I tried to express both shock and anger, knowing it didn’t work as intended because of the smile trying to escape my lips. He probably thought I had made a face to scare him. However, Avery puffed himself up and departed with pride, looking the victor to any who watched. The fat cook waddled past me and muttered from the corner of her mouth, “I saw and heard part of that. You didn’t have to let him win.”
“I didn’t.”
“Good. We don’t like that man coming around here. Before you go, grab a loaf of that bread you were eyeing. Only one.”
“How long was he here?”
“Since shift change, with no intention of leaving until you showed up,” she said before hurrying to an oven where an inept cook had burned the edges of a few custard shells. She called over her shoulder, “And we’ll all thank you for running him off.” She turned her attention back to the other cook, and her outrage could be heard throughout the wing.
Knowing hers were not the only eyes watching me, and not wishing to encourage more whispers or interest in Lord Kent by my presence near his apartment, I headed back to report to Elizabeth. When I entered her doorway, I was prepared to bow and scrape as always, if others were present. If so, I’d choose my words carefully and act my part of a loyal and somewhat challenged servant, an easy task for me.
However, she sat alone on a stool while Kendra brushed her blonde hair and the two were whispering and giggling, as usual. Elizabeth glanced my way and said, “Do you need to slide the bolt, so we may speak in private?”
“No. But you were right. Lord Kent is up to something.”
She closed her eyes, probably reviewing in her mind what had tipped her off. She opened them and said, “What did you find out?”
“He went to his apartment, so I strolled down to the kitchen to steal a bite to eat.”
“As if there isn’t enough right here.” She motioned at the table laden with food.
“It gave me the excuse to eat a pear and watch his door.”
“What did you see?”
“Nothing of interest directly from Lord Kent, but Avery, the Heir Apparent’s servant came up behind me in the kitchen and wanted to know what I was doing there.”
Elizabeth reached out and took the brush from Kendra’s fingers, her expression intent upon me. “More to the point, what was he doing there?” she asked.
“Exactly. The fat cook that runs that kitchen said he’d been there since shift change. That is a long time for a servant of his stature to watch a closed door.”
“After he braced you, you had an excuse ready? A serviceable lie?” Elizabeth asked me as she pondered the hairbrush in her hand like she was wondering how it had gotten there.
“No. I explained this is my wing and wondered out loud why he would be watching Lord Kent’s door. I also wondered aloud if something was going on we didn’t know about, anything he might share with me.”
Elizabeth smiled her crafty expression. “To which he said something about there being a lot of things you know nothing about in the palace. Then he probably flounced away like a young girl wearing a pretty new dress.”
I hung my head. “Yes. He nearly destroyed me with his charm, wit, and public display of power.”
Kendra snickered.
Elizabeth roared with laughter. When she again composed herself, she said, “That is one stupid man.”
Kendra said, “But it confirms something important is happening, and we know nothing of it.”
“Yes. It also tells us his master does not know what it is, but he suspects Lord Kent is involved. Interesting.” Elizabeth started brushing her own hair, another indication of how engrossed in thought and intrigue she had become.
Kendra placed her index finger and middle finger together and pointed both at her foot like a crossbow ready to fire a bolt until she received my wink in response. She wanted to talk to me in private. The two-finger signal had been something our mother had taught us when we were toddlers. Not even Elizabeth recognized it.
That was one of the few things Elizabeth didn’t know about us. It didn’t hurt her, and it gave my sister and me a secret method to serve her better, at times. A few private words often saved Elizabeth from making a mistake or being publicly embarrassed. The correct small magic cast at the right time benefited all.
In return, only Elizabeth and my sister knew of my humble magic abilities. Elizabeth had figured them out when we were all around ten years old. I’d used one of my tricks to show off, as usual, and win a children’s game. She had watched from a window and figured it out. Right then she decided to make me her own. However, she never once threatened to expose my secret. Instead, she watched me and questioned my actions, and with her help, my powers increased, as well as becoming more benign. She thought of new and inventive ways for me to use simple magic. A year later her father offered her a pair of personal servants for her birthday present.
She refused the ones he offered, older servants with excellent reputations in the palace. She actually climbed into her father’s lap and placed her arms around his neck and asked for permission to choose her own servants as part of her education. He couldn’t resist. She was already well on her way to becoming a master manipulator.
While I would have been content to use my magic to win a child’s game or wheedle a sweet cake, she pushed me to higher goals. She couldn’t perform any magic herself, but she had an innate understanding of its uses, far beyond my own. She originated sneaky and unusual ways to put it to practical use.
Once, we watched the king’s archers practicing their craft. The best of them always struck the makeshift target chest high and centered. Elizabeth whispered to me, “Make him sneeze.”
I did.
She punched me on the shoulder. Hard. “Not now, silly. Wait until just before he lets the next arrow fly.”
The next arrow sailed off to one side and struck the stone wall, in response to his second sneeze. It missed the target completely, and we refrained from laughing. Elizabeth nodded in satisfaction. She had created another use for me. The archer never knew what had made him miss. I could repeat the spell at will, and that became the subject of endless conversations. She’s the one that came up with the term: It’s the simple things. Since I did not possess the extraordinary abilities of others, we called mine small magic.
When a Mage or Sorceress performs their magic, the entire population of Crestfallen usually watched. They drew attention to themselves with their long shimmering robes, peaked hats, sparkling wands, loud noises, and I don’t know what all. Most were little more than showmen when it comes to performing. They were treated as mini-gods and considered themselves on a par with royalty—without the onerous daily duties of having to rule.
With Elizabeth’s help, we kept my small manipulations of the physical world a secret and used them sparingly, in ways others wouldn’t detect a magic spell had even occurred. This gave us power nobody could anticipate or defend against.
Over the years, with the help of my magic, several people had imbibed too much wine and then spoke of things they should have kept to themselves. Others laughed at inappropriate times and made mortal enemies because of it, and more had spilled mugs, tripped clumsily, or felt the call of nature so they excused themselves when they should have remained.
It’s the small things, Elizabeth said again and again. The right thread pulled unravels an entire tapestry, and she searched for those threads. I drew my attention from the past and back to her.