Tamora Pierce - Page

His chambers were crowded. With the addition of the first-years to their study group, there was a boy on every surface that might be claimed as a seat. The cluster on the bed shifted, making room for Kel. They were all boys who had got her help with mathematics before: it was Kel’s favourite subject, and she was good at it.

Who would believe it was just Neal and me a year ago? she thought. I thought we’d never have any friends, what with Lord Wyldon hating him for being fifteen and educated, and me being The Girl.

About to take the offered place, she had an idea. ‘You know, they do allow study groups to meet in the libraries.’ She smiled. ‘I believe there’s room for us in the classroom-wing library.’ Last year Joren and his friends had made life miserable for any first-year who entered the room. It was only right that their group reclaim it for people who wanted to study.

The boys looked at each other, then at Kel. Without a word they gathered their things and streamed out of Neal’s room. Owen left skipping to a soft chant of ‘Books, books, books!’

Neal threw open his arms as if to embrace his now-empty chambers. ‘What shall I do with all this space in the evenings?’ he enquired airily, waving Kel out ahead of him. ‘Plant a garden, perhaps, begin my eagerly awaited career in sculpting—’

‘If I were you, I’d practise my staff work,’ Kel replied. ‘You need to.’

The bell that signalled the end of their day clanged, and the pages returned to their rooms. By then Kel felt each and every bruise from the fight and from her day’s training with that weighted harness. Stiffly she put her books on her desk, noticing a mild, clean scent in the air.

‘I made willow tea for my lady,’ explained Lalasa as she poured a cup from the kettle on the hearth. ‘And Salma gave me a package for you.’

Kel looked the package over. It was like others she’d received from an unknown benefactor: a plain canvas wrapper tied with string and a plain label. She undid the knots and pulled the canvas away to reveal a small wooden box.

She wriggled the top off to reveal the contents: a pamphlet and three oval leather balls, each of a size that would fit into her palm. Did her mysterious well-wisher want her to learn to juggle? She picked up a ball, which was heavier than it looked. Kel squeezed it. From the texture, it was filled with sand.

‘What on earth?’ she muttered, and leafed through the pamphlet. It was hand-lettered and clearly illustrated. Suddenly she began to grin.

‘What is it, my lady?’ asked the maid.

‘Exercises,’ replied Kel. ‘For my arms, and my hands.’ She moulded the leather ball in her left hand, squeezing hard. ‘This is supposed to strengthen my grip.’ How does he know, or she, what’s needed? Kel wondered, scanning the descriptions of the exercises. Last year it had been a good knife, her jar of precious, magicked bruise balm, and a fine tilting saddle for Peachblossom. Now it was more exercises, small ones she could do any time, that would help to build strength in her hands and arms.

Reminded of the bruise balm, Kel took the jar out of her desk and dabbed a little on her swollen eye. The throbbing ache in it began to fade.

I wish I knew who you were, she thought, sipping the tea that Lalasa had made. I would like to thank you – and ask why you do these things for me.

The next morning Kel rose before dawn as always. It was not easy. She felt stiff, old, and battered. When she stubbed her toe, she remembered that she could only see through one eye. At least the blackened eye no longer ached so much.

I could have had ice, Kel thought bitterly. But no. I had to be tough. I was mad when I chose this life, she decided as she unlocked her large shutters. I was stark raving mad, and my family was too polite to mention it. That’s what living with the Yamanis does to people. They get so well-mannered they won’t mention you’re crazy.

She opened the shutters wide. Outside lay a small stone-flagged courtyard with a slender, miserable tree at the centre. The flock of sparrows perched on its branches headed for Kel, swirling around her in a rustle of feathers and a chorus of peeps. Except during winter, they preferred to sleep outside and join her for seed and water in the short grey time before sunrise. While most of the birds went straight to the dishes, a few landed on her shoulders and arms. Kel gently stroked their heads and breasts with a finger. She had nearly thirty after the spring nesting. Brown-and-tan females and males, the males also sporting black collars, they appeared to see Kel as a source of food and entertainment. They chattered to her constantly, as if they hoped that with enough repetition, this great slow creature would understand them.

She was admiring the male whose pale-spotted head had earned him the name Freckle when something large and white vaulted the windowsill on her blind side. It landed beside her with a thump as the sparrows took to the air. She backed up to look at it properly.

The dog Jump grinned cheerfully at her, tongue lolling. His crooked tail whipped the air briskly.

‘Absolutely not ,’ Kel said firmly. She pointed to the window. ‘You live with Daine now! Daine!’

Jump stood on his hind legs and thrust his heavy nose into Kel’s hand.

‘How did you know to come in here?’ Kel leaned out of her window. If she hadn’t been so vexed, she would have been impressed – it was four feet from the ground to her sill. She turned to glare at the dog. ‘Back to Daine, this instant!’ she ordered. ‘Out!’

‘ Out? ’ a quavering voice enquired. Lalasa stood at the dressing room door. ‘What did I—’

Kel pointed to Jump.

‘Oh. The dog has returned.’ Lalasa padded out into the main room and poked up the hearth fire, then put a full pot of water over it. ‘My lady should have roused me. I did not mean to lay abed after my lady was up.’

‘I wake before dawn,’ Kel said, going to the corner where she had left her practice glaive. ‘I practise before I dress.’ She gave the weapon an experimental swing, making sure there was plenty of clear space in this part of her room. She didn’t want to break anything as she exercised.

At least she had got some real glaive practice over the summer. While her sisters Adalia and Oranie, young Eastern ladies now, had lost the skills they learned in the Yamani Islands, their mother had trounced Kel every day for a month before Kel’s old ability had returned. Kel often thought that Ilane of Mindelan could give even the Shang warriors who taught the pages a real fight with a glaive.

Kel swept the weapon down and held it poised for the cut named ‘the broom sweeps clean’. Her grip was not quite right. She adjusted it and looked up, ready to begin the pattern of movements and strikes that were her practice routine.

Lalasa stood against the wall beside the hearth. Her hands, covered by the large quilted mitts used to lift hot things off the fire, were pressed tight over her mouth. Her eyes were huge.

Now what? Kel wanted to say. She wasn’t used to explaining her every move to someone. Instead of scolding, she bit her tongue and made herself think of a lake, quiet and serene on a summer’s day. When she had herself under control, she asked, ‘What’s the matter, Lalasa?’

‘I – I want to be out of your way, my lady, is all. It’s so big. Do you always swing it like that?’

Kel looked at her weapon, confused. It was just a practice glaive, a five-foot-long wooden staff with a lead core, capped by a curved, heavy, dull blade eighteen inches long. ‘That’s what it’s for. See, you can wield it like a long-handled axe’ – she brought the glaive up overhand and chopped down – ‘or you can thrust with it.’ Kel shifted her hands on the staff and lunged. ‘Or you can cut up with the curved edge.’ She swung the weapon back to the broom-sweeps-clean position, and stopped. Lalasa was plainly more frightened than ever. ‘You could learn to use it,’ offered Kel. ‘To protect yourself. The Yamani ladies all know how to wield the glaive.’