The Thief Queen's Daughter

  Now there were just the two of us, Char and me, alone in the Market.

  * * *

  NOW THAT THE WARNING BELL HAD RUNG, THE FESTIVAL NO longer looked the same as it had in the bright morning sun.

  The shops and the kiosks had begun to close. The colorfully dressed street people looked sweaty and tired, their clothes soiled after a long day. Instead of the bright smiles they had worn that morning, their faces were grimly set as they worked to complete the breaking down of the festival. The streets were covered with litter.

  The two boys passed the food merchants, who were putting away their wares. The appetizing smells from earlier in the day had given way to a sick, greasy stench of doused charcoal and bleach.

  Two men were taking apart the soup pumpkin. What that morning had appeared to be an enormous shell of a real giant squash actually was nothing more than a big metal pot, like a tin bathtub, with molded paper around it to make it look as if it had been real.

  Char sighed in disappointment.

  “Well, the soup tasted good, anyway,” he said. “Even if it really wasn’t a magical soup pumpkin.”

  “When I first went to see him, the king said something about court magicians and the real magic in the world,” Ven said as they hurried past barkers and street folk carrying away boxes and bins of sad-looking hats and toys. “It’s hard when you realize that most of the ‘magic’ that you see is fake.”

  He thought back to the king’s words as they sat alone in the Royal Puzzle Room.

  My father had a court full of magicians and conjurers, as did his father before him, and every other high king in history. I sent them all away when I became king, because I saw what they did as tricks, as amusement. I kept my Viziers—they are advisers who can see things that others can’t. The chief Vizier, Graal, is very old, and very wise, and Galliard is his student, also very knowledgeable. But all the men in funny hats making snakes out of silk scarves that used to work in the palace are now out there among the people, entertaining children with their tricks. Because, as king, I only wanted to see the real magic in the world, so that I could learn from it, and preserve it.

  “It’s pretty weird having a friend your age who goes and chats regular with the king,” Char said grumpily. “Just about now, I’m kinda wonderin’ how good a friend of yours that king really is, considerin’ he sent us in here in the first place.”

  Ven stepped over a mound of soiled paper cones in the street that had once held fried apples.

  “No, he didn’t,” he said, his eyes scanning the buildings at the harbor side of the square in the First Row. “I think I am beginning to see why he fired me, though. Maybe he could only suggest I come here as my friend, not as the king, because he couldn’t be responsible for what might happen.”

  “Well, that’s pretty sick,” said Char. “If a king can’t be responsible for somethin’, who can be? Hey—where are we goin’, anyway?”

  Ven looked both ways before crossing the street to the side of the First Row that ran north along the harbor.

  “Remember how I said we might need to look at things from a new angle?” he asked.

  “Yeah?”

  Ven stopped in front of a wooden ladder that went up to the elevated street he had seen earlier that morning. A sign next to it with an arrow pointing up read SKYWALK.

  “How about a bird’s-eye view? What do you say we take a look for Saeli from up here?”

  Char’s thin face brightened. “That’s a great idea, mate!” he said. “We might actually see somethin’ from above. Good thinkin’.”

  “Don’t get too excited yet,” Ven said. “One step at a time.”

  Quickly, like they were summiting the mast of the Serelinda, the two boys climbed the ladder up to the walkway above the street.

  When they got to the top, they had to stop in amazement.

  The rooftops of the Gated City seemed to hold a totally different world from the one that was visible from the streets. Past the beautifully carved arches at the front of the roofs that could be seen from below were gardens blooming with flowers, many with neat rows of vegetables and even small fruit trees. There were pathways between the housetops, all of which stood side by side with no alleyways between. Some of the children that had been listening to the Singer’s tales were running between the house roofs, playing.

  A fresh breeze blew here that was missing in the streets, free from the walls that surrounded the lower part of the city. In the distance he could see the top of the northernmost light tower of Kingston harbor, far away.

