Chapter 6: The Intruder


If there were ever gods or spirits around, Kestrel prayed they would answer her now.

Hell itself and all its dominions could not be worse than the sight that greeted her. Three eager women, each with long lengths of different coloured fabrics thrown over each shoulder, were criss-crossing Sisi's apartment like scurrying worker ants. Beads and ribbons jostled for prime position across every piece of furniture in the room. From the courtyard outside, the shouts of the grooms alerted her to the arrival of other merchants: jewellers, silk weavers and even a perfumier from the Lower City.

In the centre of the room, the eye of the maelstrom, the Chief Seamstress danced assiduous attendance on Sisi and her nurse, discreetly suggesting now this fabric, now that. Diagrams of the latest fashions, crafted with such delicate precision that they would put the finest map-makers to shame, were held up for inspection, examined and, more often than not, dismissed, as the new Lady Ortiz eagerly debated the merits and faults of each design with Lunki. Boxes of jewellery lay flung open on the wide bed in the centre of the room and ropes of pearls and diamonds spilled out onto the covers like tiny moons and stars. Long lengths of gauze in pale, see-through pastels spilled down from every available nook and cranny until the room resembled nothing so much as a cloud.

Kess hovered close by the door, ready for a quick get away if the need should arise. This was the first time that week that the household had been allowed to take a single breath. Ever since the day after his marriage, when the Johdila's servants and baggage had come into his home, Ortiz had made sure that he was gone every single day, sometimes leaving before even the grooms had risen and often not returning until well after midnight. Because of those early departures, the young Commander had not brought his truth-teller into his home once since the marriage, instead collecting him at the slave quarters. Not once in the entire week had Kestrel seen her brother. Sometimes, she could feel the two men disappear so far away from the city that she could no longer sense Bo near her. It was like a comforting blanket had been ripped away.

Not that she had had time to sit down and try to sense her brother. Sisi, denied the ease of movement of her new husband and floundering in the protocols of her new position, had thrown herself into organising the household to her own satisfaction. Unused, useless rooms had been swept open, thick heavy velvet curtains ripped down from the windows and put away in large chests in the attic. She had even begun rearranging furniture in the front receiving room, pushing it back against the walls and laying down an intricately woven Gang rug on the stone floor. The servants of the house had stood back, stone-faced; their authority over the house vanishing with every step the new Lady Ortiz took. But, helpless against the whirlwind of change, they merely bowed politely, murmured in agreement and ran to do Sisi's orders.

But there was one room the new Lady was never allowed to enter. As she even moved towards the double doors as the south side of the second floor, Lubulino, backed up by two poker-faced satellites, barred her way. In vain did Sisi try to order them to step aside. They'd held firm. Respectfully, in a bland, emotionless voice, quite unlike the assured, pompous tones Kestrel had heard before, Lubulino informed the astonished and infuriated Johdila that Lord Ortiz had ordered that she could do as she wished with the house – with the kitchens, the sitting rooms, even the garden – but that he would prefer it if his library remain untouched. It was, Lubulino repeated politely, Lord Ortiz's specific request.

Sisi, humiliated and rebuffed, had stepped back. That night she had wept her way to sleep. Ortiz had not invited her to his rooms and Kess, sitting by Sisi's side all night, trying to comfort her, had not heard him come in until the early hours of the morning.

"Of course, my lady understands that really red is such a common colour." The fruity unrolling of the Chief Seamstress's voice woke the Manth woman from her memories. "I would recommend blue, a true ultramarine shade. Trimmed in gold thread and, I think, some lace from Poines around the sleeves… just so." Another diagram was held up and one long finger gently sketched a circle around the cascade of lace that fell from the model's sleeve to a point about a hand-span above her wrist. "And the skirt would be…"

"Oh look!" Quick as a bird, Sisi darted into pile of drawings and plucked one out. Brandishing it up to the light, she scrutinised it carefully. "Lunki, don't you think this would be perfect for Kess?"

Brown eyes flew open at the mention of her name, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling in warning. The fat nurse waddled up to her nurseling and frowned at the picture.

"Isn't it a bit rich for the friend, my lady?"

