No one could move an ox if the ox didn’t help, but Master Dess got his hands under the beast and murmured in his ear. The ox groaned and rolled backward a few inches.
“Now your mouth, honey, honey.” He eased it open. “Keep holding, girl, girl.” He placed a large leaf on the beast’s tongue. Then he gently closed the mouth and released me from my task. “If you and Master Thiel hadn’t found him, the beast would soon have been beyond my help.”
“He’ll live?”
“Likely he will.” The ox squirmed. “There, honey. I’m here. I’ll stay with him now.”
I had been dismissed, but I hovered. “Did a lion attack him? Did—”
“I don’t know.” His voice was harsh again.
I brought Nesspa back to His Lordship’s apartment. Afterward I paused in the inner ward, uncertain what to do next.
Voices came from the kitchen. I heard “lion” and stood in the doorway. News of the ox couldn’t have reached anyone yet except by way of Master Thiel’s tongue.
Master Jak set me to peeling and slicing turnips. The kitchen servants were jubilant, despite the ox. All were certain that His Lordship had been the lion. He lived and would return soon in his usual form. I wished I shared their certainty, but I kept thinking of my masteress killing the hare in almost the same spot as the ox had fallen.
A maid said, “What if he remains a lion? What if he cannot change back?”
“He stopped being a mouse, didn’t he?” Master Jak said. “And he never harmed a hair on a human being before, though he was big enough as his ordinary self.”
“But,” the butcher said darkly, “they’ll think the worst in Two Castles. When he’s an ogre again, someone will try to kill him.” He whacked his chopper down on the neck of a struggling chicken. “By cat or arrow or ax, eventually someone will succeed.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
When my turnips were all peeled and sliced, I slipped into the great hall, which was deserted now. I claimed my satchel and left, exiting the castle by the postern entrance.
I started down the track that would take me to the road to town. But after a few steps, I stopped. I couldn’t go to IT if I believed IT could have mauled the ox.
Did I?
I stared up at the sky, which was milky with haze across the sun. Not far from here, IT had dropped out of the air to shelter me from the rain.
IT wouldn’t hurt an ox. I didn’t deduce or induce or even use common sense to decide. Lambs and calves, I trusted IT.
At the menagerie the gate was open again or still open, but this time two guards flanked it, facing inward.
Although I had planned to go directly to my masteress, I went in under the noses of the guards, who seemed not to notice me. Beyond the ornamental shrubbery, a peacock strutted, its feathers fanned open. I recalled the roasted peacock at the feast.
“One tin for entry!”
To my right a plump man sat on a high stool with a basket in his lap—the menagerie keeper, no doubt. I dug in my purse.
“Everyone must pay. Except the king and the princess and anyone they say doesn’t have to pay. Did one of them say that to you?”
I was tempted to lie, but I shook my head.
“An honest girl needn’t pay. Honesty is worth a tin. Parade of people today.”
Who?
“The princess didn’t pay,” he said. “And she told me to let that pleasant young man, the miller’s son, in for free. They arrived early.” He slid down from his stool and turned out to be no taller than I. “Come.” He headed toward an avenue of cages and pens. “You want to see the monkeys. Everyone did. No one lingered. They’ve all gone. I’ll go with you myself. Perhaps the creatures are shedding golden hairs.”
“Who else visited?”
“His Lordship’s steward and the animal physician. Master Dess visited all the animals, stayed awhile at each cage. And half the town came—the tailor, Master Corm, the baker, Master Gatow, and . . .”
Naturally they’d come. As the menagerie keeper listed the townspeople who’d stopped by, I clenched my jaw with impatience. He walked so slowly, and I, too, wanted only to see the monkeys. If His Lordship were anything else, I wouldn’t be able to tell, but I might recognize him as a monkey.
Still, I looked around. I had never visited a menagerie before. Some animals were shackled as well as caged, and both the cages and the pens needed cleaning.
I asked the menagerie keeper to point out the high eena, which turned out to be a striped beast, the size of a wolf, who stood motionless in a corner of its cage.
Before reaching the monkeys, we passed an assortment of other beasts: a huge creature with a murderous-looking horn, a yellow-and-blue snake, a dozen ratlike animals with long snouts, and more.
The monkeys’ cage was at the end, holding three adult monkeys and a lively monkey child, who climbed the bars of the cage. Two adults sat together, one of them picking through the fur of the other. Across the cage, the third adult lay on its side and seemed to be asleep.
“You’ve always had three?”
“The third came last year, and the little one was born here.”