Tamora Pierce - Page

‘Joren of Stone Mountain, I will have a two-page essay on good manners by Sunday evening,’ he said. As always, the words came reluctantly from his mouth, as if he felt he might be poorer by giving them away. ‘Keladry of Mindelan, for your lateness, you will labour in the pages’ armoury for one bell of time on Sunday afternoon.’ It was the standard punishment, no more and no less than he gave any other page for tardiness.

She bowed, just as Joren had. They were not permitted to argue.

‘You are both dismissed.’ Lord Wyldon picked up his documents. Joren made sure he beat Kel out of the mess hall. She let him have the lead, since he seemed to think it was important. Once he was out of her way, she ran back to her rooms. She needed to collect her books for the afternoon’s classwork.

The dog was still asleep on her bed. He was not alone. While Kel had to keep the big shutters locked when she was out, the small pair over them were open in all weather so the sparrows that had adopted her could fly in and out. Three now perched on her coverlet, eyeing the dog with interest.

‘He isn’t staying,’ Kel told the small brown birds. The dog’s tail wagged, though he didn’t open his eyes.

One sparrow flew over and perched on her shoulder with a peep. It was the female who led the flock. A pale spot on top of her head had earned her the name Crown. Kel gave the bird a sunflower seed and gathered her books. Crown flew back to the bed to continue her inspection of the newcomer.

The palace animals were peculiar. They seemed wiser, in the human sense, than most other animals. The difference was caused by a young woman named Daine, the Wildmage, whose magic allowed her to communicate with animals. After she had talked to Kel’s gelding Peachblossom, the vicious horse allowed Kel to ride him without making her bleed for the privilege. Even Daine’s mere presence affected palace animals permanently. Three months before, Kel’s sparrows had led Kel and a troop of hunters to the lair of the giant, human-headed spider monsters called spidrens, though Daine had not been there to ask it of them.

Might Daine help with this dog? Kel wondered as she locked the door behind her.

Neal had been waiting in the corridor. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. ‘Come, Mindelan,’ he said cheerfully, towing her towards the classroom wing. ‘While you were here riding your evil horse and bending a bow all summer, did you crack a single book?’

‘I helped the housekeeper with the accounts,’ retorted Kel, letting her friend tow her. ‘Did you bend a bow or ride a horse all summer?’

‘Had to,’ Neal said gloomily as they walked into their first class, reading and writing with the Mithran priest Yayin. ‘Our master at arms kept after me.’

She sat next to him. ‘We’ll make a knight of you yet, Queenscove.’

‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ he retorted.

After class Kel returned to her rooms to find that life had suddenly improved. A full tub of hot water awaited her. She could take a real bath while the ugly dog looked on. As she soaked, Kel realized he, too, had been washed. His fine, short fur shone white between scars. He was still homely. His legs were a little bowed, supporting a barrel chest and thin hips. She had already noticed that twice-broken tail and his torn ear. His whole ear was sharp, pointed, and upright on a head shaped like a thick ax blade. That skull looked too big even for his sturdy neck, but the dog lifted it with pride.

‘You will never be a beauty,’ Kel informed him as she dried off. He wagged his absurd tail, as if she’d complimented him.

As she put on a brown shift, orange gown, and stockings – she always wore a dress to supper, in case anyone had forgotten that she was a girl – she noticed other welcome changes. Her desk had been neatened, her clothes pressed till not a single wrinkle was left. There was a bowl, empty even of crumbs, and a half-empty water dish: the girl Lalasa had washed and fed the dog. She had also found Kel’s store of seeds and filled the sparrows’ feed and water dishes. No bird droppings could be seen anywhere.

Someone pounded on her door. ‘Kel, come on!’ yelled Neal. ‘I’m hungry!’

When she opened the door, he poked his head inside. ‘The cooks say there’s ham and blueberry pies, since it’s the first day. I love blueberry pie – Mithros, that is the ugliest dog in the world.’ He stepped inside.

The dog trotted over to sniff him energetically. His crooked tail began to whip. He stood on his hind legs, braced his paws on Neal’s long thighs, and rooted at one of the youth’s pockets.

‘Caught me out, old man, didn’t you?’ asked Neal with a grin. He crouched, pulling a roll from his pocket, and gave it to the dog. It was gone in three bites. ‘You know we can’t have dogs,’ he reminded Kel, scratching the animal’s rump. ‘Mithros and Goddess, he is ugly .’

‘You said that already. I know I can’t have a dog. Neal, will the Wildmage take him?’

‘Daine? Of course,’ he replied. ‘She’s here – I saw her last night. Ask her after supper.’

‘Did you maybe want to go with me?’ she offered gingerly, afraid that she might cause Neal hurt by asking him along. Last year, he had introduced her to Daine when Kel had needed help with Peachblossom. Kel had seen that Neal was smitten with Daine, though she lived with the mage Numair Salmalín.

‘No,’ he told Kel nobly, and sighed. ‘It just tries my heart, to see her with that old man.’

Kel didn’t think Master Numair was so old, but she held her tongue. It did no good to argue with her lovestruck friend.

‘Kel, is Neal here?’ Merric stuck his head into the room. ‘Let’s be prompt to supper, shall we?’ His blue eyes widened. ‘That’s an ugly dog. You know we aren’t allowed pets.’

‘He goes to Daine tonight,’ Kel snapped. She thrust her friends from the room.

The king joined them for supper, as he had the year before. He ate with Lord Wyldon, then spoke to the pages and the few squires present about the importance of their studies. Kel watched and listened, her face Yamani-smooth. While she owed King Jonathan her duty and her service, she still wasn’t sure that she liked him. The king had allowed Lord Wyldon to put Kel on a year’s probation, something no other page had to endure. It had not been fair.

Suddenly she remembered something her father had said when the Yamani emperor ordered the execution not only of a band of robbers but of their women and children as well. ‘Rulers are seldom nice people, Kel,’ he’d remarked, his eyes sad. ‘Even good ones make choices that will hurt somebody.’

But what if I want him to be nice? she asked her father now as she watched her king smile at the eager boys. What if I want him to be fair?

‘You may want anything you like,’ her mother would have said. ‘That doesn’t mean you’ll get it.’

She smiled, but she kept it inside. She didn’t want the king to think she smiled at him.

As soon as the king had gone, Lord Wyldon called, ‘Keladry of Mindelan.’

Now what? thought Kel, halfway to the door. Has he heard about the dog? She went back to the training master’s table.

At least he didn’t keep her in suspense. ‘I understand you have taken a maid into your service,’ he remarked when she bowed.

Kel heaved an inner sigh of relief. ‘Yes, my lord.’

‘You are permitted to do so. However, a servant is a privilege, not a right, in the pages’ wing. In addition to your obligations to anyone in your service, you have obligations to me and to the palace.’ He regarded her levelly, toying with his knife. ‘She is not to involve herself physically with any page or squire. Her presence is not considered chaperonage for you. If there is a boy in your rooms, the door remains open. If she is ill, you will call and pay a healer. If she cannot read and write, you must teach her. If she misbehaves – is a thief, or lewd, or quarrelsome – you are liable. If she runs off, or stays away overnight without your permission, or disobeys you, do not ask palace guards or servants to find her or to help you to discipline her. That you must do yourself. Am I understood?’