  How sad it must be to live so close to the sea, and yet be held prisoner within tall walls with archers, he thought. The sea where he lived in Vaarn had always called to him, singing him songs of adventure, of lands beyond his hometown. He listened to it every night when he was falling asleep, dreaming of other lands, other places he wished to see. He wondered if the residents of the Gated City wished for that adventure as much as he had.

  From above they could see the last of the Market Day visitors heading out of the city, while more and more workmen were taking the festival apart. He tried to look beyond the gates for a sign of Clemency or Ida, but could see nothing due to the presence of a very large guard tower near the Kingston end of the Skywalk.

  Ven turned around and looked the other way, where the Skywalk led deeper in, north, toward the Inner Market.

  The houses began to fade past the First Row, taking on the decaying gray look they had seen out behind Mr. Coates’s shop and in the Stolen Alleyway.

  “This way,” he said to Char, who sighed and nodded.

  The elevated wooden sidewalk had no handrails, no edges. It was as if a giant had ripped a pier out of the harbor and had placed it at the level of the roofs. The planking bounced and swayed beneath their feet as they walked, two floors above the street.

  “It’s a really good thing you started life as a sailor, Char, and that I grew up in a shipbuilding family,” said Ven as he made his way down the Skywalk.

  “Why’s that?” Char asked, hurrying after him.

  “Because we’ve both had a lot of experience climbing rope riggings and on moving decks,” Ven said. “The Skywalk is clearly not intended for visitors. Regular people up here wouldn’t have a chance—between the lack of a railing and the wind, they would fall to their deaths. This is meant to be a tool for the thieves, not the common folks from Kingston.” He glanced around. “In fact, at this point it’s probably a good idea to hide our Market Day tokens. By now everyone who lives here expects the visitors to be gone. We probably don’t want to stand out if we don’t have to.” He took the ribbon from around his neck and stuffed it into his pocket.

  “Right,” Char mumbled as he did the same. “An’ people are more likely to try an’ steal ’em from us now.”

  They passed the east-to-west end of the First Row, where Mr. Coates’s shop and the fabric store stood, then the alleyway behind it, where the streets began to fade to gray.

  They stopped when they came to the area above the Stolen Alleyway. Ven could see the mist from a distance of about two streets away. Even from above, it clung to the buildings there, hiding whatever was within the alleyway from view.

  At the edge of his vision he could see another wall like the one that surrounded the city, this one running east to west, inside, across the whole of the Market. It, too, had guard towers. The Skywalk seemed to end a few dozen feet before that inner wall, dropping off to the cobblestones below.

  In the middle of the wall was a guarded gate.

  Shaped like a keyhole.

  Ven’s blood ran cold.

  “Oh boy,” he whispered to Char. “That’s it—that’s the Inner Market.”

  “Well, maybe Saeli’s still somewhere in this part of the Outer Market,” Char suggested. “Take a look through the jack-rule and see if you can find any more of the flowers she was droppin’ like bread crumbs.”

  Ven looked behind him to make sure they were still alone on this part of the Skywalk,
then pulled the jack-rule from his pocket. He extended the telescoping lens.

  He scanned around the broken road of the Outer Market until he found the second of the patches of Forget-Me-Nots that Finlay had sniffed out. From there he looked for, and located, the next patch, and kept following along until he was looking into the Inner Market.

  Where a small mound of them grew in the center of the street beyond the gate.

  Ven sighed. “She’s past the gate somewhere. Now I have no idea what to do.”

  Whatever Char said was lost in the cry of a seabird overhead.

  The boys looked up. High above, the albatross swooped in from the harbor side, flying smoothly over the wall and into the skies above the Gated City.

  “There it is again.” Ven crouched down on the boards of the Skywalk, gesturing for Char to do so as well.

  “Why are you hiding from a bird?” Char whispered as they squatted down.