A slight tremor shook Sisi's chin at the sound of her new title but then she shook her hair back and was once more the haughty, confident Johdila of Gang. "The trimmings around the hem would have to come off, of course. They wouldn't suit her. But why not, Lunki, darling? In red, I think. Kess would look wonderful in red."

The Chief Seamstress permitted herself a slight turn of the lips into a smirk before smothering it quickly as her new client turned bright searching blue eyes back to her. "I think I might have just the thing here, my lady." She agreed deferentially, snapping her fingers impatiently at one of her underlings. "A shade of crimson that would suit…" The veiled innuendo sent a stab of angry colour into Kestrel's cheeks even as she tried to edge her way out of the room.

"Crimson?" The word was uttered with the full weight of royal disgust. "I hardly think so, madam. A dull red, perhaps, something dark to complement her hair… Unless you do not have such a colour in your stock?" A look of unconcern flitted across her face. She shrugged gently. "No matter. I'm sure my… Lord Ortiz would not mind if I asked to change my dressmaker. I have heard there is a wonderful woman on in the Lower City who…"

The imposing seamstress turned a vague shade of green. Quickly, she began rooting in her trunk once more. "Mistress Varhol? Her? No, no, my lady. I can find the cloth for the… ah, young lady. No trouble… Aha!" Kestrel winced as a long length of spangled crimson was drawn out of the trunk by the seamstress's foot. Triumphantly Mistress Frendan dragged the cloth across until it was resting, held delicately like a newborn baby, in the woman's outstretched hands. "Just the colour for the …young woman." A nasty look was shot over at the dark-haired Manth woman. Clearly Mistress Frendan did not appreciate having her creations wasted on servants.

Blue eyes flashed in annoyance and Sisi tapped her foot impatiently. Two of the sewing women that had come with Mistress Frendan took one glance at the willow-slender wife of the Master's Commander and quickly started to move their tatting boxes to the other side of the room. Lunki closed her eyes momentarily, as if seeking strength, before opening them once more and positioning herself stolidly by her mistress's shoulder.

"Mistress Frendan…" The Johdila began in a frosty, imperious voice.

Kestrel fled.

Outside in the corridor, she leaned back against the cool walls. The stone was cool, almost clammy to touch after the warm heat from the few braziers in Sisi's room. There was silence out here in the hall too, a blessed silence. Cooled fingers pressed against her eyelids, soothing the burning sensation that gritted just under the lids. She had not slept well the past few nights. Being in her enemy's house, so close to him was… unsettling. Though he was gone every single day, it was hard not to imagine him here. The simple straight lines that dominated the style of the house, the Spartan amount of furniture, the emphasis on light and space all reminded her in some way of the tawny-haired Commander. Which was ridiculous in itself. She had seen him twice, danced with him once. There was no way that she could guess at his preferences by those few meetings.

Still, it was difficult not to see him here, sitting back in one of the large, comfortable chairs in that white room off the front hall or striding along the wide, light corridors. It was difficult to keep the blood, the filth of the attack on Aramanth alive in her heart when all she saw was serene, civilised white.

"Oof!"

Brown eyes flew up. The source of the noise was easily seen across the wide space of the main staircase. Stray shirts and bed sheets toppled to the floor as a short slightly dumpy looking girl wheeled around and around in a circle in a desperate attempt to catch the dripping pieces of cloth from tumbling onto the floor like their comrades. Then, once she'd caught her balance, she bent down. Unfortunately, every time she bent to pick up the fallen linens a greater number slipped from her fingers until nearly half of the over-big bundle was spread across the hardwood floor.

Irritated, the servant girl slammed her hands on her hips and puffed a curl of black hair up out of her face. "Ai, for the love of –"

"Can I help?"

The mess of black curls flew up again, revealing two distracted black button eyes. The girl's lower lip got caught between her teeth as she gave Kestrel a quick once-over. "You what?" She snapped bluntly.

The Manth woman looked her straight in the eyes without a blush. "Can I help?"

Black eyes narrowed. "Ain't you the new Lady's maid?" She demanded. "Why you not back there, helpin' her?"

Kestrel felt a grin twitch at the corner of her lips. The brunette's bluntness was likeable even if it was abrasive. "I wasn't wanted."

