Jay Lake - Green

“No one would dare breach the Factor’s walls. Not even the most desperate, drunken petty thief.”

“Still, we are visible from the street.”

“No one without looks within. Even if they see us there, who are we? Who would they tell?”

“The Mistresses come and go.”

“Have you ever seen a Mistress come or go at night? Besides me?”

I thought about that. “No-no, I have not.”

“Consider that there might be great and terrible wards on these gates.”

“So they cannot be passed, even by the Factor’s friends?”

The Dancing Mistress laughed. “To be sure. Such a thing makes the guards lazy. As they are not permitted to gaze within the courts on pain of blindness followed by death, they do not watch what we do.”

As Federo had said, except for him, I would know only women.

One night our run was different.

I dropped out of the tree freshly clad. My thighs ached from time spent on a strange horse that day. I was still too small to sit properly astride with any comfort. The Dancing Mistress stood there, her tail twitching as it emerged from a slit in her own blacks.

“Mistress,” I said, bowing my head as I clasped my hands for permission to speak.

“You have the count of twenty to gain the walkway of the outer wall.”

I ran, swift and light as she had trained me. There had been no fog or rainslick tonight, so I could move in safety. I did not bother with the stairs, both for pride and to avoid risk of waking Mistress Tirelle. Instead I scrambled up the wall where the east end of the Pomegranate Court house met the bluestone, then gained the copper roof, then made the last climb to the top.

My count was sixteen.

A moment later, the Dancing Mistress was with me. “Next time you will have the count of fifteen.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

She guided me to the outer wall and pointed that I should look over the edge. The street below was a drop of about forty feet.

“How would you make your way down?”

I thought a moment. “I might descend the outer wall, but I do not know if it is slick or rough, nor how well spaced the mortar joints are. Or I could fall, and try to slide along the stones as I descended. I do not think that would serve me well, as it is too far to let my body land in safety.”

“Hmm.”

I looked around. As I’d seen many times before, the walkway extended around the outer edge of the Factor’s house. We had never left the borders of my own court before, even though nothing on the walkway barred me except the distance between one step and the next. “If I pass beyond the boundary of the Pomegranate Court, there may be another way.”

Her voice dropped even lower, not so much a whisper as the shadow of one. “What will happen if you are found beyond the Pomegranate Court?”

“Mistress Tirelle would cut me, then turn me out for a tavern slave. The Factor has gone to a great deal of trouble to keep me bound here in quiet secrecy.”

She did not answer. I stood awhile, feeling a sudden chill that was not of the night air. What were they making of me here? Except for Federo mentioning that I should be a lady, no one had said. What would the Dancing Mistress make of me? Something Mistress Tirelle, and therefore presumably both Federo and the Factor, did not want of me.

“I am not your tool,” I whispered harshly, then sprinted east along the wall past the boundary of my life.

Federo returned to marvel at my height. “You have been growing while I was away,” he said with an easy laugh.

By then I thought myself sophisticated. Some of the lessons about jewels and clothes had sunk deep within my thoughts. This man was my last connection to my father and Endurance, and the only person alive who could tell me exactly where I was born. He did not dress the part, though. Instead this day he was windblown and carefree, clad in strange belled pantaloons and a muslin shirt that fastened across the shoulder.

Not at all the respect my station was due.

“I grow,” I told him. “And learn.” And count my bells, secret though they are.

“Good.” He bent his head, examining my face from an angle rather than turning my chin as he might once have done. “How much does she beat you?”

“Less so these days,” I admitted. “I have found the lock to my tongue, and fight only when I must.”

“Good. I was afraid your stubborn independence would lead you too deeply into trouble.”

With those words, I remembered once again that Federo was not my friend. A friend would have cared for my fate, not whether my words caught too much trouble.

“How is your hunting and trapping, then?” I let my voice grow nasty, much the way Mistress Leonie did when her talk slipped from gowns to gossip.

Federo looked pained, and turned away. “It is more than you know, Girl.”

I watched him walk away and did not feel sorry for a moment. This man had stolen me away from my life and family. What guilt was it on me that I hurt his heart for a moment? He would ride free, and I would remain here under the watchful eye and the hard hand of Mistress Tirelle.

Instead I closed my eyes and thought of the smell of rice paddies under the morning mist until the duck woman came to punish me for my insolence.

The next time the Dancing Mistress handed me the dark scrap during our daily exercises, I was ready for a night run. I wanted to show everyone how wrong they were, how shallow and evil they had been. Words were still my way out of this place, but if I could strike a few hard blows before I left the Pomegranate Court, my heart would be gladdened.

Dropping from the tree to the cobbles, I saw she was not there. I froze a moment on the fulcrum between panic and fear. Then I spotted her waiting for me at the top of the wall. I scrambled across the courtyard and up so quickly that the count would have been reset for me.

She watched me come, then caught me as I rushed toward her, spinning to throw me down. I rolled and fell, landing well enough, thanks to the training she had been giving me the past two years.

“What is it?” I hissed, regaining my feet.

“Are you too good for your friends?”

For the first time I realized how freely she and Federo must discuss me.

“No.” My breathing was hard, and my rib twinged.

“Much is risked on you. I cannot imagine you should be grateful. I would not be, not in your place. But you could at the least be respectful.”

“Of what? The risks taken by people who walk free each day?” I spat on the stones. “This slave girl does not sorrow for displeasing her owners.”

The Dancing Mistress gave me a long silence in which to consider my own words. They were prideful, but pride was all I had. Everything else had been taken from me, stolen away over and over.

Finally she spoke: “I do not own you. Nor does Federo, or even Mistress Tirelle.”

Taking a deep breath, I tried to find a voice that did not lash out with the sting I harbored in my heart. “No, the Factor owns me. You support his claim.”

“You do not know, Girl.”

“No, I do not.” I glanced at the street below. Surely we had meant to finally climb down the wall tonight? Dreading that I might be giving up my only escape with my next words, I said, “I will not be yours, any more than I will be his.”

The Dancing Mistress folded my hand around the scrap, which I still clutched. “Your choices are your own. When you are ready for me to come again, return this to me.”

“When I am ready?” I repeated stupidly.

“When you are ready.” Her face was lopsided with a mix of loss and anger. “Perhaps I will even come back then. As for now, fold away your blacks and climb into your bed. I will have no more of you for a time.”