  “Madame Sharra says it’s a spy for someone who is watching me from far away,” Ven replied anxiously. “I think it’s a friendly someone, but I can’t be sure. She said that person is either trying to protect me, or to keep me alive until he—or she—can kill me personally.”

  “Great,” said Char. “Well, at least being your roommate is never boring.”

  The bird headed to the middle of the city, then began to fly in circles over and over again. Ven sighted the jack-rule lens on it, then moved it down to see what it was flying over.

  The lens reflected an up-close view of the keyhole gate.

  “Oh boy,” he murmured. He looked closer.

  Standing at the gate was a tall man, or what Ven assumed was a man, in a long gray hooded cloak. The garment covered him from his head all the way to the ground, strange clothing for the heat of early summer. His back was turned to Ven as he spoke with the gate’s guard, a thin, swarthy man with long black hair. On the wall above, archers in ragged leather had their bows trained on him, as they did on each person who presented himself at the gate.

  Ven strained to look closer.

  The gate guard finally nodded, signaled to the archers and the two huge men standing at either side of the keyhole-shaped entrance, and opened the steel gate for the man to enter. As he did, Ven caught sight of a slightly hooked nose, or at least thought he did.

  A harsh bird cry sounded. Ven looked up, out of the jack-rule’s lens.

  The albatross made one more circling pass, then flew out to sea again.

  Behind it was a low-flying squadron of black birds, glinting blue in the late-afternoon sun. They flew as far as the harborside wall, then circled back and returned to the depths of the Inner Market.

  “Did you recognize the man?” Char asked after Ven related what he had seen.

  Ven shook his head. “It was just a nose—and many of the humans I’ve seen since I came here seem to have hooked noses. Lots of people in the Market do.”

  “Maurice Whiting has a hooked nose,” said Char.

  Ven stared at his friend. He had not thought about Mr. Whiting since they passed the White Fern Inn, but Char was right—one very prominent feature on his face was a great hooked nose.

  Ven shuddered. He had hoped that he was finished with Mr. Whiting, ever since the man had accused him of terrible crimes and had had him arrested. The king had seen through Mr. Whiting’s lies, but Whiting had warned Ven that their interactions were not finished as he left the Crossroads Inn for the last time.

  This isn’t over, Polypheme.

  It’s never over with men like you until you die, Mr. Whiting, Ven had replied. Fortunately, as a Nain, I will outlive you by four times over.

  Whiting had stared at him intently for a long moment. Perhaps, he said finally. Perhaps not. Then he stalked up the steps and slammed the inn door behind him as he left.

  “I hope that’s not Mr. Whiting,” he said. “That would make an impossible situation even worse. If that’s possible.”

  “We should get back,” Char said, glancing at the setting sun. “Clem’s prolly back by now.”

  “You’re right.” Ven rose carefully and waited until Char was standing as well, then hurried off down the Skywalk, back into the center of the Outer Market.

  Clemency and Ida were searching the alleyways of the Outer Market when they returned. The boys climbed down a different access ladder and ran to meet them.

  “Don’t bother looking there,” Ven called to the girls. “She’s inside the Inner Market, past the keyhole gate.”

  Clemency’s face went slack. Ida just exhaled.

  “Oh, no,” Clem whispered. “You’re sure? What are we going to do now?”

  “I don’t have any idea,” Ven admitted. He looked at Ida, who was wearing Saeli’s token around her neck. “Thanks for coming in to help look, Ida.” The girl nodded curtly. “I think you both ought to get out of here while you can. Go back to Mouse Lodge, and make sure Nick got home.”

  A harsh clanging shattered the air. The children looked out of the alleyway toward the great town gate as it slowly closed, slamming shut with a terrifying thud.

  “Bright idea, Ven Folly-scheme,” Ida said. “Little too late, though, doncha think?”

  “Well, that’s it,” said Char dismally. “Any chance we had of gettin’ out of here just disappeared. I guess we should find somewhere to hide for the night an’ start working on findin’ her in the morning. I don’t think we’re safe in the dark in this place.”

