Sarabande: River of Falcons Book 4

13. Lost

When Drift came to her senses again, she found herself lying on a cold stone floor, surrounded by feet and legs. She sat up quickly and stared around in utmost surprise.

A half-dozen equally surprised faces stared down at her: Unfamiliar men and women, examining her as if she were a strange specimen they had just found. In fact, that is just what she was; a strange specimen they had just found lying on the polished floor in the front hall of the Governor's Mansion, in a faded, homespun dress and curiously embroidered old cloak, her hair wild and unbraided, and mud caked onto her sandals. She looked like the worst sort of ignorant native girl, straight off a far-distant farm. But how had she gotten into the Governor's Mansion? The front door was always kept locked and there were guards posted right outside.

"Get up, child! If the guards find you here you'll be thrown in prison." A stern woman poked Drift with a long-handled mop she was holding. "We natives aren't allowed inside the Governor's house unless we're hired as servants, you ought to know that! Now, off with you before someone important comes along and finds you sleeping here."

Drift got up shakily. "Um, the Governor's...? What? Where?"

"Have you been drinking ale at this hour?" another voice scolded. It was an elderly man in some sort of uniform, holding a fine silver platter in one hand. "Whose child are you?" he continued. "Do you have family here at the seaport, or are you a stray looking for work?"

Drift blinked to clear her vision. Things were still a bit spotty. That time-spell had taken a lot out of her. She tried to focus on the ring of faces surrounding her. "I, um, I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to..."

"I don't suppose you did," a kindly voice said as an older woman stepped up to her and took her by the arm. "Still, here you are, and if they find you, you'll be in terrible trouble. They're rounding up anyone they think can do any magic at all, you know, so it's best not to act suspicious. Come, I'll take you to the servant's exit and you can go on your way. Quickly now, I think I hear the Administrator coming!" She waved the others aside and pulled Drift down a long stone corridor past tall, firmly closed doors, until they came to a lower door at the far end.

"Here you go, just duck in here. I hear some commotion in the front hall. The butler must have told the guards about you. Come on, lass, hurry!"

The old woman tugged her along narrow, dim hallways until they reached an arched doorway that opened into a vast kitchen. A half-dozen of cooks stood at stoves stirring large black cook-pots, while others chopped food on long marble-topped tables. "Don't mind us," Drift's rescuer said as she wound through the busy room, pulling Drift behind her. "Excuse us. Sorry to bother you. Just giving my niece a tour."

"Hello, Spring. I didn't know you had a niece from the countryside," one of the cooks said. "Why don't you sit down over there and I'll give you both a bit of the Governor's cake. He shouldn't eat so many sweets anyway. He's getting fat, you know."

Drift's rescuer grinned politely. "Thank you, Frangipani, but we really have to be going. What's for dinner?"

"Well now, it'll be a six course meal, starting with venison stew, followed by snails in puff pastry, and then a light green salad..." The cook went on, but Drift could not hear any more because she was tugged firmly away toward a door in the back wall of the vast kitchen. When they reached it, the woman who was helping her held her close for a moment and whispered urgently, "You oughtn't to be seen near the Governor's Mansion again. Be careful!"

"Where am I?" Drift managed to say, her mind still a swirl of confusion.

"I don't know who you are or what you're trying to do, but be warned, this is not a safe place for such as you!"

"What do you mean?" Drift asked in a puzzled tone of voice. "Where am I?"

The woman gave her a penetrating look. "You really don't know? How curious. Well, everything happens for a reason. I trust you'll figure out what you're supposed to do. In the meantime, don't let the guards detain you. Avoid being seen by them. Don't forget to put your hair up, and you had better mask yourself before you go outside. Anyone with the least bit of spirit-sight can see you are a magic-worker."

"Mask myself?" Drift repeated in obvious confusion.

"Where are you from, my dear? Don't you realize that you can't go around...Well, never mind, there's no time. Here, take this. It will shield your magic." She reached inside her own dress and pulled out a little leather pouch on a long leather thong, which she looped over her head and held out to Drift. As soon as the woman removed it, Drift gasped. Instead of the old, wrinkled, hump-backed servant who had been guiding her, there stood a tall, straight-backed woman whose piercing brown eyes shone out with obvious strength and intelligence. Although she had wrinkles around her eyes and grey hair, she no longer looked old and frail.

"You see? That is why we must mask ourselves. I can sustain my mask without the amulet if I must," she explained, "but clearly you have no experience with such concealments. Take the amulet and keep it next to your body at all times."

Drift looped it over her neck and slipped it into her dress, next to the gold locket from Ubi (which he had recently retrieved and given back to her when he found it tossed carelessly aside on a table in the kitchen by the Queen).

"There! Now you look like an ordinary farm girl who has wandered into town to look for work. Off you go, I think I hear the guards coming. Fare well, child, and may the Spirits guide you."

"And you," Drift stammered as the woman drew her hands over her face and, with a muttered charm, resumed her hunched, run-down appearance. She hobbled back into the crowded kitchen, leaving Drift to let herself out the back door.

*

Ubi had left the dining-hall in a great hurry, his anger driving him on, but after he flew out over the palace gardens and looped over the forest beyond, he began to cool down and to wonder what he would do next. He had not meant to fight with his mother, and certainly not in front of all those people. But, he thought, she goaded me into it. Well, he decided, he would stay away for the afternoon to avoid further arguments. By dinner time, he imagined she would no longer be angry and he could go back.

Ubi looped back over the palace gardens, heading for the semi-wild section in the back corner where his overgrown apple tree stood. He had a few hours to kill before dinner would be served. It seemed like a good opportunity to try to make some progress on his treehouse. Besides, he hoped Jasper might reappear.

As Ubi came in for a landing in the apple tree, he nearly flew straight into a high wall that had not been there before. He let out a loud "squawk" of surprise and banked violently to one side, narrowly missing it. Bursting out of the foliage, he fumbled to right himself, then flew around in a slow loop and made a more cautious approach. This time he found the doorway and flew inside, shifting as he landed. "Nice!" he said to himself. Jasper had finished the floor, expanding the platform to nearly twice its size. He had also raised leafy walls with narrow windows set in them, and there was a series of strong branches arching overhead. With a little more work, Ubi imagined, they could have a roof in place. The treehouse was nearly done!

Ubi walked over to one of the windows and looked down. There were no more planks left. He considered going back to the palace and scrounging more wood from one of the old sheds that were falling down in the back yard. But that would mean going by the chicken coop, and the Queen might see him and make him clean it out. Ubi thought better of the idea and decided to take a nap instead. He stretched out on his back in the middle of the treehouse, settled his hands beneath his head, and closed his eyes. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves outside the windows and songbirds sang overhead. It was a lovely, quiet afternoon. He sighed contentedly and closed his eyes. Soon he was sound asleep.

Oddly, he began to dream almost at once, and in his dream, he was walking through a bustling sea-side town, with tall-masted ships tied up along a wharf on one side and busy shops and warehouses lining the other side of the cobbled street. He could hardly take it all in: Harried shopkeepers, large-wheeled carts, laughing sailors, and weaving through it all, prim looking women with shawls over their heads and woven baskets on their arms. He had never seen anything like it, and he wondered, even as he dreamt, at the ability of dreams to make imagined places seem so real.