"Not wanted? I heard from that hag Frendan, the new Lady's planning on a whole wardrobe for you. I'd stay back there, me!" An impish grin peeped out. "See if I'd get a bit of silk nor satin. All smooth and rich." She fluffed up her riot of curls affectedly, black eyes dancing in amusement. "I'd look fine in silk, I bet. Rich green. You know, what's-they-call-it… Emerald." She dragged the word out luxuriantly. "Then I'd-"

A step sounded out below them, cutting through the accented monologue. The maid froze. Black eyes darted to Kess. The brunette raced over to the stairs and leaned over the carved banisters. She glanced down and whatever she had seen there made her suck in her cheeks and lose a little of the colour in her ruddy cheeks. She shot a look back at Kestrel and dashed back to her side. Hurriedly, the creased shirts and sheets were scooped up. "Hey, you! Give us a hand here, won't ya?"

"I…"

"Look, Old Misery Guts is in the hall. If he catches us just sitting here on our arses, it'll be the monkey-cages and no mistake." Kestrel stumbled back a little as an armful of dirty bed linens was shoved at her.

The other girl huffed in exasperation. "Look, you wanted to help, didn't you?"

"I… yes… I..."

Another step sounded in the hallway and involuntarily, black eyes darted across to the opening beyond the banisters. "Oh flaming… Move chika! Move!" A surprisingly strong shove forced the Manth woman into walking (however aimlessly it may be since she had no idea where she was supposed to be going) around the corner of the banisters, past the door to Sisi's room (from which Mistress Frendan's low voiced whine could still be heard) and towards the large set of double doors that dominated the other half of the second floor. She moved numbly, still frozen from the casual mention to cages. Bo had never spoken of them except in a whisper as if the atrocity was too sickening to describe aloud. She could still smell the bitter sulphuric ash as Maslo Inch's body disintegrated into the flames. Monkey cages were not something that was so normal it could be slipped into banter…

"Ai! Chika, don't go in there! What's with you, numbskull, you stupid or something?" Hurriedly, the maid inserted herself between Kestrel and the pair of double-doors. "Master don't leave his sheets in the library, fool-girl. We go in here." Vigorously she nodded towards the wall.

Shaking herself angrily for being stupid enough to go near the double doors, Kestrel glared at the shorter girl beside her, irritated beyond civility. "What, you can walk through walls in the Mastery?" She snapped.

To her annoyance, the girl chuckled. "Ain't that good yet, chika. We go through the door."

"What – Oof!" Kess puffed in surprise as what felt like a boulder's weight of dirty laundry was dumped down on top of the sheets she was carrying. Again the other maid chuckled, sending Kestrel's teeth on the edge.

"Hold that for me. I'll find the door."

Peering around the stack of white cloth, brown eyes widened as the black-haired girl carefully lifted a small piece of engraved marble and tugged something hidden inside it. She paused. A small huff of annoyance puffed from between her lips, as the wall remained the same as ever. Tightening her lips, a chapped hand reached out and yanked the hidden cord once more, pulling it so fiercely, it nearly came out of the wall.

Again, nothing happened. Kestrel rolled her eyes. "Was I…"

Her heart leaped in fright as a low groan erupted form the white marble. Slowly, with a moan of grinding stone, the wall panel slid across, neatly fitting behind its self. A dark hole caved out in front of her and only the tiny glow of candles interspersing with the gloom at regular intervals convinced her that it was not a deep dark drop. Half-curious, half-suspicious, she bent down and placed the heap of clothes on the floor and stepped forward to examine the hidden passage. The glow of candles increased as she came closer and cautiously the Manth woman leaned into the corridor. A scent of warm, stale air, laundry starch for stiffening fabrics and freshly cooked bread swept over her and she inhaled it, frowning.

As if she had read the brown-haired woman's thoughts, the maid chuckled again but this time Kess didn't resent her for it. "Welcome to the servant's staircase. En-thrahl -ling, isn't it?" She picked up the forgotten shirts and sheets, efficiently sorting them into two equal bundles. "You know what, chika?"

Kess started guiltily dragged out of her half-formed schemes of using this new variable in her escape plans. "What?"

"You looking just like a horse, there, sniffing your way forward. That's what they do, you know." She added self-importantly. "Anything they think's weird –" She gave three exaggerated sniffs and laughed. "Here, take your sheets. We gots a way to go yet."

