BEADS OF NERVOUS sweat trickled down Ji’s forehead. He looked toward the figure—and saw a familiar pair of walking boots, crafted by An-Hank Cordwainer. Oh, boy. What was Proctor doing here? Had things just gone from bad to worse? Or from completely terrible to unspeakably awful?
Proctor considered Ji, his eyes twinkling. “Surely this is not Master Brace.”
“This?” Butler cuffed Ji’s head. “This isn’t anyone, my lord.”
“There I must disagree with you,” Proctor told him. “Without our boot boys, the entire realm would find itself sadly unpolished. However, I was expecting Master Brace.”
“Here? I beg your pardon, my lord . . . I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
Proctor stroked his bushy beard and looked toward the wall shrines above the kneeling goblins, who watched with frightened eyes. He chuckled and strolled closer. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. A silence fell, broken only by the crackle of the fire.
Oh, and the terrified pounding of Ji’s heart, which was beating loudly enough to make a scarecrow wet his pants.
When Proctor plucked the clothespin from its nook, the goblins chuffed mournfully, shoulders drooping. Probably horrified by his rudeness. For all Ji knew, clothespins were sacred to them, and they worshipped laundry lines.
“And why,” Proctor asked Butler, “are you here?”
“I heard that a servant was trespassing in the bone crypts, m’lord. We take violations very seriously at Primstone Manor.”
“As well you should.” Proctor gestured toward Ji and Sally. “And what are the names of our two miscreants?”
“This one is Jiyong,” Butler said, cuffing Ji’s head again. “He admits that he entered the mausoleum.”
“And is he aware of the punishment?”
“He is,” Butler said.
Proctor ambled closer and inspected Ji with a razor intensity.
The blood rushed to Ji’s cheeks. He couldn’t remember why he’d ever thought that Proctor looked friendly. Roz was right about his eyes: black and icy. Ji looked down, biting the inside of his cheek. The stitchery on Proctor’s boots was neat, and the toe cap was embossed with a delicate design.
Finally, the boots moved away and Proctor asked, “And the girl with the . . . enthusiastic hair?”
“She’s the daughter of petty criminals,” Butler told him. “Dishonest servants who fled upon discovery of their crime.”
Uh-oh. Sally didn’t react well when people talked about her mothers like that. Ji raised his head to stare at Sally, like his gaze could keep her from vanquishing Butler directly in the nose bone. But she didn’t notice, because she was too busy glaring.
“And what dark crime was that?” Proctor asked Butler.
“They stole valuables from the manor.”
“They took an old tablecloth,” Sally snapped.
“They purloined linen,” Butler said.
Sally’s eyes narrowed. “To make diapers!”
“Stolen from the charity bin,” Butler said. “Which her ladyship had very generously set aside for the deserving poor.”
“You were going to hang them,” Sally said. “For a worn tablecloth.”
“Not for a cloth,” Butler said. “For a crime.”
“Quiet,” Proctor snapped, and quiet loped into the pen and sat at his feet like a loyal hound. The goblins stopped woofling, and even the fire settled down. After a moment, Proctor turned to Ji. “You are a boot boy. You clean, you stitch, you scrub.”
“Yes, m’lord,” Ji said.
“And you were in the corridor when I spoke with the baroness.”
Ji hesitated for a heartbeat. “Yes, m’lord.”
“You overheard us talking.”
“Yes, m’lord.”
“Curious as a monkey. What happened next? You told Master Brace that he couldn’t study with me if the lotus blossom still bloomed?”
“Yes, m’lord.”
“So you tiptoed into the mausoleum to pluck it for him.” Proctor scratched his beard with the clothespin he’d taken from the goblin shrine. “Why didn’t he come himself?”
“I—” Ji swallowed. “I don’t know.”
“Is he a coward?” Proctor asked, his eyes twinkling dangerously.
