TWO SERVANTS OPENED a gate on a pretty cobbled street and the coach rumbled through, disappearing behind high walls. Ji and the others followed, walking beside a canal that reflected the branches of cherry trees. Parrots chattered and swooped across blossom-strewn walkways.
Inside the gate, Proctor’s elegant town house rose in front of them, with creamy stone walls and square windows. A low stable stood to the left, while the servants’ quarters sprawled beside the wall to the right.
With a hearty cry of “Come, my noble children!” Proctor escorted Brace, Nosey, and Pickle up the front stairs. “This way—watch your step.” He paused at the door and looked over his shoulder. “We must find you a room inside the main house as well, Miss Roz.”
She shot a quick, desperate look to Ji, but curtsied and said, “Yes, my lord.”
After the door closed behind them, Mr. Ioso told Sally, “Settle the burro, then help the coachmen with the horses.”
“Are there any warhorses?” she asked.
“It’s a town house, not a barracks.”
“Is it a town house with warhorses?” she asked hopefully.
“Get moving!” Mr. Ioso barked, then turned to Ji. “Bring the luggage inside. The servants’ door is around the corner. You are to remove the travel-soiled clothing and help the laundress clean it.”
So Ji spent the next five hours in the laundry hut. Apparently in the city, they did the nobles’ laundry every day, just in case the queen summoned them. By the time he finished, he stank of sweat. He slouched into the servants’ quarters, and the cook gave him a steamed bun. He shoved the whole thing into his mouth and was still chewing when Mr. Ioso ducked through the door.
“This isn’t a vacation, boy,” Mr. Ioso said. “There are a dozen pairs of shoes that need fixing.”
Ji swallowed the rest of the bun. “Yes, sir.”
That night, he collapsed onto a pallet in a corner of the kitchen. He didn’t know where Sally and Roz were sleeping, and he was too tired to wonder.
He didn’t get a break for three days. Not one free moment to search for Chibo.
He cleaned walking boots, dancing boots, formal boots, and for the first time, court boots: fancy boots that were encrusted with jewels. Ji eyed the topaz and garnets greedily. He could sell them for enough to buy Chibo from the tapestry weavers . . . except if he stole anything that expensive, someone would notice.
During the days, he sharpened knives and polished silver and scrubbed dishes. At night, he handled his boot boy duties. He heard that Brace and the twins visited the Forbidden Palace for an audience with the Summer Queen, but didn’t see them. He caught a few glimpses of Sally mucking out the stables, but didn’t even lay eyes on Roz until the fourth day.
That was when he decided to demand Brace’s help. Brace wouldn’t even be in the city if not for Ji and Sally and Roz sneaking through the bone crypt. He’d still be at Primstone Manor, probably locked naked on the roof.
So Ji crept to the second floor of the town house, slunk to Brace’s room, and knocked.
No answer.
Hm. If nobody was around, maybe he could snaffle a few little things. He didn’t really like the idea of stealing from Brace, though. So he took a breath and crept to Lady Posey’s room. He scratched softly, just in case. No answer. Good. Nosey probably had a chest full of coins and trinkets under her mattress.
Except the door was locked.
He was trying Lord Nichol’s door when a girl’s voice said, “Hey!”
Ji’s heart burst out the top of his head, smashed through the roof, and shot into the sky. Then he realized that the girl wasn’t Nosey; it was Roz, carrying three books in her arms.
“I’m so glad to see you!” she said. “What are you doing? Have you seen Sally? Have you seen the library?”
After Ji’s heart fell from the sky, dropped through the hole in the ceiling, and lodged back in his chest, he said, “You almost killed me! I’m, uh, looking for Brace.”
“Oh! He’s in the courtyard.”
“What are you doing?”
The light faded from Roz’s eyes and she said, “Nothing. Chibo is slaving away, Proctor is a murderer, and I’m . . . reading.” She showed him the books in her arms. “I’m bringing them to my room. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Are you shoveling facts and poems into your head?”
She swallowed. “I—I suppose so.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “Because your job is being smart. Figuring out how to get Chibo is my job.”