Prepared this time, Kestrel didn't even bend beneath the weight. "Way to go?"

"Sure, chika. Where'd you think these stairs lead? Heaven? We should be so lucky!" A sharp elbow nudged Kestrel in her ribs. "Ain't you moving? I've got to get these washed today, you know."

"Sorry."

Cautiously, Kestrel took a step forward. The stair didn't creak, the well-made wood holding up under the strain. There were no handrails along this flight of steps. The walls were so close together and the corridor down so narrow that to place handrails in would eliminate any possibility of being able to descend at all, save by the slimmest of people. The walls were low at first, so low, Kestrel, with her added height over the friendly laundry maid, had to duck to avoid cracking her skull off the ceilings. They then seemed to gradually lengthen as one progressed further down the stairs, the passage lightened by dim lanterns notched high on the walls. There were no windows. This gave the passage a shadowy, intimate sense; an ambience created for secrets and exchanged gossip without the fear of being overheard.

They had barely descended three steps before the short brunette whisked conversation into the silence. "So, I never asked. What's it they call you?"

"Kestrel."

"Okay, Kess. I'm Cat. Catalina really but only my idiot brother calls me that. Between you and me and these four walls," She paused and, shifting the mess of sheets onto one arm rapped her knuckles against red wood panelling. "He's a pretentious little snob. But who am I to argue? Family and all that muck. 'Sides, he only calls me Catalina in front of Old Misery. To everyone else, I'm Cat. The Cat. Black Cat. Cat Nap. Catkin. You name it, I'm called it." She paused for breath. "And don't even think of trying any of those cat-in-water-ha-ha-ha jokes, you hear?" She added, her voice suddenly, unexpectedly fierce. "I'm a laundry maid, that don't mean I bath down in the stuff. And there ain't nothing wrong with being a godscursed laundry maid, neither!"

Kestrel paused in concentrating on finding her balance on the unexpectedly steep steps. Shuffling around, brown eyes narrowed in a vague annoyance at the defensive retort of her new nursemaid. "I never said that." She said steadily.

"Yeah…" Cat hunched a shoulder. "Still. They all make assumptions in this part of the city." Seeing Kess's frown, she leaned against the wall, enjoying the snatch of rest and the chance to gossip and gripe about her favourite complaint. "You see, they think, oh, a maid. Oh, well she's easy. All maids are easy. And you know yourself, we aren't! It's the nobles're the worst. Some of them, they'd have their hands all over you if they thought the master nor Ole Mizz was looking."

Kess flinched a little at the casual mention of her enemy. She faked a cough to try and hide it. "Ort – The master doesn't like it?"

A frown passed over Cat's face. Thoughtfully, she tucked a stray black curl behind her ear and fluffed up the bundle of hair tied up behind her head. "The Master? Well, if you mean 'it'…" Black eyes rolled in polite innuendo and she coughed a little. " 'It'-it… I guess he's partial to it. Most are. But he doesn't creep up the maids' stairs in the dead of night, if you get my meaning. He's a good master. Finicky about his shirts, like, and a bit too much of a worker to suit me. Still," in a flash of earthy pragmatism, "He'd keep you warm as well as the next man, if that's what you're aiming for, Kess."

The Manth woman dropped her jaw. "I… I am not!" Heat flared up her cheeks. "Gods… I mean, no! No!"

Cat tilted her head to one side, bird-like and shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first time I head of a girl climbing out of the attic and into the master's bed." She observed. "Nor the last. Not while the rich stay rich and the nobles have grabby fingers, leastways."

"I don't care." Kess felt hot and cold at the same time, embarrassment prickling her cheeks with heat, shock numbing her fingers. She swallowed. "I won't be the next one. I'd rather die." I'd rather kill him.

Her companion chuckled. "Yeah. Sure. That's what they all say, chika. Then, whoops! Up goes the– Hey!" The petite brunette lunged after her incensed companion. "Hey, Kess, what the – Aw, Kess, I was only joking. Come on, it was just a joke…"

The stamp of marching feet thumped along the wooden stairs in short staccato blasts. Pale long fingers dug a death-grip into the bundle of shirts and sheets clutched to the Manth woman's chest and her back with as stiff as an iron poker. "I thought you said you had work to do." She snapped.

