No answer but the breeze in my ears. The sun was long past noon. Soon the arriving guests would end my chance to prepare.
For those who’ve never visited a castle, the inner curtain wall walk is wide enough for two tall men to lie across it head to toe. During a battle, soldiers are stationed here to shoot arrows at an approaching army and to drop boiling water and rocks on an army that’s arrived. The soldiers are protected from the enemy by the crenellated battlement, a wall that looks gap-toothed, like a jack-o’-lantern’s smile. The tooth is called the merlon, the gum the embrasure.
But with no battle and no soldiers, I had room to rehearse.
Master Jak hadn’t said how long my performance was to be. The tale of Princess Rosette could take half an hour. I couldn’t ready myself for half an hour’s performance in half an hour!
I strode down the western wall walk, skirting a chimney opening that belched gray smoke. Confine myself to five minutes. Start in the middle of the tale, since everyone knows the whole.
“The little dog”—I cleared my throat—“the little dog, pitying his . . .” No, I should begin at a more thrilling moment. I paced.
Yes! I had it. I climbed to the walk atop the northwest tower. From here I could see the harbor and imagine my voice crossing the strait to Albin and Mother and Father.
“At midnight”—deeper for a narrator’s fullness—“while the princess dreamed of her peacocks, the nurse whispered in the ear of the riverboat master.”
I paced, considering how to portray the moment when the princess would be thrown overboard.
Below, someone shouted. Hooves clattered on wood. I heard rumbling. The guest wagons must be approaching. I looked down and saw a horse-drawn cart rolling up the ramp to the drawbridge.
I had to protect His Lordship. But oh, I was going to make a fool of myself when I performed.
Six more carts wound up the road, followed by two oxen towing the purple mansion. I supposed the actors were within, the mansion needed only as a conveyance because the troupe would perform inside the castle. My heart rose at the gay sight of the pennants, rippling in the wind.
I started down the steps to the lower northern wall walk. What was that tawny heap on the walk below, snug against the inner gatehouse tower? A guard’s woolly cloak?
Whatever it was, it was none of my concern with the count to watch over.
The cloak moved.
I raced down the steps. The cloak thumped its tail.
Chapter Twenty
The dog’s back legs were hobbled. The chain around his neck had been tied to a rope, which had then been looped over the finial, a spike atop the merlon. A bowl of water lay near his head. I crouched by him and held out my hand, which he licked. He struggled to stand but toppled, though his tail continued to wag, slapping the ground so enthusiastically it lifted his entire rear.
“Nesspa?” With my purse knife I cut the cloth that hobbled him and lifted the rope off the merlon.
His golden coat was knotted here and there. I had to brush away his eyebrow hair to see an eye, which turned reproachfully up at me. Can’t you tell I’m drinking?
When he finished, he stood, legs trembling until he found his balance. His back was almost as high as my waist.
“Come!” The dog trotted ahead of me without tugging. What a smart beast!
I shouted, “Your Lordship,” although no one could hear me up here. We started down. Halfway, he must have sniffed his master, because he began to pull. I held on, barely succeeding in staying on my feet.
The gatehouse tower stairs took us down to the passage that led to the outer ward. This was the castle’s main entrance, wide enough to admit four horsemen abreast. As I ran, I saw rose petals beneath my feet.
Ahead, their backs to me, a knot of people and the count blocked the passage.
Nesspa was pulling hard enough to yank my arm from my body. “Your Lordship!” I cried, and let the rope go.
The dog cleared a path through the crowd. I followed more slowly.
“Oh! La!”
“Nesspa!” The count let go the chain of his substitute dog—Sheeyen again—and crouched.
Nesspa leaped up, again and again, to lick the ogre’s face.
“Nesspie, where were you? Are you hurt?” The count’s big hands felt the dog all over.
Sheeyen sniffed Nesspa’s rear quarter.
“Who found you?” He looked up, saw me, and beamed his rare, sweet smile.
A man took Sheeyen’s chain and tugged her away.
Might the return of Nesspa, His Lordship’s protector, thwart the plans of someone here or someone arriving?
Princess Renn leaned over to pat Nesspa’s head and placed her free hand on the count’s sleeve. For the feast she wore an orange cloak trimmed with royal ermine and an orange cap. “Ehlodie, where did you find him?”
Was she angry at me? She had wanted to find Nesspa and have His Lordship’s gratitude.
To let her know I hadn’t tried to outdo her, I said, “I wasn’t searching. I was on the wall walk, practicing for the entertainment. He was tied there.”