“Have you thought of anything?”
“Only that we need Brace’s help.” He reached for the book on the top of the pile. “What are these?”
“Don’t touch!” she said, stepping back. “Your hands are . . . bootish!”
He looked at his callused, scraped, dye-stained hands. “Oh.”
“These are rare.” She gingerly opened one. “And illustrated. Look.”
She tilted the book toward him, and the page showed a horrible red mask with horns and tusks and yellow eyes. For an instant, a memory sparked in Ji’s mind, like he’d seen that picture before.
“That’s an ogre?”
“A young one,” Roz told him. “Just a cub.”
“I’d hate to see him all grown up.”
“It’s not a he, it’s an ogre child. They say ‘cub’ for the children instead of ‘he’ and ‘she’ and ‘him’ and ‘her.’”
“What? No way.”
She nodded. “They’re not male or female until they’re fully grown. For example, if you were an ogre, Sally would say, ‘Did you see Ji in the hallway?’ Then I’d say, ‘Oh, yes, I saw cub talking with cub’s friend Roz and—’”
“Wait a second.” Ji frowned at the book. “These are rare?”
“Quite rare.”
“So they’re valuable.”
“I suppose they’re worth a fair amount, if you—” She stopped suddenly, her eyes narrowing. “Oh, no. Don’t you dare! Don’t you even think about it, Jiyong!”
“What?” he asked, spreading his bootish hands innocently.
“You’re not”—she lowered her voice—“stealing books!”
“Why not? I bet we could sell each illustration separately.”
Roz flushed in anger, and it looked like the only reason she wasn’t smashing Ji’s head in with the books was because she didn’t want him to bleed on the covers.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “I won’t touch the stupid books. Where’s your room?”
“In the attic. The old servants’ quarters.”
A thought occurred to him. “Are you the only one there? Is there room for me and Sally? Because I can’t sneak out at night if I’m sleeping in the kitchen.”
“There’s plenty of room,” she said. “I’ll show you.”
Roz led him higher in the town house. On a wide landing, Ji paused at a window to gaze over the fence that surrounded the town house. He hadn’t seen the city since they’d arrived. He eyed the mansions lining the canal—then caught motion inside the gate and saw a frizzy head emerge from the stables.
“Oh,” he said, tapping at the glass. “There’s Sally!”
Roz unlatched the window. “Sally!” she called softly.
Sally didn’t notice. She just dragged a bucket across the yard.
When Ji tapped harder, Sally raised her head. She peered at the house, and Ji and Roz waved wildly until Sally saw the motion. She flashed a toothy smile and raised her bucket in greeting. Ji felt his own smile widen, and they just stood there for a bit, grinning like idiots.
Then Sally stuck her tongue out and disappeared under the eaves, and Roz closed the window. She led Ji to a stairway so steep that it was almost more of a ladder than stairs.
A wide attic squatted under the angled roof, with four doors in the walls. When Roz opened the nearest one, sunlight flooded into the central room. Ji blinked and followed her into a bedroom with a ceiling that slanted to the floor. A strip of window, not quite as high as his knees, ran the length of the wall.
There was a bed and a writing desk and a bench piled with books.
“Are the other rooms like this?” Ji asked, looking around.
“I took the largest.” Roz blushed. “And the best furniture. And the one with the most light. Which was very wrong of me.”
“You’re the only one here, Roz. You can take the best room.”
“It still feels greedy,” she said. “I’d offer you tea biscuits, except I haven’t any.”
“So you’ve just been sitting up here by yourself, reading?”
“I should have done more!” She turned toward the window. “I know I should have. I’ve been checking maps for the tapestry factory, but I haven’t found it yet and I—I’m sorry.”
“Roz, all I’ve been doing is scrubbing pots and boots.”
“But it’s not fair. I . . . I’ve been enjoying myself, reading all these books.” She turned back, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. “Well, except Proctor sends for me at mealtime.”
“The twins are mean to you, huh?”
A fragile smile rose on her face. “I cannot accuse them of being overly polite.”
“How’s Brace holding up?”
