A Tale of Two Castles(44)

As I spoke, weariness struck. I sat on the grass, certain that if I kept standing, my knees would buckle.

“Stand, Lodie. I need you alert.”

I struggled up.

“Hold my wing.”

I reached out gingerly, afraid of being burned, but the wing was no hotter than cozy, and it was bracing. My tiredness fell away.

“How many guests brought cats?”

“At least eighteen.”

“At least?”

“Definitely eighteen.” Or more.

“What were their names?”

“The cats?”

“Don’t be foolish. The guests’ names, the ones with the cats.”

IT was being horrible. “Master Thiel brought Pardine. The mayor’s wife had a cat. Goodwife Celeste’s son-in-law had one. The man whose water you heat.” I squeezed my eyes shut in hopes of extracting more from my memory. “I don’t know who else.”

“I see,” IT said coldly.

This wasn’t fair! IT should have hired an assistant who knew Two Castles—and left me to starve. “I’m sorry.”

“No doubt.”

Goodwife Celeste was right about the moodiness.

“Masteress . . . why did Master Thiel arrive with the other guests when he’d been here last night?”

“The correct question is, Why was he here last night?”

I could say nothing to please IT. “Yes, why?”

“We will ask him, now that we know the proper question. Tell me again: You saw no one signal the cats?”

I shook my head. “My eyes were on His Lordship, except when I looked down, where the snake was coming out of my mouth.”

The skin above ITs snout crinkled, which I deduced or induced meant confusion.

“The imaginary moonsnake.”

“Ah. Go to bed, Lodie. Perhaps you will dream something useful.” IT lifted into the sky.

When would I see IT again?

I started toward the gatehouse, although, with His Lordship gone, I no longer had a right to sleep in the castle.

No one stopped me. The guards didn’t even look my way. In the great hall, the tables had been taken down. Only one lamp was still lit. By its glow I saw that several servants were already asleep. Others sat up, their pallets pulled close together in clusters.

I wanted to hear the conversation.

My pallet, bulging with my satchel, was an island yards from the others. I carried it to the nearest cluster.

But as soon as I set it down, a woman servant turned around. “Sleep elsewhere.”

I chose better this time, placing myself behind Master Jak’s broad back, where no one seemed to notice me. Now, if only I had the cupped ears of a donkey for better hearing.

“. . . beeswax candles . . . niece . . . Beeswax! Worth . . .” I heard a sniffle, something mumbled.

“. . . kind . . .”

“. . . Two Castles . . .”

I leaned over the edge of the pallet, set my forearms down, and pulled myself nearer to the voices. The pallet’s wooden frame slid silently on the dirt floor.

Ah. Now I could hear.

“What was the longest he ever stayed a monkey?”

“Two weeks, by thunder.” The speaker was Master Jak. “When he grew big again, he half ate the castle out of food. Never lost his ogre appetite.”

“Might he . . .”

“Perhaps.”

“In a hidey-hole.”

“Growing hungry.”

“Frightened, by thunder.”

Silence fell. These people loved him. I wondered if I’d hear like talk from each cluster and from the sleeping servants if they were awake.

Someone snuffed out the lamp. People became shapes. The murmuring continued. I wished they would talk about the moment before the transformation. Master Jak had been in the kitchen, but some of the others might have served the guests. One might have seen or heard something: a nod, a word, a guest’s hand flash in a cat signal.

The whispering began again.

“Misyur will read the will.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Not tomorrow, by thunder. We’ll keep searching tomorrow. But soon.”

“What will become of us?”

Whispering voices sounded much alike. I had recognized Master Jak’s only because of his by thunder and the masculine rumble under his whisper.

My heart skipped. Could I ask a question and have each think another had spoken?

The conversation moved along. “Will the king let His Lordship’s will stand? His Highness wants this castle.”

“Two castles in Two Castles, and both his.”

“We’ll lose our places, very likely.”

“I wouldn’t serve Greedy Grenny if he got down on his royal knees and begged me.”

“He went back to eating after His Lordship turned into a mouse. I won’t serve him either.”

The murmurs turned to where servants might be needed. Slowly, slowly, I crawled off my pallet, holding my breath, hoping the whispers would cover my tiny sounds.

I wanted my voice to come from within the circle, and at last I knelt between two people. The servants discussed the merits of serving nobility or burghers. I rehearsed what to say and how to say it, while waiting for a pause. If they had gone over my question already, they’d catch me.