  Ida chuckled sourly. “You wouldn’t be safe in this place in broad daylight, surrounded by an army.” She turned away and started up the main street toward the Inner Market.

  “Ida, where are you goin’?” Char demanded, chasing after her. He grabbed for her wrist, but she twisted away, knocking him onto his backside with the movement of her arm. Ven and Clemency exchanged a glance, then followed her, Ven stopping long enough to pull Char from the ground.

  She walked resolutely down the main central street, out of the festival square and into the gray, decaying part of the Outer Market, all the way up to the keyhole gate. The other children trailed behind, exchanging confused and terrified glances.

  Ida stopped at the gate, directly in front of the swarthy man with long, greasy black hair. She stared at him for a moment, then took a deep breath.

  “I want to see my mother.”

  15

  Beyond the Keyhole Gate

  * * *

  I did not want to hear those words.

  I cannot tell you how much I did not want to hear those words.

  Those were about the last words in the world I would ever want to hear.

  Up until that moment I had believed Ida was an orphan, like Char and Cadwalder and most of the other kids in Hare Warren and Mouse Lodge.

  But here she was, standing at the keyhole gate of the Inner Market of the Gated City, demanding to see her mother.

  I wanted to believe that Ida’s mother was a little ragged lady, like the one who had kindly pointed us to the Stolen Alleyway. I wanted to believe she was a colorless woman, as colorless as Ida’s hair, who stared at you when you talked to her but was otherwise harmless.

  But when I saw the swarthy man look at her in shock, then step back and open the gate without another word, I got a very bad feeling as to who Ida’s mother was.

  And to think I thought my day was miserable yesterday.

  * * *

  THE GATE GUARD MOTIONED FOR HER TO COME INSIDE. UP ON the wall, the archers lowered their weapons.

  Ida turned to the others and gestured for them to come.

  Ven, Char, and Clem looked at each other.

  Ida exhaled in annoyance. “Excuse me a minute,” she said to the huge men and the wiry guard with the greasy hair. She stalked back to the group of children.

  “Maybe I should have made this clearer,” she said in a low voice. “You’ve got no chance of gettin’ out of the Market alive if you don’t come with me. Now, decide. Live or die. I don’t care what you choose, but you’re makin’ me look bad, and that’s
very unwise.”

  She turned and walked back to the keyhole gate.

  The three exchanged another glance, then hurried after her.

  They passed through the iron grating, wincing as it slammed securely shut behind them. Ida didn’t seem to notice. She just continued walking down the middle of the dark street, the sun setting to her left, spilling bloody red light across the unevenly cobbled streets.

  As the four walked deeper into the Inner Market, shadows began slinking out of dark alleyways and from around corners of buildings. Many of these people were gray, like the Market itself, and slowly appeared at the edges of their group, walking casually alongside them. The farther away from the keyhole gate they got, the larger the number of people in the group escorting them seemed to become. Ven, Char, and Clemency kept glancing sideways, their anxiety growing as the size of the crowd grew.

  Ida just kept her sharp chin high and her focus directly in front of her. She didn’t even glance to the side. And she said absolutely nothing.

  A flash of black in the sky caught Ven’s eye. He looked up. Above their heads a flock of birds was circling, moving deeper into the Market with them. Their shadows danced in the red light of the setting sun on the street.

  By the time they arrived at a place where streets split off, the people crowd was beginning to murmur and laugh under their breath, a terrifying sound that blended with the raucous noise of the birds above. It was all Ven could do to keep from shaking as he walked. Clemency’s back was rigid, and Char was as pale as Ven had ever seen him.

  They turned left at an enormous public well in the center of a street that led toward the harbor. By now darkness had set in, the darkness of coming night adding to the darkness of the crumbling buildings and the mist that hung everywhere. The last light of day was leaving the sky, taking with it any hope Ven still had.