“No! No, my lord. Um, Master Brace wouldn’t disobey the baroness, that’s all. He’s too honest. And honorable. So I came instead. As his, um, y’know . . .”
“Squire,” Sally said.
“Servant,” Ji said.
“Is that so?” Proctor pointed the clothespin toward the ramp. “And who, pray tell, is the other girl?”
“What other girl?” Ji asked, keeping his eyes on Proctor and not even thinking about Roz. “Other girl? There’s no other girl. Where? Girl?”
“The one lurking in the dark like a timid shadow.” Proctor turned toward the ramp. “Come out, my child! Show yourself!”
For a second, nothing happened. Then a pink shape appeared from the darkness . . . and Roz stepped into the light of the bonfire, her cheeks flushed but her back straight.
“I believe you are a guest at Primstone Manor?” she asked Proctor, her voice barely trembling. “I am Miss Rozario Songarza, and while I regret that I haven’t yet—”
“Very polite,” one goblin woofled. “Eka-cellent manners.”
“While I regret,” she repeated, crossing toward Proctor, “not having been introduced before this awkward encounter, I am pleased to finally make your acquaintance.”
Proctor eyed her with amusement; then his merry gaze flicked to Ji. “You dishonest little dissembler! You claimed there was no other girl.”
“Yes, m’lord, sir, you see, um . . .” Ji cleared his throat. “There isn’t.”
“You gormless idiot,” Butler muttered.
“Miss Roz isn’t a girl,” Ji explained to Proctor. “She’s a young lady.”
Proctor’s laughter echoed in the big dirt-floored room. “Oh, you’re a fine young liar!” He turned to Roz. “I’m pleased to meet you as well, Miss Roz.”
“Thank you, m’lord,” she said, with a quick curtsy. “I wonder if—”
“And now”—Proctor drew a dagger from a sheath hidden in his sleeve—“to business.”
“M-m’lord?” Butler stammered, eyeing the blade.
Proctor whittled a strip of wood off the clothespin. It fell to the ground, a skinny curl on the dirt. “The boot boy eavesdropped on my conversation,” he told Butler, “when I was speaking about the desert lotus.”
“That was wrong of him, my lord.”
“Then he repeated it to Master Brace.”
“And he will be punished.”
“The boy did precisely as I intended,” Proctor said.
Butler’s mouth opened and closed like a trout that had just stubbed the toes it didn’t know it had.
Ji knew how he felt. Proctor had wanted him to tell Brace about the flower? At least that would explain the wink.
“And Master Brace took decisive action,” Proctor continued. “Knowing that he needed to destroy the flower if he wished to train with me, he did not hesitate.”
“I—I see, my lord,” Butler said.
“He chose to destroy the only obstacle between himself and his goal. However, in an excess of loyalty, the boot boy decided to act in Master Brace’s place.” Proctor chuckled merrily and looked to Ji. “Do you understand me, lad? You came here to destroy the flower, as a service to Brace. Is that correct?”
Agreeing with nobles was usually safest, so Ji said, “Yes, m’lord.”
“To ensure that Master Brace could join me in the city, yes? Because you are a good and loyal servant?”
“Yes, my lord.”
With a flourish, Proctor whittled another strip of wood from the clothespin. “And that is why you destroyed the lotus flower.”
“Yes, m’lord.”
“Except you didn’t.”
Ji cocked his head. “I didn’t?”
“Absolutely not,” Proctor told him.
“Oh, uh . . .” Ji frowned. Did Proctor want him to lie? “Huh?”
“I am going to ask you a question, boot boy, and I expect you to answer with utter scrupulousness.”
“Er,” Ji said.
“Honesty,” Roz said. “He means honesty.”
“Oh! Right. Yes, m’lord.”
“I want nothing less than the truth, Jiyong,” Proctor said. “Raise your right hand and tell me, once and for all, did you kill that desert lotus blossom?”
Ji raised his right hand. “No, my lord. I did not.”