“He’s studying hard. Books, strategy games—” Roz shook her head. “He dislikes when I call them games. Strategy scenarios, I should say. And of course he’s studying swordplay, as well.”
“No way! How’s he doing?”
“See for yourself,” she said, and gestured to the window.
Ji rubbed his aching forearm. “Huh?”
“Just look.”
So Ji crouched and peered through the window into a multilevel courtyard paved with flat rocks. Flowering fruit trees rose here and there, and stone benches sat beside gleaming urns and leafy shrubs. And Brace crouched beside one of the benches, gripping a wooden broadsword.
Lady Nosey slashed at him with a blunted rapier and Lord Pickle circled, holding two padded daggers. Brace jerked away from the slash and swung wildly at Nosey.
She ducked and his broadsword swept over her head. Nosey lunged and her rapier caught Brace in the shoulder. Pickle darted closer, but Brace kept turning with the force of his swing and his broadsword smashed Pickle in the arm.
“Go, Brace!” Ji whispered. “C’mon, beat him like a borrowed egg!”
Nosey thrust again, and Brace spun, raising his sword to fend her off. She stayed behind him, gliding sideways with catlike grace. Brace dodged wildly but she jabbed him three times between the shoulder blades.
Stepping into sight, Proctor lifted a hand to stop the mock fight. But Pickle didn’t care. He grabbed Brace from behind, and Nosey used the edge of her rapier like a whip, whacking at Brace’s head as he cringed.
Proctor lowered his hand and watched, his expression curious.
“Hey!” Ji shouted at the window. “Stop them!”
“Jiyong,” Roz said, touching his shoulder. “Hush.”
“They’re ganging up on Brace!” Ji felt his jaw clench. “It’s not fair!”
“Proctor encourages them to bully him,” Roz said. “I suspect that’s why he’s learning so fast.”
“If bullying made him stronger,” Ji grumbled, “he’d already be unbeatable.”
“Why are you looking for him?”
Ji stood from the window, rubbing his neck. “To tell him to send me on errands in the city.”
“So you can look for valuables?”
“And for Chibo, too. Except maybe it’s better if Brace asks Proctor to move me and Sally into the attic with you. That way I can sneak out at night.”
Roz wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. “And you won’t waste time on errands. I think that’s wise. Though perhaps I should speak with Brace?”
“Yeah, good idea.”
Sally slipped through the door. “I’ve got a better one.”
“Sally!” Roz gasped, pressing her hand to her chest. “You startled me!”
“You invited me. Didn’t you? Through the window? I thought you were waving at me.”
“Of course we were,” Ji told her. “What’s your idea?”
“Well—” Sally stopped and gazed around the room. “Look at this! It’s basically a palace.”
“It’s basically an attic,” Ji said.
“It is an attic,” Roz said.
“That’s what I just said,” Ji told her. “Sheesh. For someone who’s so smart—”
“My idea is this,” Sally interrupted, flopping onto the bed. “If you’re already asking for permission to sleep here . . . also ask about Chibo.”
Roz fiddled with her dress. “Ask Brace to buy Chibo from the tapestry weavers?”
“Yeah.”
“I know Brace,” Ji said. “If you ask him, he’ll just ask Proctor. And we can’t trust Proctor.”
“Well, he is personally acquainted with the queen,” Roz said slowly. “That’s a rare and wondrous thing.”
“You know who trusted him?” Ji asked. “Butler. And since we got here, has Proctor even mentioned him once? Has anyone?”
Roz frowned and Sally shook her head.
“He’s dead and forgotten, like my brother.” Ji looked to Roz. “Proctor’s a killer. Ask Brace about the attic, that’s all. Nothing else.”
“Are you sure?” Sally asked.
“Proctor could save Chibo by lifting a finger,” Roz added.
“The last time he lifted a finger, he threw a dagger,” Ji said. “We can’t trust him, not for a second.”
Sally and Roz exchanged a glance. Then Sally nodded. “When it comes to liars, you know best.”
“Good,” Ji said. “Once we’re sleeping here, I’ll sneak out every night. I promise you, Sally, I won’t stop till Chibo’s free.”