Tamsin and I huddle in the ferns.
“You okay?” I ask.
She grimaces. Wet.
“Yeah.” I tip my hat, letting a stream of water sluice off the brim. It’s been over an hour since we first took our positions, and I’m stiff with cold and from crouching on the steep slope. Iano and Soe are spread out down the road, and Veran is up the hill with the redwood tree, the wood straining against the metal wedges keeping the slice open.
Tamsin sighs and shifts in the leaves. I want this to be over.
I nod. “Me, too. I just hope this gets us some answers. That we can stop Kimela.”
“Hm,” she says. Or at least that she listens.
“Uah, that is what I meant. That she sees how smart your writing is and changes her mind.”
She sighs again. What will you do after? she asks. If it all works.
“Find a way to go to Callais, I guess. I have to find my campmates.”
And your family?
I pause. “I guess . . . I will have to see them.”
You still don’t want to?
“I . . .” I look up the road, where the carriage should be coming from. “Is it making sense if I want to see them but I am worried about . . . them seeing me?”
She looks at me. We talked about that. She pats the pouch at her side, where her slate is hidden. The first night on the porch. That when we learn . . .
Her fingers fumble, and she waves as if to clear the air.
I nod and finish her statement. “We do better.” I do remember her writing that. It made a lot of sense to me, brought me a lot of comfort.
I gesture to the hilt of the sword on my hip.
“And here I am anyway,” I say. “Not doing better. Doing exactly the same thing I’ve always done.”
She purses her lips, but she doesn’t get a chance to go on. From down the road, ringing through the trees comes a distinct four-note chirp. Both Tamsin and I perk up.
“Soe?” I whisper.
She nods. Here they come.
I cup my palm to my mouth and give my best whistle, mimicking the sparrow Veran taught us as a warning. It’s wobbly and sounds far more like a person whistling than a bird singing, but a second later, we hear the same call repeated back in an affirmative. After another few silent beats, we hear the first metallic clang of a sledgehammer against a wedge.
I draw in a breath. This part is the most crucial to get right. If Veran doesn’t drop the tree quickly enough, there’s a chance the oncoming entourage will hear him, or that they’ll pass by before it falls. Tamsin and I both lie, tense, in the underbrush, waiting to hear the crackle and groan of the falling redwood. Clang, clang, clang.
A flash in the wet underbrush across the road catches my eye. I prod Tamsin and point. She looks. Iano and Soe are hurrying into position. Tamsin takes a small breath and looks back toward the crest of the hill, still ringing with the sledgehammer.
Clang, clang.
I grind my teeth. Iano had wondered last night if I should switch places with Veran to fell the tree, but I talked him out of it. Now I’m wondering if I should have insisted, even if it made Veran go to pieces. Clang.
From down the road trickle the first sounds of clopping hooves and squeaking braces. I chew my lip, my mind racing. If I’m going to rush across the road and up the hill to help Veran, I have to do it now. In another moment, the coach and riders will round the bend, and the chance will be lost. I shift my feet to a ready position underneath me.
Then, the sound—a tremendous groaning, and the splintering of wood. Through the ranks of trunks, we see a bundle of branches suddenly shudder and whip. With a sound that shakes the whole hillside, the tree arcs downward, disappearing behind the curve of the road with a muffled smash.
Tamsin lets out her breath. I release my white-knuckled grip on the hilt of the sword.
Hope they didn’t hear that, she signs grimly. I nod.
Veran cut it close. Less than a minute later, the foremost rider comes around the far bend, dressed in palace livery and riding a chestnut horse made sleek and dark in the rain. Another rider flanks him, and then comes the coach, pulled by a four-in-hand and rumbling ponderously over the road. Two guards sit atop the coach with the driver, and as they roll nearer, we can see the hooves of two more horses bringing up the rear.
I inch my fingers toward Tamsin. Six guards. Plus the unknown threat of the possible maid inside.
The first riders reach our hiding place and pass us by, followed by the stamping and jostling of the horse team. The driver and guards sway on top of the coach, its iron-shod wheels throwing up mud and pebbles. Tamsin and I both hold our breaths.
The horse team slows at the hairpin curve.
The coach stops, its rear wheel just a few feet up the steep slope from us.
“What is it?” calls the driver.
“A tree!” one of the front riders shouts back.
“How big?” asks the driver.
“Damned big,” replies the guard.
There’s a coordinated round of cursing. On the coach window, a curtain flutters. Tamsin grabs my wrist.
That’s her, she says, her fingers moving sharply.
Good. I study the woman’s face in the window, accented by colored powder and framed by large jeweled earrings.
“What’s the trouble, Uerik?” she calls.
“A tree down around the bend, my lady,” the driver calls. “We’ll have to clear it.”
The ashoki sighs and withdraws from the window. Tamsin and I watch as the guards dismount and situate their horses on the narrow road. The ones in the front edge around the coach, their boots sliding in the soft earth and sending trickles of mud skittering past our elbows. They confer with the rear guards and begin to unpack their tools from the luggage compartment.
The group’s commander singles out one of the coach guards to stay behind, and with a lot of grumbling and squelching of boots, the rest trudge back up the road and around the bend. The guard clambers back up to her post, idly checking her crossbow. The driver reclines, hooking the reins and setting his boots up on the edge of the box. He draws a pipe from his pocket.
We wait. Across the road, I can just barely see the shifting of Soe’s boots, the glint of Iano’s rapier. A few horses snort and stamp. The rain drums on the carriage roof.
Finally, there’s a piercing call. Veran said it was a pewee, and that his folk use it for attack. We decided to use it for go.
I draw in a breath.
“See you in a minute,” I whisper to Tamsin. She nods and gives my arm a quick squeeze.
I loosen the sword at my hip, seeing the ferns part around Iano and Soe across the road, and rise like a ghost from the bracken.