Stolen Magic(17)

“Lady El . . .” Albin bowed and held his arm out for her.

In the grand manner of mansioners promenading across a stage, they strutted to the bench, where she sat next to Master Robbie. He looked solemnly at her, seeming to take her measure.

She met his gaze. After a few seconds he blushed. They both looked away.

Albin, on her other side, leaned down to whisper, “Did you mansion at all while you were away?”

She couldn’t help smiling and whispered—shame on her—loud enough for Master Robbie to hear, too, “For the king.”

“No!” Albin said.

She felt Master Robbie jerk a little and sit straighter.

“Yes, and for the princess, too.”

Lodie! a nasal voice said in her mind. Remember your purpose. Observe!

The bees who’d been working here in the great hall came to the benches and sat together, along with the oldest bee, who had preceded them. At the end of the bench, Johan-bee lowered himself so awkwardly—he seemed not to look—that he fell. No one had forced him into this mishap. He’d done it by himself, but the others grinned. One said, “Hopeless.” Another chimed in with “Hapless.” And a third, “Useless.”

Everyone faced the crackling fire. Elodie turned and saw High Brunka Marya approaching from the center of the hall.

Elodie realized she shouldn’t be sitting. Masteress Meenore had instructed her to observe everyone when they heard the news, but she wouldn’t be able to if she couldn’t see them all. She jumped up and stood to the right of the fireplace, feeling as conspicuous as a mouse on a tablecloth. Everyone stared. Albin raised his eyebrows comically. Master Robbie continued his solemn gaze.

She scanned the people, memorizing them, beginning with the guests on the bench closest to her: Albin at the end, dear Albin in his ancient, threadbare cloak and drawstring poverty shoes, with his worn, expressive face, the deep smile lines in his cheeks, his changeable mouth; then sad Master Robbie, interesting but unknown; just-so Master Uwald, with his arm around Master Robbie’s shoulders; the steward, angry Master Tuomo, whose face had not yet relaxed.

The barber-surgeon moved to loom behind the youngest bee, the ardent young man who’d placed the benches. Why was her expression triumphant?

An empty bench separated the guests from the two full benches of bees. Elodie remembered that the most trusted of them were in pairs searching the inner chambers. She’d have no chance to observe them, although one might be the thief.

She knew the names of only two bees: clumsy Johan-bee and the disagreeable cook, Ludda-bee. Two others she’d noticed before: the oldest bee, and the young bee in front of the barber-surgeon, who resembled a real bee, with a plump middle, a short neck, large dark eyes, and skinny limbs.

The high brunka came to stand between the benches and the fireplace. “Please sit, Mistress Sirka.”


“Why can the girl stand and not me?” asked the barber-surgeon, who now had a name—Sirka—and a voice, hoarse, and deep for a woman.

Elodie prepared to sit on the floor, where she could still see everyone.

“She’s just a lamb.”

Elodie continued to stand.

Mistress Sirka shrugged and inserted herself between the eager young bee and another bee. The crowded bee benches became even more cramped.

Elodie wondered if the high brunka could hear any hearts that might be pounding and identify their owners.

Watch faces and hands, Elodie thought. Emotions declared themselves through them, as every mansioner knew.

Remember to mansion shock, yourself!

Master Tuomo, still angry, said, “I hope there’s a reason—”

“I must . . .” The high brunka’s mouth flattened into a line, no smile. “Oh, my dears, I regret”—she pressed her hands together. The tips of her fingers tinted rainbow colors—“to say, the Replica has been stolen.”





CHAPTER TWELVE



Elodie put her hands over her ears as if to block the news. Her eyes met Albin’s, and his were both worried and comforting.

Master Robbie watched her, too. His face was puzzled. He was probably wondering why she was shamming surprise.

Master Tuomo rose. The skin around his lips had paled. “Uwald, we can be on the road within the hour.”

No one can go! Elodie thought.

“Please sit,” High Brunka Marya said.

“My sons!” He remained standing. “I won’t reach them in time as it is. Uwald, we must—”

“Sit.” The high brunka’s soft voice held a note of command.

The steward sat slowly.

His sons are on Zertrum? Elodie thought. He can’t be the thief then.

Watch the bees, she told herself. IT suspects them the most. Keeping her eyes wide, her mouth sad, she turned their way.

The young bee jumped up, sat down, pumped his knees in agitation, his face tragic. Next to him, the barber-surgeon, Mistress Sirka, put a consoling arm around his shoulders. Her face looked untroubled, happy even. He seemed unaware of her.

A female bee put her fist in her mouth. Her eyes filled with tears.

The ancient bee half closed his eyes, although his face was alert.

Ludda-bee snapped, “If Johan could keep to his post, this wouldn’t have happened.”

First to blame. Was she directing attention away from herself? Or did she have a reason for the accusation, beyond the fact that he visited the privy while guarding? Surely everyone did that during a long watch.