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“The real Rupert Diggs woke up from your Half-Elf’s spell.” Mistress Moorne settles herself on the bench and plops a large, lumpy canvas bag onto her lap. “He came to me right away. I guess he remembered some of what passed between their two minds when the spell was active. He couldn’t recall everything, but he said your Half-Elf planned to help us with a certain project.” She eyes me, as if trying to gauge how much I already know.
I nod. “I know what you were planning. The fennisley.”
“Yes, well... Rupert Diggs says that your Half-Elf went to the supplier for the fennisley, but we don’t know whether he managed to get it or not.”
“He did,” I assure her. “He laid the spell on it, too.”
Her sharp eyes light up. “Do you have any idea where he might have hidden it?”
“I’m afraid not. Maybe in his room? Somewhere on his person?”
“That’s what we thought, too. I searched his room, and I had one of my boys track down where they threw his personal things, his clothes and boots and such. They dumped everything into one of the dust bins. They’d gone through his pockets, but my boy managed to salvage his boots and this notebook. The notebook seems to be yours, and the boots... well, I thought you might want them. I suspect they’re Elven-made.”
She opens the drawstring mouth of the bag on her lap and pulls out a familiar pair of boots and an even more familiar notebook. She sets them on the bench between us.
The notebook is indeed mine, and the boots—
Elven-made… yes… Elven-made by friends of his in Lensterhaven… friends who would know exactly where the Elves’ sanctuary is.
“Mistress Moorne,” I say. “I could kiss you right now, I’m that grateful.”
She chuckles. “Well, dear, I’m not sure why you should be so grateful—I’ve brought you nothing but these. We’ll keep looking for the—you know.” She gives me a significant look. “And we’ll use it if we find it.”
“No, don’t!” I exclaim. At her warning look, I lower my voice to a whisper. “Don’t get rid of anyone yet. You may have heard that to arrange my freedom, the Half-Elf had to yield the King his name and vow his service. I need to learn his true name and free him from his bond with the King. Otherwise when the King dies, he will die, too.”
She surveys me shrewdly. “You love him, this nameless trickster.”
“Yes.” The word lurches from me, a truth vital as blood or breath. “Yes, I do.”
“Very well. I can give you one week before we act, but no longer than that. We’re grateful for what you’ve done today. You’ve strengthened our cause against the King, and if we act soon, the people will rise with us. We cannot wait long, or this fervor will fade, and the citizens will return to their sad complacency.”
“You don’t speak like a cook,” I tell her. “You speak like a leader.”
She smiles placidly. “I’ve had many years of experience ruling over a kitchen. Just because a woman is a cook doesn’t mean she can’t be educated, intelligent, and ambitious. Just like some bakers I know.” She gives me a wink. “One week. Then I must give the order, and my people will take action. The yeast has been added, and the dough will rise.”
“One week isn’t enough time.”
Her pleasant face hardens a little as she stands, clutching the empty canvas bag. “It’s all the time I can give you. Others are suffering, even as we speak, and the longer we wait, the more difficult and bloody the coup will be. The life of one Half-Elf is not worth more than the lives of my followers, or the lives of the people in this city.”
“I know that,” I choke out. But what I really want to scream is that yes, yes, his life is worth more than anyone else’s. He is worth every soul in the world.
It’s not true, and I feel guilty for thinking it, but it feels true. Faced with his death, or the death of everyone else in this kingdom, I know what I should choose. I also know who I’d want to choose.
The cook is turning away, but she hesitates. “The folk here gave you clothes, yes? Did they offer you a room for the night?”
“Yes, on both counts.”
“A word of advice—don’t sleep in this city. Go to the northwestern canal gate, a few blocks from here, and ask for Jerrod. If you try to leave by any other gate, you’ll be stopped.”
“What about the other girls?”
“Most of them should be able to leave tomorrow, if they’re quiet and clever about it. But everyone knows your face now. You led the march out of the palace, and while that notoriety might give you a little protection for a while, it won’t last. Get out tonight and get clear of the city as fast as you can.” She puckers her mouth, then reaches into her pocket. “Your hand, girl.”
I transfer my tea to one hand and hold out the other. She places several coins into my palm. “For travel.”
“Thank you,” I murmur.
“Think nothing of it. I wish you the blessing of the Goddess.” With a final nod, she hurries away.