"Yeah, but Gods, Kess, even I need a bit of light relief sometimes…" Catching the burning glare from her new friend's pair of dark eyes, Cat groaned and buried her head in the sheets. "All right!" The words were slightly muffled but still frustrated. "Fine, chika, you win. No more teasing. 'Kay?"

A hint of a smile told her she was off the hook. Cat grinned wide and launched back into the conversation, like a drowning man clutching at a life-saving log. "Anyway, about our master…"

Kess fumbled with the door catch, shaking the rusty hinge with all her strength. "Is that all you ever talk about?" She asked, throwing the remark over her shoulder.

"What?"

"The… Him." A loud clatter of the lock accompanied the last word.

"Well." Rolling her eyes meditatively up to the ceiling, Cat considered the question. "In this house there's precious little else to talk about. Here, let me. You need a bit of a knack with that."

By the time they had opened the door, made it to the cupboard sized laundry room, sorted out the linens, put them to soak in the giant wash tub and anointed several of the shirts with crystals of ammonia, Kess felt she was beginning to know Ortiz better than she knew her own sister. Over the splash of the ice cold water, Cat had listed his likes and dislikes, his military career to date and the few distant familial connections he had in the city. It was, she thought, a true testament to the statement that you cannot sneeze without your servants knowing about it.

Cat was still talking as she pushed open a wood-scarred door. "…So then I said to him, I said, if you think I'm goin' to spend five silver piece, five whole silver on a piece of muck like that for my master, I said to him, you got another think…"

Abruptly a cool clearing of the larynx halted the gush of words. Grimacing in annoyance to Kess, Catalina turned to the kitchen table and bobbed a slight curtsey. "Mister Lubulino. I just thought it might be right to bring Kess down, so she'd get the feel of the place, you know."

"Evidently, Catalina." The voice was sill frosty, supported by the mortified scowl beaming in on the hapless Cat from a slim dark young man beside the steward. Then, with a smile, "Mistress Kestrel. A pleasure as always. Please, sit down." With a flick of his eyes, he ordered Merryn to remove a chair for her. The tiny man scuttled to do his bidding so fast he didn't have time to bob his head in acquiescence. "You may be seated as well, Catalina."

"Sir." With another bob, Cat shot off to the spare space on the lower bench beside the silent groom. Black eyes lit up and she leaned in closer to him, whispering something to him. Flaming red scorched his cheeks. The young man seated precisely beside Lubulino narrowed extravagantly lashed eyes at her. If he had been a cat, Kess thought, he would have been lashing his tail like an aristocratic feline who'd discovered her parlour had been despoiled by an alley cat.

The silence hung heavy on the air for a moment. Then a skeletally thin woman shrouded in a white canvas apron shoved an earthenware cup in front of her. "You're from Gang, aren't you?" She asked in a low voiced drawl, rubbing bony fingers up and down on the white cloth. Silver glinted on her thumbs.

Carefully, Kestrel lifted the heavy cup to her lips. Spicy tors herb mixed with honey teased her nostrils and she inhaled appreciatively. She'd grown used to tors-brewed tea on the caravan ride from Gang. It was favoured speciality of the eastern regions. Sipping, she let the tingling sensation wash all the way down her throat. "I -"

"Mistress Kestrel is from Obagang itself, Mistress Sers." A familiar condescending tone interrupted her without apology. "It is the capital of Gang, situated on the sites of seven oases. The walls of Gang are rumoured to be the greatest in the world, being seven feet thick and over fifty feet high. They took over two hundred years to build and stretch all the way around the main city. The walls are interspersed with seventeen citadels, each one pointing the direction of one of the states of Haroo, the main religion of the region. Obagang is the seat of the Johanna of Gang and his wife, the Johdi. It has been so for the past millennia. In total the city covers six thousand five hundred hectares of land."

Not unsurprisingly, there was a stunned silence after that. Kestrel blinked, trying to absorb all the facts about her supposed 'home'.

Lubulino coughed in mock-deprecation. "Or so I have been lead to believe." He added in a fog of modesty.

"Seven thousand…"

"Six, madam." An embarrassed cough from the slim dark man. "Six thousand five hundred."

Cat glared at the interrupter, quick to defend the cook's ignorance. "Hush up, Abe."

