? Bandits called those woods home not so long ago and perhaps still do. If you do get to the port, how will you pay passage to board a ship?”

Miri stared at her bare feet, dried mud cracking off her toes. She felt as squashed as a toad in a wheel rut.

“If you find someone who will buy a silk dress, I'll give you ten percent of what I make.”

“That's thinking like a Lesser Alvan!” he said. “But alas, Lady Miri, no one in Lesser Alva cares about a silk dress. And unless you have solid coin, the traders arrange trades only through Jeffers. After your display, I'd guess Jeffers won't be willing to do any business with you.”

But she had to try. She was here to teach the girls, and she could not do that if they were busy as birds hunting for food every hour of the day. So Miri fetched one of Britta's dresses and returned to Jeffers's house.

She clapped timidly and peered through the door curtain.

More of the traders had joined the others in the house,
sitting cross-legged on mats, eating flat bread, chatting in small groups.

Jeffers leaned back in one of the wooden chairs, made cozy with frayed pillows. He smiled, but his eyes were unwelcoming.

“Yes?” he said.

“I have a dress I'd like to sell,” she said quietly.

Jeffers took a slow drink from a clay-fired mug. “It's not proper for a lady to sell her own clothing off her back, now is it? Allow me to save your reputation by declining. But in good news, I found letters addressed to you!”

He handed them to a young boy who brought them to the door.

“Apologies, the wax seals must have cracked on the journey,” Jeffers said with a shameless smile.

She recognized the handwriting on the letters: one from Peder and one from Marda. She fingered the first letter's broken wax and almost spoke an accusation when she noticed a blocky man with long hair and a bushy beard in the back of the house. A scar ran through one eye and split his cheek. Miri's feet and hands felt icy cold.

I know him. How do I know him?

His meaty, scarred hand held onto the hilt of the curved dagger in his belt. He started to turn, as if he would look to see who Jeffers was talking to.

Miri let the door close. She turned and ran from Jeffers's house and off the island, her heartbeats keeping pace with her feet.

Dogface
. That was what he was called. Two years ago she'd watched him and his fellow bandits depart Mount Eskel in a snowstorm. What would he do if he recognized the girl who spoiled their raid and led their chief over a cliff?

Bandits have no honor. Bandits love only coin and death.

Back at the house, Miri fetched ink, quill, and parchment from her bag and wrote a hasty letter to Britta, reporting what was happening with Jeffers and the allowance.

When she returned to town the traders were gone. She kept running, her side aching, and caught them a few minutes into the woods.

“Here!” she called. “Here's a letter, if you please. For Princess Britta at the white stone palace. She'll pay you for its delivery.”

A young trader took it but looked at Gunnar with an eyebrow raised.

“Give it here,” said Gunnar. “I'll take care of it, my lady.”

“Um, perhaps it would be best if I went with you and carried the letter myself,” she said.

“You could join us,” said Gunnar. “Unfortunately I couldn't
guarantee
your safety, not being king-sworn myself.”

Another trader was standing very close beside her. She could feel his hot exhales on the top of her head.

“No, th-thank you,” she said. “Just … please, deliver the letter. The princess will pay you well.”

Miri hurried away, not stopping until she reached the shade of the linder house to read the letters.

Dear Miri
,

I am writing from our camp a day's ride from Asland, and the messenger just gave me your letter. I will send this note back with him. I will let your father and sister know you are not coming and give them your things
.

I want to say something cheery so you will not feel sad. But I cannot think of a thing. I guess I do not have your imagination. Perhaps we never should have gone to Asland. Perhaps it is a safer life when a king and queen do not know your name
.

I know you want me to return to Mount Eskel and my father, so I will. Spring seems so far away
.

Thank you for working to win Mount Eskel's land for us. But I am angry that you have to, so angry I just crushed a beetle beneath my boot. I am trying to impress
you with how strong and manly I am. Let all the beetles in Asland fear me and my terrifying boots!

Thank you all the same
.

Be careful. A swamp sounds like a thing one could fall into and never be seen again. And I would very much like to see you again
.

Yours
,

Peder

Miri lifted the paper to her nose, but all she could smell was dust and wind, no lingering tang of ink, no warmth of Peder's hands. Her heart seemed to curl up like a snail disappearing into its shell.

She unfolded the next letter, careful not to rip the paper.

For Miri my sister
,

I have read the letters you sent us from Asland so many times I should know how to write one myself. Please tell me if I am doing it wrong. I just talk to you in words on a page, right? I feel silly talking when you are not here to answer
.

Peder told us you are not coming home yet. I know you must want to. You are probably worried that we are sad. Please do not worry about us. But please come home soon
.

