A Tale of Two Castles(30)

Yes! Master Thiel. How sweetly he slept, as deeply as a child.

Was he one of the count’s grooms, or did he have no other place to lay his head? My heart went out to him if he had no home.

My heart went out to him if he had a dozen homes. Quietly, I left the stall.

“Do you treat Jonty Um when he is ill?”

“Princess, His Lordship is not a beast.”

“He is tended by Sir Maydsin,” Master Gise said, “as you and your father are.”

“La!” I heard embarrassment in her voice. “I meant when he is a beast. Have you ever tended him when he was a monkey?”

“No, Your Highness. Hush, honey. I meant hush to the goat, Your Highness.”

Where might Nesspa be hidden? And if I found him, what would I do?

“What are you putting on her?”

“Bran, Your Highness.”

If it was just bran, what was that sharp smell?

I entered a large open area. Ahead, on the outer castle wall, firelight cast a red glow and provided faint illumination. My view of the fireplace itself was blocked by carts and trestles topped with harnesses and saddles. This would be the likely spot to hide anything.

The princess’s voice twanged. “Why is she rolling her neck so?”

“There are many bites, Princess. She is very sick.”

A thorough search would take hours. I began by peering into the blackness under the nearest cart, but seven snoozing dogs could be there and I wouldn’t see them.

I tiptoed to the fireplace and saw the expected: three stable hands sleeping on their pallets. Mustn’t wake them. I picked my way silently between two of them and found the poker. But on my return, I accidentally tapped a slumberer’s shoulder with the toe of my shoe.

Luckily, he faced away from me. He rose groggily on one elbow. I stopped breathing.

For a full minute he didn’t move, but then he rolled onto his stomach, and I tiptoed away.

I used the poker to probe gently under a cart. No Nesspa, so I climbed into the cart itself, which turned out to be a bench wagon for bringing guests to the castle. I felt beneath the benches. My fingers encountered no animals, but they brushed against a morsel of fabric, which I picked up. By feel it was a pouch, holding nothing heavy, perhaps holding nothing. Still, its owner might want it. By feel again, I opened my purse and stuffed it in. In the morning I would try to find the owner.

As I climbed out of the cart, I heard a bleat and then a groan from deep in the stable.

“Alack! Is she dying?”

No one answered. Then, finally, Master Dess said, “The goat is dead.”

Poor creature.

“Dead? Deh-eh-eh-d!” Princess Renn wailed.

A horse neighed. I groped under another wagon, then climbed in and explored. The cart was empty but for a thin layer of straw.

“In the morning,” Master Gise said, “I will have the carcass removed and inform His Lordship.”

“Dead people are called remains,” the princess said. “Why should a beast be called a carcass?”

It did seem unfair. I hoped Nesspa wasn’t a carcass. I looked under an overturned wheelbarrow. Nothing.

“Princess,” Master Dess said, “in death the goat will be treated with respect. I swear to it.”

They were silent until Master Gise said, “You should return to your apartment, Your Highness.”

Her voice rose. “Should? I think I should stay with this goat and mourn her death. You both may go.”

Lambs and calves, she was good! Presence of mind, Father would have said. Master Gise and Master Dess would leave, and she and I could search together, but I’d have to warn her about waking Master Thiel and the stable hands.

“Your Highness, Master Gise lives here, and I will sleep here as well tonight.”

They would pass me on the way to their pallets! I crept toward the aisle of stalls. I had to get out, and quickly.

“Then I will stay only a minute or two and let you have your rest. Will you join me in an Ehlodie—oh! I meant eulogy—to these remains.”

Did Master Dess know my name? I couldn’t remember.

I tiptoed by the carts as fast as I could go.

“We must leave this life”—her voice rose on leave, a signal for me, as if I needed one—“all of us, whether goat or grasshopper, child or chicken, person or panther, human or heron. . . .” She was entirely carried away. I hoped she would continue until I escaped.

While she named more pairings, I reached the middle aisle we had entered through and worked my way past the stalls. As I went by, I peeped into Master Thiel’s stall for a second glimpse of him. The stall was empty. I halted, squinted, looked away and back again. Still empty.

“. . . and even an ox or a camel or a bumblebee may be mourned. La! Perhaps not so much a bumblebee.”

Had I looked in the wrong stall? No. There was the broom I’d knocked over. Had I imagined Master Thiel?

“The goat will surely be mourned. Maker of goat’s milk, giver of goat cheese, happy in life, she deserves these few words in her memory.”

I neared the doors.

“Now, masters, I will let you finish the night in sleep.”

I was out. I flew up the stairs and waited for her in the inner ward.

What would I do if Master Gise or Master Dess decided to escort her to the donjon?

She came out alone. “Was I not quick-witted to secretly tell you to leave? Did you find Nesspa?”