Another glare was blasted back. "I was merely saying, sister, that it was in fact six thousand five hundred and not…"

"Oh shut up, Miss Prissy."

Sers linked bony fingers together into a steeple and pressed them to her lips. Faded blue eyes half-closed as she ignored the squabbling siblings and tried to visualise the sight. "Six thousand five hundred…" She murmured again. "Oh, Master Lubulino, would you ever think?"

"You would not, Madam."

"Such a sight it must be." She pushed a plate of almond biscuits in front of Kestrel. "Mister Hadge was always fascinated with architecture. He would have been delighted." She sighed. "What I would give to see such a thing."

"Why don't you?"

The room burst out laughing at Kestrel's abrupt question. Even Lubulino graced the remark with a small, indulgent smirk.

Kess looked around, her dark brown eyes fierce. "What? Why wouldn't you?"

"My, my…" Sers delicately wiped a tear away from the corner of her eye. "I ain't... I mean, I have not been so amused since Mister Hadge departed this earth. You certainly have a way, Kestrel."

"But why don't you go see them someday?" Kess persisted.

"'Course we can't." Cat interrupted robustly. "Who'd look after the master?"

"He could get other servants."

"Are you implying that we're expendable?" Abelino's outrage made his voice crack on the final word.

The groom sitting beside Cat drank a deep draught of his drink at the thought. Wiping his mouth, docile brown eyes fixed on Kestrel unwaveringly. "I'm no'… whatever Abelino said. The master, he needs us. Who'd curry comb Rohan better 'n me? Who can get all th' stains out of the linen better 'n Cat here?" He drank deep again. "No one, that's who."

Cat linked her arm in with his. "Bele, that's about the sweetest thing you've ever said to me." She declared, momentarily distracted from her crusade. Two cuts of colour flushed on Bele's cheeks and he mumbled something inarticulate.

"Our master's been good to us." The deep voice of Merryn growled from his perch at the end of the table. "We Mastery people don't leave our post because it suits us." His eyes narrowed at Kestrel. The unspoken words, unlike you people from Gang, hung in the air.

Lubulino cleared his throat. "Mistress Sers has no intention of leaving our city." He stated firmly, smoothing down any doubts that could possibly surface. "None of us are." He sipped the last of his tea and patted his lips with a white linen handkerchief. He laid the linen down on the table with a soft flump. The subject was now closed.

The gathering hostility was so thick; you could pierce it with a fork and serve it up for dinner. Kestrel felt her skin prickle. Quickly, she swallowed down the last of her tea. She stood up. "I'll wash up the cups."

"Thank you." Lubulino handed over his own to her as if bestowing a gift to an ungrateful child. No 'Mistress Kestrel' then. She had fallen from his grace.

Merryn cradled his cup close, as if reluctantly to contaminate it with her fingers. Bele shook his head. Cat fidgeted for a moment, avoiding Kestrel's open palm before finally, slowly depositing her cup into it. "Mind you tell Hagi to be careful with it." She added ungraciously. "Last week, I found a crack in it. It weren't there before, tell her."

Kestrel nodded, accepting Sers' cup.

"Second door." The cook informed her quietly. "Beside the one you came in."

"Thank you."

The door was plainer than the ones above stairs. There were no panels in the wood and the handle was plain copper instead of bronze or silver. Shifting all the cups onto one hand, using her fingers as hooks for them, Kess pushed the scullery door open. It gave easily under her hand.

Beyond the door was one of the plainest rooms that Kestrel had seen in the house. There were no painted tiles or splash of colour to liven up the plain white walls. The furniture was sparse, comprising only of numerous racks and ledges and one large earth grey sink. Half dried dishes that Kestrel recognised from the breakfast brought up to Sisi's room that morning were dotted here and there. Cups in one corner, plates in another. Cutlery were carefully aligned on the other edge, each sorted by whether they were a knife, a fork or a spoon and then into smaller piles. Soupspoons were opposite desert spoons, which were in turn opposite tiny spoons that looked like cutlery for a doll's house.

At the end of the long thin room, perched on a stool that raised her three feet above the ground, was a girl. Dressed in the plainest of brown skirts, she was up to her armpits in soapy water. Occasionally she hissed as she lifted the plates and cups from the water. The steam from the boiling water floated around her like a thin mist, dampening her skirts and blouse and the brown scarf she had tied over her hair.

