Voices from the lower level of the house set me moving again. I could think of nothing to do for the youth. Any deviation from my orders would see us both dead. Certainly my tears could do nothing for him or others like him, nor could they open Gerick’s eyes to see what lessons his masters were teaching.
Quickly I slipped back onto the landing and hurried up the stairs to the second level of the Gray House. A sideways glance told me that the lights I had seen above the main gate were indeed from another guardroom. Next to it was the storage room where I was to find one Sefaro, the person who ran the household. To my astonishment, Sefaro was a slave.
“You’re the chamberlain?” I asked the slight middle-aged man who appeared to be taking inventory of the pottery, linens, and myriad other items on the shelves that lined the large, windowless storage room.
The slave nodded and gestured to himself, then raised his open palms in inquiry. How were we to do our business if he could not speak?
“I am Eda, a sewing woman. Her Worship Kargetha sent me.”
A smile blossomed on his face, the first I’d seen on any face in Zhev’Na. Setting down his pen and paper, he gestured me to follow. Up another winding stair and through a doorway, we came to an immense set of apartments that covered the entire third level.
The sleeping and sitting areas each opened directly onto a balcony that ran the entire length and width of the house. Filmy beige draperies, hung across the south windows of the sitting room, were showing signs of sun rot. Sefaro brought in tall stools and helped me take them down. When the load of fabric made me wobble, he gave me a hand down from my stool and bowed cheerfully at my thanks.
“I was told to find out how soon we must have them done,” I said.
He considered carefully, then raised three fingers.
“Three days?”
He nodded, and opened his hands as if asking if that was reasonable.
“Three days should be fine,” I said.
He smiled again so kindly that I decided to take a great risk. In a much quieter voice than before, I said, “Are you really in charge of this house?”
He cocked his head, surprised at the question.
“I’m new here,” I said. “Don’t know the ways. Nobody told me that such as you… a slave, that is… could be in charge of anything.”
He chuckled and waved his hand about the room, then settled it on his shoulder as if it weighed like stone. Then his fingers touched his collar, and he shook his head with a rueful smile.
“You bear the responsibilities of the house, but, being a slave, you’ve little power to see them done.”
He agreed readily, his eyes appreciative.
I knelt and began to roll up the rotting draperies, motioning him to kneel beside me. He did so, and began to smooth the wide fabric. With my head bent over the folds, I whispered, “Do your responsibilities include checking on the fencing yard, just in case there is anything that needs to be seen to there-something left that might be damaged?”
He paused for a moment, staring at me, and then ducked his head.
“Then, I think I can finish this task alone and find my way out.”
He laid a hand gently on mine, and then he bolted from the room.
At the same time that I finished rolling the fabric, voices sounded on the stair. Heart racing, I patted the red scarf to make sure it covered all my hair and bowed my head as would be expected.
“I told Calador that I wanted better partners.” It was Gerick. “The younger boys don’t last long enough any more.”
“And what did he say to your request?” Curse the devil forevermore… Darzid.
“That he’d see to it.”
The two walked slowly into the apartment. Weapons clanked and rattled as Gerick tossed his sword belt onto a low bench.
“I’m happy to see how you’re improving. Your enemies will not expect such prowess from one of your age. Don’t concern yourself with slaves. Their lives are to serve you.” Raging inside, appalled as I considered the lasting effects of such vile mentoring on a child, I hefted the unwieldy rolls on my shoulder, dipped my knee, and moved slowly toward the stair. Neither of them gave me a second glance. I could not get back to the servants’ compound fast enough. Six more hours of sewing, then to bed. Another thread in my little bundle under the pallet. Six more days, and we’d have Gerick out of this wretched place.
CHAPTER 29
As the end of my sojourn in Zhev’Na approached, I believed fortune had smiled on our venture. I had watched the Gray House through three more nights and seen no variation in the guard schedule. I had taken note of the lights on the third level-Gerick’s apartments-and had seen that all of the windows were dark well before the hour I called midnight. Only one small lamp on the corner of the balcony flickered throughout the night.
I hoped to get sent back to the Gray House with the repaired draperies and even dawdled about my work so perhaps Zoe might get annoyed with me again, but Dia was sent instead. No matter how I prompted her, Dia could tell me nothing about her errand. She had seen no one, noticed nothing interesting. I considered a midnight exploration of the Gray House, but as the deadline approached, I decided not to jeopardize my good luck-not until I knew what help was available.
And so came the fourteenth day. It began at dawn just as any other day. Dia made the trip to the cistern for the pail of wash water we all had to share, and I was fortunate to be second in line, so it was still reasonably clean. I had learned to be happy to get the dirt out from under my fingernails on occasion, saving anything more for the day I would be back in my own life.
Hours passed. For once, I didn’t notice my aching feet or punctured fingers. Terrified that I might miss the signal, I studied every face, jumped at every voice. Every sense remained alert, while in the back of my head I counted so as to be sure of the time. We stitched until two hours after sunset. Night… of course, night would be better. We retired, as usual, to the dormitory. When my eyes grew heavy in the airless heat, I decided to sit on the steps and let the cold night air keep me awake. But one of the women stirred restlessly, belching and moaning as if she were sick. I dared not move. The next thing I knew, it was dawn.
I buried my disappointment in an even higher state of alertness. We washed and shuffled across the courtyard to the sewing room, ate our morning cup of gruel after two hours of work, and the day proceeded, no different from any other day. Another night passed. Perhaps I had miscounted the days. Perhaps Gar’Dena had not meant fourteen days exactly, but only that fourteen, more or less, should see it done. No plan dependent on so many mysterious elements could be so precise.
On the twenty-first day, I soothed my rising panic with Gar’Dena’s assurances. They’ll not forget me. If they decide the plan has failed, I’ll be transferred back to the military encampment and sent back through the portal, just as Gar’Dena said. But my cynical self taunted me. The Preceptors wouldn’t have just sent you here to rot, would they? All these Dar’Nethi are so honorable…