Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, places, or original story, much as I wish I did. They belong to Tamora Pierce.
Plans and Plots
They didn't give her much for dinner, only a thin bowl of stew, a hunk of bread so hard she was afraid it would break her teeth, and a small cup of water. She looked plaintively at the food before her. How am I going to keep my strength up on this? She wondered, hope fading before her.
They were camped in a small clearing just off a forest path. Alanna had know idea where she was, despite her training in Tortall's geography back in Corus. She felt lost, and cold, and unhappy, her wrist still tied to the man with the face like clay.
As if hearing her thoughts he turned towards and gave her another leer. "Eat up, girly. You're not getting any more and if you don't eat it…I will." He laughed and nudged his companion, whose name she had learned was Tomas, who brooded silently next to him.
The low burning fire lit his face intensely. Alanna found herself studying him. Maybe he could help her. He definitely didn't seem as happy with the situation as the other one was. And there was something about him, something sharp and still, which caught her interest. He looked over at her as well and she widened her eyes with hope. But he gave her a small, imperceptible shake of his head. Or was that just her imagination? After so long stuck in a box with just her own thoughts for company, it was hard to tell.
After eating her meagre food, she decided that it was time for some answers.
"Where…where are you taking me?" She asked.
The older man replied gruffly. "Port Legann. Duke Roger's orders."
"But what will you do with me there?"
"He's meeting us. He'll decide what to do with you. If it were up to me…" He turned towards her and ran a hand up her exposed shin, grinning. His meaning was clear in his glazed eyes. He'd obviously had too much to drink. God damned her Mithros forsaken dress, thought Alanna, unkindly. If she'd still been in breeches none of this would have happened. Her fear must have shown on her face for Tomas laid a hand on his companion's arm.
"No, Scart. Not tonight. Duke Roger wants this one unharmed. And in one piece."
Scart gave a long, deliberate sly and removed his hand, but not before shooting her another glance.
"Aye, I suppose you're right. I just didn't expect our lady squire to look so beddable."
Tomas gave him an cold look. Alanna felt some small modicum of hope bubble up in her. She was safe, at least for now. At least until Tyra, and hopefully then… well, then was then, and now was now, and for now she was going to get some sleep.
A furore was taking place at the same time, back in Corus, in Jonathan of Conte's bedroom. He'd been having supper with Gary when the message arrived. Gary intercepted it, having decided that tonight, nothing, and he really did mean nothing, was going to spoil their evening.
But as he read the message his face turned grey, then white, then…sort of purplish-red. Jon sat by in idle amusement. What had Gary got himself into this time? But then Gary shoved the letter into his hands and something changed inside him. He felt his heart breaking with every word and by the time he was done he sank his hands into his head.
"Get Raoul," he said. "And keep this quiet. Don't let anyone know."
Gary nodded silently, his usual light and mirth gone and hurried from the room. Jon leaned forward in his chair, rocking slightly. He couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe it would happen. She was supposed to be safe, albeit angry, but safe at home. Not…he gave a shudder. He couldn't bear to think of where she was. It hurt too much.
Minutes later the door slammed open.
"What, pray tell, is the meaning of this?" Exclaimed Raoul as he shouldered his bulk into the room. "Alanna's been what? Kidnapped? This has got to be a joke."
"Sit down."
They sat, the three of them, thinking back to a simpler time when Alanna had been Alan and wouldn't go swimming with them because she was too scared. Or when they'd sat in this very same room in disbelief at the fact she had breasts. But now, now there were no words.
Abruptly, Raoul stood up. "We have to do something."
"I agree," Gary chimed in.
"There's nothing we can do," said Jon. "My father would never agree to it."
Raoul turned a strange shade of fuscia and paced the room in anger. "What the hell do you mean by that? I mean, by Mithros, Alan… Alanna's been kidnapped. And we don't know where they're taking him…her…and we don't know where they're going and he could…she could end up…dead."
"Yes, but father isn't going to send half the army after a girl who pretended to be a boy who may or may not have been kidnapped or who may have just run away. You saw the letter. She was gone from the inn. Then they found a sign of struggle. So she ran away before she was kidnapped. And there's no trail. Who'd follow something like that?"
"I would." A quiet voice emerged from the corner of the room. The three young men looked around in surprise to see someone sitting there, obscured by the shadows. "In the name of all the gods and every aspect of hell, I would."
It was George. Jon didn't know whether he'd ever felt more relieved to see him, or whether it was just lightheadedness.
Gary opened his arms expansive. "Then come, and join our band of merry men. We've got a girl to get." His eyes twinkled and his face was flushed. Now this was more like it.
