Some servants were near enough paying off their servant price they didn’t want to risk trouble. Others had family to worry about. Some didn’t believe change possible. And maybe it wasn’t. What could any number of renegades do against the king and lords who not only commanded armies but had wizards at their beck and call? I was either an optimist or a fool to have joined their cause, or perhaps just so angry at wizards that I was bent on my own destruction.
I unlocked the box, rifled through its contents, and found the almost finished list of the provisions Lord Bettencourt would shortly send to the king’s troops. A very nice record of where those men were.
I ought to take it and run. The chamberlain wouldn’t be accused of opening a locked box. Unless that was, he knew where Lord Bettencourt kept the key. I sighed and trudged back into the lord’s bed chamber.
A desk stood against one wall with pens and an inkwell. A stack of parchment, edges curling, sat in the middle. I pulled my wand from my pocket. Unlike most wizards who used polished wood, ivory, or even silver to hold their enchantments, my wand was a knitting needle. Such a thing in my pocket, along with its unmagical companion and a small ball of yarn, raised no suspicion.
I enchanted the pens to copy the words of the scroll. It was an imprudent risk, taking extra time, but at least I wouldn’t lay in my bed tonight wondering about the fate of the chamberlain. And besides, this way Lord Bettencourt wouldn’t know the troops’ locations had been leaked.
Time plodded on. I’d brought bits of jerky in case I needed to bribe any dogs. I nibbled nervously on a piece. The pens finished their work and dropped dramatically onto the desk like footmen shot by arrows. While the ink dried, I returned the scroll to its chest. Finally, I could leave.
I’d just relocked the wardrobe when I heard a door swing open.
I bit back an oath and whispered the counter spell to extinguish my shell’s light. Fortunately, no one could see the light from the bed chamber, but I still had to retrieve the copy of the scroll from the desk.
A man, his voice slurred with drink, tromped into the room. “You ought to be thankful I’ve chosen you. It’s an honor.”
The sound of a woman crying followed him. So, he hadn’t been with a mistress. At least not a willing one. Lord Bettencourt was the sort who forced himself on the women folk in his castle.
I tiptoed into the bed chamber.
Lord Bettencourt stood by the fireplace. He was a middle-aged man with a graying beard and a stomach that strained against his embroidered tunic. He threw a log onto the fire and jabbed the embers with the poker. “We’ll have it warm in here soon enough.”
Flames flickered around the wood, lighting the area. A scullery maid, judging from her dingy gray dress, stood trembling in the center of the room, head bowed and weeping. She didn’t speak and that somehow made her presence here worse. It was as though she knew pleading wouldn’t matter.
And there I was, an unwilling witness to this event. Evidence of my crime lay on Lord Bettencourt’s desk, although I imagined he was too drunk to notice such things. I ought to scoop up the parchment and take my leave while he was occupied.
I couldn’t risk getting caught. The information on that parchment was worth many lives.
Silently, I hurried to where the parchment lay. It was dry enough not to smear. I tucked it into my boot and trod toward the balcony. With Lord Bettencourt preoccupied, he wouldn’t see the door to the balcony opening.
He took hold of the woman’s arm and tugged her toward the bed. “Come, come. You’ve nothing to blubber about.”
“Please, my lord…” With her face lifted, I saw how young the woman was, a girl really. Perhaps no more than eighteen. Just a couple of years younger than me.
I couldn’t help her. Making my way out of the castle and across the grounds without discovery was already no easy task.
Still, I didn’t move. My feet seemed to be planted on the floor of their own accord. How could I leave the girl to her fate? I’d once been a servant in a castle, the sort that nobles thought of as little more than property.
My hand went to the hilt of my dagger. If I killed the lord, the maid would be blamed for his death. She probably wouldn’t consider a hanging much of a comfort. Fighting him with less than deadly force, invisible or not, would draw his attention to me. He’d call his guards, the dogs, and worse, his wizard.
But I could at least knock him down and give her the chance to escape. I strode over to him and with one sweep of my foot, he fell, smacking onto the floor. Unfortunately, he pulled the maid down with him.
His grip broke and she edged away from him. Instead of fleeing from the room, she stayed where she was, gaping at the man with wide uncertain eyes.
“Run,” I muttered but spoke the word too low for her to hear.
“Clumsy girl!” Lord Bettencourt snapped. “Your insolence caused me to trip.”
She got to her feet, keeping a wary distance. “I’m sorry, my lord. Are you injured?”
Saints in heaven. Was she going to stand about exchanging condolences? Did the girl have no sense of preservation?
“Help me up,” he demanded.
She gave him her hand. I tried not to grit my teeth at her foolishness. Only two and a half years had passed since I’d been a servant in a castle, but it was already becoming hard to remember how powerless I’d been. If the maid ran away from the lord now, he’d only be more cross with her later. Well, if he was sober enough to recall any of this.
Lord Bettencourt stood, wobbling. “There now. I’ll have no more of your hysterics.” Or at least that’s probably how the sentence ended. The last part was muffled because as soon as he took another step, I swept his foot out from under him again.