“That seems a rather broad generalization, even coming from you. But I guess they can’t refuse a Princess of Landover, can they?”
“Probably not. However, I wouldn’t tell them who you are, if I were you. Which, thankfully, I am not.”
“Why not? I mean, why not tell them who I am?”
The cat blinked. “At the very least, they would let your father and mother know that you’ve arrived safely.”
She grimaced. He was right, of course.
“So I am just supposed to pretend that I’m some peasant girl out wandering the countryside, lost or whatever, and I’ve found my way here—poor, pitiful me—and I need shelter?”
She glanced into the darkness, where Poggwydd and Shoopdiesel sat huddled together, watching. “What about them?” she demanded, turning back again. “What am I supposed to say about … ?”
But Edgewood Dirk had disappeared.
She stared at the empty space he had occupied, not quite believing that he wasn’t there. Then she looked all around, searching the darkness. Nothing Not a sign of him. Anger flooded through her. He had abandoned her! Just like that! He had left her on her own!
“Fine!” she muttered, furious now. “Who needs you?”
She descended the hill in determined silence, not bothering to look behind her to see if the G’home Gnomes were following, knowing that they would be, resigned to the fact that she would probably never be rid of them. The descent took some time, and as she drew nearer to her destination she was able to determine that it did not improve in looks upon closer inspection. Everything seemed to be in disrepair and suffering from obvious neglect. No lights burned in the windows or from the towers, and the darkness suggested a total absence of life. Perhaps that was how things were these days at Libiris, she thought hopefully. Maybe its tenants had abandoned her. Maybe there was no one here anymore, and she wouldn’t have to beg for admittance. She would just have to find a way in—and the place would be hers for as long as she wished!
Excited by the idea, she hurried ahead to the ironbound doors, gaining confidence as she neared. Of course there was no one here! Why would there be? Who would live in a place like this? Even the overseer had long since departed, discouraged with the work his charge had required, disappointed in the lack of support he was receiving from the Kingdom. After all, no one had come here for years. Not even Abernathy or Questor Thews had come. They just assumed that someone was still here.
She felt positively buoyant.
She reached the doors, grasped the huge iron knocker, and rapped it hard against the plate, announcing her arrival. The sharp clang of iron on iron echoed through the stillness and slowly died away. Nothing happened. She waited impatiently, already searching for a way to open the door from without. Impulsively, she tried the handles, but the door was securely barred. She might have to chance using magic, just a little, to gain admittance. Or maybe there was another way in, through another door on another wall. Surely there was no reason to keep such a decrepit place as Libiris locked up once it was abandoned.
Then, rather too suddenly, a small door set within the larger doors, close down to the ground, popped open. A head crested with a tuft of white hair poked out, and a pair of gimlet eyes looked up into hers. “What is it?” the owner asked in a dialect she could only barely understand.
“I’m seeking shelter for myself and my friends,” she declared, still recovering from her shock at actually finding someone here.
The head tilted upward slightly, and she saw a face that most closely resembled that of a rodent, long and pointed and hairy. The eyes narrowed with suspicion, but she refused to be intimidated and held their gaze with her own. “Can you let us in, please?” she pressed, trying hard to sound both desperate and helpless and not angry.
Teeth flashed behind a wicked smile. “No, I cannot. Go away!”
The head disappeared back inside, and the door slammed shut.
Mistaya stood staring at the tiny portal in a mix of fury and frustration, very tempted to knock down the doors using her magic and march inside, announcing who she was as she did so and demanding that her tormentor be made to answer for his uncivilized behavior. She was cold and tired and hungry, and she did not deserve to be treated like this.
The G’home Gnomes appeared at her elbow, their wizened faces looked up into her own tentatively. “Maybe we ought to just leave,” Poggwydd suggested from one side, while Shoopdiesel nodded in hasty agreement from the other.
Maybe that would have been the best thing for it, but Mistaya was already set on doing the exact opposite. She had put up with enough of people pushing her around. She reached up for the knocker and rapped on the plate once more, much harder this time. She had only a few seconds to wait before the smaller door popped open anew. The little man reappeared; he must have been waiting just on the other side. He was angry now and not bothering to hide it.
“I told you to go away!” he snapped.
“Go away to where?” she snapped back. “We are in the middle of nowhere. Don’t you know anything of the King’s guidelines to hospitality? He wrote them himself when he was made King, years ago. All strangers are to be given food and shelter when they seek it in genuine need; none is to be turned away without good reason. What reason do you have to turn us away? Are you frightened of a girl and two G’home Gnomes? What is your name?”
All this appeared to catch the ferret-faced fellow off guard. He shrank back a bit under the force of her wrath. She watched his mouth tighten and his eyes fix on her belligerently.
“My name is Rufus Pinch!” he snapped. “And I do only what I have been ordered to do and nothing more. I don’t know anything about the King’s guidelines to hospitality.”
“Well, you should!” she shot back, even though she had just made it all up. “I shall be forced to report you to someone who can afford to take the time to come out here and instruct you on their usage! Turning away supplicants in the middle of the night is unacceptable behavior!”
The little man hunched his shoulders and folded his arms across his chest defensively. “Well, I can’t let you in,” he repeated.
Things seemed to have reached an impasse, but suddenly another section of door—this one apparently the upper half of the smaller—swung open and a second figure stepped into view. It was a boy, not much older than she was, rather tall and angular in build, his black hair worn long, his jaw lightly bearded, and his eyes bright with secret laughter.
“What’s happening, Pinch?” he asked the little man, arching an eyebrow at Mistaya. “Is there a problem?”
“This girl wants in, and you know the rules as well as I do. We are not to allow entry to anyone, no matter—”
“Yes, I know the rules. But this is my sister, Ellice. She’s here at my invitation.” He stepped forward quickly and took hold of an astonished Mistaya’s hands. “Hello, Ellice. I gather you got my letter and decided to come help us with the work. I’m very happy to see you.”
He bent forward and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “I’m Thom,” he whispered in her ear as he pulled away. “Play along.”
“You never mentioned a sister,” Pinch declared accusingly.
“You never asked,” the boy answered quickly. “No one ever asks about my family, so I don’t talk about them. But I have one, you know. Everyone has a family.”
Pinch did not look satisfied. “Well, no one said you could invite her to come here,” he pressed. “The rules are the rules. No one is allowed into the building. No one is to be given shelter or fed or encouraged in any way to try to enter or to remain at Libiris. His Eminence has made it quite clear.”
“His Eminence has also made it quite clear, on more occasions than I care to think about, that we need someone else to help with the work. You and I and the Throg Monkeys are not enough to accomplish what is needed. You’ve heard him say that, haven’t you?”