Of course he would be. Perhaps he’d been on his way to a sick animal when I’d seen him outside the king’s castle.
“I should like to observe, now I’m here.”
“As you wish, Your Highness.”
They started off. I waited a minute or two before moving. Then I followed, peeking into horse stalls, cow stalls, and another pig stall as I went.
But if Nesspa were here, he would bark or whimper, unless he was asleep or unconscious. Or dead.
Princess Renn and Master Gise walked toward the lamplight, past a corner stall and the intersecting aisle.
“Sickness or injury?” the princess asked.
“Flying goat spiders, Your Highness,” Master Gise said.
“On a goat? I must see.”
I reached the corner stall. As I turned left toward the firelight, I knocked over a broom, which landed with a soft thud. I froze, my heart booming in my ears.
“What was that?” Master Gise said.
“La! I heard something fall over.”
Was she addlepated? Did she want me caught?
“I’ll go and see,” Master Gise said.
I eased open the next stall I came to. Crouching, I backed in with my eyes shut, as if I’d be unseen if I couldn’t see.
“It must have been only a mouse,” she said. “No need to go.”
“I’ll be just a minute.”
“Stay, Gise. I need you to hold her head. There, honey.”
Thank you, Master Dess.
“The bites are blue and green and puffed, like moldy bread.” Princess Renn’s voice quivered. “The pitiable, hapless goat.”
I opened my eyes and turned to see what animal I had joined. No beast, but a man sprawling on his side across the hay.
He lay with his back to me, his shoulder inches from my thigh. I had been lucky not to bump into him. He didn’t stir, quite a sleeper to slumber through the dropped broom, Master Dess’s visit, and the princess’s up-and-down voice. Could he be . . . ?
I knelt over him. His chest rose and fell. Drunk, perhaps.
As I rose, I saw him better: golden hair bronzed by the darkness, firm jaw, muscular arm. And on his finger, a ring of twine.
Master Thiel?
Chapter Sixteen
Yes! Master Thiel. How sweetly he slept, as deeply as a child.
Was he one of the count’s grooms, or did he have no other place to lay his head? My heart went out to him if he had no home.
My heart went out to him if he had a dozen homes. Quietly, I left the stall.
“Do you treat Jonty Um when he is ill?”
“Princess, His Lordship is not a beast.”
“He is tended by Sir Maydsin,” Master Gise said, “as you and your father are.”
“La!” I heard embarrassment in her voice. “I meant when he is a beast. Have you ever tended him when he was a monkey?”
“No, Your Highness. Hush, honey. I meant hush to the goat, Your Highness.”
Where might Nesspa be hidden? And if I found him, what would I do?
“What are you putting on her?”
“Bran, Your Highness.”
If it was just bran, what was that sharp smell?
I entered a large open area. Ahead, on the outer castle wall, firelight cast a red glow and provided faint illumination. My view of the fireplace itself was blocked by carts and trestles topped with harnesses and saddles. This would be the likely spot to hide anything.
The princess’s voice twanged. “Why is she rolling her neck so?”
“There are many bites, Princess. She is very sick.”
A thorough search would take hours. I began by peering into the blackness under the nearest cart, but seven snoozing dogs could be there and I wouldn’t see them.
I tiptoed to the fireplace and saw the expected: three stable hands sleeping on their pallets. Mustn’t wake them. I picked my way silently between two of them and found the poker. But on my return, I accidentally tapped a slumberer’s shoulder with the toe of my shoe.
Luckily, he faced away from me. He rose groggily on one elbow. I stopped breathing.
For a full minute he didn’t move, but then he rolled onto his stomach, and I tiptoed away.
I used the poker to probe gently under a cart. No Nesspa, so I climbed into the cart itself, which turned out to be a bench wagon for bringing guests to the castle. I felt beneath the benches. My fingers encountered no animals, but they brushed against a morsel of fabric, which I picked up. By feel it was a pouch, holding nothing heavy, perhaps holding nothing. Still, its owner might want it. By feel again, I opened my purse and stuffed it in. In the morning I would try to find the owner.
As I climbed out of the cart, I heard a bleat and then a groan from deep in the stable.
“Alack! Is she dying?”
No one answered. Then, finally, Master Dess said, “The goat is dead.”
Poor creature.
“Dead? Deh-eh-eh-d!” Princess Renn wailed.
A horse neighed. I groped under another wagon, then climbed in and explored. The cart was empty but for a thin layer of straw.
“In the morning,” Master Gise said, “I will have the carcass removed and inform His Lordship.”
“Dead people are called remains,” the princess said. “Why should a beast be called a carcass?”