Kestrel cleared her throat. "Hello."

The girl flinched as if she'd been hit. Awkwardly, she stumbled down from the stool and bobbed a quick curtsey. "Evening, miss." She mumbled.

Looking at her face, Kestrel could see that the girl was as plain as the room she worked in. Her features had a monotonous regularity, interspersed occasionally with freckles. These occasional breaks were not even charming in themselves for they were wide and splotchy and so pale that one could barely notice them. Her mouse-brown hair hung naturally lank down her back. Several strands had fallen over her face, fat and limp as rat's tails. Her chin was square, her nose likewise and her hands were cracked and red from the soda in the washing water.

"I was sent to have these washed." The Manth woman held out the assorted cups. "Are you the person who does that?"

"Yes, miss." The girl mumbled again. Her eyes were cast down to the stone floor. She couldn't have been more than thirteen. "If you'd give them to me, miss."

"Here." Kestrel handed them over. Without a word, the girl climbed back up onto her stool. Reverently, with a certain degree of fear, she laid the cups down onto the wooden cupboard opposite so gently, they made no sound. Taking up the first one, she ducked into under the water and with only the slightest hesitation, plunged her hands in after it.

Kestrel lingered there, reluctant to return to the frosty reception inside in the kitchen just yet. She leaned against the wooden boards and quietly watched the girl washing, scouring and rinsing each cup. The movements were mechanical. The Manth woman had the impression that even if you blindfolded the young servant girl, she would still be able to unerringly pick up each cup, wash it and replace it again on the draining board opposite. She cleared her throat. The hump-backed shoulders bent over the sink flinched.

"What's your name?"

That was enough to merit a pause in the washing. Stupefied pale green eyes swung around. There was a frightened, nervous air about the young girl that reminded Kestrel of a baby rabbit. "I… I…" She swallowed and quickly bent her head to her task again. "I'm called Hagi, miss."

"I'm Kestrel."

The head was ducked down deeper until it was little more than a slight hump between her two shoulders.

Kestrel held back a small sigh. It seemed that she was to be ignored even here. She sat back against the cold stone wall. Beads of water trickled down her back from the walls. Opposite, she could see the greasy shine of more condensation covering the stone. The humidity in the room from the constant boiling water was unbearable. She wondered how on earth the girl managed to work in it every day. Dark eyes looked at the bent head of straggly hair curiously.

Slowly, the head of hair turned up. Washed out green eyes fixed on Kestrel with a desperate gaze. "Miss?" The voice was quieter than a mouse's whisper.

"What?" The moment the word was out of her mouth, she regretted their sharpness. The girl flinched as if she had been kicked. Hastily, Kestrel modulated her voice until it was softer.

"What?"

Wary green eyes flickered back and fort for a minute. Then, the girl cautiously took hold of her courage again. "Are… Are you from Gang, Miss?"

"No, I'm…" Kess caught herself. She had been about to say, I'm from Aramanth. She coughed. "I'm from… the outer lands. A few miles outside the city."

Silently, the girl absorbed this. Pale green eyes stared down at the foaming suds around her bony arms. Then she looked at Kess once more. The green eyes were suddenly intense, dominating her thin, rat-like face.

"Is it grand, Miss? Gang, I mean. Is it big?"

"I…" Kestrel had no idea. "Yes." She settled for eventually. "Very big. The fields seem to stretch on forever, green and gold in summer. And… and there are trees there. In spring they had flowers on them. White flowers. We call them almond trees. When the flowers fall, it's like snow but during summer." With a sudden shiver down her spine, she realised that she was describing the lands around Aramanth and the trees that flowered around the old Red district.

Hagi didn't care. She savoured each word that was pulled out Kestrel. Her eyes gobbled up Kestrel's face, snatching at any inflection that told of the world outside the Mastery. Slowly, Kestrel described the forests of pines that surrounded the walls, the circular centre where weddings and celebrations were held. Hagi asked no questions, indeed she barely spoke. But her eagerness could only be expressed in the fanatical gleam in her eyes.