Pa is well. He misses you. In the quarry I am doing squaring as well as stone braking. The autumn weather is mild. We have enough food
.

Please come home
.

Marda

Miri reread the letters for the rest of the day. In the warm, sticky night she lay awake remembering again and again the moment when she'd said good-bye to Peder in the palace courtyard. Why hadn't she stayed longer? Kissed him again? Held him so tight she might be holding him still? Instead she lay alone on a hard reed mat accosted by a night sharp with croaks and clicks, so far away from home she could not remember the scent of the high mountains, the sound of Marda's voice, or the exact color of Peder's eyes.

Gray for sparrow, red for ant

Green for the sapling of the deep water plant

Black for spider, orange for moth

Brown for the coverings cut from cloth

That night, Miri went to sleep aching for home. But instead of dreams of Marda, Peder, and Pa, Miri's mind danced with visions of people she had never seen before.

Twin girls with bright red hair. She saw them against the backdrop of stone in the linder house like a watercolor painting on parchment. Three women sat on chairs, talking while the little girls played with painted wood animals. Outside the window, a cluster of reed houses.

In the morning, the dream still clung to Miri, invisible yet tangible, like a spiderweb caught on her arms.

Though the door was open and the windows just empty stone frames, the house felt closed up and airless. Miri went to the outhouse, and heat and wet air followed her like a swarm of gnats. Sometimes she swatted at a
tickle on her forehead or the backs of her knees only to discover there was no snake or biting insect—just dripping sweat.

The sisters spent that day the same as the last—fishing, hunting, trapping, and cleaning. Even though they passed all their time gathering food, at night Miri's stomach felt like half of itself. She'd gotten used to three full meals each day at the palace in Asland. She was not the same tough mountain girl she'd once been.

When Miri tried to talk to the girls about Arithmetic, Etiquette, and other subjects, Astrid hushed her.

“We're not your students, and you're not our pooter-tutor.”

Felissa giggled.

The girls let Miri tell stories at least. While standing in knee-deep water, trying to net fish, Miri recounted the history of Queen Gertrud.

Miri had first heard the account while studying at the Queen's Castle. Hundreds of years ago, King Jorgan had bought linder blocks from Mount Eskel, hauled them to Asland, and built a white stone palace. And when the minister of defense had tried to turn the old red-brick castle on the river island into a prison, King Jorgan's wife, Queen Gertrud, claimed it instead to use for education. It became known as the Queen's Castle and served as a university.

“My friends and I told Gertrud's story to Queen Sabet, Danland's current queen. I think it gave her courage to help us when we needed her. Until then, I don't think she really believed a queen could do much of anything.”

“What is Queen Sabet like?” asked Felissa.

“She's timid. No,” Miri said, realizing, “she's sad. She must have been remarkable when she was at her princess academy for the king to choose her from the others.”

“Does she have anyone to hug her?” Felissa asked.

Miri blinked at the oddness of the question.

“She's a queen,” Astrid said, waving her hand. “She probably has servants paid just to give her hugs.”

Felissa laughed at the idea. “Still, I don't like to think of someone sad and alone in a big house.”

A wriggle of movement caught Miri's eye. She screamed and scrambled ashore.

“It's only my net!” said Astrid. “Soggy bottom bellows, Miri, but you just woke up the world.”

“Give yourself more time, you'll get used to noticing unusual movement,” Felissa said.

Miri had barely recovered from the frightening sight of Astrid's net-that-was-not-a-snake when a pop cracked the air. Miri dropped to a crouch.

“What are you doing?” Astrid asked.

“A musket fired!” said Miri. “Hide in the reeds, maybe the war has begun.”

“What war?”

“That was probably just a burst berry,” said Felissa.

She led Miri to a nearby bush. Hanging heavy among the greenish blue leaves were perfectly round berries. Felissa picked two. One was white and small. The other was twice its size and looked painfully bloated, the skin stretched and nearly transparent. Inside, Miri could see lots of black seeds.

“The berries keep growing bigger and bigger till they burst,” said Felissa.

She clapped the large berry between her palms. Again that sharp popping sound, and the seeds flew out in all directions. Miri flinched. Poisonous snakes were silent, harmless berries were loud, and in the middle of it all, Miri could not tell what was dangerous.

When four weeks had inched by and at last the Aslandian traders returned to Lesser Alva, Miri was waiting at the mouth of the road. Surely Britta and Steffan would have sent a wagonload of supplies or a wallet of gold coins.

There was nothing.

And from Jeffers: “No letter for you or the stone house sisters, my lady.”

Miri sat on the reeds beside Fat Hofer. She rested her face in her hands, her elbows on her knees.

“What happened?” she asked, her words smooshed like her cheeks between her hands. “I told the traders Britta would pay them for delivering my letter.”