When Kestrel finally fell silent, she was aware of the deep pang of homesickness that curdled in her stomach. In the tension and panic of the past few weeks, she had forgotten how bitterly the memories stung. Hagi sighed wistfully as the silence fell once more. "It sounds wonderful, miss." She whispered wistfully. "I'd give anything t'see the trees. And snow." Her lips formed a soft o as she said the words as if the idea of them was too big, too wonderful for her mouth of shape.

It was time to take another chance. Leaning quietly back against the stone ledges, Kestrel shrugged. "Why don't you? They can't stop you." She added catching the look of uneasiness on the girl's face. "The guards, I mean. There must be thousands of people in this city. They would never notice you leave."

A flare of resentment leant life to the pale green eyes. Her thoughts were clear but she had been too well-trained to open her mouth. Her jaw tightened on the retort and she gave a little shiver of control. Bending back down to the sink, she scrubbed the cups with a will. Her too-thin, too-pale face was pinched with annoyance then, suddenly, the pinched look dropped and the same wary expression of terror spread into her eyes. It was as if she had seen death in the grease-slick water below her.

Unease dug with sharp claws into Kestrel. Brown-black eyebrows came down low over her eyes in a frown. But still she persevered. "Why not?"

She mumbled something. Of that Kess was sure. A sentence skittered from her mouth, too quiet and reluctant for any but the soap bubbles to hear.

But mouse-girl had gained courage from the conversation, the first, Kess suspected, that didn't begin with an order or a scolding. Her eyes flicked up, shadows of resentment still soaking in the pale green irises. Then down again. The second glance held shame, the shame of a child who had broken their favourite toy.

"He'd know."

Ice water plopped to the pit of Kestrel's stomach. The steam of the little scullery chilled on her skin. The instinct in her, the part that knew love and hate, recoiled from this child. From the truths that she knew were hidden so ineffectually behind the wary eyes. But the girl went on.

"He'd know." Hagi straightened a little. The truth of it, the voicing of her fears eased her back. "He'd find me 'fore I even leave this room. He's here." Tiny hands clutched her throat. The soapy water ran down her neck. A pool of dark cloth began and spread but she didn't notice. "An' here." A hand clutched her stomach. The fingers contracted in a claw. As if she could feel the pain ripping her insides apart. "He knows y'soul." She glanced at the door. A new fear. Not of the others, not of their raised hands and angry voices. But what was inside them. Around them. "He can make you do wha' he wants and it's…"

"Are you still here?"

The question boomed and cracked against the stillness. Kestrel spun around without thinking.

Catalina's loud, confident eyes swept her up and down. "We're having some cake. Mistress Sers wants to give you a slice." Her gaze slid sideways and landed on Hagi. "Where's those clean dishes I wanted?"

The thin shoulders hunched. "Comin', miss…"

"Yeah, well I asked for them today. You want our Master eatin' off the cloth? Come on." She directed the last back at Kestrel, her voice lightening slightly. Scolding the little mouse had taken the spite from Cat's mood. She was ready to forgive now. Holding open the door, she waited for Kess to follow her out. "Hopeless, that girl. And strange." The other maid pursed her lips. "Got her from the orphanage. Me, I don't reckon she's right in the head." Sticking her head in the door to the kitchen, keeping Kess behind her, she called out. "Any cake left?"

"Get back to work, lazy girl!" Sers voice thrilled a high note. The stress of the dinner-making had begun already. Cat pulled her head back. "Anyway, what was it? Oh, Hagi." Marching back up the hidden staircase, the word was thrown back at Kess like a piece of gone-off meat. "Strange. Never goes to the parades, nothing. Won't leave the house. Says she's scared of the Master." At the top now, Cat turned. The black eyes glowed in the gloom, picked out by the white of the irises beneath. "The Master's our father, he's the greatest man there is. I mean, who does she think she is!"

There was anger at that. Deeper than irritation at a strange work-mate, darker than female rivalry. For an instant, Kess swore she could feel a hot tickle on the back of her neck, the breath of a thousand voices. Shouting, chanting.

Kill! Kill! Kill!

The lights of the hallway bathed over her like warm honey. Without realising it, she was at the door. Pushing it open.

"Kess darling! Tell me, quickly: green or blue?"

Dark eyes blinked for a second. The Johdila's imperious face swam for an instant against a starting background of silks. And Kess found she could smile, just a little once more.

"The green, Sisi. Always the green."